Fearless Dogeaters

Fhead TT

2008-09-01T22:19:00.004-05:00

Did two time trials at Fountainhead over the last few weeks, looking for irrefutable scientific proof that singlespeeds are indeed faster than geared bikes.

Short version:
Rigid 29er singlespeed: 45 minutes
Geared full suspension 26er: 58 minutes

Long version:
With my Dee-Salvoo still in FedEx limbo I hit the Bike Lane for a demo bike to tie me over and got set up with a nice GR Hi-Fi (geared, full suspension, 26er wheels-- yang to my yin). Got to Fountainhead for an early 7am spin with Pete, Mike and Mike (a few weeks ago it was with Pete and Pete. I've also been on rides with Joe and Joe. Parents: time to start thinking up some new names for your kids, like maybe Helbert. But that's another blog post, I digress). Amazing how a geared full boinger feels after riding rigid ss for a few years. Like riding a couch. I flew through rooty downhills with nary a shiver. On the hills, a magic flick of the shifter and the pain subsides. Climbing traction was also surprisingly good over the rough stuff and the "pro-pedal" setting worked like it should, keeping the bobbing to a minimum. When everything was working right, I felt I could climb just as fast on this bike as on my ss, maybe even faster. Ah, but there's the rub, and the reason I did away with gears a long while ago. Things didn't always work right, and I'm too stupid to fix them. I was reminded of this today when I was treated to some nasty episodes of ghost shifting and cassette grinding.

Still, the bike felt fast and I was curious to see just how fast it was compared to my ss. So after the ride I went back for some alone time. Noted the time on my car's clock and off I went. Felt really good after a couple of miles, good enough to start thinking that my previous 45 minute personal best was gonna fall today. Got to the "Dead-End" loop, blew out the back tire and realized I didn't carry a spare tube with me. Hmm. Walked the rest of the way out. 58 minutes later I'm back at the car. See, singlespeeds ARE faster.

Still trying to find the right words to do poetic justice to SSWC, but having a hard time rhyming something with "Merkin". Hang on a bit longer kiddies...

preSS

2008-08-31T19:28:00.006-05:00

Wow. Do a Google search for "single speed race" and this NY Times article is the first hit. Be sure to view the slide show. However disturbing it may look, I can assure you it was more so "in the flesh."

SSWC08 prologue (Stoner faces Death)

2008-08-27T00:11:00.036-05:00

The first of a dramatic trilogy that began at 11:59pm, December 31, 2007. Here,we begin with a facinating field study of Homo-erectus Stonerus and his battle with Death on the barren steppes of the Imola passage.

Wednesday: we rolled into Skyline Park, Napa CA, put up the tent in a haste and did a course pre-ride with the gang led by Rene and Brita. Stoner stays behind anxiously waiting by his cell phone for the call signifying the arrival of his new Jones frame-- a theme that will be repeated several times over the next two days. My first experience with the course confirms what I had been thinking over the previous week or so-- Steve Spearman is a weenie. I like Steve, but he's a weenie. A weenie for trash talking the SSWC course thereby forcing us to live up to the smack. This course is not easy. There are long climbs, tight switchbacks, and techy downhills that rival those at our East Coast stomping grounds. All of the techy stuff is ridable, but a brief loss of concentration can lead to disaster, as Stevo hisself demonstrates on race day. Plus, it's hot and the Poison oak is growing aplenty. Overall, it's an extremely fun course. Curtis and crew (the organizers) have done a great job laying it out.

Back at the campsite, still no news of Stoner's frame. Calls to Jeff Jones (JJ) wind up in voicemail. I tell him flat out, "Jason, something's happened. Jeff is not coming." Stoner remains optimistic. "Well, it's a long drive from Oregon and maybe he stopped along the way and doesn't have cell phone reception, and..." (Denial).

Thursday morning, Gina, Kathy, Jo, and I head out to St. Helena to check out the Culinary Institute of America (CIA) and sample some wineries along the way. Ricky stays behind to do some more riding. Still no call from JJ. Stoner stays behind to find new ways to stalk and sulk. I tell him he can borrow my bike to get his riding fix, because that's the only riding he's gonna get to do since his frame isn't coming. He shoots back dead silence (Anger). The road to St. Helena is lined with wineries big and small. Most display their pedigree on their sleeves, i.e., driveway signs such as "Winery of the year 2007", "Best winery according to such-and-such...". These places usually have gift shops,picnic areas, gardens, and the largest crowds. Nice places to take pictures. Other places are more unassuming-- a simple wood sign, a small tasting room, not much else. Not a wine expert myself, but the quality of the wine seems to be inversely proportional to the amount of fluff. My favorite place, AO (and Kathy's recommendation), fell squarely into the latter category. Wound up with 8 bottles and a wine club memberhip at the end of it all. Good stuff.

Back at camp, there's word that JJ is doubting the travelability of his van and has not left Oregon yet. "See, I told you he's not coming," I remind a glum-looking Stoner (skipping the Bargaining stage altogether, fully into Depression and preparing for Acceptance). Gina, Kathy, and I go for another quick spin on the course before heading out later that night with Ricky and Jo to the big culinary adventure that is Julia's Kitchen. Now, I've been known to "play" chef once in a while, but the schiz at Julia's is the real thing. Scallops, oysters, and summer squash for appetizers, lamb, ribeye, trout, and duck for main courses, triple sorbet, an almond pyramid, and macaroons for dessert, and a few freebies thrown in-- we left 3 hours later, satisfied, but without the feeling of gluttony, even though I think we did eat a hell of a lot of food.

Rolling into camp, Stoner has his frame and is building it up in the dark (Salvation). JJ came through in spades. The swoopy tubes are beautiful and the welds are perfect. With similar bikes on the way to Ricky and JoeW, I try to supress the thought that somehow, my beautiful DeSalvo will soon be relegated to fourth, maybe only fifth hottest bike on the local trails (Denial). I look around for bike parts to hide-- to somehow delay the inevitable build (Anger). But Stoner is onto my tricks and is watching his stuff like a badger. "Well, maybe I'll still be faster," I think to myself (Bargaining). Faster?!? Who the hell cares when you have a frame built by Jesus hisself (Depression).

When the bike is finally built, the campsite looks like a Nativity scene. Wise and not-so-wise men have come from near and far to admire the new creation. We spend the rest of the night taking turns riding Stoner's new bike around the camp (Acceptance).

more to come...

I loves me my cross bike

2007-11-22T16:06:00.000-05:00

Finally put my Cross check together from parts that I ordered last year. Put on an LX rear deraileur, stole the 9-speed rear wheel from Gina's road bike, WTB dirt drop bars, Shimano 105 shifter/brake lever, blue bar tape, a couple of fat tires, wala! Cross bike! Not the lightest or prettiest cross bike out there, but it's not bad for a cat C crosser like myself. Took it for a spin this morning around the neighborhood and adjoining trails. Gotta love the freedom of a cross bike. Not confined to asphalt, but it also doesn't suck on asphalt like a mountain bike. Rode around Burke Lake, then hit the fields of the South Run rec center for some cross practice. I got a little bit of everything on this morning's ride: paved road, gravel road, singletrack, and the hardest surface of all: grass. I'll take mud over grass any day. Something about me and grass don't go together. It's sticky AND slippery, but only when you don't want it to be. I did a hard effort this morning and it sucked. Think I blew up after 15 minutes. Now I have a week to pull a 40 minute cross race out my a$$. Gonna do the Lake Fairfax race to wrap up the season and then get back to doing what I do best-- procrastinating on my "training" for next year. How I miss me those 100 milers.

Wild 100

2007-08-19T19:18:00.000-05:00

There's no starting line, heck there's not even a starting bell. They simply hand you a map and you go. 5 checkpoints, hit them in order, the route is up to you. If you do it right, it's about 100km give or take 40. There are no markings on the course because there is no course. Except for some "illegal" pavement sections and private property, bushwhacking is allowed. If you think you have the navigating skills and guts to wander off into the woods, well, you did sign the insurance waivers didn't you? The Wild 100-- a true backcountry race.

Given our combined lack of navigating skills, I'd been trying for a couple of years to get Rickyd to do this race with me. But after I got turned down twice, I decided to find another equally navigationally challenged race partner: Gina. My three goals: 1) get off the course before dark, 2) have lots of fun romping around in the woods, 3) remain married to Gina at the end of it all. Glad to say I accomplished all three.

Gina and I stayed at one of the Elk River Touring Center extension cabins. I recommend this to anyone doing this event since the overnight temps can get quite cold even in August and nothing beats a good night's sleep before the race.

Another reason to get a cabin: access to the (very clean) restrooms in the main lodge instead of lining up for the porta-johns before the start.

Race day started with my usual pre-race trash talking and flexing of the muscles:

Intimidation personified. I was not alone in this respect:

That's Bunky and Mike. They would go on to win the first-timers class. And of course Bike Lane teamie, Camp-- business as usual, looking cool as a cucumber:

The race started with a long fireroad climb that taxed the early hard chargers. I stayed off the gas for the most part and stayed back to watch Gina mix it up with some folks that we would wind up spending most of the day with.

After the fireroad came the Jeep trail of mud:

Then a little bit o fence hopping

and bushwacking

...and we found ourselves at the first checkpoint some 15 miles later.

Mooooo....

Muuuuuuud

From the picture, you'd think we were in a tropical rain forest. The vegetation is all over the place, from tropical looking banana tree-like plants, to dessert cacti, to loomy ferns:

We hit checkpoint 3 not long after this pic was taken. And that would be the end of the race for us. There was no way to make the next checkpoint before the time cutoff, so we called it quits. Ten hours and 53 miles later, we arrived back at the lodge.

This was Gina's longest mountain bike ride by far, more than double anything she'd done in the past. Glad to see she was still smiling at the end of it. I hope I can get her to do it again next year, but I think I'll wait a few more months before asking her.

It would be great to see more coed teams doing this race. Consider this the callout for next year! What say you, homies?!? Ya got 8 months to train, and I know a good divorce lawyer.

Bear country

2007-08-14T23:22:00.000-05:00

A while ago, Gina and I hit the GWNF to cram some base miles in before the Wild 100. Basically the same route that ChrisH and I did, but this time we climbed the road to Woodstock Tower instead of doing that infernal scrag hike. The Massanutten trail from Woodstock to Edinburg is a hidden gem. Just flat out great technical ridge riding typical of the GWNF. The trail doesn't see much bike traffic though. It's a little further from DC than its more well-known siblings, Elizabeth Furnace and Buzzard Rocks. And it's also a highway for bears. So bring your bear bells and use them correctly, i.e., make sure the person *in front* has one. Otherwise, the lead rider (me in this case), rides right by the bear, and the person with the bell (Gina) scares the bear and sends it running up the trail-- toward the rider in front (me). Luckily, it was only a cub and the trail was wide enough to let it get past me.

Adobo ride

2007-08-12T18:58:00.000-05:00

A dozen Pinoys and Pinays lightly browned, and a dash of vanilla. Shake vigorously and serve on the rocks. Ah, smells like the first ever Adobo ride at Gambrill, a.k.a., the largest ever gathering of Pilipino mountain bikers on the North American East Coast Universe.
A good blend of Gambrill first-timers and veterans, two groups of riders toured the Yellow Loop and rendezvoused for a post-ride pot luck. A few new faces and some I hadn't seen for a while. Props to: Jojo rockin the singlespeed for the first time at Gambrill; Gina, not so fresh after yesterday's GW ride, still rockin on the new Kish; Garret emerging from out of nowhere and rockin the rigid cantilevered-brake bike; Darwin sneaking out of church to ride with us and rushing back for the final blessings; and thanks to the group of first-timers I led for not killing me when I got us lost.

It wouldn't be the Adobo ride without...

Aging, gracefully like a lame giraffe

2007-06-28T07:33:00.000-05:00

Last year: Get stung by two yellowjackets at mile 30 of the sm100. Shrug it off and ride 70 miles to finish the race.

This year: Get stung by two something-or-others (??) at last night's Wakefield race. Drop out with 3 miles left to go.

37 going on 50...

Hello old friend

2007-06-24T21:30:00.000-05:00

Geez, has it been almost 6 months since I posted on this thing? I better get caught up then, ala Memento style! Over the next few days (weeks?) I'll post stuff that happened in reverse order, not because of any creative inclination, but simply beacuse I'm worried that I'll forget what's in my short-term memory, as I usually do. So here we go...

Last weekend:
With Gina and Sagada away at VA beach, I slipped into bachelor mode and hooked up with my two buddies Lemond and DeSalvo for some wild times. On Saturday I downloaded the "Hills of Purcell" cue sheet from PPTC and headed out the door for some road miles. The ride called for 42 miles, but I only made it to mile 23 before I fell victim to a bad cue. The cue sheet says to turn left on Fairview from Lake Jackson Dr. It should have said left on Wilmington. Unable to pick up the route and already low on water, I decided to backtrack to get home. 40 miles is 40 miles, and it was still a good ride. The climbs around Clifton can be a workout, even with gears. And the downhills will have you grinning as you hit 40mph. Ahh, the thrill of the road. The drivers there are cool too. I guess they're used to bikes on the road and don't honk at cyclists even though the roads can be narrow. Contrast this with one of the roads immediately next to my neighborhood, which is just as narrow and fast, but I get honked at twice in a one mile stretch.

On Sunday, AteMrYeats (aka Skinny Chris) and I (aka Guy-who-is-probably-skinnier-that-Skinny-Chris) hit the GWNF for some 'splorin on trails that neither of us had been on. We parked at Little Fort campground and rode the Massanutten trail (orange blaze) to a point just before Edinburg Gap and then returned using an ATV trail. Crouse and others had done this loop the week before so I knew it wasn't going to be the hike-a-bike hell that was reminiscent of another trip up there. There are a number of ways to get from the campground to Woodstock Tower where the orange trail begins. We chose the worst way up.

(photo by ChrisH)

The hike-a-bike under powerlines is on quite possibly the steepest grade that I've ever walked up. In my life. The picture doesn't do it justice. Once the hiking was over, we were treated to some of the best ridge riding in the area. The ~6 miles from Woodstock Tower to Edinburg Gap had a little bit of everything-- technical rock gardens, swoopy fast singletrack, and bear poop. Yes, lots of bear poop. I don't think people ride that trail much so the bears think they can sh!t anywhere they want. The only thing missing from this trail was a long singletrack descent to finish it off. However, the ATV trail we took is literally a six-mile downhill all the way back to the cars with a few little kickers from which to catch air. I'm surprised that this trail isn't a popular as the standard "Bear Wallow" loop. In a lot of ways, it's better. A couple of pics:

Me, taking a break after crashing...

(photo by ChrisH)

Chris, and a few small rocks

(photo by me, using ChrisH's camera)

In a few weeks (when the Wakefield races are over), I want to put together a ride that will cover the length of the orange trail from Mudhole Gap to Edinburg Gap. I now know that ~10 mile section of ridge is ridable. I imagine it will be an eipc to rival the Southern Traverse, and without the long road section at the end. Post up here if interested.

Got powder?

2007-02-20T20:57:00.000-05:00

[Joe's comment: It's been a while since KonaGirl posted here. But that doesn't mean she's been slackin'. Lately, she's been taking a serious bite out of my riding time to do some of her own. The funny thing is, I couldn't be happier.]

The first time I tried riding a bike in the snow was a few years ago on the Lake Accotink cinder trail with my 35 lb Schwinn. After thirty minutes of plowing in the snow and barely a quarter mile later, I quit. I believed then that biking and snow didn’t go together and swore to never do it again. The second time I tried riding in the snow was this month at the Shed with Mr. and Mrs. Singlespeed Outlaw and the extended outlaw family. It was nice to be at the back of the pack and let the guys at the front do the hard work of “plowing” the snow and laying down fresh tracks. In sections where the snow was deep, the trail becomes like bobsled tracks, bouncing you around when you deviate from “the line.” All of the climbs are punctuated with grunts, and I keep thinking I don’t want to do this again. It was hard and slow going but when you finish, you get this feeling of accomplishing something. Exactly what, I don’t know yet, but it was good. After the ride, all pains are forgotten and I am already thinking of the next one. So we did it again the next week and had a blast.

My fourth snow ride was nearby, at Wakefield – again with Julie, Cathy and Kathy. As we were getting ready to ride, I was thinking that our motto should be: the group that suffers together, has all the fun in the world… okay it’s not that catchy but it expresses my sentiments. I was ready for a slog, but I didn’t have to worry at all. The snow was packed and we weren’t even breaking the surface! It was smooth all the way…all the log piles were much easier, even the climbs. If SM100 is going to be like this, I’ll sign up right now [Joe’s editorial comment here: “It’s not”]. We were having so much fun playing on the logs and “encouraging” each other to try some stupid stunts. Fortunately we all finished the ride without any bruises.

The next day, I’m still itching to ride in the snow so Sagada and I headed to the backyard. She did some sledding and I rode my bike.

Some pics from Wakefield:

Kathy, Cathie, Julie and Gina's ride at Wakefield.
(Gina behind the camera)

Julie before take off

Kathy, the downhill girl, jumping logs at Wakefield.

Dr. Cathie at Wakefield

and the back yard...

Pic by Sagada

More pics on my new flickr site.

Someone smack me in the head, please...

2007-02-02T17:39:00.000-05:00

Why am I lusting after a carbon road bike now? I saw this beauty at the Bike Lane the other night and I can't get it out of my head. Those sculpted junctions, shiny polished bits, and it's freakin' light! I think I need to go home and shave my legs...

Daddy, when is it my turn?

2006-12-26T22:15:00.000-05:00

This year, Sagada got the coolest Christmas gift ever. It's like chess, but WITH LASERS!! Each player has a laser that they fire after every turn and the pieces are mirrors that get moved around on a board. The object is to position your pieces so that the laser beam gets deflected into the opponent's "Pharaoh".

Here's a pic showing the silver Pharaoh getting hit (look for the red dot). The laser starts from the green spot where my finger is (see, Sagada lets me play too) and goes through 8 reflections. I'll let you have the fun of tracing out the laser path!

My God, why didn't they have this when I was 6?!?!

One Less Burley

2006-12-26T20:43:00.000-05:00

Last night ended my noble but failed attempt to put gears on my trusty Surly. With no more cross racing on my calendar, I just didn't see the point. I spent an hour stripping away the deraileurs and rear brake, putting back on the Nitto mustache bars, the fixed cog-- just coddling my bike, whispering how sorry I was for ever subjecting it to the humiliation of being ridden around the neighborhood with that ugly LX derailuer, and Shimano integrated shifter.

The next day brought more warm December weather and Christmas holiday leave... a perfect time for another one of those DC rides with Gina and Sagada. This time we let Sagada do all her own pedaling. We started with a picnic at DC National airport and rode to the Jefferson Memorial to snap some pics:

Then it was off to downtown to visit the Air & Space Museum. We did a lot of the demos in the "How Things Fly" section and then headed over to the "American Treasures" exhibit where we saw Coltrane's musical sketch of "A Love Supreme" and Prince's "cloud" guitar, complete with "When Doves Cry" soundtrack. Brought a tear to my eye (sniff). Sagada's an old pro when it comes to museum stuff like this. She'd seen all this stuff before from her days at Smithonian pre-school and kindergarten. Before we knew it, the sun was going down and it was time to pedal over the 14th St. bridge and back to the cars.

Tour de Wakostank

2006-12-10T17:10:00.000-05:00

I overslept and missed the Salamander ride today. So instead I hit the Wakefield/Accotink circuit to try to ride off the rest of my head cold. I thought I would be riding at Fountainhead more since we moved closer, but lately I've found myself gravitating towards my old neighborhood park, Accotink. The terrain at Fhead is more challenging and should make for a better ride, but the fact that you have to ride it in one direction all the time, and the lack of options makes it feel, well, like a train ride. You leave your freewill at the trailhead and go where the tracks take you. Lately, I've been longing for the rat-in-a-maze feeling of Accotink, where you're completely boxed in but you have an almost infinite number of ways to get from point A to B. Every fork in the trail is a chance to engage the brain in a pretend life-or-death decision, like a kid running across a tiled floor trying to avoid the "lava". Yeah, I talk to myself when I ride.

Ran into Bike Lane teamie Laura and Tom early in the ride, but they were nearly done. So I only rode with them for a little while before I peeled off and pointed my bike towards the Wakefield side of the park. I rode for about two hours and hit every trail in both parks. It was a nice 50deg December day with the rest of the week looking to be the same. Thank you, global warming.

hibernation

2006-12-08T23:04:00.000-05:00

My racing season is officially over. I was going to do one more cross race this weekend, but I've been sick all week and it doesn't look like I'll be in any shape to race by Sunday. So now I'm looking forward to a bunch of riding just for the hell of it. I hit the MORE Thursday ride to see if that would shake off this cold. I rode with BrotherL's moderate group so as not to tax myself too much, and for a while it worked. I was feeling great. The next morning was a different story, and tonight is a bit worse. I'm hoping I can shake it off in time for some of the rides this weekend.
Saturday is Gina's turn with "Ride Like a Girl" at Gambrill. She's been riding a lot lately, and not just Wakefield either. She's developed a taste for things rocky and remote. Last week she hit Gambrill with Mrs. Outlaw, Scooter, and CathieM. A couple of weeks before that she was at my stomping ground, Elizabeth Furnace. All on her trusty little rigid green singlespeed. Yup, that's a keeper.

Sunday is my turn to ride. I was thinking of heading out to Catherine Furnace to join Scud's ride, but I think I'll stay local and try to slay the evil Salamander of the Fredrock Watershed with Rickyd and the gang. Hopefully I don't make myself sicker in the process.

On another note, I ran over a dog this evening driving home from work. I didn't even know I hit him until the guy in front of me stops his car and walks over to me, "Hey, did you know you're dragging a small dog under your car?" Oops. I look under the car and, yep, there he is looking back at me. I back the car up, the dog gets dislodged from whatever was pinning him there, and runs away. Probably pretty beat up, but still lucky to have survived. I hope he made it home.

