Triple D

One final update before we head up to the mountains tomorrow in advance of the Courage Classic this weekend!  First and foremost, the stats:  Celeste and I are now at $1,420 raised for Children’s Hospital, thank you all so very much for your generosity!  We are still reaching for that elusive goal of $2,000, so if you’re still considering making a donation on our behalf, you have another day.  Once again for your convenience, here are the links:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste 

or:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

After Sunday’s trail running adventure, my legs felt a bit tired, but I wanted to participate in one last crazy adventure before the ride.  Luckily Dan Porter and the good folks at Your Group Ride had just the thing; a bicycle time-trial up and around the horsetooth hills west of town.  They call it the "DDD TT".  The Triple D.  I know what you're thinking.  That's right.  The Triple Deuce.  the long-awaited follow-up to the cinematic masterpiece "Roadhouse", which takes place at the Double Deuce. 

"hey, mijo"

(note that I just found out that there was indeed a sequel to "Roadhouse".  Yikes.  Probably not as good as Godfather 2.)  But alas, DDD TT stands in this case for the "Double Damn Dams Time Trial".  The DDD TT is a 12 mile ride along the Horsetooth Reservoir road (hence the "Dams"), out and back (hence the "Double"), featuring lots of hills (hence the "Damn").  Perfect. 

Now mind you these are roughly the same people that hosted the team training ride the previous Wednesday, so I knew I’d be riding against some pretty talented riders.  I couldn't hang with them last week, so what the heck was I doing here?  But this ride had the advantage (for me) of only being 12 miles long, and being very hilly.  I like hills, it’s the flat stuff I have a problem with.  So I paid my $10 entry fee (bike racing fees are delightfully cheaper than running race fees!) and signed up.  There was a spot for “team name” on the entry form.  This was of course supposed to be for your bike team.  Lacking a proper bike team to call my own, I could have left the spot blank but I decided to give a shout-out to my courage classic team, so I filled in “Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars”.

For the rest of the day leading up to the race I was vaguely regretting my decision.  I participated in another of Jeanie’s insane boot-camp workouts that morning so my legs were not fresh at all.  I did not relish the thought of being dead last, I felt like I should try nonetheless.  Besides, I felt a little like an ambassador from the Trail Runners to the Bike Riders.  Again, it's important to go and do things outside of your comfort zone.  Mission accomplished.

Jimmy Dan was there, and showed me where to pin my re-usable number (they expect me to do more races, I presume?  Ok then!).  As usual these days, the sky was filled with thunderous, murderous intent, with bands of rain to the north, and a particularly malevolent looking storm approaching from the south.  This set me on edge as I awaited my start.  The route we were to race featured by my count 4 distinct steep climbs, each over 10% grade I think, and 3 harrowing descents.  One hill in particular unnerved me; the North Dam.  This hill is a straight shot down the east side of the north dam of Horsetooth.  I think some of the other hills actually have steeper sections, but none of them match the North Dam’s sustained difficulty and pitch.  Compounding this was the very real possibility that we might get rained on, and the road might be wet during the descent of this hill.

A wee bit blustry before the start, eh Jimmy?

But it wasn’t raining at the start, so off I went at my appointed time.  Since this was a time trial, riders went off at 30 second intervals.  I was placed about half-way through the field, so I had riders in front of me I could mark, and I knew that there would be riders behind me trying to catch up to me.  Both of these conditions I found to be quite motivating, and I really started to push it up the first two hills as a result.  Although I think this is not proper cycling form, I pretty much stood up out of the saddle for the entirety of all the significant climbs.  I figured that standing up would allow me to make better use of my trail running muscles, but I knew I would go anaerobic pretty quickly doing that.  Whatever, if I go down, I’m going down big.

