So I mounted my two Pentax Optio WP cameras to our tandem and trailer before we went out for the weekly Saturday morning C Pace ride from East Coast Bikes. I'm pretty pleased with the results, but let me know what you think!
Monday, September 17, 2007
Saturday, September 15, 2007
My First Video
Alright, the ending is kinda choppy, and the editing is MacAmateurish, but I've been itching to try my hand at video. So I mounted a couple of Pentax Optio WP cameras on my Gary Fisher Singlespeed & went for a ride around the block.
Let me know what y'all think...
Let me know what y'all think...
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Pure Sweet, What?
A sweet little cylcocross movie...I ain't that much into racing, but this is one fine little video!
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Bad Daddy
Monday was the last of our East Coast Monday Night rides on road bikes. More often than not Abby's with me on Monday nights, rolling along in her little trailer behind me. But as Abby's gotten bigger, I've found that I can't keep up with the paceline at 20+ mph, especially not if there's anything but a tailwind. So for the last time this year I found myself on a solo, slower shortcut, waiting at an intersection for the light to change, knowing that the fast guys would catch up with me in the next mile or two. I was taking the middle lane behind a couple of cars (the right lane was right turn only), waiting with the rest of the cars for the light to change. But an ambulance came through the intersection just as the light changed for us, and by the time it got through, the light changed again, and we were stuck again. A guy waiting to turn out of the 7-Eleven parking lot had his Subaru SUV pointed straight toward me, apparently waiting to merge in behind me.
He stared at me for a minute, then at Abby's trailer behind me. I didn't think much of it until he asked me, "Is that a baby in that trailer?"
"Yup."
"Is that safe? What if she drops off?"
Drops off? I thought?, Burley trailers do not "drop off." There's a safety strap designed just to ensure that!
But instead of saying what I thought, I merely answered, "She won't."
That's really a baby??"
"Yeah."
And then the light turned to green, and I was off, keeping to the right to let the fairly light traffic pass by.
Two miles later, as I pedaled down a quiet two-lane suburban road past an orchard and an elementary school, a Subaru SUV slows down beside me, and I look over to see the safety-conscious driver from the 7-Eleven leaning across the passenger seat as he took a picture with his cell phone. Unbeknownst to me, I had been tailed by an undercover agent of the Suburban Vigilante Safety Patrol (SVSP). As he pulled away from me, only to come to a stop at the light at the intersection a hundred yards ahead, I thought to myself, I gotta find out what gives...
I rolled up next to Mr. Undercover Safety and asked, "Hey man, what's up?"
"I can't believe you're pulling a baby in a trailer, it's not safe!"
"Not safe?"
"It's not safe to pull a trailer on a highway!"
"It's as safe as driving."
"No it's not! What if somebody didn't see you and hit you?"
"Well, what if somebody didn't see your car and hit you?"
"That's not the same. Look, I have a trailer for my kid, but I won't take her anywhere but our neighborhood and dead end streets. You can't bring a trailer out here, it's not safe! I almost didn't see you back there!"
Truth be told, the most unsafe driver I had seen was Mr. Undercover Safety himself, who had been taking a picture of me with his cell phone while driving his car down the double yellow line of a two lane road. And if he hadn't seen me back at the 7-Eleven, then how the heck did he initiate our conversation?
"Hey, green light, time to go, buddy," I instructed as I waved him forward. He turned left onto Northhampton Boulevard (4 lane divided highway, 55mph speed limit), while I went straight onto another quiet suburban street (2 lanes, residential, 25mph) that hooked left and ran parallel to Northhampton Boulevard. I looked over my shoulder to see that Mr. Undercover Safety was now creeping along the shoulder of the highway, pacing me while he talked on his cell phone! Disgusted, I hopped off my bike and dragged Abby's trailer across the grassy shoulder to his car.
"I'm looping around to Northampton Boulevard!" I shouted, although he may not have heard over the raised windows and air conditioning. "If you want to follow me, just look for the group of bikers coming along behind me. You can't miss them!"
He seemed to be trying to ignore me as he talked away to his cell phone. I persisted though,
"Sir, you're creating a traffic hazard! You're going to have to move along now, this is a highway!"
With that I turned around to resume my ride, only imagining what he must be saying on his cell phone:
"Nine One One, what is the nature of your emergency, please?"
"There's a guy on bike riding down Shore Drive!"