A Letter to Elizabeth (Furnace)

2006-11-10T20:18:00.000-05:00

My Dear Elizabeth,

I love you, but we can't go on like this. It's not your fault, really it's me. To be honest, when we first met I didn't think you were anything special. In fact, you were crude and uncultivated-- like nothing I was used to at the time. Sure, you took my breath away, but others have too. That's just my own shortcoming. You probably thought I was weak, inexperienced, and a bit too over-confident that you had to put me in my place. I hated you for that. But as I spent more time with you I began to see things about you that I had missed. Your unpredictable and spontaneous nature, your naturally beautiful and perfectly formed curves, the subtle ways with which you dominate every man or woman seeking to master you. My body still hurts from those wild afternoons when you threw me to the ground and ravaged me against the rocks after I had gotten too haughty and thought I had you under my control. Artful temptress! You knew the pain would not keep me away! I had to have you again and again!

But my need for you has grown into an obsession. I have spent the last three weekends with you. And while it's been fun, I'm worn out physically and emotionally, and I know that this is not good for me. I have a wife. A child that depends on me. So before this gets out of hand, I have to call it off. At least for a little while. I need to see other trails. Not that they're better than you. Not at all. We just need some time apart. In the meantime, I have these pictures from our last few weekends together.

XXX ;)

Douthat, Fall 2006

2006-10-17T20:36:00.000-05:00

Is there such a thing as a bad camping trip to Douthat? This year's venture was more of the same from last time-- a chance to unwind, spend time with friends, and ride some of VAs best trails. Nope, nothing bad about that. Spilting riding time with the wife means less time with my buddies on the trail, but that's ok because it also means more time romping around with the kid. In other words, for me, discovering a bit of what it's like being a kid again.

Maili, Robert, Gina, Heather, and Tris

Day One: Took off from work early to try to beat the rush out of DC. Didn't make it. We were stuck on the I66 parking lot for a good two hours before we made it out of the Metro area. Got to Douthat around 9pm and found an open site vacated by Bike Lane owners Todd and Anne(a.k.a, sugar-daddy and sugar-mama). They were smart and checked into a cabin instead. A nice, warm cabin.

Tris on the Middle Mountain trail

Day Two: Gina's turn to ride. She goes out for a loop with Tris, Maili, Heather (newly engaged Heather), BobC, and son RobC. I take Sagada to the Apple Festival and check out the Appalachian vibe. Apples, homemade chili, animal skins, bluegrass bands, fire pits, whitlers, yee haw. We got to see an apple press and a corn shucker in action before chowing down some caramel apples and chili. Gina got back in time for me to sneak in an afternoon ride, so Tris and I did a nice and easy loop up to the Tuscarora Overlook via Stony Run, then onto Middle Mountain, and then bombed down Salt Stump back to camp. We got back well in time for dinner. A nice day spent with the kid, AND a nice ride to finish up.

Todd claims Lookout Rock for
team Bike Lane
Day Three: My turn to spend a day on the trails. Rounded up Todd, BruceyB, and GregyC for a loop to the Tuscarora Overlook again. We set a good brisk pace up the mountain. How can you not with BruceyB trying to grind the knobs off your rear wheel? We caught up with quite a few other groups. Seems like a lot of like-minded folks were headed to the cabin at the Overlook. Once at the top, Greg led us down Blue Suck Trail to Lookout Rock, then for a spontaneous loop around some of the lower trails before finishing up the ride. Packed up camp just in time to meet Gina and Sagada back from their hiking trip. Loaded up the car, pointed the wheels eastward, and we were home before dark.

Tuscarora Overlook

Baby's first night ride

2006-10-10T21:47:00.000-05:00

With the days getting shorter, the Tuesday Wakefield ride has turned into a full-on night ride. Tonight, Sagada had a chance to see what night riding is all about. I strapped a light on her helmet, tucked the battery pack in the waistband of her pants, and away we went. We rode the Creek trail out and back and ran into about six different groups of riders. Wakefield was packed. She was having fun zipping through the woods in the dark, which is surprising since she's still afraid of the dark when it's time to go to sleep. We'll see how long we can keep this up before it's too cold to ride. I don't think they make Lake winter boots in her size.

sm1002006

2006-09-04T18:17:00.000-05:00

Photo by Joe Foley
So there I am on the starting line at 6:29am, a minute before the start, when I realize I left my water bottles and tools back at the campsite. I sprint back to the camp and look around desperately trying to remember where I put them. Meanwhile I hear the pace motorcycle rev up and lead the group out. The race has started without me and I still can't find my stuff. I wake up in shock. It was just a dream. Then I look at my watch and realize that it's 7am. Dammit! I overslept and missed the start afterall. Again, I wake up in shock. It was a dream inside a dream. In the real world, it's 5:00am and still dark outside. I get up slowly and put myself together for another SM100...

Second verse, not the same as the first: I went into this year's race with a different outlook than last year. Knowing that I could, in principle, finish the race, was already a small victory. Without the mental burden of finishing, my mind was free to think about other things like actually racing. Well, that and, "are my legs really as skinny as they look in pictures?"

It is a race afterall. And what a race it was shaping up to be. Bike Lane's Camp, BruceyB, and I were set up for the podium sweep, but so was the CityBikes team which came out in a big way with 11 riders. PedalShop was true to form sending about an equal number of riders and kegs. JonnyW, Wiggy, ChrisC and fixed gear philistine DomC were there too. I spent most of last year's race going back and forth with these guys. This year also witnessed the return of Rickyd and Stoner, with whom I shared a campsite. Gina, Jo, and Maili were already making bets on who would reach checkpoint 2 first. The pressure was on. It was looking to be a good ride.

The Ernesto 100: Tropical storm/depression Ernesto had me worried. But we were lucky and got only about 3 inches of rain two days before the race. The thin layer of mud covering the fireroad up Hankey Mountain sucked, but it wasn't disastrous. You just had to deal with it. Otherwise, the trail conditions were great.

Can we talk?: A wise man once said, "[Singlespeeds] are good for more socializing. You're forced to travel up & back through the ranks on a single. It's fun to pass people 7 different times." So true. Chatting with other riders definitely helps the miles go by, although some people weren't very chatty climbing up to checkpoint 5. DomC's fixed gear skillz were amazing this year. I expected us to be even on the climbs, but he was never far behind me, even on the descents where I thought I could put a gap on him. Awesome. I also got to ride for a while with Camp this year-- something I didn't expect. We took turns pulling on one of the road sections, but whenever it was me in front I just felt like I was slowing him down. Still, the paceline worked and it got us a small gap on AlbertG, who would later close that gap and blow us away on the climbs.

All out war: The yellow jackets were out in full force this year. Lot's of people getting stung. A few folks needed medical attention. I got stung once in the leg on the hike-a-bike section between checkpoints 2 and 3. No allergic reaction though. Thanks to my allergy treatments, getting stung didn't mean a DNF and a trip to the hospital.

Here, eat this: Some folks get really specific about nutrition during the race. I can't get too scientific on the bike so I just go by feel. I eat at every opportunity, drink when I start to feel thirsty, hit the hammer gel every once in a while, and swallow an endurolyte when the legs feel like cramping. I had a PB&J sandwich, a banana, coke, pringles, and a granola bar at every check point after CP1. I ate everything at the checkpoint except the banana which I ate on the road. Between checkpoints I finished off one large water bottle of HEED (tastes like baby aspirin), 3-4 endurolytes, and 2-3 hits of hammer gel (chocolate mixed with apple flavor). It worked well for me. My legs were still cramping, but not nearly as bad as last year when I had to stop a few times to punch at my legs.

The new ride: The new DeSalvo worked out just fine, like it had all season. It carved through the fast, twisty bliss of Dowell's Draft and Ramsey's Draft like it was on rails. Because the bike was 6 pounds lighter than the one I rode last year, I had to change my riding style a bit-- mainly staying more relaxed on the rocks. The Ti fork and Jones bars (and good body positioning) did a lot to smooth out the ride. My hands didn't once feel numb after almost 11 hours of riding. Climbed well too. The only things that worried me were a slightly bent seatpost (a casualty of Elizabeth Furnance), and those pesky eggbeater pedals that, from my experience, could have failed at any time. They didn't. I finished the race with no mechanical problems, no flats, and no knee or back pain.

Get to the point: So I had a great race, even with the yellowjackets and a few crashes. I came in 115 out of about 400 starters with a time of 10:46:35. Trek/VW rider Jeremiah Bishop won the race AND broke the course record with a time of 7:15:50 (more than 3.5 hours ahead of me). Sue Haywood took the Women's race with a time of 9:01:40 and placed 27 overall. The rest of the results are listed here. But the fastest man on the course this year was not Jeremiah Bishop. It was Joe Foley who was all over the place taking pictures. It seemed as if every time I'd come out from a piece of singletrack or pull into an aid station, he was there waiting with camera in hand. Check out Joe's awesome slide show. Thanks to Chris Scott and the Shenandoah Mountain Touring folks for putting on another great event.

Sans cattle prod

2006-08-14T22:56:00.000-05:00

Sagada has taken a big liking to the piano. Unlike myself when I was her age who had to be forced by mean, mean Catholic nuns wielding electric cattle prods and the fear of hell to eek out dissonant note after painful note until my fingers were withered to the bone like the skeletons on Golgotha. She seems to actually enjoy playing. Here's a video from her first concert.

The new place

2006-08-14T21:41:00.000-05:00

Ok, since fatbob29er asked, I thought I'd give a quick update on the new house. Everything went well enough with the sale of the old place and the buying of the new house. Gina, Sagada, and I moved in last May and have been enjoying the string of house-warming parties and the usual decorating squabbles (Gina is being very difficult and will not accept my pink chiffon motifs). Except for the water main breaking in the front yard, everything is settling down nicely.

Some pictures:

Get rid of the flower couch? Never.

You're not my friend unless you can COOK!

Meat by Mar. Mar is my friend.

Wednesday races 2006

2006-08-02T20:38:00.000-05:00

Another year, another Wednesday at Wakefield series. In a nutshell, the series went like this for me:

Race 1: Felt good. Managed to ride strong until the last lap where I ran out of gas.

Race 2: Felt good. Managed to ride strong until the last lap where I ran out of gas, again.

Race 3: Missed it. I was in San Diego. But probably woulda felt good at the start, then run out of gas on the last lap.

Race 4: The "Drag Race". Hot, about 100 degrees. Felt like crap, but at least my sports bra was keeping me cool. Had nothing left after the first lap. My legs were jello. Got a little something back on the third lap but it was too late. My training plan is working beautifully.

Here's a demonic picture of me smiling as I cut off Kathy on the final hill:

Here's a picture of me smiling as I cut off another girl on the same hill:

I'm not a bad guy. No, really...

Sadly, this may be the last W@W series with LarryC (aka MyOtherBrotherL, Silly Cowtilly, etc.) at the controls. Larry's calling it quits to get back to life's more important things. Hopefully PVC will continue the tradition. Thanks for all your hard work, Larry. Now get back to training so you can beat me next year!

Check out these other pics by Pete Toscano and Gary Ryan.

Good night, ladies!

My beautiful yard

2006-08-01T13:05:00.000-05:00

This is what inevitably happens when you have a polybutylene pipe for your water main:

I need to ride my bike.

Fairhill 06

2006-07-31T09:19:00.000-05:00

The results for the Fairhill MASS race have been posted. I have no idea why they have me (Joel Penano of Team Bike Line?!?) finishing in 40th place in the Elite field when, in reality, I didn't finish the race. I got lost somewhere around mile 20 and took a wrong turn. I saw a sign with the word "Elite" on the left, and slightly under it, the word "Sport" on the right (no course marshall in sight). I went left. Wrong! In my delirious state, I must have missed the little arrows next to the words pointing in the opposite direction. I ended up accidentally racing the Sport course (23 miles) instead of the Elite course (28 miles). So technically, that's a DQ. I told the race officials this as soon as I crossed the line and realized I had come in way ahead of the entire Elite field. The good news is that I had a pretty good time for the Sport cousre-- around 2:20, I'm guessing from the timer at the finish line and the start delay between the Sport and Expert classes. Great trails, but next year I'm bringing a GPS unit.

A moment in the sun

2006-07-28T23:12:00.000-05:00

I saw something today that I haven’t seen in a long, long time. I saw the sun set over the ocean. I watched it disappear behind the haze of the San Diego horizon as I sat on the beach. I must have sat there for an hour just watching, taking it all in: people playing in the sand, surfers waiting for a wave, the ambient light dimming with each passing minute, beautiful brown bodies turning into silhouettes against the California sun. Just a few hours ago I made my way into the hotel bar only to find that a band and a crowd of noisy people had ruined the quiet of my former sanctuary. So now, here I am on the beach. In my head, Joni Mitchell is singing “Woodstock” (Joni, ok? Not the crappy CSNY version!):

We are stardust
We are golden
And we’ve got to get ourselves back to the Garden…

I was back in the “Garden” that is SoCal, the place I had left 8 years ago. The place where people complain of the cold when, in the “winter”, temps dip just below 60. My mind is suddenly flooded with memories of my former life here: the L.A. summers spent club hopping with Uncle Gabby, shooting pool at the Co-op, nights on the Sunset Strip which turn into mornings on Santa Monica beach, weekends at my parents’ house in the OC, those long drives to San Diego with Gina, and that day in Tijuana when I totally fell for her. I pick up my cell phone and call. “Hi Dear, did I wake you? I’m sitting on the beach watching the sun set,” I say. “Tell her to go home,” she shoots back. I laugh. There’s no one with me except Joni and her electric piano…

Then can I walk beside you?
I have come here to lose the smog
And I feel to be a cog in something turning…

I’m feeling how this long, slow moment is so different from the last few days of airport hopping and life on TDY. The business banter barked incessantly into cell phones at the airports was really starting to get to me: “Make sure you get so-and-so on board,” or “Let me do the numbers and have my people call you back, blah blah blah.” Just shoot me. I’m so glad I don’t have to deal with crap like that. As if my own cell phone banter is any more interesting: “So, the nonlinear rotational index of air for femtosecond laser pulses can be *calculated*?!? You don’t say…” Yup, any day. I thank God that 15 years ago, George Morales was able to sucker me into theoretical physics, which at the time, looked like it had no future. I remember how my dad once asked me, “You know who that is?” as he pointed to a disheveled looking homeless person. “That’s a retired physicist,” he would answer.

And maybe it is just the time of year
Or maybe it's the time of man
I don't know who I am but you know life is for learning...

As the last sliver of sun disappears into the ocean, I start walking back to the hotel. In the morning I’ll get on a plane that will take me home. Back to the life-sucking summer heat of Washington DC. Back to Gina and Sagada. Back to East Coast singletrack, epic rides in the GW forest, and those frantic Wednesday races at Wakefield. Before I go back to work I’ll take a day off and ride my bike somewhere. I’ll zone out on some long stretch of empty road and let my mind wander like it is now, thinking about how things are and what could have been, old friends, new directions, and what to do with those pesky femtosecond laser pulses. Sing it, Joni…

And I dreamed I saw the bombers
Riding shotgun in the sky
They were turning into butterflies above our nation.

As I turn the corner to go back to my hotel I stop dead in my tracks. The sky to my left is dark, while to my right, clouds are set on fire as the sun desperately throws up its last rays from beyond the horizon. It’s the most spectacular cloud burst I’ve ever seen. Other people have stopped to watch. A single star lights up like a beacon in the Eastern sky, as if to show me the way. Good night Joni, it’s time to go home.

eFurnace

2006-06-16T22:55:00.000-05:00

Yup, I'm still alive. Lately it seems like there's about a one month delay between the time I do something and the time it gets on the blog. For some reason my write-ups sit in the cue as incomplete "drafts" most of which never see the light. It's not that there's nothing going on. On the contrary, life is happening faster than I can compose, polish, and proof. Starting now though, I'm scaling back on the quality control and will try to put something up at least every week, even if it's crap. Take this next one for example, about a little ride I did last month with someone whom you may know...

Forget Disneyland, Elizabeth Furnace IS the happiest place on Earth.

Massanutten trail overlookSaturday morning: put the bikes on the car, slathered the cream cheese onto my cranberry bagel (whoa, life in the fast lane!), and Rickyd and I were on our way. The plan was to do the route that I tried last summer with Stoner and Butch. The route goes something like this: Signal Knob parking lot -> Purple trail -> Mudhole Gap -> Woodstock Tower -> Massanutten trail (Orange blaze) -> Signal Knob -> Meneka Peak trail (White blaze) -> Bear Wallow (Blue blaze) -> Signal Knob parking lot. About 20+ miles of my favorite kind of riding.

Signal Knob trailLast year's ride was hell, literally with the temps in the mid 90s and all those exposed fireroads with no shade, not to mention getting lost and having to hike the bikes downhill. This year's ride was much better. For one, I TOTALLY CRUSHED Ricky, yup. I'd be just riding along, you know, whistling and all, and then... "Oops, where's Ricky? Oh, he's only 10 MINUTES BEHIND. Think I'll take a nap." Just crushed him yup. But that was no fun crushing a tired Ricky. Turns out he was getting sick too. Anyone and their grandma can crush a tired and sick Ricky. But not many people I know can crush a fresh and perky Ricky. If you don't believe me look here, and here, and here too. But I digress...

An epic ride just isn't much fun unless someone almost gets eaten by a bear. Fortunately, this ride was fun. So there we were on the Massanutten trail. I stopped to take pictures and let Ricky go ahead (cos that's about the only way he'd get ahead of me, cuz I crushed him, remember?). A few minutes later I hear from up ahead, "Joe! Go back! GO BAAACK!!" as he busts through the branches running towards me with his bike. "It's a bear..." and that was all I needed to hear. I turn my bike around and pedal like mad, taking much comfort in the fact that between me and the bear, is Ricky. Turns out the bear was sliding down the tree to get away from us. Too far from the cars to go back, we decide to push on, riding slowing and being very loud so as not to surprise any more bears. The rest of the ride went without a hitch. We finished the loop we set out to do and were home in time for tea and biscuits. Oh yeah, we both cleared that pesky Signal Knob climb for the first time on this ride. Tired-and-sick-Ricky seemed to have an easier time at it than me. Sick, eh?

Massanutten trail + rigid 29er = world peace

Stokesville

2006-06-11T22:23:00.000-05:00

Impromptu trials sessionThe family and I went to Stokesville for the Memorial Day weekend to take part in the Virginia IMBA Mountain Bike Festival. Wait a minute. Memorial Day? and it's already the middle of June... Yeah, I've been slackin'. Anyways... Despite the threat of rain, the weather was great and even as I was unpacking the tent Saturday morning, my spirit was already on the mountain, flying down that sweet Shenandoah singletrack. After a miserable time at Lodi, I needed this weekend. Gina headed out in the morning with a group that would ride the descent down Redish Knob. I knew she was worried that she wouldn't be able to keep up with the boyz, but I guess she did fine. She gets back a few hours later with a big smile on her face. Her trusty rigid singlespeed treated her well.

Top of Trimble Mountain with Scardaville and CampIn the afternoon I headed out with the fellas for a quick spin up and down Trimble Mountain. City Bikes rider MattD set a fast pace on the road climb up to the trailhead with me gasping and weezing to stay on his wheel. While waiting to regroup, Camp shows off his wheelie skillz. Then the real fun starts as we begin the singletrack climb up to the top with Matt and Larry leading the charge for most of the way. Tough going, especially since I'm overgeared at 32x19 but we make it up with no major problems. The descent down the mountain is typical Shenandoah singletrack goodness, no surprise there.

MattD coming down Trimble Mt.The real eye-opener was on the road ride (race?) back to camp. A nice long downhill for the most part, so I relax and let the geared folk do their thing. As expected, Matt and Scardaville drop into the big ring and shoot ahead. Then out of nowhere, JohnW zips by spinning his 32x21 with the speed of a dremmel. He catches up to the two geared ones and the three of them disappear ahead of me in a blur of spinning legs and dust.

Sagada at the ObservatoryBack at camp, we wait for dark and then head to the Stokesville Observatory to have a peek at Jupiter and Saturn. With not a cloud in the sky and miles from city lights, both planets looked crystal clear through the telescope. The bands of Jupiter and a few of its moons were nice to look at, but the rings of Saturn were the real draw, looking just like they do in the pictures.

Sunday morning we gather up for the Southern Traverse ride, a big ride through one of the nicest ridgetop trails in the area. I had done this ride last year so I knew what to expect. This year, Scardaville, JohnW, and I opted out of the 15 mile road ride section and shuttled the cars. All in all, two flats, a broken spoke, and no serious injuries. Not bad for the Shenandoah.
Scardaville on the Southern Traverse

1 Hour of Lodi

2006-05-07T20:37:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the long overdue post, but this was personally a tough one to write up. While it's been sitting in my Drafts box, life is happening and other posts are waiting to be written, and so here it is... ... ok really now

Just back from the 12 Hours of Lodi Farm where I think I just set the course record for the shortest endurance race ever: 1 lap.

I took off well enough at the Lemans start-- a hundred mountain bikers running through the woods at midnight with headlights blazing. After running for about half a mile, I get to my bike feeling great and pedal away into the woods. The first mile of the course is hilly and I pick off a few riders on the first short climbs before settling into an comfortable pace just behind Pedalshop rider JohnC. Markie and Stoner are somewhere close behind. Once in a while I can spot Rickyd just ahead of me as the course whips around and the lights of the peloton light up his red City Bikes jersey. Inevitably, the pack thins out and I'm riding on my own. Everything is fine and I'm right where I want to be.

A few miles into the ~7.5 mile course, my neck snaps back as my helmet slams a low tree branch. Everything goes black. I pull off the trail to check for damage and notice that my helmet light is completely destroyed. It's broken off its mounting and the bulb is shattered. I had three spare batteries to get me through the night, but I hadn't counted on needing to replace the light itself. My backup light only has enough juice for 1.5 hours. Nevertheless, it was my only option and I just needed to get back to camp to pick it up. It's still early in the race and there are lots of other riders around to piggy back off their lights. But the course is really twisty and if I don't stay right on their wheel, I see pitch black every time they turn. It was on one of these blind turns that I slammed my shoulder into a tree. The pain gets to be bad enough that I can't pull on my bars. I ride the rest of the course walking the steep parts (both up and down) and running over the log piles. By the time I get to the starting area I know I'm not heading out for another lap. I crawl into my tent a shivering wreck. Mindless anger reluctantly settling into just bitter resignation.