I couldn’t believe how hard I was pushing my pace on the climbs, and even on the descents.  I guess paying $10 and being in a competition really brought out the best of effort in me.  I loved it.  At least until I reached the crest of North Dam hill.  The route was such that we went down North Dam, rode almost to Bellevue, and then went back up North Dam.  And North Dam was wet.  It wasn’t raining at the moment, but a squall had just passed through, and the road was freshly glossed with summer rain.  This set me completely on edge as I coasted down the hill, as a straight arrow probably approaching 40 miles per hour – and that with applying the brakes now and then.  I’m sure braver riders regularly hit 50 or more on this hill.  The bottom of the hill features a turn to the right, which I was dreading down to my now-wet shoes.  But before I could get too worked up in anticipation, I was upon the turn.  I tapped the brakes a few more times and cautiously banked into it.  The tires held.  Of course now I’d lost all my momentum and had to crank it up to get back up to speed, but I survived the hill.

After a fairly comical U-turn on the road (thank you Marcel for volunteering and directing traffic!), I turned around and started the gradual approach back to North Dam hill.  It was fun to see the other riders who had started after me coming down the same stretch of road, and we waved to each other and offered encouragement.  As I got back to the base of the North Dam hill proper I got passed by one of those riders.  I had already been passed by one or two others as well by this point, but that didn’t really bother me.  But after getting passed on the North Dam I decided to really put in the effort and try to mark this guy up the hill.  I was fairly successful, too, until I crested the hill and attempted to switch back to my big gear; then my chain fell off!  Oh what a bother.  I really need a tune-up.  So I stopped, got off, offered a few choice words to the ether, slipped the chain back on, and continued on.

After cresting North dam there was a long, gradual climb to the top of “monster” hill, then another steep descent featuring a sharp left-hand turn that exposed a precipitous drop over a guardrail into Horsetooth Reservior, and then one final climb up “maniac” hill.  The race didn’t finish down at the stadium where we started, it finished uphill, just like a real mountain stage!  It was pretty fun.  The clouds continued to build from the south, but the rain held off, and I gave all I had on the final climb.  I think I may have even drooled a little. 

The gang at the finish.  The gentleman in black competed on a fixed-gear single-speed.  Now that's crazy.

Yeah I've got a number on and everything.  It's legit.

Celeste makes fun of me for being so competitive, but it draws out the best in me.  I would never push it that hard on these hills if I wasn’t participating in some sort of competition on them.  I would never know what I was capable of.  I managed to finish somewhere in the middle of the pack on the ride, which I was very happy about.  I think I know my strengths, or strength; hills.  Bring ‘em on.

Now the courage classic is not a competition, it’s a charity ride.  I’ll try very hard not to treat it as a competition.  Quite frankly I find it to be bad form to treat a charity ride as a competition.  No one cares if you’re riding at the front of the pack on a charity ride, you kind of look like a jerk doing that, actually.  But I think I’m ready for the event, and I’m really looking forward to all the climbs that this event has to offer.  So once again and once and for all, thank you all for your support, and for reading along with the blog, and I’ll try to fire off an update this weekend while we’re up there riding and having fun.  Thanks!

Ziggy Played Guitaaaaaaah!

House of Pain

First an update on our fund-raising efforts for the Courage Classic:  Thanks to you all, Celeste and I have now raised $930 for Denver's Children's Hospital!  Our goal is $2,000, so if you're still considering donating, please feel free to click one of our links below and give a little something to Children's Hospital on our behalf:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste 

or:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

Eat a big lunch, I told myself yesterday, you’re going to have to put your big-boy pants on today.  So I horfed down my usual peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and supplemented that with Monday’s leftover coconut curry stir fry (one of four or five “go to” dinners I can make with some competence, incidentally), hoping the extra calories would help see me through the Pro Velo Fort Collins Cycling Team weekly group ride.