"I'm sorry- what is the nature of your emergency, sir?"
"This crazy guy is riding down Shore Drive with a baby trailer!"
"Is he obstructing traffic, sir?"
"No! He's just riding down the road next to the white line! Cars are passing him just fine in the left lane. But you've got to understand he's got a baby trailer. And lights! He's got lights!"
"'Lights,' sir?"
"Yeah, there's like, these red flashies on the back of bike, and a headlight that's so bright I thought he was a motorcycle!"
"I'm sorry sir, but I don't think there's anything we can do."
"But you've got to do something! He's got a safety flag on the trailer and everything!"
Well whaddaya know, 2 miles later he finds me again! Apparently he was listening to me as I shouted at him from the shoulder, because as I was riding through a light industrial park next to the airport, who should cross the intersection in front of me in a slow and purposeful manner but Mr. Undercover Safety! I let go of the handlebars & gave him a big double thumbs up. I really was looking forward to talking to him again, but unfortunately he gave up the chase after slipping into a back parking lot.
So Mr. Undercover Safety, if you're still out there, here's a bicycle safety website for you to check out. According to bicyclesafe.com, less than 2% of the 44,000 traffic deaths last year were cyclists. And cycling is almost 20% safer than driving! According to the Bicycle Almanac, "An average of 16.5 cyclists per million die every year in the U.S. (For motorists, it's 19.9 motorists per million.)" And finally, according to the British Medical Association, the health benefits of cycling outweigh the traffic risks by a ration of 20 to 1.
Given all that, the odds are that I'll outlive Mr. Undercover Safety and his kid. Yeah, instead of plopping my daughter down in front of the idiot box to watch another episode of Baby Einstein while sipping on Kool Aid and eating Coco Puffs, I took her for a bike ride.
How cruel of me...
He stared at me for a minute, then at Abby's trailer behind me. I didn't think much of it until he asked me, "Is that a baby in that trailer?"
"Yup."
"Is that safe? What if she drops off?"
Drops off? I thought?, Burley trailers do not "drop off." There's a safety strap designed just to ensure that!
But instead of saying what I thought, I merely answered, "She won't."
That's really a baby??"
"Yeah."
And then the light turned to green, and I was off, keeping to the right to let the fairly light traffic pass by.
Two miles later, as I pedaled down a quiet two-lane suburban road past an orchard and an elementary school, a Subaru SUV slows down beside me, and I look over to see the safety-conscious driver from the 7-Eleven leaning across the passenger seat as he took a picture with his cell phone. Unbeknownst to me, I had been tailed by an undercover agent of the Suburban Vigilante Safety Patrol (SVSP). As he pulled away from me, only to come to a stop at the light at the intersection a hundred yards ahead, I thought to myself, I gotta find out what gives...
I rolled up next to Mr. Undercover Safety and asked, "Hey man, what's up?"
"I can't believe you're pulling a baby in a trailer, it's not safe!"
"Not safe?"
"It's not safe to pull a trailer on a highway!"
"It's as safe as driving."
"No it's not! What if somebody didn't see you and hit you?"
"Well, what if somebody didn't see your car and hit you?"
"That's not the same. Look, I have a trailer for my kid, but I won't take her anywhere but our neighborhood and dead end streets. You can't bring a trailer out here, it's not safe! I almost didn't see you back there!"
Truth be told, the most unsafe driver I had seen was Mr. Undercover Safety himself, who had been taking a picture of me with his cell phone while driving his car down the double yellow line of a two lane road. And if he hadn't seen me back at the 7-Eleven, then how the heck did he initiate our conversation?
"Hey, green light, time to go, buddy," I instructed as I waved him forward. He turned left onto Northhampton Boulevard (4 lane divided highway, 55mph speed limit), while I went straight onto another quiet suburban street (2 lanes, residential, 25mph) that hooked left and ran parallel to Northhampton Boulevard. I looked over my shoulder to see that Mr. Undercover Safety was now creeping along the shoulder of the highway, pacing me while he talked on his cell phone! Disgusted, I hopped off my bike and dragged Abby's trailer across the grassy shoulder to his car.
"I'm looping around to Northampton Boulevard!" I shouted, although he may not have heard over the raised windows and air conditioning. "If you want to follow me, just look for the group of bikers coming along behind me. You can't miss them!"
He seemed to be trying to ignore me as he talked away to his cell phone. I persisted though,
"Sir, you're creating a traffic hazard! You're going to have to move along now, this is a highway!"