I was done.

Meanwhile, in the land of the living, Rickyd is putting on the race of his life. In between episodes of sleep I hear him roll into camp to stock up for the next lap. Seems like he's rolling in every hour on the dot, even later in the race when he's "supposed to be" slowing down. He goes on to do ten laps for the win. An incredile performance. Read about it in his own words here.

Till the next episode...

Assume the position...

2006-05-01T12:31:00.000-05:00

The singlespeed climbing position that is...

(And forget that last guy, he's a big showoff! Yeah, Pierre rocks.)

All photos taken by lensmaster Joe Foley at last Sunday's Greenbrier AMBC race.

More pics by lensmaster Al Santos here.

Doh!!

2006-04-24T22:26:00.000-05:00

I decided not to go to the Poor Farm race last weekend. Now I'm kicking myself. We got about 3 inches of rain over Saturday and normally that's enough to turn our local trails to slop. Apparently, Poor Farm holds up much better and the slogfest that I pictured in my head never happened. Instead, a bunch of my teamies/friends went out and had a great time, apparently kicking some ass in the process. Congrats guyz and grrls. Great job.

Next up is Greenbrier, which in the last two years has had a huge (and quite fast) singlespeed class. The only time I did this race was two years ago. My pre-race jitters were so bad I spent the last 10 minutes before the race in my car getting sick. I took off fast at the start and was in 4th place entering the singletrack. Then I got seriously dropped on the first climb and went from 4th to the back of the pack in about 10 seconds. The rest of the race was an anaerobic blur. I think I stopped a few times to pick my stomach off the ground and cram it back down my throat. I think I can do better this year.

Faster than I can blog

2006-04-22T10:16:00.000-05:00

Life is going by faster than I can type. So just a short recap of the stuff that's happened since the last post:

1) My first helmet casualty of the season. Smacked my head on the ground so hard that the straps broke loose. Two days afterward, my neck still felt like a 29er had ran over it. Read about it here.

2) Put together two *clean* laps at Fountainhead. Quixotically speaking, everyone has their windmills. Mine is "the hill" at Fountainhead. It's no more than 4 or 5 bike lengths long, but it's steep. It's right after the picnic tables on the way back to the cars, and it comes right after some rocks that take away all your momentum. I can clear it only about 30% of the time-- and that's with an audience watching to jack up the humiliation factor. For the first time I cleared it twice. Must be the new bike.

3) Agos is back at it. We played a couple of songs at the Smithsonian for a forum on the Filipino-American labor movement. Getting ready to play again tonight for a fund raiser for flood victims in the RP. This time with a five piece band. Geez, how long has it been since I played with a full on band...

4) Went out for a long ride last Sunday. 75 miles on the W&OD and C&O trails. Did the loop in just under 5.5 hours. Just me myself and aye-- cramming to build a base for this season with my first race coming up tomorrow, that is if the rain ever stops.

5) Still getting ready to move into the new house...

Tuesdays at Wakefield

2006-04-04T22:31:00.001-05:00

SagadaP at WakefieldIt was only last spring that I started taking Sagada to ride at Wakefield. She learned to ride in the softball field parking lot-- meandering along aimlessly trying to grasp the concept of steering and jumping off only when she lost control or when she ran out of asphalt. When she could control her turns I took her to the Creekside trail for her first taste of singletrack where she learned to ride over small roots and pick her way through the rocks. Although the trail was relatively flat, some of the small ups and downs didn't seem so small from the saddle of a four year old. "Follow my line" I'd call out when the trail got rocky, or "Hill coming up-- pedal harder little singlespeeder..." at every little change in grade. After a while it became second nature to her and she would take the lead. I'd ride behind, watching those little legs pick up the cadence as the hills came into view, or seeing a hint of body english in effect when trying to rail a turn. She surprised me a few times by getting over roots that I thought would surely send her off the trail.

And so it went almost every Tuesday through the summer and fall. While Gina rode with the MORE ride, Sagada and I would rip the Creek trail. We took a break in the Winter when it got too cold for her, but now that spring is here we've started up again. After a few warm up rides to get her biking legs back, we took it up a notch last Tuesday and headed for the race course, where we made short work of the "phase I" trails. She had to walk some of the climbs, but she got through all the dips, turns, and switchbacks beautifully. We paused at the top the hill (which she calls a "mountain") to admire the view. Below us, we could see the ribbons of singletrack that we had just ridden snaking through the trees. "Look Daddy, I climbed the mountain!" she says excitedly. My thoughts rush back to the time I first crested Signal Knob at Elizabeth Furnace. I know exactly how she feels. We finish off a Gatorade before pointing the bikes down the "mountain" and railing the switchbacks. On our way back to the cars we run into Rickyd leading a fast group of riders on the Creek trail. Normally I'd feel like I was missing out, but not this time. I'm exactly where I want to be.

Bloom already

2006-03-25T23:16:00.000-05:00

Kellee WebbAnother spin up the Capital Crescent trail- Gina on her road bike, and me on the fixie with Sagada in tow. The nice weather brought people out in big numbers but the bike path remained rideable. Either Sagada is getting heavier or the uber-light new bike is spoiling me. My legs were taxed. We rode out to Bethesda and then back through DC. With the National Cherry Blossom Festival and the Kite Festival going on, there was lots to see, except cherry blossoms.

After the ride we unpacked the kites and headed for the Mall. Me and kites don't get along. This was my third year at the kite festival and my third year without a kite in the air. Year 1: kite was too heavy and there wasn't enough wind. Year 2: Cheap homemade kite got ripped apart by the wind. This year: Fancy store-bought kite is missing parts out of the box. Next year, there's always next year...

Piece by piece

2006-03-09T22:23:00.000-05:00

Got pictures of the frame today:

It is done

2006-03-02T22:03:00.000-05:00

Got the long-awaited call today from MikeD. The frame is done! Stay tuned kids...

Puro Pinoy

2006-02-27T21:42:00.000-05:00

The climb up to Hamburg road is absolutely beautiful when it's shrouded in fog. I pull over to wait for the rest of our group. One by one I see riders breaking through. Ambiguous and almost imperceptible at first, then suddenly, the shape of a helmet, arms, and handlebars. "Hoy, malapit ka na sa toktok," I offer encouragingly, "konti na lang." I can barely get the words out myself with my teeth chattering and my muscles shivering uncontrollably. I've been on rides where the air temperature was much colder, but with my clothes completely soaked, I'd never felt so cold.

Tagalog always sounded funny to me when it's spoken on the trail. In my mind, it's reserved for big family get-togethers where it's usually spoken through mouthfuls of lechon and between draughts of San Miguel beer. It's rare that I find myself with a big group of Pinoys out on a ride, but there we were at the Watershed in the pouring rain-- a big group of eight including six PISSERS and two Pinays (both also PISSERS).

Everyone in the group were Watershed virgins, except for Rickyd and me, who are Watershed whores. So with the bad weather conditions we thought it would be prudent to introduce them to the more beginner friendly trails in the area, e.g., the suicide rocks next to "Little Canaan" and the "Death March." All in good fun. Despite the obvious suffering, the cold rain, slippery sharp rocks, and a close encounter with a speeding truck in the fog, everyone made it home alive and probably had fun too. Oh yeah, we almost lost Gina on the last leg back to the cars. After a search and rescue mission by bike, and later by car, we found her and all was well.

Sige na mga kasama, magkita tayo ulit.

TNS (Thursday Night Swill) Ride

2006-02-26T01:04:00.000-05:00

Photo by Rickyd

For a guy who doesn't ride through the city much, DC streets take on a whole new character when seen from the saddle of a fixed gear bike. Cars that used to buzz by you at the intersections when you were a mere pedestrian seem like they're frozen in time. You weave through the traffic, oblivious to everything but the rhythm of your spin and how it dictates what you will do next. A car stops suddenly in front of you, but with the pedals at 12 and 6 o'clock, you can't skid. So you swing left and accelerate hard through the red light dragging your fingers lightly across the door and hood of the car you just passed, just because you can. You're in total control, and yet somehow you're not. Not more than twenty feet away, the cops look on but let us pass without incident. They know they have better things to do. After three or four more of these encounters with DC's finest we're at the city limits and on the W&OD heading back to the cars.

Well, that in a nutshell was my first ever Thursday night swill ride through DC and points West. I gotta thank Stoner and RickyD for making it interesting, but what else would you expect?

Blue

2006-02-01T19:48:00.000-05:00

I've been feeling a bit under the weather lately. All these shiny new bike parts and nothing to hang them on. Makes a guy blue.
Blue...I've even been indulging my guilty pleasures-- watching shows like American Chopper and Biker Buildoff. Noticing how these builders go to great lengths to create the ultimate chopper, imagining that MikeD is doing the same with my frame. See, he ran into a snag these last few weeks trying to get 17in chainstays on a 29er and still fit a fat tire like the Exiwolf. The Karate Monkey gets away with it by curving the seat tube, but I didn't want that. So Mike has been busy trying to make this work and creating a heap of scrap in the process. But innvoation takes time, and with a builder like Mike, I imagine nothing gets by unless it's dang perfect. Still, this waiting can make a guy blue.

But hold on, what's this...

Joe,

Just a note to let you know I think I can make it all work – thanks so much for your patience. Will do my best to get your bike finished next week.

Talk to you soon,

Mike DeSalvo
DeSalvo Custom Cycles
541-621-8408
www.desalvocycles.com

(fainting)

W&OD&C&O (in Haiku, sorta)

2006-01-26T23:00:00.000-05:00

(mile 75)
the end of the ride
a medium sized black dog
sniffs markie's chamios

(mile 74)
waiting by the trail
a girl rides by and blushes
markie is peeing

(mile 63)
go on without me
i'm out of gas markie says
i try but i can't

(mile 50)
19 mph
on your left, on your left please
sorry, i meant right

(mile 35)
crossing the river
memories come back to me
i bonked here last year

(mile 34)
i.p.a. and stouts
pilsners, porters, and lagers
me and my root beer

(mile 25)
fixing a flat tire
real men don't need levers
this is what butch says

(mile 1)
hills on custis trail
take it easy, zone 2 right?
not on the fixie

(mile 0)
spearman and donna
markie, butch, bill and me
in search of base miles

Glide

2006-01-16T21:58:00.000-05:00

Glide. It's what differentiates skiing from walking with skiis on your feet. Last weekend was a three day quest for glide, on snow, on ice, and unfortunatley on asphalt.

We packed up the car Friday night and left early in the morning for the trip to Canaan Valley Resort. Local temps in the high 40s and other friends cancelling their ski trips had me worried. Lucky for us a Friday night snow storm arrived just in time to put down enough powder to last the weekend. We headed out early Saturday to Whitegrass for my first ever crack at skiing. Whitegrass is an amazing place, and not just because of the skiing. The down home vibe is strong and the folks who run the place have XC skiing in their blood. There was also something familiar about the woman who helped me with my rental skis but I didn't quite figure it out until much later. Our friends Rick and Deb, who are also fanatical XC skiers, were eager to show us around. So after gearing up and strapping the kids into a Burley-type trailer for skis, we hit the trails.

Conditions were less than ideal on our first time out. The snow was wet and caused chunks of ice to form on our skis. In mountain biking, this is the equivalent of riding with 10 pounds of mud on your tires. Rick and the kids smartly split off to go back to the lodge while Deb, Gina, and I continued on. The weather steadily grew worse as we plodded along (well, Gina and I plodded, Deb seemed to be enjoying herself despite the gathering storm). I was hurting in a bad way. My knees, not used to the new strains of skiing, were tearing themselves apart. When I could no longer stand it I took the skis off and limped the last mile back to the lodge with my tail between my legs. After only 6 miles of skiing, my legs felt just as bad as they did after the SM100.

Dinner, a warm stove, and some live music put some life back into me but the fun wasn't over yet. As we leave Whitegrass, the winds whip up a blizzard. Narrow, icy roads and moments of zero visibility make driving tricky. We stop to help someone fix a flat, get stuck going up a hill, run into a few ornery drunks that would put buddy Spearman to shame, get towed out of trouble by our friends Paul and Sandra with the 4x4, make it back to the room safely, and send the cops back to fish the drunks out of the snowbank that they drove into. Sagada slept through the whole after dinner ordeal, which was a good thing. Oh yeah, that woman running the ski rental counter: Sue Haywood.

The next day I decided to rest my poor legs and hang out with the kids while Rick and Deb hit the trails again. Turns out I got little rest. The kids put us through a full day of sledding, ice skating, and swimming. With a few hours before dinner, I decided to give the skis a second chance. With some old school ski shoes and a pair of skis borrowed from Deb, Rick and I skied right from our rooms to explore the backcountry near Cannan Valley Resort. Conditions were much better than the day before. For one, there was no blizzard. The snow was slippery and I was getting some glide. Backcountry with its rocks, logs, and more technical terrain is more like mountain biking, but on skis. I got my first downhill run but failed miserably when I tried to do a telemark turn. Still, I had that same familiar feeling I had when I first started mountain biking. An addiction was growing.

Day three and we're back at Whitegrass for a few hours of skiing before we have to head home. I went out with Gina and Sandra for a loop around the "Snow farm" with a nice detour into the back country. Conditions were perfect, and this time, no ornery drunks to deal with. We wrapped up around noon, grabbed some lunch at the lodge and headed home. The next day I'm hitting the web looking for a pair of XC skis and some pointers on how to execute that elusive telemark turn.

Hello 2006

2006-01-05T22:36:00.000-05:00

Woke up early on new year's day for the first ride of the year. Rode out my door to mostly empty streets and brisk morning air. No route planned, I just wanted to wander. Found myself at Burke Lake Park and did a lap around the lake, wishing a happy new year to everyone I met. Stopped to snap a few pictures and rode back home. 25 relaxing miles. Simple and rewarding, like I want the rest of the year to be.

So long, 2005

2006-01-02T06:41:00.000-05:00

So long, 2005. But before I send you off, a quick LA story to put things in proper perspective:

THE COOP

(circa New Year's Eve, circa 1990)
It was a party to end all parties. We had been given free reign to destroy the interior of Robison Hall, my building at the UCLA student Co-op, and a designated cultral landmark of the City of Los Angeles. My roomate Peter and I are running for our lives from our room. We had just broken off the valve of a large fire extinguisher and it was unleashing havoc. Moments later we run into Jay who's been going room to room by bashing through the walls with a sledgehammer. He's covered head to toe with drywall dust and traces of fire extingusher foam. People are running amok and screaming for no apparent reason. Eventually, we find our way to a balcony overlooking the main road. Couches have been dragged into the street and folks are sitting on them watching the chaos unfold. Someone shines a floodlight on us. "Take it off!" Zenya yells from across the street...

Fast forward 15 years and I'm fixing a hair clog in a bathroom sink. The clock has struck midnight. "Happy 2006," I say quietly to myself. Time changes all things, and that's a good thing. No matter how much I miss those reckless days I wouldn't trade them back for what I have now, even if I could. We go through life inventing and reinventing ourselves, and back then I never would have thought I'd have the life I have now. I've shed a few labels and gained a few more in their place: husband, father, and of course, cyclist. I try my best to grow as each.

As a husband, I'd like to think I'm doing something right. Gina and I celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary in 2005 in the company of our closest friends and family. Of course, not all of this is my fault. Gina has been great at putting up with all of my stupid quirks and many imperfections. The way things are going now, I could easily see us doing this again in another 10 years.

As a father, I saw some real milestones this year. Sagada learned to really "read", do some math (although Fibonacci numbers are still giving her trouble), and most importantly, ride a bike. I'd like to think I had a hand in that. With all the "big" rides I did last year, some of my best rides have been ripping the mile long Wakefield Creek trail with my daughter, then racing her back to the parking lot. Sure, she fell a few times, and daddy even ran over her bike once (accidentally), but she always got back on and kept pedaling.

As a cyclist, it was my best year yet. I'll always remember: 12 Hours of Lodi; 24 hours of Big Bear; Wednesdays at Wakefield; riding the entire C&O Canal in a day; Singlespeed World Championships; SM100; Buzzard Rocks; Jim Thorpe; the C&O Canal Women's ride; the fixed 40 ; Elizabeth Furnace epics; spreading the singlespeed gospel; the Southern Traverse; Douthat, and all those Monday and Thursday nights at Wakefield. I had some incredible rides and races, but most importantly, there were a whole lotta friends who made it all matter.

So as 2006 is upon me and the last remnants of that blasted hair clog are fished out of the drain, I'm thinking back to that time circa 1990 when we razed Robison Hall. I'm thinking of the friends I've lost touch with, and some that I've rediscovered. Gina and Sagada are asleep in the next room. Sagada tried to wait till midnight but just missed it, dozing off at 11:30. I'll probably never get another chance to destroy an LA cultural landmark, but then again why would I want to? It's like the revamped verision of "A Clockwork Orange" with that additional chapter where little Alex voluntarily gives up his evil ways. Even though I always hated that new ending, somehow I can't help but relate.

Happy New Year everyone.

Last ride of 2005 (photo by Gina)

DC sights

2005-12-30T23:10:00.000-05:00

Nothing like spending the last weekday of 2005 pedaling around DC with Gina and Sagada. The sights you see on just a short ride through the city...

I see dead people.
Rare one-legged Zen bird

Mexican Wolf

Grey seal

Evidence of vultures

The obligatory waterfront shot

The pen is mightier than the bike

2005-12-27T00:59:00.000-05:00

I just sent the following email to Spokes Magazine:

Dear Editors,

I was delighted to read the article in the Winter edition of your magazine on my experience at the 2005 Shenandoah Mountain 100. However, I have a minor correction to offer: you have me completely confused with someone else. While that's my picture in the article, none of the quotes attributed to me were mine. In fact, no one from your magazine actually interviewed me. Nice job of checking your facts.

Joe Penano

Put in all those hours of training, and in the end, it only takes a bit of careless editing to add five and a half hours to my time. Grrr.

Geeking out

2005-12-24T22:07:00.000-05:00

Doom cost me about 3 months of my life back when I was in grad school. That was then, BikeCAD is now. I've been geeking out over the geometry of my new bike frame. It's my first (and probably only) custom job so I wanted to get everything just right. Rickyd pointed me to bikeforest.com, and there went a week of my life.

You learn a lot when you work with a good custom builder. In my case that builder is Mike DeSalvo. I called him up back in October about building my dream bike: a 29er, rigid-specific, titanium singlespeed. I chose him because of his excellent reputation, relatively short waiting time, and more importantly, because no one around here had one of his frames. He sent me the first CAD drawing last week and since then, he and I have been tweaking it. The whole bike must work in concert and each little change-- one half of a degree here, a few milimeters there-- leads to three others. Mike was great to work with. He listened to all of my suggestions and corrected me if I suggested something stupid. I basically wanted a bike like my old, faithful Karate Monkey, but with a lower front end, quicker handling, and better standover. I also wanted to be able to fit a fat tire in the back (like an Exiwolf), have good clearance, and run ~17 inch chainstays. I don't know exactly how he's gonna do it without curving the seat tube (yuck!), but Mike assures me it can be done. After a few emails and phone calls, it all came together. Mike sent me the final CAD, I signed off on it, and the building commenced.

The whole project, frame, custom fork, parts, etc. is gonna be pricey. But compared to other mid-life crisis indulgences (my first one at 35!), this one's a steal.

For a good discussion of bike geometry and how it affects handling, look here.

Before

After

Movie night

2005-12-14T21:32:00.000-05:00

Movie night is on Wednesday at our house, or really just whenever we can find the time. Tonight we're combining movie night with laundry. With the old washer in it's last throes it was time to upgrade to these new-fangled front loaders. They're supposed to be more efficient water-wise, and quieter (the cats appreciate a good night's sleep), but I think they just look so dang cool. Thanks to Les and Mar-Mar for the idea. It's been a while since we've been to the laundromat, so it was cheaply entertaining for us (and the pets) to watch the clothes go round. Brought back some old memories. May even be an "L.A. story" in there somewhere.

Speaking of cats, Gina snapped this pic of "Tisoy," our 25lb bundle of white fury. This cat is soley responsible for the extinction of the local rabbit population. I once saw him take out an entire family of 'em-- mother rabbit in his mouth, one baby rabbit under each paw. When there were no more rabbits, we found a steady parade of dead birds and moles by our door. Each one dropped in pretty much the same spot. In the spring we can count on at least one offering every other day, sometimes more. Now if I could only get him to do the same with titanium bike parts...

Pedals and petals

2005-12-12T22:14:00.000-05:00

I was a fool to ever leave your side
Me minus you is such a lonely ride
That breakup we had
Has made me lonesome and sad
I realize I love you
'Cause I want you back
Hey, hey

-- Peaches & Herb (Reunited)

I've decided to rekindle an old flame after all these years. We had broken up more than once, but after the fourth time, I had just about had it with the likes of her. No amount of sweet talking would get me to come back. I thought about all those occassions when she would take me out for a good time (and those were some really good times) and then without warning, just leave me stranded by the roadside, used up and betrayed. But I guess time heals all wounds. And besides, those other finicky hussies that came after her were no better. I guess that's what I missed about my first love. How it was so easy to get in when I needed to hook up in a hurry, and how it was even easier to get out once I was done. So now I'm ready to give us another chance. If you promise to never leave me stranded again, I promise to treat you better than I did, and to always keep you well-lubricated. So how about it? Meet me by the shop door and be ready for a good wrenching. And one more thing baby... wear the blue dress this time.

So ends part I in my series of trashy short stories about my new bike build. Stay tuned for more porn.