With that I turned around to resume my ride, only imagining what he must be saying on his cell phone:
"Nine One One, what is the nature of your emergency, please?"
"There's a guy on bike riding down Shore Drive!"
"I'm sorry- what is the nature of your emergency, sir?"
"This crazy guy is riding down Shore Drive with a baby trailer!"
"Is he obstructing traffic, sir?"
"No! He's just riding down the road next to the white line! Cars are passing him just fine in the left lane. But you've got to understand he's got a baby trailer. And lights! He's got lights!"
"'Lights,' sir?"
"Yeah, there's like, these red flashies on the back of bike, and a headlight that's so bright I thought he was a motorcycle!"
"I'm sorry sir, but I don't think there's anything we can do."
"But you've got to do something! He's got a safety flag on the trailer and everything!"
Well whaddaya know, 2 miles later he finds me again! Apparently he was listening to me as I shouted at him from the shoulder, because as I was riding through a light industrial park next to the airport, who should cross the intersection in front of me in a slow and purposeful manner but Mr. Undercover Safety! I let go of the handlebars & gave him a big double thumbs up. I really was looking forward to talking to him again, but unfortunately he gave up the chase after slipping into a back parking lot.
So Mr. Undercover Safety, if you're still out there, here's a bicycle safety website for you to check out. According to bicyclesafe.com, less than 2% of the 44,000 traffic deaths last year were cyclists. And cycling is almost 20% safer than driving! According to the Bicycle Almanac, "An average of 16.5 cyclists per million die every year in the U.S. (For motorists, it's 19.9 motorists per million.)" And finally, according to the British Medical Association, the health benefits of cycling outweigh the traffic risks by a ration of 20 to 1.
Given all that, the odds are that I'll outlive Mr. Undercover Safety and his kid. Yeah, instead of plopping my daughter down in front of the idiot box to watch another episode of Baby Einstein while sipping on Kool Aid and eating Coco Puffs, I took her for a bike ride.
How cruel of me...
Sunday, September 9, 2007
http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifEast Coast Monday Night Rides
All right folks, it's coming time to put up the skinny-tired road bike and pull out yer fat boy mountain bike!
That's right, we're swapping out road bikes for mountain bikes. Beginning next week, sunset will drop on Norfolk at 7:16 PM. And the week after? 7:05 PM. The days are only gonna get shorter...
So Liz & I, as the official ride leaders, have decided to make the switch. For the next 6 months, here's what we'll expect on the Monday night ride:
1) Mountain or Cross bikes. Alright, we'll make an exception for fat-tired touring bikes. Just don't come out on your 700x18 racing tires. The nocturnal potholes will eat those wimpy tires alive...
2) Helmet. Just wear it...
3) Lights. Both front and rear lights are required. If yer a bike geek and you know it, strap on that helmet light and clip a taillight to yer ass.
4) No iPods. No Aero Bars. You don't need them in the city on an night group ride. Leave 'em at home.
Having said all that, let me make my pitch for my favorite city tire and bike light: Schwalbe Big Apple tires and the Cateye HL-EL530 LED handlbar light. They both just rock, and Mike at East Coast Bikes will be happy to hook you up with both.
As the winter settles in, the Weak shall be Separated from the Crazy, and Yea, a Call shall Issue Forth from my Cellular Phone:
"Are we riding tonight?"
And Lo, I shall Speak Unto My People. And I shall Give Them the Message Given Unto Me by The Great Lord Velo-urge. The Great Lord Velo-urge did Speak Unto Me, and said,
"Speak thus to my people: They shall call unto Thee, and Thee shall say unto them:
'Is it raining? No?
Is it freezing cold? No?
Then we're riding.'"
And now, here's the route:
And finally, a picture of my Big Apples:
That's right, we're swapping out road bikes for mountain bikes. Beginning next week, sunset will drop on Norfolk at 7:16 PM. And the week after? 7:05 PM. The days are only gonna get shorter...
So Liz & I, as the official ride leaders, have decided to make the switch. For the next 6 months, here's what we'll expect on the Monday night ride:
1) Mountain or Cross bikes. Alright, we'll make an exception for fat-tired touring bikes. Just don't come out on your 700x18 racing tires. The nocturnal potholes will eat those wimpy tires alive...
2) Helmet. Just wear it...
3) Lights. Both front and rear lights are required. If yer a bike geek and you know it, strap on that helmet light and clip a taillight to yer ass.
4) No iPods. No Aero Bars. You don't need them in the city on an night group ride. Leave 'em at home.
Having said all that, let me make my pitch for my favorite city tire and bike light: Schwalbe Big Apple tires and the Cateye HL-EL530 LED handlbar light. They both just rock, and Mike at East Coast Bikes will be happy to hook you up with both.
As the winter settles in, the Weak shall be Separated from the Crazy, and Yea, a Call shall Issue Forth from my Cellular Phone:
"Are we riding tonight?"
And Lo, I shall Speak Unto My People. And I shall Give Them the Message Given Unto Me by The Great Lord Velo-urge. The Great Lord Velo-urge did Speak Unto Me, and said,
"Speak thus to my people: They shall call unto Thee, and Thee shall say unto them:
'Is it raining? No?
Is it freezing cold? No?
Then we're riding.'"
And now, here's the route:
And finally, a picture of my Big Apples:
Friday, September 7, 2007
Fifteen Hours of Misery and Joy
Only about a mile up Hankey Mountain the cramps started in earnest. Everything from my ass down seized up. I tried standing up out of the saddle, but that only made my thighs and calves knot even tighter. Giving up on pedals, I dismounted and started pushing my bike up the mountain...
Oh well, I thought, glancing down at my legs, at least when my quads are cramping they look really ripped!!
I think my mistake started before the Shenandoah Mountain 100 even began, just after the 5 AM bike-mounted gong and the 5:15 gratuitous fireworks display. I hadn't had all that much water to drink the night before, and in the rush of the morning, I didn't drink anymore water, just a redeye of fresh-brewed espressso and cold-brewed coffee. But I did have a double serving of oatmeal, along with a banana (for cramping), a handful of gorp, and a fresh breakfast burrito courtesy of Bill's girlfriend Dana. So by the time I reached the somewhat chaotic start line, I was fueled and ready for launch, but not sufficiently hydrated.
I didn't see Floyd Landis (or "Loyd Flandis," as he was listed on the registration check-in sheet, right below Liz Schleeper, the top Women's Masters finisher), but then I was more concerned with finding a place to start in the back of the pack. So I lined up behind Shrek. Shrek's a Clydesdale too, right?
Maybe the start was fast and smooth for Loyd Flandis, Chris Eataugh and Sue Haywood, but in the back of the pack, it quickly devolved into a trackstand contest. Still, by the time we hit the iron bridge, we were rolling pretty smoothly.
While I've done trail rides with a dozen or two people, I didn't exactly enjoy my first taste of singletrack in a race. I ended up hiking my bike through technical sections that I know I could have cleared if I'd been riding by myself. But stick a score or two riders in there, and someone's bound to dab and stop at the front of the line, bringing the whole darn thing to a dismount.
Still, I felt strong for the first 32 miles. When I rolled into the first real aid station at Todd Lake, I was happily surprised to see my wife and daughter, Jennifer and Abby, standing in the long line of cheering family, friends and "fluffers" {Chris Scott's term, not mine} along the roadside (thanks Mike & Sally!). I was only running 10 minutes behind my goal time, and I could easily attribute that to two unplanned stops for an issue with my Topeak seatpack. (Long story short- the "Quickclick" mount ain't made for downhill mountain biking, even when backed up by a bungee cord. But that doesn't weaken my faith in seatpacks for the trail.)
It was on the paved section down to Hankey Mountain that my legs started to cramp up. By the time I was climbing Hankey Mountain proper, I was in serious pain. I couldn't ride for more than a hundred yards without my thighs advancing from almost cramping to painfully knotted beyond belief. I'd get off my bike and walk uphill for another hundred yards or so until my calves cramped up. Then I'd get back on my bike and ride until my thighs cramped, too. And so it went, up and over Hankey Mountain.
At Aid Station 3 I guzzled several bottles of water, filled up my Camelbak, lubed the chain and swapped out my rear cog. With the Eccentric Bottom Bracket (EBB)on my singlespeed Gary Fisher Rig I could switch out cogs on the fly with just a couple of tools. The EBB can accomodate up to a 4 tooth difference, so I was packing a 20 and a 24-tooth cog. In effect, I was riding an old-school doublespeed. But two gears weren't enough to keep the cramps away...