That's what friends are for

2005-12-04T17:24:00.000-05:00

Woodstock Tower. And from the top.Do you remember the *first* time you seriously suffered on a mountain bike? That moment when you find your legs have failed and you're in the middle of nowhere with nothing but miles of rocks and endless climbs between you and the parking lot. You know the magic words that will end the suffering, at least temporarily, but you can't bring yourself to say them. Meanwhile your friends are disappearing into the distance. Finally you relent and let the words fall out hoarsely, "Hey, wait up..." but there's no one around to hear.

For some, this moment is the make or break point. It's either the end of a weekend hobby or... the start of a cycling addiction. For me it was the latter. A few months of one-lappers around Fountainhead or Wakefield could not prepare me for my first epic ride at the Frederick Watershed a long time ago. I remember that ride well. Untill that point my standard of "rocky" was Fountainhead. I remember getting home with no energy left and falling asleep on my couch without the strength to take a shower.

Last weekend I had a chance to treat some friends to a similar sufferfest at Elizabeth Furnace. FixieChris, JayD, Darwin, Dima, fellow sser Armando, and myself risked frostbite and buckshot (hunting season, eh!) in search of whatever it is that brought us there in the first place. A few years of riding and racing experience have taken away the initial "WTF?!?" factor associated with this ride and upped my pain threshold, but it's still not an "easy" ride for me. It was JayD's and Darwin's first time out there so for them the "WTF?!?" factor was probably still quite high.

We took the fireroad to Mudhole Gap where the 17 degree temperatures raised the stakes on the four stream crossings there. Fall in and you're guaranteed a long cold ride straight back to the cars. Cos there's no way you're gonna finish the ride with your clothes freezing onto your back. From there we headed up the climb to Woodstock Tower. I had climbed this road before, but the last time I didn't take the time to actually go to the tower at the top of the climb. This time I did. After snapping a few pics we headed back on the rocky goodness of the Massanutten trail, my favorite trail in the Elizabeth Furnace area. By the time we got back to Mudhole Gap, daylight was running short. We had been out longer than I'd planned so instead of heading up to Signal Knob, we took the (not much shorter) short cut back through Mudhole Gap to the cars. Overall, a nice Winter ride and a good opportunity to introduce some friends to one of my favorite riding spots.

A few days later I get an email from JayD,

Joe,
That was the most extreme and exhausting ride I've ever had... When I got home I went straight to bed. I was so tired to even hit the shower.

See ya on the next ride.

Jay

Yup, I think I know the feeling.

Kauai

2005-11-26T19:32:00.000-05:00

I spent the week before Thanksgiving in Kauai with Gina. Before heading out there we made a quick stop in Cali to drop off Sagada with Grandma. To a five year old, a weekend with Gramdma vs. a few days in Hawaii is a no-brainer. Grandma is more fun than a bunch of palm trees. It didn't take much convincing to get her to stay behind.

We stayed at the Marriott Resort which was nice enough, but I couldn't walk anywhere without getting sand in my toes. And the weather over there is stoopid. It doesn't know that its autumn. At least they had a decent pool.

On our first day we drove West to Waimea State Park and found some spectacular views into Kalalau Valley

and Waimea Canyon.

On the way back we spotted some nice singletrack from the road and hiked around for a bit. I'm not sure if this trail was legally open to biking since there was a sign up the road that said "No Biking" but the many tire tracks said otherwise.

The next day we rented some bikes from Kauai Cycle and Tour in Kapaa and hit the local trails. After a four mile ride on a scenic coastal caning road (fireroad in Eastcoastese) we found some singletrack. Really nothing special compared to what we have around here, but it was nice to be out riding with friends nonetheless.

One thing I discovered was that old cane fields in Kauai double as de facto dumping grounds for old cars. We saw several by the side of the trail stripped to the frame.

After a few more days in Kauai I started to miss the rainy, cold, and generally miserable spell of East Coast weather that we had the day before I left. I started to dream of all those rides cancelled due to bad weather, the gripping cold that greets you at the trailhead as you step out of the warm car, the freezing of wet toes and fingers, the epic fireroad climbs, the spectacular rock gardens, the vision-blurring downhills, my riding buddies, my faithful singlespeed... yep, it was time to go home.

Black Friday

2005-11-26T11:39:00.000-05:00

Rickyd at the Shed

Shopping malls be damned. With my Christmas shopping pretty much done, Markie, Rickyd, ChrisH (aka AteMrYeats), and I headed for the Watershed for some playtime on the rocks. 23 degrees was the temp at the start of the ride, and that's where it stayed the whole time. After a week in Hawaii and California with temps consistently in the 80s, this was a shock to my system. My legs turned to jello early in the ride and I found myself hanging on for dear life for most of the ride. Rickyd on the other hand was in top form, clearing all of the big climbs and besting everyone on the "Death March". Must be the new bike (heh heh).

Markie did a great job leading most of the ride and finding some great trails that I had never seen before. I really liked the boulder field leading into "Little Canaan". Those were some big rocks. Unfortunately for ChrisH, those rocks took a toll on his fork, which snapped, sending him on an long walk back to the cars. The three of us continued on for another 3 hours, stopping to play on the more techincal sections and taking pictures.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I'm certainly thankful that I can do stuff like this.

desperate (biking) housewives

2005-11-21T17:07:00.000-05:00

For most of us, growing up means having a job and plenty of responsibility. Not much time for all those fun and spontaneous activities you used to do when you were a kid. But once in a while, you find yourself ditching work, having perfect weather, wonderful company, and your most favorite activity in the world (that you can afford) - biking.

It all started with RickyD and one fateful night. He was looking at his very cool wife Jojo and he was hit by this intense feeling of guilt...err, i mean gratefullness...for all the times Jojo let him spend time with his bikes instead of quality time at home. So he thought that maybe, he'd organize a bike ride on the C&O for Jojo and her biking girlfriends. Unfortunately, Jojo has plenty of girlfriends who ride bikes and Ricky didn't think he could serve eight women on his own...geez! How hard can that be? So, he decided to enlist the partners of all the girlfriends and in the end, it was eight women, 7 guys, and Sagada. The guys carried all the camping gear, cooked all the food, and made sure that there were plenty of smores for the campfire.

So on a glorious November 7, four cars packed with bikes, paniers, tons of camping gear, pasta, and gatorade made a convoy from Bek's house in Columbia to Cumberland. It must have amused (and frightened) some motorists to see four overstuffed cars one after another and at times attempting to cut each other off.

We made it to Cumberland around 11am and our crew (husbands/boyfriends) started getting the bikes ready. Since this trip was to show their appreciation to their partners for letting them ride on weekends instead of doing house and lawn maintenance, the guys reiterated that they will do all the work and all we have to do is ride. That was soooo nice of them. We really should do this more often :) So here we are at Cumberland getting ready for our first 35 miles of riding to Stickpile camp ground.

Rose, slowly, step away from the little guy...

Morning by the riverThe camping spot is pretty nice. The porta john doesn't really stink (at least the first day) and the river is just behind us. In no time, Steve managed to have a roaring campfire and the guys started making a pasta dinner. The next morning, i woke up early to watch the fog lifting from the river. The autumn leaves were falling and I was even able to catch a few. Those early hours were so quiet and peaceful it was priceless. I went back to the camp where the guys had started to prepare breakfast -pancakes, eggs, bacon, coffee (bailey's optional) and peanut butter & jelly sandwiches for the road.

In my dreams...More picture taking and off we go. The trails are very pretty as it is now the peak of the fall season. It's like riding to Rivendell and hoping to meet Legolas on the way (fine, i'm a Tolkien geek). We usually rode side by side so we can talk. Guys talk about bike components all the time but us women talk about more important stuff...like toilet paper alternatives, lyrics to the songs of Spandau Ballet and other 80's songs and of course- world peace! We were having so much fun it was almost sad when our ride ended at Hancock. This picture in Hancock is my fantasy race picture. That's me in front and Bek way in the back... in real life of course it's the other way around.

Rickyd as mule.And as in all good things, this trip must also end. This post was tardy but better late than never. So to our significant others (in alphabetical order) Erin, Jason, JoeP, JoeW, Mike, Ricky, Steve, and Sagada, our undying gratitude for a fabulous time. Thanks guys!

L.A. stories (The Gun Club)

2005-11-12T11:03:00.000-05:00

Life in LA can be hard and unrewarding. Sometimes you just want to go out a bust a few caps from your AK. And that's just what we would do on Saturday nights.

When the stress of grad school would reach toxic levels, Gina and I would call a few friends, pack up the guns, and head out late at night to the L.A. Gun Club in the middle of town. The L.A. Gun club is a warehouse converted into an indoor shooting range behind rows of razor-wire fencing and security cameras. It was open late at night, it had character, and most importantly, it was the only indoor range that would let me use my MAK90 (Modified AK), albeit, with soft-tipped bullets only.

The clientele was also pretty interesting. Rich Korean businessmen would mingle with gangster types, sometimes complementing each others' choice of weapon. One time there was this newbie who leaned over the rail to see where her shots hit. In the process of leaning over, the barrel of her pistol wound up pointing directly into her neck. On rare occasions you might spot a bonafide celeb like Ice-T or some other TV star late at night when the crowds were smaller, but that's another story altogether. Mostly though, there were the regular schmucks like me who were just looking to unwind, or better yet, let loose.

Between me and my friends, we had quite a nice arsenal at our disposal. I had my MAK90 and a Chinese-made SKS. Both fired 7.62x39 caliber rounds-- heavy and slow bullets, but with enough power to go through a small tree trunk and still be lethal. We also had an M1 garand, a 12 gauge shotgun, another MAK90, and a assortment of handguns. We brought everything. Mostly though, I stuck to the rifles. With most people at the range using handguns, the sound of the MAK90 and the shower of sparks it made against the back wall silenced the place for a few seconds as people looked around to see who brought the small cannon. Sometimes, when the owner wasn't looking I'd fire 3 in rapid sucession and watch the fireworks. After a few hundred rounds with my friends, I'd be covered in gunpowder residue and feel positively peaceful.

I sold my toys before moving to VA thinking that transporting them on the plane (even in pre Sept 11) would be too much trouble. Plus, I didn't know VA gun law very well, or the relative lack of it. Once in a while I think about finding a local range around here and revisiting my old hobby. Somehow though, I don't think I'd enjoy it as much as I did. Bikes trump guns... and there wouldn't be much chance of me running into Ice-T in these parts anyways.

Gambrill 101

2005-11-02T19:07:00.000-05:00

The rocks of GambrillIt's always fun to ride Gambrill. It's even more fun when you're showing people around there for the first time. It's like discovering the place all over again for yourself. Last Sunday we had a good mixed group of newbs (to Gambrill) and seasoned cadres: Jo & Rickyd, Gina & meP, Dima, Lou, and JayD. We did the usual Yellow loop, stopping often to play on the rocks. The first climb put the familiar taste of blood in my lungs, but the rest of the ride went well and with no serious casualties (at least none that I saw). It was a beautiful day with the leaves starting to show their Autumn colors, and the smell of crushed leaves like the fine aftertaste of a good brew.

Dima clearing the rocks with ease

A well-earned rest

Aww geez, get a room!

The infamous climb under the powerlines

JayD riding big on the rocks

Just a nice day

2005-10-28T23:17:00.000-05:00

Whew, where to start? I haven't been writing for a while but that doesn't mean nothin's happening. On the contrary, I've got a backlog of stuff that I'll try to get out in the next few days.

Last weekend started off like any other. We had a break from a few days of rain and gloomy skies so naturally Gina and I pack up the road bikes for our weekly spin up the Capitol Crescent path to Bethesda. As usual, I'm pulling Sagada on the trailer bike. It was a beautiful day, although a bit cold for a leisurely lunch at an outdoor table. The Cosi cafe is somewhat of a bike central on a nice day like this. I counted about six people in geeky bike clothes not including myself. On the way back to DC we had to stop at the waterfront and snap the obligatory dock picture. By the time Sagada is old enough to make this ride on her own, I think I will have snapped about a hundred of these waterfront shots.

Back at the cars we get ready to go to a Pumpkin carving party at Rick and Deb's place with some of Sagada's friends from school. Our pumpkins, which we got from our last trip to Homestead Farms, were already a few weeks old so Sagada and I wasted no time and got right to work with the knives. She was getting freaked out by all the scary pumpkin faces so I helped her carve a flower design instead. The party was a lot of fun. Good food, good company, lots of cute kids with sharp knives, and nobody lost an eye.

Everyone went home with something nice, but I found something extra special in my grab bag:

RickW found this beautiful old Colnago frame in a dumpster and passed it on to me. I haven't been able to identify the model. Someone threw it out because of a stuck seat post and I've decided to make it my winter project. So far, the post hasn't budged. I took it to the Bike Lane to get worked on but to no avail. I just wound up with a small hole in the seat tube from where the steel frame had fused to the aluminum post. I've decided to take a hacksaw to it and take it out in pieces. Come hell or high water I will get that seatpost unstuck and build this thing into a proper fixie. Progress reports to follow...

L.A. stories (The Uprising)

2005-10-08T21:11:00.000-05:00

What I love about L.A. is that in 1998, I could drive five miles to the East and go from Filipino town to Olvera Street and the garment district. Five miles to the West is Beverly Hills. If I drive two miles to the South I'd be in Korea town. And in another five miles I'd be at the base of the mighty Watts Towers. This diversity is what makes L.A. thrive. But sometimes it can also be the wind that drives the wildfire. But to say that racial or cultural tensions caused the LA uprisings of 1992 would be wrong. In a society in which resources are so unevenly divided, and the economic dividing lines are pretty much indistinguishable from the cultural, racial, and geographical lines, something's gotta give. The signs were everywhere: on the news in the form of the Latasha Harlins shooting and many other similar stories; on the streets in front of my window in the form of gunshots fired by an Asian man at a youth running out of our parking garage; with every LAPD squad car "protecting and serving" our communities by stopping non-white youth for the offense of fitting a racial profile; and in every liqour store turned fortress with wrought iron bars, security cameras, and sheets of bullet-proof glass.

It was the spring of 92 and Gina and I were living in an apartment building in Korea town when the Rodney King verdicts were announced. Four white officers caught on tape beating a black man, were acquitted of criminal charges by a predominantly white jury in a Simi Valley courthouse. I had no doubt that something big was going to happen. It started out will small but vocal spontaneous demonstrations around City Hall. But by the next day, buildings were being set on fire, Korean business owners were on their roofs with assault rifles, and people were getting beaten and killed. I remember going up to the roof of our building and seeing smoke clouds in every direction. We were literally in the middle of it. That night we slept lightly if at all. We made plans to evacuate in case things got really out of hand, but we wound up staying for the whole thing. After a few days hunkered down in our apartment, I got in my car and drove to campus. All the liquor stores in my neighborhood were boarded up. The streets were eerily deserted. But by the time I got to the Miracle Mile district, the streets were a flurry of activity. The National Guard had moved into the Masonic temple on Wilshire Blvd and were setting up their command post. Razor wire fences and sandbag bunkers with machine guns made sure that everything to the West (namely Beverly Hills) was well protected. Meanwhile, buildings were still being set ablaze in my part of town. Protect and serve, indeed. It would be four or five days before a sense of order was restored in the city.

When things began to settle down, the talking started. Community groups led the way for people-- Blacks, Asians, Hispanics, Whites, to sit down and start the dialogue that was long overdue. Inevitably calls for social and economic justice went out, right along with demands for police reform. People were marching in the streets. Signs reading "Justice for Rodney King" were being carried by people of every color, right along with unflattering effigies of Police Chief Darryl Gates and Governor Pete Wilson. The city would never be the same, but some things would never change. Most people in Simi Valley probably still look back on what happened as (what George H.W. Bush described as) "random terror and lawlessness", while some Black youth will call it a "revolution". The question of whatever it actually "was" has passed into the realm of armchair discussion. All I know is that on the streets of LA today many of those dividing lines still exist. The parts of the city that were in bad shape back then, don't look like they're getting better. A general sense of decay was obvious to me on my last trip back. Meanwhile, the border of Korea town has moved about a mile to the West, inching ever closer to Beverly Hills.

Where the narnar live

2005-10-02T22:24:00.000-05:00

Larry and Pierre contemplate Buzzard Rocks.

Added a few more dents to my frame, a few more bruises to my body, and a big slice of humble pie to my diet during today's ride at Buzzard Rocks with my Bike Lane teammates Larry and Pierre. I'm no stranger to technical trails but I'd never seen anything like this before. Miles of rocks formations requiring a bit of skill and a good dose of luck to clear. Apparently luck wasn't on our side today. Although we cleared many of the sections eventually, the bloopers reel was a sight to see. I pushed the limits of 29er stability and got the bike to endo for the first time, breaking a rear wheel spoke in the process. Pierre also endoed and broke his rear brake lever. In place of the brake lever, he zip-tied his finger to the brake cable and completed the ride. I think Pierre can sell that idea to Shimano for their new ultra-lightweight XTRR component line. Both Pierre and I got pretty bruised up. Larry, riding the trail SS and rigid for the first time, walked away with just a scratch on his little finger. Despite the mishaps, it was a great ride with some of the best scenery I've seen anywhere. I'm looking forward to going up there again.

Start 'em early

2005-10-01T16:03:00.000-05:00

I took Sagada out for two of the longest rides in her life, so far. Friday evening we did 6 miles on the Mount Vernon bike path. Today we rode along with Trips for Kids (TFC) on their Accotink/Wakefield romp. That was 8 miles on the Accotink cinder trail and the Wakefield creek trail. I wish I had something like TFC when I was growing up. Sagada tells me she had fun on today's ride. We even stopped to watch tadpoles and ducks, and skip stones at Lake Accotink. This is her account:

"The ducks came closer and closer to me because they thought I was a grape. I smelled like a grape. I did the whole Creek Trail but I got tired and went slow, but I just keep on going."

-- Sagada (blogger at 5)

Hell Ride

2005-09-26T21:51:00.000-05:00

(art stolen from www3.iath.virginia.edu)

The Reverend Whitehair is always thinking of new ways to "enlighten" the local singlespeed congregation, or kill them trying. His latest batch of Kool-Aid was last weekend's Hell Ride. 40 miles of fixed gear flagelation on the roads of Ellicot City and Patapsco with a few forays into the back alleys of self-doubt and despair. Suffice it to say it wasn't easy, but finding salvation never is.

Every great ride has its moment in the twilight zone. A microsecond when reality nods off and loosens it's talons, and for a moment, you're free falling. Mine was on the last mile back to the cars. Joe, Markie, Jonathan, and I were in a pack screaming down the twisting descent of Gunn Road, Markie desperately chasing Joe to try to take the imaginary victory (or at least look good to the girls who were waiting by the picnic shelter). Only to me, in my oxygen-deprived state, it was the Angel Gabriel chasing Satan himself down the road to hell, a demon general on his flank, and me, the weary Dante, reluctantly dragged along for the ride. (alright, I promise to get a life one of these days)

For a more worldly perspective, check out Disciple Spearman's Gospel, or view the Peaks of Hell for yourself.

L.A. stories (part II, Sweet Torture)

2005-09-22T22:21:00.000-05:00

My uncle Gabby took it upon himself to save me from the suburbian hell that is Orange County, CA. Yup, the same O.C. that spawned that dreaded tv show. This was the guy who would sneak me into bars when I was fifteen and beg the house band to let me jam with them. Sometimes they would let me, but most of the time I just sat there watching Uncle Gabby consume scary amounts of beer. He would drop by the OC on weekends driving over from LA in his old BMW, his John Lennon glasses, his Father Guido Sarducci hat and matching moustache. Sometimes he would bring company.

I remember one evening when he showed up with three spandex-clad, big-haired, zebra-print-wearing, mascara-dripping rockers: Dolores, Tiffany, and Nancy. Dolores reminded me of something from Prince and the Revolution (on acid). Tiffany and Nancy looked like they would be right at home vomiting on the stage in the front row of a Megadeth concert. They were a band. I had guitars and drums in my room. It was perfect. I had to call my friend Darren. Darren and I were in a band. It was perfect.

Dolores was the drummer and Tiffany and Nancy both played guitar, ala the Cramps. “Hey, what’s your band’s name?” I ask. “Sweet Torture,” they say straight-faced and proceed to jam. Dolores knows only one beat, and it’s not the beat that goes with the one song that the guitar players know. I don’t even think the guitar players were playing the same song. But whatever they were playing, they were into it and it was loud. I’m surprised my folks didn’t pull the plug on our little noise orgy. I look over at Darren. He’s either in pain or trying really hard to stop himself from laughing. I can’t tell. “Yep, Sweet Torture…” I think to myself, “…genius.”

The fun stopped when we ran out of beer. So being the gracious host that I am, I took Tiffany and Uncle Gabby for a beer run leaving Darren behind with the other two to continue their sweet torture session. I don’t exactly know what went down in my room after we left but there’s probably a porno movie out there that comes close to what I was thinking. It would be years later that I found something on the internet written by Darren on his experience. I don’t remember much of what he wrote, except something about sitting quietly in the corner praying for these girls to take his virginity. Darren was a great writer.

I would run into the members of Sweet Torture occasionally over the next few months. I vaguely remember Tiffany chasing someone around a pool yelling “Dick torture!” But the details are fuzzy. I ran into Dolores while she was working as a bar waitress. I haven’t seen Nancy since that day. I wonder where these folks are now. I recently found Darren again through the net and I hope he reads this. Uncle Gabby died years ago. I miss him.

Douthat, Fall 2005

2005-09-19T22:44:00.000-05:00

Threw the singlespeeds on the car, took the dog to the kennel, snuck out of work early on Friday, and presto-- Gina, Sagada, and I were on our way to the annual MORE Fall camping trip to Douthat. After slogging through DC traffic, we got there a little after dark, set up camp, and went to sleep early in anticipation of a full day of riding and hanging out with friends and family, and more riding.