It wasn't until I reached Aid 4 at mile 57 that I had finally hydrated enough to get past the cramps. The two steep climbs had been pretty nasty, what with my exercised-induced asthma. Without enough water in my system, the lactic acids dumped into my legs when I went anaerobic never got flushed out. And when my asthma kicked in, it shoved me right past my aerobic redline, and forcing my muscles to switch from oxygen to lactic acid.
Feel the burn.
Now hold it.
Hold it for five f**kin' hours.
Hold it till everything from yer ass to yer toes spasms.
Now squeeeeze...And repeat.
Feel yer lungs rasp for air.
Wave off the looks of concern from people riding past your pathetic, gasping ass.
"No, no, it's fine. I sound like this all the time."
It wasn't just my legs and lungs that took a toll on the trails. All of the walking up the steep, technical sections did a number on my new Rocket 7 shoes. By the end of the day the front soles were duct taped in place.
While the carbon-fiber footbeds make for the most comfortable shoes I've ever ridden in, the carbon fiber is also apparently a terrible surface for mounting any type of sole. A few pedal strikes on descents, and the sole was primed to be shredded on hike-a-bike ascents. Luckily the guys at Rocket7 said they'd replace my soles under warranty. I've gotta be careful though, cause I don't think they'll do that too many times...
After Aid 4 things got easier, relatively speaking. While Tim and Bill had both warned me about the interminable climb up Shenandoah mountain (almost 17 miles on continuous climbing), I actually enjoyed the long, steady uphill slog. I knew I had to get to Aid 5 atop Shenandoah Mountain before the 6 PM cutoff. After 6, no one would be allowed down the mountain for the last 25 miles to the finish line. I kept moving up the mountain, passing probably a half dozen riders along the way, encouraging them to stick with it. At Aid 5 I mounted my lights on my handlebar and helmet, changed my socks and bandana, topped off my reservoirs, and rolled out within 15 minutes, the wind ripping over the top of the ridge and nipping at my lycra-covered ass. As I was riding along the ridge and just about to start the final descent, an eight point buck, still in velvet, looked up at me, then bounded away before I could even think about grabbing a picture.
The descent down the mountain was just about as challenging as the ascent, but compressed. Whereas when going up the challenge had been to keep my legs moving, during the descent the challenge was to keep my legs still, keeping my body suspended over the bike, ready to absorb any bump or drop. When the trail would open up for a dozen yards or two I'd quickly spin my feet a revolution or two, then resume my grip on the brakes as the next challenge presented itself. After each descent I felt almost as exhausted as I had at the top of the ascents, my arms and brake fingers cramping almost as badly as my legs.
I made it to Aid 6 as dusk was truly falling, and after slipping on a long sleeve jersey to keep the mountain chill at bay, I pushed on.
The last 12 miles were relatively painless, but the exhaustion of riding so hard for so long was creeping over me. Time and again the urge to stop and nap came over me, but I kept it at bay, knowing that if I slept, I'd most likely wake up shivering with hypothermia, and the shivers on top of cramps would definitely be unpleasant. So I slogged on, forcing myself to sip from my Camelbak, even though the lady at Aid 6 had added insufficient water to my pouch of drink mix. The result was syrupy sweet, but I drank it anyway.
While the last singletrack descent into the campsite was made more interesting by the artificial LED lighting, it wasn't any more difficult that our winter night rides at Ipswich. The last challenge on the trail though was man-made. As I came to the end of the trail, some jackass had parked his truck to point the headlights toward his tent, and the trailhead. I was blinded by the headlights, and I couldn't see the dude as he cheered me on, "Keep going, man! You're almost there!"
I couldn't see anything beyond the headlights, such as the course markers I'd grown used to for hundred miles. "Which way do I go?" I asked,
"Keep going, man! Keep going!"
"Which way?" I asked again, then saw a glint of orange to the left. Sure enough, there was a trail marker. I muttered something to headlight dude, then resumed my ride down the hill towards the finish line.
I gotta give credit to Chris Scott for setting up a downhill finish line. No matter how exhausted you may feel after a hundred miles, the downhill still lets you finish fast. A cheer went up as I rode to the line and banged the gong, relieved to have finally finished.
I stumbled back to our tent, and collapsed in a chair, a wave of nausea rolling over me. After fifteen of the most intense hours I had ever experienced in my life, I was finished. And, maybe, ready for more next year.