Morning at Douthat Lake

Woke up with the sunrise to a beautiful Saturday morning, grabbed a slice of French toast from Scud's world famous traveling diner and got the bikes ready. The plan was to do a short (~2 hr) ride and be back to let Gina ride. After a group shot (click):

The MORE gang

I met up with the usual gang: Foley, Scardaville, Miller, JonW, Rob, and a few others. JonW is sporting a Trek Fuel turned singlespeed. Scardaville and Foley put the hammer down to draw out the faster riders to the front of the pack. What started out as a huge group of ~30 riders soon split into smaller groups as people found their natural paces. The plan is to ride Laurel View to Locust Gap to Stony Run, climb up to Middle Mountain, blah blah blah. I was never any good at directions.

Laurel View Trail

Scardaville is going off like a bullet, leaving us behind on the twisty singletrack to Stony Run. I'm sitting in the middle of the group taking it easy. Most of us had just finished the sm100 a few weeks ago and I, personally, was looking forward to some nice casual riding to wind down my season.

The climb up Stony Run is long and twisty, but never too steep-- the perfect singlespeed climb. Singlespeed climbing is a lesson in moderation. Try to go too fast and you might be toast before you get to the top. Go too slow and, without the ability to downshift, your cadence slows to an agonizing slog. The trick is to find the cadence that produces minimum effort. But the point of minimum effort doesn't always translate to an easy time, hence, the stereotypical image of the singlespeeder gasping for air, tugging at the bars, and using all sorts of contortional body english to get up the climb. He/she is taking the path of least resistance, although it doesn't always look it. That was me climbing up the switchbacks of Stony Run. Oh yeah, while I'm going through my contusions, Jens and Evan pass me like I'm standing still.

Scardaville is waiting for me at the top. I had caught up to him but I couldn't hang on. Before the rest of the group arrives I take a quick detour to the Tuscarora Overlook with Jens and Evan. I head back to the main trail to find my group after I snap a few pictures. No luck. A group of hikers tells me that a group of bikers had already passed by a while ago, so I set off to try to catch them. Turns out that my group was still behind me and I was chasing ghosts. I descend on Salt Stump and Backway Hollow back to camp to meet up with Gina. Little did I know, the girls were already on their own little epic on the other side of the park.

Later that afternoon, I take Louis and Steve on the classic Mountain Side/Brushy Hollow loop. It was their first time on trails like this. It was probably Steve's first time on any trail at all. But what a trail it was:

Mountain Side Trail

Later that night was the potluck dinner. Last year Gina and I made Spam sushi. This year we opted for the more conventional abodo chicken. As usual, there was more good food that I could shake a broken deraileur at.

There was only time for a short ride the next day. So I headed out with the usual suspects for a quick loop around the lower trails. I got to try JonW's full-sussy SS. It was neato. Smooth as butter over the rocky downhills, but I miss the responsiveness and efficiency of my rigid Monkey on the climbs. And I like to climb. Anyone wanna shuttle me *down* the hill? heh heh...

It's only been a couple of days since I got back and already Scud's reserved the Douthat Guest Lodge for the spring. Looks like I'll be back.

Our "One Hour" Epic

2005-09-19T22:07:00.000-05:00

Even Wakefield Tuesday regulars like Rose, Beth and I (Gina) get to ride epic rides every once in a while. Not on purpose, but it happens. We had our little epic ride this weekend at the MORE annual camping trip to Douthat State Park.

This annual camping trip is one of my (and Sagada’s) favorite trips. This was actually our fourth time here. We usually prefer the comfort of the log cabins but then we would miss out on the camping experience with MORE, so this time we decided to stay at the campsite. After all, MORE people are among the nicest bunch of folks that I only get to see once or twice a year. But back to our ride. After a good breakfast of oatmeal I headed out to Rose and Beth’s campsite. Beth’s family has an RV and Rose’s family are staying with them. I asked them what they want to do and they readily volunteered their husbands to take care of the kids so we can go ride. I went back to the campsite to change into my bike clothes. After I left, Beth informed her husband that we would be gone for one hour. One hour! I would have laughed if I was there. Both Beth and Rose have never been to Douthat so they had no idea what the trails are like or where we would be going. The plan was to do the Mountain Side, Mountain Top, and Brushy Hollow trails. I wondered if even Sue Haywood or Becky Bafford could do the route I had planned in one hour.

After about 10 minutes, Beth and Rose came rolling to my campsite. They have with them one small bottle of water each. I replaced Beth’s bottle of water with a Gatorade, put two bottles on my bike, and off we go. We saw other MORE riders on the way to the Guest lodge where the trailhead was, but we let them go. We decided to go at our own pace considering that it’s Beth’s and Rose’s first time at Douthat and I’m still nursing a bruised shoulder from the last Tuesday ride at Wakefield (Craig pushed me when I was jumping over a pile of logs – oh wait, he was way ahead of me). Early on, we decided that we’ll give a prize to whoever can whine the most. I think it was a toss up between me and Beth. I enjoyed riding Mountain Side last time with Julie, Maili, and Karen but this time my bad shoulder and aching back made it more difficult (see, I should have won the whining contest!). After Mountain Side we reach the intersection of Brushy Hollow and Mountain Top feeling good and we saw Bob Caverly and his two amazing biker kids heading down Brushy Hollow. We debated a bit whether to follow them or go up the mountain. We decided to go to Mountain Top. Heck, we can’t just go to the side of the mountain, we need to go to the top! This decision sort of reminded me of the time Rose and I rode C&O in the middle of January with 80 percent of the bikepath covered in ice. Within one hour, we had a dozen falls and plenty of sliding between the two of us with an 80 year old woman telling us to go easy on the brakes. Okay, I digress but something like that. We got to the summit of Mountain Top then we went back to Mountain side close to the guest lodge. But we wanted the downhill of Brushy Hollow so we did Mountain Side again just to go to Brushy Hollow. With my last half-bottle of Gatorade rationed among the three of us we started to climb Brushy Hollow to Douthat Overlook. Rose is ahead of us and Beth and I kept looking at the last drop of Gatorade in my bottle. My pockets are full of acorns for Sagada and Beth stuffed her chest (she doesn’t have pockets) with acorns too (our 5 year olds love acorns!) but too bad we don’t have teeth like squirrels because we were starving. Luckily, as we’re pushing our bikes on yet another switchback, Jens and his friend come by. We must have looked and sounded pathetic because they stopped and gave us their Gatorade, power bars and fig newtons. There’s nothing we can give in return but acorns so we just thanked them again and watched in amazement at how fast these guys can go. After more Gatorade and fig newtons, we had a renewed surge of energy and pushed on to the summit. After fixing Rose’s flat tire, we are ready for a nice downhill back to camp.

Our one hour ride became a four hour ride but it was all fun. Probably not for the hubbies though who were worried sick that one (or all of us?) have fallen off the side of the mountain. Every thirty minutes or so, Beth would remark that Steve (her husband) would be so worried by now but somehow it didn’t register to me and Rose. Both our husbands are kinda used to us getting lost in Accotink and Wakefield and not making it back on time. Or they probably thought if we could put up with them, we can survive in the wild if we get lost. But Steve drove his suburban around the park looking for us and later on, they sent Joe to find us. Joe found us on Brushy Hollow and after making sure we were ok, rode back to camp to let the others know. We rolled into camp a bit worn, but happy to have completed our little epic. Now it’s our turn to take over kid duties. The hubbies grab their bikes and head out to Mountain Side, leaving the kids to us. Acorns anyone?

Btw, thanks to Scott, Margaret, and everyone in the kitchen crew!

Sagada, Krysten, and Amanda at Douthat Lake

L.A. stories

2005-09-11T22:03:00.000-05:00

My recent trip to L.A. brought back a lot of memories of my time there. Lot's of stories to tell. I'm gonna start jotting some them down here for fear that someday I'll forget.

circa 1993: It's 7 in the morning and my cats aren't letting me sleep. They're hungry and throwing a shoe at them doesn't shut them up. So I walk to the 7-11 to grab some cat food. As I'm trying to decide between Purina and Meow Mix, I hear, "Hey... PR?" I freeze up. PR means Pinoy Real, a local Pilipino gang. And in L.A., your life could depend on how you chose to continue a conversation like that. I turn around and see a Latino kid (couldn't have been older than 15). He's got his hand in his jacket pocket and he's looking me over but keeping a safe distance-- far enough that I can't touch him, but close enough that he wouldn't miss if that were a gun in his jacket. I immediately break eye contact. "No," I say, grabbing whatever can of cat food I can and walking toward the check out counter. I'm digging through my pockets for change trying to look "in control" but also trying to get the hell out of there fast. I'm a nervous wreck, but so is he. I get the impression that he's one of the new recruits out to prove himself to the veteranos. I'm probably his ticket in. He follows me to the checkout counter, mad-dogging me the whole time. I can tell the store clerk is edgy. It's then that I notice his crew out in the parking lot. They're in a car with the windows rolled down, engine running. They're watching both of us. I finish my business at the counter and make a conscious effort not to make eye contact with the kid as I turn for the door. I walk into the parking lot fully expecting something bad to happen. One of the guys in the car gets out. As I walk by he acknowledges me with a knod. Respectfully, I return the greeting and keep walking. I make it back to my apartment two blocks away feeling like I just walked 10 miles.

sm100

2005-09-05T17:30:00.000-05:00

Somehow, I don't really know how to write about my first Shenandoah Mountain 100. The words escape me. I can't find words long enough to outlast those long fireroad climbs; no words futile enough to capture my desperation at trying to keep up with the gearies on the flat road sections; no words exhilirating enough to do justice to the descent down Dowell's Draft. And no words humbling enough to describe how I felt when I crossed the finish line.

I'd been training for this race all year. I got my V02max test, a heart rate monitor, an indoor trainer, and put together a training schedule. A month later all that junk was sitting unused in my closet. It felt too much like "work". So I stopped taking data, stopped checking off workout lists, got rid of my cyclocomputer, and just started riding, a lot. When the day came, the plan was to treat this race like just another long ride, and I think that put it in a good perspective.

My only goal going into the race was to finish, but right at the starting line my instincts kick in and I start eyeing the competition, drawing up the battle plans. I have a good idea of who I can hang with and who I should just let go. Crazy Markie, Rastaman Butch, and "Supafly" Foley have been riding strong all year. So has Scardaville. Erin the Great, when he's on his game, can blow our little peloton apart. All of these guys have posted faster times than me at our local races. But I tend to do better at longer races so it was really anyone's game. Larry "the Terminator" Camp? Slap me for even thinking about it.

The signal to start is given and 350 riders are following the pace motorcycle down the road. The little gear on my singlespeed is no match for the gearies on terrain like this so I settle down for a ride at the back of the pack. As the trail turns upward into a wide double track I step on it a pass about thirty people, a group of singlespeeders following my lead. Before I know it I'm on the first singletrack descent. I have the tires pumped up extra hard to avoid flats, so combined with the rigid fork, the rocks are turning my skinny arms to jelly. I have to ease up and yield to the squishy bikes. This would become the theme for the rest of the day: pass people on fireroad climbs, get passed on everything else. Luckily there were lots of long fireroad climbs and I was able to hold my own.

The race is as much an excercise in mental fortitude as it is in physical endurance. My mantra of "finish, finish, finish" over and over in my head seemed to make the miles and hours go by quicker. The constant back and forth between Crazy Markie, MarkW, ChrisC, and myself also makes it more interesting. Before I know it I'm closing in on checkpoint #3 (about 40 miles into the race). By this time Markie is either smelling blood in the water, or he's getting desperate. He blows through the aid station while I take a break and rest. I'm wondering whether I should chase him down or stick to my game plan. After a minute of deliberation, I let him go.

The stage from aid station 3 to 4 is just one climb and one descent. Sounds easy but my legs are starting to cramp. As I pull off to the side to punch at my legs, a mysterious singlespeeder catches up to me. He motions to his jersey pocket, I reach in and pull out a handful of magic white electrolyte pills. I normally don't take candy from strangers, but I'm desperate to lose the cramps. I down one and the cramps ease up. Excellent. I finish the climb and descend into aid station 4. I spot Gina among the volunteers and my spirits are up again. The Pedalshop boys are there in force, wrenching bikes and dispensing the suds. Markie is nowhere in sight. I wonder if it was a mistake to let him go. I grab a handful of pringles, drain a coke and set off on the dreaded 18 mile climb to the highest point of the course.

The big climb to checkpoint 5 is the make or break point of the race for me. If I can make it to station 5, I know I'll finish. I hit the road, the Mantra going round and round in my head. After a while I spot Markie far ahead of me. But he's doddering and I'm closing in on him. When I finally catch up to him I make it a point to pass him quickly, to take away any incentive for him to chase me. The effort almost kills me but it works. I ride into checkpoint 5 with no one on my wheel. It's here that I first see Foley. He's been ahead of me the whole time. Scardaville is there too.

Foley, JonW, and I set out together from the aid station on the heels of MarkW. From this point on the four of us would never be more than 2 minutes apart. Jon and I would go back and forth many times before he would drop me on the descent to the finish line. But back to the race. We pull into the final checkpoint together, about a minute ahead of MarkW. Looking for the kill, MarkW is a blur. He blows through the aid station Jeremiah Bishop style, slowing only to grab a coke. Jon and I, slackers that we are, take our time and leave together.

Ahhh, the final climb of the race: Hankey Mountain. I don't know exactly how it happened, but I found myself in the middle of a cheap fling in mid-climb. It was a classic summer romance. Boy meets girl, girl sucks boy's wheel, boy sucks girl's wheel, boy finds girl sucking someone elses wheel, boy drops girl. See ya! When I think it's all over I find JonW, sucking my wheel. Now it's getting weird. I let him go by knowing that he will be faster than me on the descent to the finish line (he actually caught MarkW). I take my time and enjoy the last few miles knowing that there's no way I won't finish now.

I crossed the line in 10 hours and 50 minutes. I was happy to finish. My stomach, after a diet of coke, red bull, gatorade, and electrolyte pills, was on the verge of revolution. Although I was hungry, I couldn't eat. I went back to my tent. I was tired but couldn't sleep. My body was in a state of confusion. Sometime in the night, I hear a massive cheer erupt from the camp. Scud had finished. I finally drift of to sleep. In my dream, I'm flying down Dowell's Draft again. Somehow, it wasn't as good as the real thing.

The gold at the end of the rainbow

Cheers! JonW and me show off our new sm100/ODB glasses

Goin back to cali (part 1)

2005-08-30T23:47:00.000-05:00

The Carbon Canyon / Chino Hills trails are just a couple of miles from my folks’ house, where I usually stay when I’m in Cali. I like them because they’re close by and they can work you over. Long fireroad climbs (sometimes very steep) and long fireroad descents, but not much else. I was there soon after a controlled burn, so it was like riding through hell— miles and miles of scorched black earth with no shade in sight and temps in the mid 90s. What little shade left was confined to a 3 mile corridor through Telegraph Canyon. So it was no surprise that all the wildlife in the park was hanging out there. As I round a blind turn I run into two bobcat cubs. I slam the brakes and stop about 10 feet from them. I don't know if these cats have a taste for manflesh, but the recent stories of mountain lions attacking bikers has me worried. They’re smack in the middle of the trail and they’re not moving. “This must be some new ambush tactic,” I think to myself. I’m scanning the area looking for their mother, and hoping to God that I don’t feel claws on my back and fangs in my neck. Meanwhile one of the cubs is checking me out thinking, “I could probably take him down, but there’s not much meat on him.” Reluctantly, they turn and scamper playfully into the brush. I put it in the big ring (yes I had gears, I am not proud) and haul ass out of there. The loose sand makes it hard to hold any speed. I’m constantly checking over my shoulder for the sight of fangs, thinking that if I did see them, there really wouldn’t be much I could do anyways. Eventually, I find the fireroad that climbs out of the canyon and make it back to the car with all my flesh intact.

SSWC05!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2005-08-22T09:01:00.000-05:00

I’m on my back staring at a beautiful blue Pennsylvania sky. My bike is somewhere off to the side. I don’t know exactly where. My nipples hurt. They’re puckered and raw from two and a half hours of incessant rubbing against the material of my Disney clearance-bin jersey (a gift from Rickyd). An open can of Red Bull comes rolling up to rest on my shoulder, spilling its remaining contents on said clearance-bin jersey. “Are you okay?” someone asks as I’m dragged off the trail.

Tussey Mountain Ski Resort, site of the 2005 Singlespeed World Championships. Gina is snapping pictures of a guy in bike-shorts-turned-daisy-dukes. I’m trying to avoid looking at a guy in fishnet stockings and pink skinsuit.

Greenwood Furnace
The race hasn’t started yet, but I feel like I’m gonna hurl. We had spent the previous night camping in the lush accommodations of Greenwood Furnace. Shivasteve had cooked up some of the best multi-grain pancakes I ever had and I was all over them like a Las Vegas buffet. Six pancakes and half a pack of bacon later, I wasn’t feeling so well standing by the car trying to decide between my team Bike Lane jersey or that Disney clearance-bin jersey that would later unleash hell on my nipples.

ShivaSteve can make a mean pancake

Standing around the start area I spy various mtb luminaries among the crowd: Gary Fisher, Keith Bontrager, Marla Streb, Travis Brown, and also this “luminary”. Event organizer Eric Roman delivers the pre-race pep-talk. “Welcome to Pennsylvania… 25.5 miles… 5 hour cut-off… Leman’s start… no upgrading bikes… thank the volunteers… go!” 400 singlespeeders take off running into the woods on the longest Leman’s run I’ve ever seen. I get back to the starting area and find a bunch of confused people looking for their bikes. Luckily, Gina and Maili have staked it out and direct me to my trusty Surly. We had a huge dc-area delegation in attendance: Rickyd, Stoner, Butch, Foley, Spearman, DT, riderx, Markie, Scardaville, Tris, Crouse, Jay, Erin, Becky, Shivasteve, Claman, Casey, Nick, Sol, and a few others. But I have no idea where any of them are after the confusion of the Leman’s start.

Disney sucks

Foley looking sharp in his custom wool City Bikes threads

The singletrack climb up to Tussey Mountain ridge is long but not too steep. I close in on Rickyd, but by the time we get up to the ridge I have to ease up. The ridge trail is challenging enough without trying to go at his pace. I watch him disappear ahead of me and relax for a bit. This is my favorite part of the course. Flat and narrow with lots of rock gardens and spectacular views to either side. I settle into a groove-- not really riding hard, not trying to pass anyone, just enjoying myself.

Pfffftt! The rear tire blows up. No problem cos I’m prepared this time. I pull over and pull out a new tube, a 15mm wrench to undo the rear bolts, a 5 mm wrench for the disc brake… shit! No 5mm wrench. You think I would have learned my lesson from Big Bear, but I guess not. Unable to change the tube, I break out the patches and hope they hold. A quick blast of C02 and I’m on my way. Meanwhile, lots of people have passed me while I was sidelined: fatmarc, butch, manic, many more. Looks like I’ve got a lot of ground to make up. I get back on and start catching riders. The trail is narrow so passing has to be done creatively. Ride on their wheel, anticipate when they’re going to dab, and shoot around when they do. First up is manic. “Hey, Butch says you’re *never* gonna catch him,” he taunts. A while later I find Butch, stopped on the side mending a flat. Then I come up on Da Man, Jeff Jones. “Hey Jeff, nice bike! I’m on your list man!” I say as I ride by.

By the end of the Tussey trail I’ve got Erin in sight for the first long climb of the race. I catch up to him and he tells me that Ricky is about 3 minutes ahead. I’m surprised at such a small gap since it took me a while to fix my flat. Eventually I catch Ricky, but were both walking up something called “The Wall.” He needs help getting out of his body suit to relieve his bladder. I’m feeling a bit awkward with other riders eyeing the action, but I oblige him nevertheless and unzip the thing from the back. I push on while he takes care of business.

Now I’m zooming down an endless double track-- miles with no turns, just a straight gentle grade down the mountain. Sounds easy, but I’m going fast enough that the small rough spots on the trail are giving my kidneys a serious beating. Ricky passes me riding no-handed, the gold suit giving him the aerodynamic qualities of a cruise missile with love handles.

The climb up to Wildcat Gap was the toughest part of the race for me. It’s about 4 miles long and the pitch is mellow enough that you think you can ride it, but steep enough that it taxes you if you do. What also made the climb harder was that my legs were cold and unresponsive after a long downhill. I’m riding with Ricky and thinking how the heck I’m going to gap him. I’m spent and my legs feel like jelly. His gold suit is hurting my eyes. As a faster IF rider goes by, I see my opportunity and jump on his wheel. I stay with him for a little while but Mr. IF is too fast and eventually leaves me behind. When I finally ease up and look around though, I’m all alone. I refill my water bottle at the aid station near the top and grab a can of Red Bull which I chug while riding. As I near the entrance to the Wildcat Gap singletrack, I try to toss my half-empty can to one of the volunteers while turning into the singletrack. But in my fatigued state, this maneuver is beyond my ability. The can slips out of my hand, my front wheel slides out and I’m on my back unable to get up because of leg cramps.

Eventually I do get up, and with both legs still on the verge of re-cramping I throw myself down the ridiculous pitches of Wildcat Gap in the standard chest-on-the-seat-pray-my-rear-wheel-doesn’t-neuter-me position. As I get to the infamous rock garden near the end, I hear Gina and Maili cheering me on. I can’t look up though because I need all my concentration to make sure I don’t take a dive into the rocks.

Me on wildcat gap

The golden god

Stoner

I make it through unscathed and begin the last long climb of the race. Scardaville rides past me. I let him go, perhaps feeling a bit intimidated by the fact that he’s been “training” and he came in second to Larry Camp at the last Wakefield race. No way I’m gonna keep up with him. But this is the point in the race where some people start to crack. Today, I wasn’t one of them. I get a surge of energy and start catching up to a group containing Markie, Scardaville, and my Bike Lane teammate, Crouse. “Nooooo! Not JoeP!” Markie screams as he sees me gaining. “Out of my way Dr. Mark, you’re slowing me down,” I yell back as I try to get around his zig-zagging tactics. I’m surprised to see Crouse at all during a race—he’s usually so far ahead of me right off the line. But this trail can kick the crap out of the best riders on any given day. And today it was just dumb luck that it wasn’t me.