And now, some random pictures:
Oh well, I thought, glancing down at my legs, at least when my quads are cramping they look really ripped!!
I think my mistake started before the Shenandoah Mountain 100 even began, just after the 5 AM bike-mounted gong and the 5:15 gratuitous fireworks display. I hadn't had all that much water to drink the night before, and in the rush of the morning, I didn't drink anymore water, just a redeye of fresh-brewed espressso and cold-brewed coffee. But I did have a double serving of oatmeal, along with a banana (for cramping), a handful of gorp, and a fresh breakfast burrito courtesy of Bill's girlfriend Dana. So by the time I reached the somewhat chaotic start line, I was fueled and ready for launch, but not sufficiently hydrated.
I didn't see Floyd Landis (or "Loyd Flandis," as he was listed on the registration check-in sheet, right below Liz Schleeper, the top Women's Masters finisher), but then I was more concerned with finding a place to start in the back of the pack. So I lined up behind Shrek. Shrek's a Clydesdale too, right?
Maybe the start was fast and smooth for Loyd Flandis, Chris Eataugh and Sue Haywood, but in the back of the pack, it quickly devolved into a trackstand contest. Still, by the time we hit the iron bridge, we were rolling pretty smoothly.
While I've done trail rides with a dozen or two people, I didn't exactly enjoy my first taste of singletrack in a race. I ended up hiking my bike through technical sections that I know I could have cleared if I'd been riding by myself. But stick a score or two riders in there, and someone's bound to dab and stop at the front of the line, bringing the whole darn thing to a dismount.
Still, I felt strong for the first 32 miles. When I rolled into the first real aid station at Todd Lake, I was happily surprised to see my wife and daughter, Jennifer and Abby, standing in the long line of cheering family, friends and "fluffers" {Chris Scott's term, not mine} along the roadside (thanks Mike & Sally!). I was only running 10 minutes behind my goal time, and I could easily attribute that to two unplanned stops for an issue with my Topeak seatpack. (Long story short- the "Quickclick" mount ain't made for downhill mountain biking, even when backed up by a bungee cord. But that doesn't weaken my faith in seatpacks for the trail.)
It was on the paved section down to Hankey Mountain that my legs started to cramp up. By the time I was climbing Hankey Mountain proper, I was in serious pain. I couldn't ride for more than a hundred yards without my thighs advancing from almost cramping to painfully knotted beyond belief. I'd get off my bike and walk uphill for another hundred yards or so until my calves cramped up. Then I'd get back on my bike and ride until my thighs cramped, too. And so it went, up and over Hankey Mountain.
At Aid Station 3 I guzzled several bottles of water, filled up my Camelbak, lubed the chain and swapped out my rear cog. With the Eccentric Bottom Bracket (EBB)on my singlespeed Gary Fisher Rig I could switch out cogs on the fly with just a couple of tools. The EBB can accomodate up to a 4 tooth difference, so I was packing a 20 and a 24-tooth cog. In effect, I was riding an old-school doublespeed. But two gears weren't enough to keep the cramps away...
It wasn't until I reached Aid 4 at mile 57 that I had finally hydrated enough to get past the cramps. The two steep climbs had been pretty nasty, what with my exercised-induced asthma. Without enough water in my system, the lactic acids dumped into my legs when I went anaerobic never got flushed out. And when my asthma kicked in, it shoved me right past my aerobic redline, and forcing my muscles to switch from oxygen to lactic acid.
Feel the burn.
Now hold it.
Hold it for five f**kin' hours.
Hold it till everything from yer ass to yer toes spasms.
Now squeeeeze...And repeat.
Feel yer lungs rasp for air.
Wave off the looks of concern from people riding past your pathetic, gasping ass.
"No, no, it's fine. I sound like this all the time."
It wasn't just my legs and lungs that took a toll on the trails. All of the walking up the steep, technical sections did a number on my new Rocket 7 shoes. By the end of the day the front soles were duct taped in place.
While the carbon-fiber footbeds make for the most comfortable shoes I've ever ridden in, the carbon fiber is also apparently a terrible surface for mounting any type of sole. A few pedal strikes on descents, and the sole was primed to be shredded on hike-a-bike ascents. Luckily the guys at Rocket7 said they'd replace my soles under warranty. I've gotta be careful though, cause I don't think they'll do that too many times...
After Aid 4 things got easier, relatively speaking. While Tim and Bill had both warned me about the interminable climb up Shenandoah mountain (almost 17 miles on continuous climbing), I actually enjoyed the long, steady uphill slog. I knew I had to get to Aid 5 atop Shenandoah Mountain before the 6 PM cutoff. After 6, no one would be allowed down the mountain for the last 25 miles to the finish line. I kept moving up the mountain, passing probably a half dozen riders along the way, encouraging them to stick with it. At Aid 5 I mounted my lights on my handlebar and helmet, changed my socks and bandana, topped off my reservoirs, and rolled out within 15 minutes, the wind ripping over the top of the ridge and nipping at my lycra-covered ass. As I was riding along the ridge and just about to start the final descent, an eight point buck, still in velvet, looked up at me, then bounded away before I could even think about grabbing a picture.
The descent down the mountain was just about as challenging as the ascent, but compressed. Whereas when going up the challenge had been to keep my legs moving, during the descent the challenge was to keep my legs still, keeping my body suspended over the bike, ready to absorb any bump or drop. When the trail would open up for a dozen yards or two I'd quickly spin my feet a revolution or two, then resume my grip on the brakes as the next challenge presented itself. After each descent I felt almost as exhausted as I had at the top of the ascents, my arms and brake fingers cramping almost as badly as my legs.
I made it to Aid 6 as dusk was truly falling, and after slipping on a long sleeve jersey to keep the mountain chill at bay, I pushed on.
The last 12 miles were relatively painless, but the exhaustion of riding so hard for so long was creeping over me. Time and again the urge to stop and nap came over me, but I kept it at bay, knowing that if I slept, I'd most likely wake up shivering with hypothermia, and the shivers on top of cramps would definitely be unpleasant. So I slogged on, forcing myself to sip from my Camelbak, even though the lady at Aid 6 had added insufficient water to my pouch of drink mix. The result was syrupy sweet, but I drank it anyway.
While the last singletrack descent into the campsite was made more interesting by the artificial LED lighting, it wasn't any more difficult that our winter night rides at Ipswich. The last challenge on the trail though was man-made. As I came to the end of the trail, some jackass had parked his truck to point the headlights toward his tent, and the trailhead. I was blinded by the headlights, and I couldn't see the dude as he cheered me on, "Keep going, man! You're almost there!"
I couldn't see anything beyond the headlights, such as the course markers I'd grown used to for hundred miles. "Which way do I go?" I asked,
"Keep going, man! Keep going!"
"Which way?" I asked again, then saw a glint of orange to the left. Sure enough, there was a trail marker. I muttered something to headlight dude, then resumed my ride down the hill towards the finish line.
I gotta give credit to Chris Scott for setting up a downhill finish line. No matter how exhausted you may feel after a hundred miles, the downhill still lets you finish fast. A cheer went up as I rode to the line and banged the gong, relieved to have finally finished.
I stumbled back to our tent, and collapsed in a chair, a wave of nausea rolling over me. After fifteen of the most intense hours I had ever experienced in my life, I was finished. And, maybe, ready for more next year.
And now, some random pictures:
My chain after 100 miles and ounces of oil:
My bike comupter & couse profile. The computer reads only 89.5 miles because I pushed my bike uphill for 10.5 miles so slowly that the miles didn't register:
Abby on the drive home:
The pre-race racers' meeting:
Friday, August 31, 2007
Floyd at the Shenandoah 100
Sweet news! Floyd Landis has announced that he will be riding in the Shenandoah 100!
Now I ain't much for hero worship, but I know that just as soon as i get my hip replacement done, I'll be just as fast as Floyd.
seriously though, just about all of my preparations are done. I've got pages of lists, a course profile taped to my handlebar stem and my clothes all laid out. I've even gone so far as to make preparations for the after-party. Jenn kindly loaned me her Beeriodic Table t shirt to wear at the kegs. Yes folks, in addition to being a bike geek, I'm also a beer geek. My geekdom knows no limits...
Now I ain't much for hero worship, but I know that just as soon as i get my hip replacement done, I'll be just as fast as Floyd.
seriously though, just about all of my preparations are done. I've got pages of lists, a course profile taped to my handlebar stem and my clothes all laid out. I've even gone so far as to make preparations for the after-party. Jenn kindly loaned me her Beeriodic Table t shirt to wear at the kegs. Yes folks, in addition to being a bike geek, I'm also a beer geek. My geekdom knows no limits...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)