Somehow I’ve left the pack behind. I’m looking for the singletrack entrance, anticipating an attack from the chasing peloton, but when I look back I don’t see anyone. Finally I spot the orange shirts of volunteers signaling the left turn down the mountain. The final descent to the finish is rocky and unrelenting; easily the longest mile of the day for me. It would normally have been a fun trail, but after 25 miles my arms feel like spaghetti and I just want it to end.

Eventually, it does. Fatmarc is congratulating riders as they roll across the line. I finished in about 3.5 hours, just a minute or two ahead of Markie. Riderx and Nick had finished long before I did and were already back at the parking lot, probably finishing off the last of the free beer. Claman rolls up with Jersey pockets full of Old Dominion brew. He had injured his arm somewhere and had to bail out of the race. I linger a while and watch a few of my buddies finish up before riding back to the car.

But for the fastties, the race isn’t over. There’s still the go-kart race to decide the winners. The 20 fastest men, 10 fastest women, and 10 lucky slugs line up for the ultimate prize: the singlespeed world champ tattoos. The go-kart race is a brilliant show of speed, tactics, and plain dumb luck to rival any nascar race. I cheered, I hollered, I winced when I saw testicles bounding across the track. But when I regained my sight there were two new singlespeed world champions: Brian "Buck" Keich and Marla Streb. Congratulations to them, may God save their souls.

Thank you Mt. Nittany crew and volunteers. See you at the next ECNASSCU.

Of bikes and baguettes

2005-08-17T21:34:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer: This is Gina's post. I did *not* go to an all-women overnight camping trip (because Gina wouldn't let me). -- JoeP

I’ve always liked cool weather. I would rather ride along the frozen Potomac in 16 degree weather rather than in 90 degrees with humidity. So it was with some apprehension when Rose, Julie, Maili and I set off on our overnight camping trip at Cedarville forest, with a forecast of HOT and humid. But great company is great company – no matter the weather. So there we were, roasting marshmallows on an open fire and eating baguettes with mozzarella, tomatoes, basil, olive oil, and vegetarian chili. But enough about food, we also managed to do some riding. We wanted to do the green and brown trails but we didn't know where those trails began so we decided to do the orange trail instead. We were all glad it was an easy trail lest we get heat stroke, then we decided to go to the blue trail. We met a group of bow hunters on the blue trail and they “advised” us to go another way instead because there were more of them ahead. I was thinking that this is a bike trail too and we should be able to ride it but after hearing loud thuds from arrows in the distance, we decided to go the other way. I was not pleased but I would rather not risk my neck this time and ruin a good day.

The next day, after a quick pancake breakfast, we decided to pack up camp and head to Rosaryville for more riding. This is a really fun trail, and well marked too! We met three guys riding in the opposite direction. They were spaced five minutes apart with two of them asking if we saw their friends. I guess for most guys, it’s not “macho” to wait. Julie suggested to the last guy that he should try riding with women. Not that women are slower (okay, we were slower than them) but we tend to ride together and not keep gaps of five minutes. It was a very hot day and we were sweating like crazy. At one point, Julie squirted cold water on us (as if we were doing a wet t’shirt contest) and that felt good. Finishing the ride with a waiting cooler of ice cold Gatorade was heaven, but the best thing is we all finished it together and we’re gonna do it again… but next time we’ll make sure the weather forecast is in the 70s.

rose, maili, julie and gina's kona at cedarville

Like a sponge

2005-08-15T22:37:00.000-05:00

i got a bad flavor
i got dirty clothes
i got a strange neighbor
who doesn't have curtains on her windows

i got a pet hedgehog
drinkin' jaeger all day
you got my crate combo and a baby on the way
but it's ok

it's gonna take a lot of time
before i can cross that finish line
and when i can't take the fall
i really wanna make that call...

--Ben Kweller (Commerce, TX)

"Daddy, what's yay-ger? Why do hedgehogs drink it?" asks the kid out of the blue. And then she goes and sings the whole first and second verses of Commerce, TX. Glad I put my NWA tapes away long ago.

cyclic

2005-08-13T20:18:00.000-05:00

Last year around this time, to within a week, I was attacked by yellow jackets while doing some gardening (shhhh). Stung 4 times. Gina was away, biking of course, so I had to drive myself to the doctor's office after I discovered hives spreading throughout my body. Within a couple of hours I was in the ER. My circulation system was shutting down. My fingernails were turning blue from the lack of oxygen. I was in bad shape. Doc said I was probably an hour from the point of no return when they stuck me with a horse-sized dose of epinephrine. If I didn't get preventative treatment, the consequences from the next attack would be much worse.

Because of my newly discovered allergy I had to abandon my plans to do the SM100. I didn't want to chance getting stung miles/hours from any medical help (and people *were* getting stung last year). I went through a year's worth of allergy treatments and today I had a real world test of their effectiveness. I got attacked by yellow jackets again.

Funny how similar it all was to last year. It was a hot summer day only weeks before the SM100. Gina was away again, biking of course, and I was at home with the kid, gardening (shhhhh). They came out of nowhere and I got stung 3 times. This time, however, no hives, no breathing problems, nothing. I drove myself to the doctor's office just in case, but it wasn't necessary. SM100, here I come.

Bust-a-nutten

2005-08-07T21:14:00.000-05:00

"You're fired," Stoner tells me as we ride/limp into the Signal Knob parking lot. Rewind about 5 hours and we, Butch, Charles, Stoner, and myself are in good spirits heading out from the same parking lot for an Elizabeth Furnace epic. Stoner, Butch, and I are all riding Monkeys. Charles was on an old-skool Serrota with day-glo paint and pedal clips. In solidarity with our singlespeed addiction, Charles promises not to shift. Cool. We have it all planned out. We would climb the fireroad to Woodstock tower, ride the Massanutten trail to Signal Knob, and come down on the Bear Wallow trail to end the loop. None of us were familiar with the trail system, but we had a map. Jason and Charles, who both had never been to "the Furnace" were relying on Butch and I to navigate the route. That was the fatal flaw in the plan.

The ride started of well enough. Fireroad climb to singletrack to more fireroad, and then a sign pointing the way towards Woodstock tower, just like the map said. "I can't believe people get intimidated by this place," Butch says as we find all the appropriate landmarks, "it's so easy to get around." Ten minutes later and we're lost. From midway up the mountain, we had taken a wrong left turn that sent us all the way to the foothills. We have to climb back up. Not so bad since it's all smooth fireroad, but taxing nevertheless. A minor inconvenience compared to what was to come (but more on that later).

The Massanutten trail from Woodstock tower heading east is quite simply some of the best riding I've seen. Miles of twisty, rocky ridgetop, East Coast goodness. Butch and I take turns in the pole position using our faces to clear the morning spider webs. More than once I feel one of those critters crawling on my lip. A quick slurp, and spit usually gets rid of the unwanted passenger. After about 5 miles we take a rocky white-knuckle descent back to the fireroad. Here we run into Dieter and Sean who I met at the MORE camping trip to Stokesville. We chat for a bit while Charles fixes a flat and then we're off again.

At this point Charles is running low on water and decides to head back to the cars, leaving just Butch, Stoner, and myself to tackle the climb up to Signal Knob. Ironically, about a hundred yards up the road we spot a pipe gushing water from the side of the mountain. I'm a bit worried because there appears to be some kind of "outhouse" uphill from the pipe. With just a bit of hesitation, Butch is slurping away at the pipe. "Tastes good," he says. That's enough convincing for me. I step in and drink. The water is cold and refreshing, and it tastes good like Butch said. We fill up our bottles and head out, knowing that any moment we all might be curled up on the side of the trail with stomach cramps.

The climb up to Signal Knob is pretty easy except for the last mile or so, which is pure hell if you try to actually ride it. I rode as far as I could, but in the end I had to assume the singlespeed climbing position: hands on the bars, feet on the ground, leaning forward to walk with the bike, head hung in shame.

We regroup at the summit and plan our descent. According to the map, we should take the yellow trail to the white trail to Bear Wallow. Not able to find a yellow trail we take an orange trail instead which leads into a mile of gradually uphill continuous rock garden. As we trudge on, the rocks get bigger. At some point we get off the bikes and push them through what seemed like miles of boulder fields. The long carving downhill back to the cars that is Bear Wallow never materialized. Instead, we are in hike-a-bike hell scraping brake rotors, cranks, frames, ankles, and knees on granite rocks with no end in sight.

We force ourselves to ride through stretches of it simply because we're tired of walking. After a while, we see hikers who said they just passed a sign that said 1.7 miles to Buzzard Rock Overlook. After all our careful planning to avoid this trail, we were we smack in the middle of it. Nothing to do but push on. Luckily, about a mile or two from the cars, the trail eases up again and we gratefully bomb down what little downhill is left.

"JoeP, you're FIRED!" reads the first email from Stoner the next day. I laugh as I survey the arrays of cris-crossed cuts on both arms and legs from where the thornbushes had overgrown the trail. Can't wait to do it again.

Dixie Chicks

2005-07-27T19:43:00.000-05:00

There we were in the middle of a James Taylor show and the peace-love vibe was kickin like organic chickin. JT had just finished up some song I didn't know. He was about to go into another song I didn't know (he was playing lots of stuff from his new album) when he says "I learned this next song from the Dixie Chicks..."

(brief silence, then...) "Boooo" goes about 50% of the crowd.

Almost forgot I live in a Red state. Gee, it's nice to be reminded once in a while. Hope my new link doesn't get me in trouble.

P.S. To the folks who gave us the wine and good company in the parking lot while we sat there for an hour waiting to get out, Thanks!

Me Ahab, You Moby

2005-07-22T18:45:00.000-05:00

If you know me well enough, you'll know that I have an obsessive personality. While I can't go into all of my obessions in this PG-13 rated blog, I can say that one of my mountain bike racing obsessions was finally fulfilled yesterday at the last WaW race. I've been trying to beat this person for a long time and yesterday it finally happened. I won't say his name, but it rhymes with Larry Cautilli. Nevermind that he was probably already worn out running around like mad before the race trying to get everything together (he's also the race organizer, and a damn good one at that). Or he may even had a mechanical problem during the race to slow him down. I don't know and I don't care. For once in my life I posted a faster time than him. Nyahhhh! All kidding aside, Larry is an awesome rider and mountain biking advocate who has almost singlehandedly changed the face of Wakefield Park for the better IHMO. But yesterday I whooped his ass by 30 seconds. Ok, 30 seconds is more like a gentle spanking, but I'll take it.

Couldn't have done it without Foley. Except for the bit when he was ahead of me, he rode my wheel for the entire race and really pushed me. It's become a very fast SS class at Wakefield. I remember looking around at the starting line thinking, "Ohmigod, this is gonna be my first DFL (dead fooking last) finsh." But when the proverbial gun went off, I found myself in the middle of the pack going into the singletrack and that's pretty much where I stayed. For the first 2 laps it was me, Claman, and Foley dooking it out. Unfortunately, Butch was taken out early with a flat tire. Claman got around me and opened up a gap somewhere on the 2nd lap, leaving just me and Foley to sprint for the finish. I barely held him off. On any other day, he would have come around and passed me. But today, I had my "racing dress" on and that's what did it...

More pics and a view from the front of the pack here.

If you build it, they will come

2005-07-17T14:54:00.000-05:00

Around the time that the bicycle was being invented, a group of forward-thinking sadists built the C&O canal towpath because they knew that generations upon generations of masochists would try to ride the thing in a day:

It's 10pm and were sitting around Rickyd's house planning the support stops for tomorrow's ride. "140/100/60/35," I scribble on my arm. Those are the mile markers where Jay and Deb are supposed to meet us with a car full of goodies. As I ponder the distance, I already start having doubts. The longest ride I had done before this was a 100 miler on nice dry road. Now we were planning to do almost twice that distance on what would probably be mud-soaked gravel. At 11pm I go to sleep thinking that I would make it to mile marker 100 at the most. It's 1am when the wake-up call goes around and we get ready to leave.

The 3 hour drive up to Cumberland is punctuated by passing rain showers, some of them quite strong. I try not to think about what these are doing to the towpath. "Maybe I will make it to mile marker 140," I think to myself.

It's 4am and the ground is remarkably dry at the historical town center in Cumberland. After a quick breakfast of granola and milk, I look over my setup: Surly x-check with Serfas 700x38 inverted tread tires, moustache bars set an inch higher than I normally ride, handlebar flashlight, 48x20 fixxed gearing. In my pockets are 2 Gu packets, 2 Cliff bars, Jethro tool, spare tube, pump, patch kit, map, and most importantly-- an MP3 player. After a few pre-ride group photos, were off at a little past 5am.

It's still dark as we finish off the first few miles at a quick-but-not-so-smart pace. The towpath is surprisingly dry and morale is good, even though I'm struggling a bit to follow the gentle but unpredictable turns of the trail. After a few more miles of riding together, Stoner spies an outhouse and the call is too stong. For some reason, Rickyd stops too. I push on and the peloton is officially broken. The sun is starting to come up. A half hour or so later I spy Rickyd gaining on me. He passes me at an 18mph pace and pulls ahead. I grudingly resist the urge to give chase knowing that I have to save my energy for the remaining 160 miles. This isn't supposed to be a race after all (yeah right). Just as he's about to disappear ahead of me, his foot is thrown from his pedal and he almost stops dead. As I catch up I ask if everything's ok. "Forgot I was riding a fixed gear," he says, "go on ahead." I do so and that's the last I see of him until Harper's Ferry (100 miles later).

Meanwhile I'm heading into the pitch-black darkness of the Paw-Paw tunnel. I turn on my handlebar light and ride slowly over the uneven ground marked with potholes to rival any in DC. I spot the proverbial light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel after a few minutes and focus on it. Bad idea, there are still several potholes between me and salvation that almost send me over the bars. As I emerge from the tunnel I'm on a wooden walkway flanked by mountains of granite-- one of the more scenic parts of the trail. I'm slowly closing in on the first checkpoint.

Panic sets in soon after I realize that I've passed the checkpoint by a couple of miles and still no sight of Jay and the support wagon. I've probably got enough water for another 40 miles, but I need food. I decide to turn around and ride back to the checkpoint, hoping that Jay will show up eventually. On the way back, I run into Stoner, who convinces me that we should just ride to the next checkpoint 40 miles away and hope for the best. My stomach is grumbling as I get back on my bike. In my mind, I'm pondering pulling off the trail and finding the nearest steakhouse. As we pedal into Hancock, we find Jay waiting for us. We're saved.

Reload the supplies, rest for a bit, and set out for another 25 miles to the next stop. This time I hooked up the MP3 player, which helped the miles roll by easy. I was closing in on the second checkpoint before I knew it with Stoner on my wheel. A few hundred yards from the stop, I drop my chain and Stoner slips ahead to claim the stage victory. 84 miles down, only 106 more miles to go...

We're all going at our own pace now, not really waiting to regroup. The drama is starting to build as I catch glimpses of phantom riders behind me trying to chase me down. Any moment I expect Stoner and Rickyd in a two-man paceline to just rip past me like I was standing still. All in fun. The mental games are a way to keep myself from getting bored.

As I got to Harper's Ferry I saw Rickyd's bike on top of the wagon. I knew at that moment that his knees had betrayed him again. I felt bad that he had to stop since he was the mastermind behind this ride and it would have been nice to see all three of us finish. It's the middle of a very hot day and there's not a tree in sight at Harper's Ferry. I take a break under an umbrella while Ricky helps get my stuff together for the next stage. After 130 miles, I'm now starting to feel the effects of the ride. As Stoner arrives, I get ready to leave.

The next stage is a relatively short 25 miles to White's Ferry. Would have been easy except that I got a flat front tire and found out that my pump was defective. I rode for a mile on the front rim until I found some campers who had a bike pump. I caught a glimpse of Stoner way back on the trail as I finished my repairs and headed out again. In no time I was at White's Ferry getting ready to start the home stretch.

The 35 miles from White's Ferry to Georgetown is my nemesis. Before, I had bonked twice on this part of the trail towards the end of some relatively short rides. It's only 35 miles, but the first half before Great Falls is usually a muddy pot-holed mess. So when Stoner pedalled into White's Ferry and decided not to ride the last stage, I knew where he was coming from. Normally I would have tried to pull him out of the car to finish, but not this time-- he could barely grip the bars.

After some minor wrenching (courtesy of Rickyd), I set out to do the last 35 miles on my own. My only goal was to finish before dark. 10 miles from the end I feel a surge of energy. For whatever reason, the tiredness has left and I'm giddy. I flat out sprint the remaining miles. While I never made it past 19mph, I felt good. Some guy on a hybrid bike zips past me, looking over his shoulder to see if I'll chase. "Yeah mthrfckr," I mumble to myself, "try that after 185 miles."

With 1 mile to go, the sky opens up with a torrential rain. I get soaked and it feels good for a little while until I start getting cold. I pull into Thompson's Boat House with a time of 15h26m expecting a nice dry car and a change of clothes, but instead find my buddies are having dinner back in Georgetown. I waited out the worst of the storm under an apartment building awning before riding back to the car. I'll admit I was a bit miffed at first but then again I thought, those guys must be starving and bored waiting around for me (each of them had done at least a C&O century). Besides, I just rode the entire C&O towpath in a day and I'm complaining about a little rain?!

There's already talk from Rickyd of attempting this again and I hope both he and Stoner finish it. Me? Err, I think I'll drive the support wagon instead...

More pics and Cliff notes here.

Return to Jim Thorpe

2005-07-06T21:35:00.000-05:00

I'm riding through rooty, boulder-strewn singletrack, threading my 27 inch handlebars through trees that are 25 inches apart. Space warps just enough to let me through, but sometimes it doesn't and fingers get smashed. Here, the rocks are your friends. Ride over them and think happy thoughts, and you may get through. Try to skittle around them and you lose precious momentum or worse, get bounced off the trail into bigger, sharper rocks. This is typical East Coast riding at its best. But wait-- round the next turn and you emerge from the forest into a desert. The double-wide gravel road at your feet is littered with obsidian and quartz. You look up at Big Sky and around you at miles of exposed rock which make up a canyon wall. It's hot as hell and you're out of water. "Did I make a wrong turn and wind up in Albuquerque?" you wonder. Nope, you're in the mountains of Jim Thorpe, PA, where East and West, past and present, millionaires and vagabonds are doing the dialectic shuffle.

We came to ride and we weren't dissapointed. Tom, our fearless guide and owner of Mary's Guesthouse (where we stayed), showed us around some of the best trails I had ever ridden-- mile after and rocky mile of them. Indeed, the riding is what makes these trips unforgettable. But at the end of the fireroad and singletrack, there's a small town of opera houses and jail houses, cybercafes and general stores, mansions and log cabins, that will keep me coming back.

Ricky wasn't the only one to dab. Tree hugging is standard practice on these rocky trails.

Always a warm bed and good company at Mary's Guesthouse

This modern-day male is not afraid to ask for directions

Ricky and Jo on Flagstaff peak

There's nothing like the blurry view from a rigid bike.

A nice place to rest near the end of the Switchback trail

The sexi exi: that's a big tire.

When you can't duel on bikes, yaks at ten paces!

Ham...

...and cheese

Skipping stones on the Lehigh River

The obligatory clocktower shot

Home is where you hang your helmet

The fun never ends with Uncle Ricky

Home in time for UMD fireworks. Happy 4th everyone!

Human nature cannot be studied in cities except at a disadvantage--a village is the place. There you can know your man inside and out--in a city you but know his crust; and his crust is usually a lie. -- Mark Twain

Second verse, same as the first

2005-06-29T20:53:00.000-05:00

(Photo by kona girl, touched by GIMP)

Note to self: cross bikes are not to be used in mountain bike races, ever.

I raced at Wakefield today on my cyclocross bike. I was slow as hell (probably a whole 2-3 minutes slower than last week) but I had fun, lot's of it. I had it all planned out. I would try to get into the top ten off the start, blow myself up running up the gravel road climb, and hang on for dear life for the rest of the race. Just maybe I could beat my time last week. Well it didn't quite work out that way. 5 seconds into the race, my skinny tires start sliding out. I lock handlebars with someone and hit the gravel hard. I manage to take out about 4 riders behind me and cause a major traffic jam. As I lay there hoping no one would run over me, I remember thinking, "Gee, my first pile up. Cool!" I get up, but the surge of adrenaline has me drained. I have nothing left in my legs to run up the hill, so I manage a pathetic jog/walk. By this time the entire singlespeed class is way ahead of me. I get to the top of the hill dead last as someone yells, "cyclocross rules!" Bwaahahhaaahaaa!

I manage to catch 3 or 4 riders, but that's it. After the first lap, both my hands go numb (yup, I left my gloves in the car). The skinny tires and the "aerodynamic" riding position amplify every bump on the trail. I have to ease up. I suddenly realize that even though the cross bike felt good for a casual ride, racing is an entirely different beast. I try my best, but by the end of the second lap I realize that I'm not going to catch my mid-pack homies from last week: Chunk, Butch, Foley, Stu, and my teammates Blake and Todd. Somewhere along the way I pass Erin, who has pulled off the trail to fix a flat. He's also riding singlespeed cross. For the rest of the race I'm looking over my shoulder for him, thinking he's gonna pass me any minute. That's my only motivation to ride faster. I can feel the gu that I downed coming back up my throat. I manage to hold off heaving on the trail and finish up the race without further incident. Butch, Stu, and Foley, I heard later, sprinted for the finish. Foley is on fire. He's easily the most improved rider this season. If I can keep him in sight for one lap at the next race, I'll consider it a personal victory.

The race ends only about an hour before the sky opens up and rain starts pouring down. I think I'll take a break from racing for awhile, say for about two weeks? I'll recharge by spending the long weekend at Jim Thorpe, biking, being a tourist, and hanging out with friends, family, and that rickyd fella. Then I'll dust off the cross bike for the next race, or maybe not.

Epilogue: I somehow got registered in the Sport class even though I raced Singlespeed (last minute shuffle). The official results show me as DNF in Sport, but in reality I think I was 21st (AGAIN! Waahoo!) in the singlespeed class.

Graduation Day

2005-06-25T08:10:00.000-05:00

My kid graduated from preschool today and I'm a proud parent. Since she goes to the Smithsonian, they made a temporary exhibit out of all the kids' art. This is one of Sagada's contributions:

I want to be a cowgirl. You might think I have a pink unicorn because of the horn but it's really a pink horse.

Catchy title. Sorta like Neil Young meets Strawberry Shortcake. The next one is her "3D sculpture"

She claims it's a horse.

Racing

2005-06-22T23:30:00.000-05:00

Suffering at WaW05

I love racing. Racing is like ripping out your entrails and holding them up for everyone to see exactly what you're made of. It cuts through all the posturing, trash talking (and trash talking your friends is half the fun of racing!) , zillions of lame excuses, and shows how fast you really are-- like it or not. And lately for me, not.

If my team's win at Lodi last month was my personal high point, then my last two races have got to be among my lows. The 24 hours of Big Bear was fun and I couldn't have asked for better teammates. But regardless of my lame mechanical problems/excuses, I just wasn't "in the zone." My 3rd lap (with no mechanical problems to blame) showed it. Same goes for the first Wednesdays at Wakefield race yesterday where I placed 21 out of 34 (yup, 34 singlespeeders - we're getting BIG!). I guess I've been slacking on training since Lodi. I like to call it my "extended taper" period, but really it's just that I didn't go out and ride like I used to.

US Postal rides again! Rickyd, me, Stoner, Erin.
(Photo by Joe Foley)

I'm tired of all the excuses. People really don't care about them. I certainly don't. I have a ton of respect for the guys and gals who do badly at a race and just say, "yeah man, I sucked" end of story. In racing, nothing matters except the time on the scoreboard and all the fun you have eviscerating yourself on the course trying to keep up with your friends.

So what now? I guess I'll just get back on the bike and start hammering out the miles. Hopefully I'll get my legs and lungs back in time for the big races at the end of the season.

To end on a positive note: my friends are getting hella fast! At the last WaW, Rickyd placed 7th out of 34 (just behind EvanF), Butch kicked my arse to the curb, DT is now dooking it out on his fixie against the Sport class, and Foley is one slim aerodynamic machine (sans beard). Stoner put in some great laps at Big Bear, and Erin, well I don't see how anyone can get much faster than that. And speaking of fast, don't get me started bout my teammates over at the Bike Lane, but that's a whole 'nother post!

Peace and Love.

rRRRAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!! (part 3)

2005-06-12T16:27:00.000-05:00

What's this?!?! Another singlespeeder in the family?! Can I possibly save any more souls??

Gina had been hinting (not so subtley) that she was ready to accept the faith. So after I spotted this bike in the MORE classifieds I didn't think twice. An 05 Kona Unit with a P2 rigid fork. Picked it up the next day, and after some minor tweaking it was ready to rock. With good enough standover and a longish top tube, the Kona fits her much better than her old bike. She took the bike to Wakefield the other night for it's maiden voyage while I took the kid for a spin on the fireroads. A while later, Gina came back smiling. "That was fast," she says.

I wouldn't see just how fast until a few days later when we went to Cedarville for the kiddo's class camping trip. Cedarville is the perfect place to break in a first-time singlespeeder. The trail is smooth, fast, and twisty, with enough short rooty uphills to keep my climbing addiction in check. It's not often that Gina and I get to ride together, so when our friends Rick and Deb volunteered to take the kids on a nature hike, we shot off to the trailhead like a Roadrunner cartoon.

I always love riding with Gina, but this time something was different. It didn't take me long to realize what it was. It was the sound of my old clunky freewheel that used to adorn my first singlespeed. Except this time it was on Gina's bike, and even on the climbs, it was constantly dogging me from only a few yards behind. "Holy bat-crap," I think to myself as the clouds part and the sunbeams illuminate the rider behind me, "I'm riding too slow for her." Ok, no more taking it easy. I open it up to a decent pace and we spend the rest of the ride ripping through 12 miles of singletrack, together.

So what's better than a soulmate that shares all of your passions? How about one that doesn't keep you waiting.

Shadow people

2005-06-08T19:21:00.000-05:00

You know the ones. They drift in and out of your routine and sometimes you might even say "hi" to one, but that's about all. They probably all have their own unique, even remarkable stories, but you'd never know. To you they exist just as milestones to mark your passing. Here are a few of them in my life:

The Grim Reaper: There's a bustop that I drive by everyday when I go to work. Every time I'm running late, he is there. In a suit like a mortician's with the straight posture to match. When I see him, I know I'm running late. I wonder if he notices my silver Passat wagon (usually with bikes on top). I wonder if he has a name for me.

Oscar: Every morning between 7:45 and 8:15 Oscar comes walking down the street with his owner. When I first moved into my neighborhood I knew the pets before I knew their owners. There was Max the Collie, Midnight the Lab, Eddie (the cat), and Oscar the droopy-eared dog. It's sad that I don't even know Oscar's owner's name. One day I'll have to have a proper chat with him. So far, the only time I talked to him was when he stopped in front of my house while I was gardening. "Is that treehouse on your property?" he said, looking at the dilapidated-looking red shack in my back yard. "Yes it is," I said. And that was it.

Surly Girl: She rides a green Surly cross check, singlespeed. It might even be a fixie because I've never seen her coast. Madison St., in front of the American History Museum, usually around 5:30pm when I'm picking up my kid from school, she rides by-- unhurried but unshakeable in purpose, pedals turning in slow constant cadence, commuter bag on her shoulder.

rRRRAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!! (part 2)

2005-05-25T21:16:00.000-05:00

Yo, Reverend Whitehair! Another singlespeeder for the congregation:

I love being a dad.

Every dogeater has his day

2005-05-18T00:11:00.000-05:00

U.S. Postal delivers

I still can't believe it. After two seasons of mostly mid-pack (sometimes worse) race finishes, a win. I must say, it feels good. Less the winning, but more the fact that the competition was good and me and my teammates had to suffer greatly to pull it off. But misery loves company, and last weekend there was plenty of company and plenty of misery on the trails of Lodi Farms.

It was Saturday afternoon when Markie and Rickyd showed up at my place for the caravan down to Fredericksburg. The original plan was for Rickyd and myself to do the race as a duo, but Ricky, at a race the week before, managed to wear a hole through his left palm the size of a nickle. So, not feeling quite up to the rigors of racing for 12 hours as a duo, we went looking for a scapegoat, err, I mean teammate. That would be Markie.

We got to Lodi Farms around 4 in the afternoon and set up camp near Tris and Mike. Foley, Lee, Stoner, Butch, DT, and Spearman set up nearby and the atmosphere gets cozy in a hurry. I brought a stove to boil water for oatmeal, DT and Spearman grill steaks. At 6pm we head for the registration table and sign up: US Postal, Sport Class. That gets a chuckle from a few people. With 6 hours till the start, Markie and I head out for a pre-ride and make it back to camp in about an hour. The course is 8.3 miles, almost a mile longer than last year and it's run in the opposite direction. Short climbs (some steep), long open sections, and lots of tight, rooty hairpin turns. A perfect course for a 29er singlespeed. I had raced this last year as a duo with SteigH and we placed 2nd. This year, with Ricky's hand problem, my 2 week long "taper" period, and the fact that Markie had not raced in 8 years, I had no idea how we would do. Markie is a bit worried that my moderate pre-ride pace is too close to his race pace. Nonsense. After the chaotic Le Mans start at midnight with 200+ riders running through the campsite, Markie is off like a beast.

As the first hour comes to an end, the first riders cross the finish line. Fatmarc pulls in among the top 5 looking like he's not even trying. Rockdogger, looking just slightly dogged, is right behind him. At 12:58am, Markie finishes his lap in the top 20. That sets up Rickyd nicely for his lap. He's close to the front and away from most of the traffic. Ricky finishes his first lap at 1:50am. That's probably the fastest lap of the race so far. Now it's my turn. I ride hard, at full effort. I should have taken it easy. I'm hitting the turns too fast and sliding out. The hour of rain before the start and the 400 or so riders before me have made the numerous roots on the course slick like butter. Despite the 5 or 6 falls and crashes, I finish my lap at 2:46am. At that point, I lose track of the lap times and concentrate more on riding and picking good lines through the roots.

My second lap goes better. I'm not crashing as much, but my superwide bars and bar ends, which are so nice on the rooty climbs, are hitting trees left and right, bouncing me around like a pinball. Wood chips are flying in the darkness, and I'm struggling to keep upright. Crossing the stream at the end of the lap as the first sun rays emerge feels like a baptism. I'm feeling reborn as I pull into the finish area and send Markie off on his third lap.

After a quick rest, I stop by the starter's tent to check on our standing. We're a full lap ahead of the Sport Class, PhilW tells me, and in first place in the Expert Class. The recent discussions of sandbagging on the MORE board come flooding into my mind. Oh no, we're never gonna hear the end of it. I tell Markie that were too far ahead so take it easy. I'm glad he didn't listen to me. Turns out that PhilW made a mistake and we were only ~20 minutes ahead of second place.

Markie comes back pretty scratched up. He'd taken a bad fall on this lap and his prospects for a good 4th lap are questionable. Meanwhile, Rickyd and I are feeling the cummulative effects of all the climbing and roots. I'm physically tired, but mentally, I'm on fire, psyching myself up for the battle with the team in second place. It's Evan, Blake, and Bruce, and they're no slackers. In fact, I'm amazed that we managed to stay ahead of them.

By the time I head out for my 4th and last lap every ounce of tiredness has left me. The plan is to leave nothing behind and ride like the dickens. Either Rickyd or Markie would be there at the finish to do the anchor lap. In full daylight, the course is drying out and getting fast. If I had been keeping track of time I think this would have been my fastest lap. I arrive at the finish line and find that Markie will be our anchor man. Ricky had totally spent himself on his fourth lap and could barely walk. That's about how I felt at the end of my 4th lap. Also present are Gina, Cousin Ro and the kids. They came through with the post-race food and support.

I'm chatting with Evan in the start area as he waits for his teammate to cross the line. He knows they're only 15 minutes behind. That's just one bad crash or flat tire from victory. He smells blood in the water. As his teammate rides into the starting area he rounds up Charlie the trail dog and takes off like a rocket. I'm nervous. The minutes tick by and there's nothing to do but wait. I can picture all sorts of things happening to Markie: a flat tire, a crash, getting attacked by Charlie the trail dog, stopping to chat with a cute girl or stopping to pose for the numerous photographers that have appeared on the race course. Dammit Markie, put your vanity in check for once and just ride! Ricky is nervous as well. He heads out onto the course to look for Markie to tell him to hurry up. 12:14 and our prayers are answered. Markie comes flying to the finish line like a demon on what was probably his fastest lap. It's over. I take a bite out of my Spam sushi roll and relax.

We ran a good race. All of us were riding at our limits and I had never rode so hard in my life. Lot's of my friends were on the podium: In the singlespeed class, ErinG and StuartR's 2-person team (competing against 3-person teams!) takes the win, Stoner and Butch take 3rd. In the 3-man sport class, Evan, Blake, and Bruce take 2nd. For solo men's ShivaSteve takes the 7th spot podium running a fixed gear. The solo women's win belongs to BeckyB, 3rd belongs to KateF who rode singlespeed. The duo class was dominated by Fatmarc and LWebb who did as many laps as our 3-person team did (and came in 2 minutes ahead of us!). Bitchin' Bike Lane Babes (all female racing against coed) take 2nd in the open category. The karma award goes to Foley and Lee for taking their teammate Matt to the hospital after a bad crash and missing most of the race.

Pics of the event are here, here, and here.

rRRRAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!

2005-05-05T22:36:00.000-05:00

In the Star Trek universe when a Klingon warrior dies, his living comrades join in a primal scream to warn the dead that a Klingon warrior is approaching. In Northern VA when a singlespeeder is born, there is no such ritual.

But dammit there ougtha be! Especially when that new singlespeeder is long lost cousin Ro:

Hey Rose! Who's lookin afer the kids?!?!

And so it begins...

2005-04-20T22:32:00.000-05:00

BrotherL, whether he knows it or not, has thrown down the gauntlet signifying the official start of RACE SEASON in these parts. I've always used the Fountainhead trail as a measure of my fitness level. It's a well marked, one-way course so every now and then I'll go there and time myself doing a couple of laps. Around 50 minutes per lap will put you somewhere in the middle of the local singlespeed class. Get it down under 40 and you have a shot at the podium. BrotherL went out a few days ago and posted his time. So today I distracted the kid long enough (hey, look over there!) to sneak out the door for a Fhead quickie.

I got to the park close to sunset so instead of the usual two laps, I only had time for one. I park the car outside the gate so I don't get locked in, gear up, and head out. As I pass the trailhead marker I hit my stopwatch and start cranking. Without any warmup, I'm seeing flickering purple spots as I hit the first climb 5 minutes into the ride. Not a good way to start, but I keep at it. I'm pretty familiar with this trail so I put myself on autopilot and proceed to zone out. Bad idea. I had forgotten that there was a trailwork session here a few days ago in which some parts of the trail were rerouted. Halfway into the ride I run into orange flags delineating the first unexpected detour. About two minutes later I'm lost and heading the wrong way on the trail. The clock is ticking. The doubling back costs me a couple of minutes but I eventually find my way. Another surprise about a mile later. A big tree is down on an uphill part of the trail. It's ramped so I try to ride it, but fail. "Next time," I think as I run my bike up the rest of the climb. The last mile or so goes without incident and I pull into the parking lot a bit under 51 minutes from when I started. This is about where I was in the middle of last season. Not my best effort, but not bad for a first try. I feel strong enough for another lap, but lo, I see the Ranger going out to lock the gate. Good night Ranger. Good night friends. I'll see you all on the starting line.

Douthat

2005-04-18T22:31:00.000-05:00

Sometimes you sit back, take it all in and think-- life can't get any better than this. I spent the weekend at Douthat State Park with the extended family: me, the wife, the kid, and about 20 of the coolest people you'd find anywhere. The weather was perfect and the trails were awesome, to put it lightly. Douthat has some of the best trails anywhere. Long climbs up to spectacular views and long downhills that dare you to lay off the brakes for just a second longer.

I had been to Douthat twice before, but this trip will be the most memorable for sure. For one, it would be the first time I took my daughter "mountain" biking. Trailer bike in tow, the kid and I set out Saturday morning with Gina, Maili, Julie, Marianne, and Karen for the long climb up Mountainside trail to the Douthat overlook. The climb proved to be quite a challenge with the extra load, even with my wimpy 32x20 gearing and the occassional pedal push from behind. And although my knees will probably never forgive me, the pain was worth the look on my kid's face when we crested the final hill and she saw the view from the top for the first time.

After we get back to the lodge there's still time for a good 2hrs in the saddle before dinner. But this time I leave the kid with Gina and go out for a solo ride. Destination: the Tuscarora Overlook. After a quick look at the trail map I decide to take the shortest route, which is to climb up the Blue Suck Falls trail to Lookout Rock and then to Middle Mountain. Bad choice. Climbing up Blue Suck Falls, well, sucks. I'm either shouldering the bike through rock gardens or I'm pushing it through uphill switchbacks that I would have never cleared, even with gears. At one point I catch my hand on a thorny vine and rip open my thumb. So now I'm leaving a trail of blood for the bears to follow. The sufferfest ends almost too soon as I catch sight of a trail marker pointing the way to the abandoned cabin at the overlook. Stopping for a minute to take in the view I glance at my watch and see there's only about a half hour till dinner. I point the bike downhill and let loose the brakes. The descent down Stony Run seems to last forever. It's fast, relatively smooth, and most importantly, long. The scenery changes from open and exposed off-camber ribbons of trail, to shaded canopies resembling an oasis, sometimes at the instant you turn a switchback. While I missed riding with the fellas, being out there alone on a trail I've never seen before, screaming down the mountain, is an epiphany unto itself. If I wasn't such a shallow person I would think I experienced zen, if only for a moment.

Meanwhile, back at the lodge, the tomfoolery raged on:

(photo by BeckyB)

On the last day at Douthat I took it easy and let Gina ride with the gang up to the same spot where I had been the day before. They were smarter and chose a more rideable route to the top. JoeF, ever the lens man, took some amazing pictures capturing all the fun I was missing. However, the smile on Gina's face when she got back to the lodge told me enough about how nice the ride was. I was really impressed with Gina, Maili, and Julie at how well they rode those trails. Now, there's even talk amongst them of teaming up at some of the races. Let's hope so.

Like learning to ride all over again: Maili tries clipless pedals.

Old Crew Ride (Part I)

2005-04-14T22:57:00.000-05:00

Old friends, old friends,
Sat on their parkbench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
of the high shoes of the old friends

-- Simon and Garfunkel

Took a spin with the "Old Crew" at Gambril today, some of whom I haven't seen in quite a bit. These are most of the people who got me into this mountain biking thing. For when I'm 80 and have completely lost my mind, in the picture are (L to R): MikeW, LeeD, ScudS, Me, JoeR, DT, JoeF, RickyD. Regretfully absent are Bob, who is no longer with us (err in the DC area I mean) and Gary, who chose to spend time with his kid instead (yeah make us all look bad why don't cha). Notably present: MikeW who drove in from PA. Nothin' fancy. Just a good ride with friends. The way it's supposed to be.

Fountainhead

2005-03-26T19:16:00.000-05:00

Fountainhead. My favorite local park/mountain bike trail. It's been lurking around some corner of my life ever since I left the West coast. When Gina and I moved to VA in 98, we were both archery geeks. We shot Olympic style recurve and Fhead was the closest archery range we could find. Nevermind that the range was geared more towards the bowhunter types, it gave us a chance to be out in the woods, which after 20 years of city life in Los Angeles and un-life in the Orange County burbs, seemed like a neat place indeed.

Months later when the archery geek thing passed and the mountain biking geek thing kicked in, I saw a Washington Post article about the Fhead mountain bike trail and decided to give it a try. So one day I tied my $250 aluminum hardtail to the trunk of my car (an old Nissan Sentra which was probably worth less than my bike) and set out for adventure. Until then, my rides had been limited to the cinder trail around Lake Accotink, where even those 5% grades had me gasping for air. Fhead was a very different beast indeed. Steep climbs, rocks, roots, and logs. The trail hurt me bad. But I liked it so much that I came back every weekend for the next few weeks.

A few months later after discovering clipless pedals and full-suspension, I went for my first night ride there clad in jogging sweats and a bright yellow fleece pullover. With about 30 people in the parking lot we split up into 4 groups. My delusions of grandeur got the better of me and I decided to try one of the faster groups (somehow, it was full of guys riding bikes with one gear). I got dropped after less than a minute of riding. As the moderate group caught up with me I pedaled hard to keep up. I got dropped again. As the slower, casual group caught me I pedaled even harder to keep up. No use. I spent the rest of that ride chatting with the sweeper, a nice guy by the name of Stu (the world famous MORE Fhead liaison Stu). We meandered along occassionally getting lapped by faster riders until we finally made it back to the parking lot. I went home and swore off Fhead for a while.

My next night ride there would be three years later, uh, that would be just a couple of Wednesdays ago (see how long it took those emotional scars to heal?). Now, I was riding one of those funny bikes with one gear and I had long since discovered lycra. I'm a bit faster now than I was three years ago but some things never change. I'm still getting dropped, but this time it's rickyd who's doing the dropping. Ever since he converted to 29erism he's hell on wheels (big wheels). And that's good, cos I always like riding with people who are quicker than I am. Kinda gives me something to shoot for. If I could only find my bow...

Emm Pee Three

2005-03-25T21:00:00.000-05:00

Tired as heck and a cold, light drizzle outside. But no way I could get my hours-in-the-saddle quota for the week unless I ride. So I gear up, throw my road bike on the car and prepare for misery. It's 5:30pm as I drive out to South Run Rec Center to start my ride on the Fairfax County Parkway. To keep things interesting, I take along my wife's MP3 player. I know it's stupid to ride with earplugs, but it's the only way I'm gonna make it through the hours in the rain, and I promised myself that I would stay out of traffic. Clip in, hit "play" and the first song by the Beautiful South sets the mood for the ride:

And the Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco bay,
But you realize you can't make it anyway.
You have to wash the car, take the kiddies to the park...
Don't marry her, f**k me.

Nice. I'm keeping a "zone 2" pace and before I know it, 30 minutes roll by and I'm getting serenaded by Sinatra as I start the climbing part of the ride:

Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.
In other words, please be true.
In other words, I love you.

I have to restrain myself from singing along. Don't want to scare the joggers up ahead. It's now twilight and the stars are in bloom. Funny how the ride starts to feel like a music video when the songs are set up just right. I hit the halfway point of my ride and stop to turn around. Saturated with Sinatra, I hit the shuffle button and reward myself with a random selection. Jaya's Christmas Album comes on. This time I can't help myself. I let loose at full volume to the traffic on the Parkway:

People making lists, buying special gifts,
It's a time to be kind to one and all.
It's that time of year when good friends are dear
And you wish you could give more than just presents from a store
WHY DON'T YOU GIVE LOVE ON CHRISTMAS DAAAYYY!

That felt good, even in March. I know someone in their car must have heard me. It's fully dark now and I didn't bring lights thinking that the headlights from the traffic would light up the bike path. I thought wrong. The headlights blind me so that I can't see a thing. I plod on at a painfully slow pace. Once in a while catching myself right before I ride off the path. Good thing I have Pixies to keep me company:

Got me a movie, I want you to know
Slicing up eyeballs, I want you to know
Girlie so groovy, I want you to know
Don't know about you
But I am un CHIEN Andalusia
I am un CHIEN Andalusia
I am un... wanna grow up to be, be a debaser...

The ride is winding down. Only a couple of more miles to the car. I'm already picturing myself crashing in front of the tv to watch City of God, again.

I bought a toothbrush, some toothpaste, a flannel for my face
Pajamas, a hairbrush, new shoes and a case
I said to my reflection, let’s get out of this place
Past the church and the steeple, the laundry on the hill
Billboards and the buildings,
Memories of it still keep calling and calling
But forget it all I know I will

Tempted by the fruit of another
Tempted but the truth is discovered
What’s been going on
Now that you have gone
There’s no other
Tempted by the fruit of another
Tempted but the truth is discovered

As I open the trunk and throw my stuff in, the encore sneaks in. I laugh out loud. It's from my kid's CD:

There's a bug on the rock in the hole in the middle of the road.
There's a bug on the rock in the hole in the middle of the road.
There's a bug, there's a bug.
There's a bug on the rock in the hole in the middle of the road.
DON'T SQUISH IT!

How did I screw that one up?

2005-03-19T23:36:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago I was riding home from work on one of the worst days to be out riding. There was snow and ice on the ground, a steady drizzle in the air, and temps hovering just around freezing. I had just picked myself up from wiping out on a frozen section of a wooden bridge when I noticed that my gloved hands were soaked through from the snow pile I dove into. I rode on for a while and realized that my wet hands were starting to freeze and I had no extra gloves. With only 2 miles left to go the pain in my hands became unbearable. I stopped at a donut shop to warm up with some coffee. All was well until I realized that I couldn't move my fingers enough to open my bag and pull out my wallet to pay. The lady behind the counter, who spoke almost no English, realized my predicament and motioned to me that I didn't have to pay. This was good because I realized that I had no money anyways. She even threw in a couple of free donuts. I guess I must have looked pathetic in my wet and muddy bike clothes fumbling around with my bag and dripping all over the floor. I gratefully took the food and vowed to come back and repay her. I sat down at a table with that warm and fuzzy feeling, hopeful that there is still some sort of kindness to be found among strangers. I wondered when I would get a chance to return the favor.

A few days later I got my chance all right. There was a trailwork day at Wakefield and I usually bring donuts for all of the volunteers. This time, instead of going to my usual donut store, I would give the kind lady a visit and repay her. I see her at the counter and order three dozen donuts. As I'm paying, I ask her if she remembers me and how she gave me free donuts and coffee once, and that I'd like to repay her for the food. It soon became obvious that she didn't recognize me. Nevertheless, I told her to charge me for the two donuts and coffee which I got for free the other night. But since her English was limited, (or maybe it was my thick Filipino accent) she thought that I was asking for free donuts. She even started to get a bit irritated at me. She thought I wanted two free donuts and she insisted that she would only give me one. The more I tried to explain, the worse it got. Finally, she turned her back to me and walked away. I left the store, numb and dumbfounded at what just happened. That's the last time I ever try to return kindess to anyone....

For whom the bells toll

2005-03-07T22:13:00.000-05:00

It was 67 degrees as I pulled into Wakefield parking lot for the Monday night MORE ride. Incredible, since over the last two weeks it barely got above 40 and the very next day was supposed to be more of the same, plus rain. Surely some other cabin fever crazed biker would show up and ride with me I thought. I wasn't disappointed. There was Mike, David (a new guy), and Dominic waiting for me. A few minutes later a familiar bright yellow car, with matching roof racks, pulls up: Peter had arrived. The sleigh bells which adorned his old aluminum singlespeed now hung on the seatpost of a new bile-green Karate Monkey. Big guys need big wheels. His old aluminum hardtail was a bike with a huge frame held up by little 26 inch wheels. Aesthetically, not happening. By contrast, the Karate Monkey with its huge tubes and 29er wheels, was perfectly proportioned-- looking like a work of art, albeit deadly art that could crush a tank. And with Peter on the saddle, everything about the setup screamed, "Get out of my way, ya little punk!"

We started off slowly as we headed to the race course to sample the new singletrack built just days ago. Flow city. These trails were built for speed, singlespeed that is. Smooth and swoopy. We rode two laps before we headed towards "the bowl." Once in the bowl I unleash my evil plan. See, I never really rode with Peter much, but I knew the guy was a veteran racer with skills to spare. He usually leads "casual" paced rides for MORE, but I knew there was something meaner under the hood. So once in the bowl I gun it and, as expected, Peter takes the bait and jumps on my wheel. We're off flying through the woods. I zig, I zag, I zig again, I attack the climbs and do my best to fly over the logs, but the sleigh bells of death are never far behind. They follow me like some evil reindeer coming to eat my soul. When I can take the torment no more, I stop to let the pack regroup. That was fun.

Bagyo Aid

2005-03-05T21:28:00.000-05:00

Some pictures of the Bagyo Aid concert from dcpinoy.com (check their site for more pics):

Angie Pepa

Average Joe

The Speaks

Justine Moral

Fractured Zone

Rodney Garcia

Agos

How many hours in a day?

2005-02-27T08:15:00.000-05:00

It's Sunday morning and my head is spinning. On the kitchen counter is an almost empty box holding the last remains of what used to be a dozen doughnuts. I shudder at the thought of how many of these things I ate the day before at yesterday's Wakefield trailwork session. A pile of muddy clothes sits on my bathroom floor. Song lyrics and guitars are strewn across the living room. Yesterday was one of those "full" days where every hour seemed to be tied up doing something:

Wakefield: I woke up early in the morning to check the message boards for any last minute news on the trailwork. Then it's off with the sleepy wife and kid to go buy 3 dozen doughnuts for the trail volunteers. Off to my cousin Rose's to drop off the kid (thanks Rose and Lou!). Gina and I get to Wakefield at 9:00. By the time the work starts at 9:30 there are over 30 volunteers in the parking lot. Scud is there with the usual schwag, Cliff Bars, and good spirit. I'm glad to see some of my buddies who have chosen to be here instead of at other more fun "events" taking place that morning. After some instructions from IMBA rep Rich Edwards, we're off to work. Crews are sent to the race course hill and the powerline road for a day of gratifying hard labor. Snow and mud, cold, then hot. Anne from the Bike Lane shows up with a trunkload of pizzas for lunch (thanks Anne!). After a quick lunch, Gina and I are off to...

Ro-Ro's birthday: After cleaning up at home and a drive across town to pick up the kid from cousin Ro's, we drive into Arlington for Roel's 2nd b-day. Roel is my buddy Marlan's kid. Marlan and Leslie were our first buddies here in DC. Couldn't stay long, so after a second lunch it's off to...

Last practice session: We drive across town again to Rico and Badette's house for our last practice session before the big show that night. As we pull up to the house we realize it's almost 4:00. Forget the practice. It's off to...

Sound check: We get to G. Mason High School just as Angie Pepa is starting her sound check. She's only 15 but she's got major stage presence and can rock! Sort of like a young Alanis. I can see her going places. Next up it's us. I'm still hitting bad notes trying to harmonize with Badette's vocals on the first song. The second song goes a bit better and gets applause from the other musicians sitting around. Still, I'm nervous about those vocals. For the next 2 hours before the show, I'm practicing religiously. About 30 minutes before showtime it finally clicks. Perfection. We're ready.

Showtime! The house isn't full but there are about a hundred people there. It's an all acoustic concert. I sneak into the back row to watch. Angie opens the show drawing applause throughout her set. She gets the house really rockin with her closing number, a cover of "I will survive." Next up is Average Joe. They're everything but average. Lot's of good solid guitar playing with some quirky progressive/funky stuff that brought to mind... well never mind. They sounded like no one else. Even their cover of "Hotel California" had me thinking, "Damn, I've never heard it that way before." Can't wait for their CD. Next up were The Speaks. Well what can I say? They flat out rocked. They must have snuck an electric guitar onto the stage somehow beacuse it's hard to get that kind of intensity out of an acoustic set. After a brief intermission, Justin Moral hits the stage. She's 14 and she can sing. Mostly Broadway type ballads with an original Filipino composition to close her set. It was a good reprive from the adrenaline left over from The Speaks. Next up was Fractured Zone, the only group of all non-Filipino musicians. Good solid folk music that sounded like a good mix of Appalachia and James Taylor. Guitars, mandolin, harmonica: the peace and love vibe was working through the room. Then it was Rod Garcia's turn. Singer/songwiter/guitarist in the tradition of the 70s folk explosion of the Philippines. Socially conscious lyrics and simple but effective guitar playing: he was one of the main organizers of this benefit concert. Finally it was our turn. I'm bouncing off the walls with excitement. It's 10:00 by the time we walk onto the stage. We plug our guitars into the sound system and launch into the first song. I pluck a few chords and Rico launches into a banduria style riff that gets a roar from the crowd. After Badette's vocals kick in, Agos is officially groovin. It's a lot louder than during the sound check and the mics catch all the little nuances and flaws. Even with all that practicing, I still manage to hit a couple of bad notes on the backing vocals, but I catch myself and stop mid-phrase before I do too much damage (I hope). It's all a blur at this point. I remember jumping around the stage like a maniac having the time of my life, and being sad when it was over. I hope I get the chance to do this again (please Rico and Badette, forgive me for those sour notes!) and I'm still a bit freaked out about the whole thing. What really freaked me out though were the handful of people asking for autographs at the end. "I'm sorry," I remember thinking to myself, "but you must be confusing me with someone who doesn't suck. The Speaks are that-a-way!"

We Jammin'

2005-02-16T21:37:00.000-05:00

Cover your ears and run, I've picked up my guitar again. I've even managed to swindle a couple of friends of mine to let me jam with them. That's Rico and Badette of Agos fame, and they rock! We've been practicing to play next week at "Bagyo Aid". It's a benefit concert so no free tickets, eh? Lot's of other bands and performers, unplugged. Anyways, I haven't been this jazzed about playing somewhere in a looong time. With all the biking I've been doing, it's been a while since I even touched my guitar. The fingers and ears were definitely rusty and it will take me a while to get my chops back (not that I ever had them in the first place). But no worries, the practicing is paying off, Rico and Badette have lots (and lots) of patience, and I'm slowly getting there, I think.

Bagyo Aid: Acoustic Benefit Show for Hurricane Victims in the Philippines
George Mason High School, 7124 Leesburg Pike, Falls Church, VA
$20 Donation to relief fund
February 26, 2005, show at 7pm
The Speaks, Agos, Odie Sotomayor, Angie Pepa, Rodney Garcia & more

Elizabeth Furnace

2005-02-13T22:06:00.000-05:00

Woke up early Saturday morning a little before rickyd and Jo showed up at my place. Gina, rickyd, and me were heading up to Elizabeth Furnace for a day of riding after the last snowfall had made the local trails unridable for the last week. Jo was very kind (Thanks, Jo!) and offered to watch Sagada while her bad parents left her to go riding. I'd only been to EF once before and from my experience, it had lived up to it's reputation as one of the area's more advanced trails. The plan was to join up with the MORE folks for what was billed as a "casual" ride. Hmm, a casual ride on an advanced trail is still an advanced ride according to me. So I was a bit worried about Gina since she hasn't spent much time on the trails lately. I really should have been watching out for myself:

Photos by Peter Beers

That was our first stream crossing (or in my case, stream swimming) of the day. I had watched about three other people ride across this stream ahead of me. So, with a bit too much confidence in my "skills," I gun it hoping that momentum would carry me over the rocks. Well it sorta did. As in over the bars and into the rocks. Even though it was about 40 degrees that day, that water was freezing cold.

Turns out that Gina did fine. Except for some cramping in her legs from all that hike-a-biking, she had fun, probably more than I did. I even think she enjoyed watching me take a dive. In a way, I actually enjoyed that dive as well. As far as I see it, there's good pain and there's bad pain. I've experienced them both and consider myself lucky to know the difference. Bad pain is what you feel when you're sick and stuck in a hospital bed thinking you're gonna die. You hit the morphine button, but that 2 minutes before it takes effect seems like hours because your insides feel like they're tearing themselves apart. It's the result of years of neglecting your health, whether it's because of school, work, a poor diet, whatever, it's all the same. Good pain, I've only discovered recently. It's that burning sensation that starts in my legs and works it's way into my lungs during a long climb up a steep fireroad on my singlespeed. It's also the sensation of a tree trunk crashing into my ribs as I lose control in a turn because I'm trying hard to keep up with my friends at the races. It bothers me when I hear someone say that they don't like to exercise because it's too hard, or when they see all the bruises on my shins from biking and wonder why I put myself through that. As far I'm concerned life is painful by nature. If you are able to, you just have to choose between the good kind and the bad. Damn, this was supposed to be just a ride report. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts...

Photos by Peter Beers

Thanks for having such a great camera, Peter!

Wasted

2005-02-08T19:25:00.000-05:00

I just yanked your bottom bracket from the Monkey. Did you put Frame Saver in it? That thing is rustyyyyy. Your bottom bracket is roached. Your crank is roached. I haven't taken apart your SISS yet, but I have a feeling that bottom bracket is roached also. Pads don't last long, especially when riding in the wet and muddy stuff. I should report you to Larry Cautilli! You didn't tighten your pedals to the cranks enough. It was working itself loose. Put it on tighter next time! Your chain is on its last legs. It's tired and ready to be put down to sleep.

Bottom line: you have to stop spending time with your family and dog, and spend more time on your bikes! Ask yourself, "What is my priority? Do I want to be a racer for the ages? Do I want the Pinoy community to be well represented? Why am I wearing a dress?"

The words tear at my soul as I read the email from rickyd. I'm a bad parent; I've neglected my bike and let it fall into disrepair. It will grow up hating me. When I ride it to the trailhead, it will look around at all the nice bikes and wonder, "why am I not loved?" Soon it will start hanging out with other neglected bikes who will give it hallucinogenic lube and other illegal substances. It will start off innocently enough, but it's all downhill from there. It will turn into a lube addict. It will break into my house and steal my TV to get money for lube. Then, when it's too weak and drugged out to steal, it will whore itself out for "the lube" and fall victim to the pimp bikes. I'll be wandering the red light trails hopelessly searching for my bike. "Surrleeeeeey!" I'll cry out in desperation. But I'll hear nothing but the distant turning of squeaky cranks in the stillness of this desolate bike wasteland...

Too much of a good thing

2005-02-01T22:52:00.000-05:00

Sunday morning I wake up to a beautiful snowfall. Took a hike out the backyard with the whole household: wifey, kiddie, doggie, me-ie, and maybe the kitties, but I wasn't sure because one of them is all white and hard to see in the snow. There were ducks swimming among ice patches in the stream, deer tracks following the contours of snow-covered singletrack, and snow falling like giant flakes of dandruff sticking to my clothes. Had to stop and take pictures of course:

Afterwards I chat with my neighbor. He's a cyclist too, mostly of the competitive roadie variety but he can also rip it up on the trail. Says he was out yesterday for two and a half hours riding the Wakefield/Accotink/etc circuit. Grrr, I can't let him get away with that. I gear up to do the same. With all the snow I saw on my hike, I thought nothing would be really rideable, but I was wrong, gladly. Stayed out way past my curfew. After about two and a half hours of riding my left knee joint starts hurting. Unfortunately, I'm still pretty far from home, so I have no choice but to keep pedaling. By the time I get home the pain is bad enough that I can barely walk.

It's a couple of days before I can walk straight again. Meanwhile, I'm getting lots of good advice from people on the MORE forum about what to do with my trick knee. But upon close inspection, I find the source of the pain (I think). My left pedal cleat is on wrong causing my left foot to be toed in. I changed pedals recently (Eggbeaters to Times) and was too excited to try out the new peds that I was rush-rush with the setup. It's a quick adjustment to fix it but I'll have to wait for a longer ride to see if it works. Enough with the self pity, time to think about the weekend.

Training Daze

2005-01-28T01:23:00.000-05:00

So I finally got my training schedule together for the year. It's a bit late, but then again I don't have any high expectations for my first time using a training program. In fact, I only have one "A" race for the year and that's the SM100. Before, my "training" consisted of riding a lot and riding hard all the time. Now I'm learning that it's actually good to take it easy once in a while. Hmm, so it's good to be a slacker now and then... I can do that.

I bought a set of rollers the other day just because I can't stand the monotony of a regular stationary trainer. Riding rollers is like riding on ice. You have to keep alert. I zoned out once and almost took a dive into the couch (actually would not have been a bad idea). I'm getting used to them now so it's a bit easier and I can watch tv while I'm pedaling. Tonight I broke them out again and rode for an hour and a half while watching Super Size Me. Sunday I'm planning to go out for some long "zone 2" mileage. Compared to these dang rollers, the ice on the trails shouldn't be much of a problem. Gimme a holler if you're interested in coming along.

Ramblings on a plane

2005-01-23T09:50:00.000-05:00

I'm flying back to DC from Albuquerque. It's 9PM. Suuposed to have 6"-10" of snow tomorrow and I can't wait. I'm bummed that I didn't get to ride while I was over there except for the 2 hours on the stationary bike in the hotel. To make that fun I had to pretend I was racing the guy next to me. Sad.

I've only been gone three days but I miss the wife and daugther terribly. She's growing up too fast (the kid, that is). People say she looks like her mother. I don't think so. But I'm just glad she doesn't look like me. I'd make for an ugly girl. A really ugly girl. This is what people tell me when I'm in drag every Halloween.

I've got the Carpenters playing on Gina's MP3 player, which I borrowed for this trip. Next up we have Sinatra, Billy Bragg, Cypress Hill, and Pixies.

Just got done reading fatmarc's awesome blog. While I've only had the honor of riding with him at ECNASSCU, I gotta say that my favorite thing about mountain biking is the people you meet. I would have never stayed with it if it weren't for:

ginarickydjoleegarydtbobfoleychancewendellkristinarandyromanomugg
cautilliweserinchunkpoochcampriderxbutchmarkjaystonermielispearmint
shivastevesteigscudbendermarcusbunkymillerjoelpetercrashmorerickevan
katecharliejillbillynancytonykevinjenspatclamanjonsamiromanandevery
badasswhoiveriddenwithbutforgotyournameorwhosdroppedmeattheraces.

Thanks.

A cold, lonely night

2005-01-19T01:23:00.000-05:00

I drive into Wakefield Monday night for the MORE ride. With the formal ride leader out of commission for a while, I've kinda taken it upon myself to lead the ride just to keep it going. Usually attendance isn't that good, and tonight is no exception. Last week, the weather was beautiful and I had the biggest crowd I've seen on a Monday (4 riders and Charlie the dog). But tonight it's 19 degrees and I'm by myself. No problem, I spin off into the darkness. The trails are completely frozen and make for great riding. After 10 minutes I don't even notice the cold and it may as well be spring (well not really). I got this new heart rate monitor and lately I've been limited to wearing it around the house and checking my stats during various, err, activities. But tonight is my first off-road ride with it. I'm trying to stay in "zone 2" but it's darn near impossible on a singlespeed so I stop paying attention to it and just ride. I get in a good hour of riding in before my waterbottle and brakes become completely frozen, at which point thirst and safety concerns force me to stop. Later at home I indulge my sole guilty pleasure: I lock myself in my shop, download the HRM stats to my laptop, and let my geek self loose on the data...

A People's Artist

2005-01-16T13:16:00.000-05:00

Insurrection
Christendom

One of my favorite artists, Papo de Asis, died last week. To me, his paintings articulate better than words the conflicted history, culture, and hopes of Filipinos and Filipino-Americans. Agree with his politics or not, he always spoke (and painted) from the heart, and that's how I'll remember him. I'm honored to have known him back when I lived in Los Angeles. Rest in peace, kasama.

Feels like the first time...

2005-01-16T07:54:00.000-05:00

I've been taking a group of newbies out every weekend for the past 3 weeks and, for me, it's been like rediscovering biking all over again. The level of riding within the group is pretty consistent; most of them are older than me and haven't been on a bike in years. All of them (I think) have never seen singletrack. So showing these guys the tricks of the trade takes me back to the days when I used to throw on my sweats, jump on my $250 aluminum hardtail, and pedal out to Accotink to try to clear the cinder trail climb by the dam. And believe me, there were days when I could not.

For our first ride we rode pavement from south of DC to Bethesda along the Capitol Crescent Trail. About a 20 mile round trip-- very respectable for a first ride. They were pretty tired at the end and I was afraid I'd scared them away from biking, but to my surprise, they showed up again next week for more punishment. For our second time out we headed to Lake Accotink with an even bigger group of brave souls including some young 'uns. We stuck mostly to the cinder trail, but I did manage to sneak in some of the sinlgetrack behind the carousel and the switchback by the dam. I showed them how to go over some log piles which the kids thought were "cool". The third time out was more of the same but this time with an epiphany. One of the newbies, Fr. Steve (yup a priest, hence epiphany) managed to clear both the road climb by the dam and the swtichback climb up the singletrack. He was wiped out but obviously enjoying it. I was taken back about 3 years ago when clearing this same series of climbs was one of my "season goals."

After that ride, we headed out to buy these blossoming hammerheads some of their own gear (helmets, shorts, gloves, etc). My old aluminum hardtail is now in the possession of Fr. Steve (that's why I can skip church this Sunday), and Gina's old bike has gone to one of the young 'uns. Next week we have plans to go to Schaeffer Farms and I know the cold won't scare them away. I usually don't try to kill my friends, so it will be a while before they're ready for Gambrill-- but we're working on it.

Inauguration Day Blues

2005-01-15T07:55:00.000-05:00

Just heard a couple of interesting things on NPR this morning regarding the Inauguration Day "festivities" and various groups complaining about not getting enough permits or real estate to host their activities. To paraphrase a representative from a local pro-Bu$h group, who I will not name in order to not give them any more publicity:

Groups like A.N.S.W.E.R. and ThinkPink have allied themselves with Saddam Hussein and the terrorists. Therefore, giving them permits is like giving Saddam and the terrorists access to the Capitol.

Uh, huh.

On another equally sad note, check out the inauguration packages some hotels are offering. When asked about whether hotels jack up prices during inaugruation week, one hotel representative (also on NPR) stated, "we're not price gouging, we're simply charging what the market will bear." Uh, huh.

Oh yeah, in the "wtf was he thinking" department...