I had asked my friend Dan if there were any “spirited group rides” I could do to get in a tough cycling workout in advance of the Courage Classic, which is how I found myself leaning against my trusty Novara Strada (oh, yes, with a name like “Novara”, it has to be Italian, right?  Right??) with 29 other spandex-clad bean-poles Wednesday after work.  Quite a few of the riders were wearing the local Echelon Energy team  riding kit (expertly modeled by Dan on the web page there), and several others sporting other local bike team apparel.  These were like, real riders, on real bikes.  These guys (and ladies, of which there were 3 I think) actually train and compete on these things.  Oh yes, I was solidly out of my league.

I felt like I was 13 years old again, trying out for my junior high school baseball team (I made the team, backup outfielder, emphasis on the backup part).  Quite frankly I had no business being there, but it was too late to turn back now, and besides, what’s the worst that could happen?  Well seeing as though there were no other 13-year old kids standing around and waiting to point fingers at me and laugh and make fun of my sub-standard hand-eye coordination (what’s the use of being able to run to the ball if you can’t catch the darn thing?), the worst that could happen is that I could get “dropped”.  You see, group biking isn’t like group running.  There’s a huge incentive to stay bunched together in a group, or dare I say, peleton, in order to minimize the affects of wind-resistance.  At running speeds this affect is far less pronounced, so runners don’t typically feel the need to run in a tight-knit group.  Group cycling, on the other hand, is all about the group.  And if you’re not fit enough to hang on to the group, well, you may want to consider going on a solo ride.  I had no idea if I could hang on to this group, advertised as an “opportunity to ride with some of Fort Collins fastest”, but I was going to give it a try all the same.

I think the Decemberists say it best...

I looked around and went through various scenarios of shame and glory in my head.  Worst case; some peroxide-blonde 80s villain jerk takes one look at me and my $750 bike (“but it’s Italian, I swear!” (it's not) ), and declares that I am unfit for the ride, and I slink back to my running friends with tears in my eyes and malice in my heart.  Clearly I’m still stuck on the 1983 team sports memories here.  Only slightly less humiliating; I am allowed to ride with the group, but am quickly dropped by all 29 other riders as they fly away from me in a monolithic fascist peleton, leaving me as the only person who can not keep up.  Somewhat acceptable; I am able to hang on to the back of the pack and actually ride with someone.  Maybe not the lead group, but I am actually involved in the ride.  Better still; I am in the lead group, I am mixing it up, I even take a turn pulling the front of the peleton.  And best of all; I find out that I am the strongest rider of the group, a cycling savant as it were, and they ask me to be their king, and buy me beers and peroxide.

So the ride starts out; so far so good.  We are riding through town, heading towards Loveland via Shields, and there are plenty of stoplights so the group stays together.  I am in the middle of the pack and feeling guardedly optimistic that I won’t get completely dropped.  Mostly I am enjoying doing the cool “watch out for this stuff on the road” hand signals and getting used to riding in close proximity to other cyclists.  South of Harmony there is a 2-mile stretch of road uninterrupted by stoplights and featuring a small hill.  I find that I have to put in a tough effort to keep up, and I’m getting passed by a couple of cyclists, but I make it back to the pack at the light at Trilby.

Then it happens.  The light turns green, and the real ride begins.  Oh.  My. Goodness.  The main group charges out ahead and I am quickly gapped, although I am not last.  We are riding into a headwind and I know that it is critical to find some people to ride with in order to take advantage of drafting.  I start to put in a huge effort, and I manage to catch up to a couple of other cyclists who have also been spit out of the main group.  We take turns pulling each other along and try to make up ground on the lead group, but it’s hopeless.  But I keep trying all the same.  I’m not going to give up without a fight, so I keep pushing.  It’s hot out, I’m sweating like an African zebra being chased by a Tasmanian Devil, my thighs are screaming at me (and this on a relatively flat stretch of road), and I am having trouble keeping up even with my little pack of five.  One of the riders, Ryan, notices my distress and offers that maybe I should “hang on the back” for a bit, meaning I should stop taking turns leading the group.  He’s being nice, and he’s right, but I want to feel like I’m contributing and not just hanging on, so mainly I ignore him.  I’m going down in a blaze of glory, baby.

Our chase group splinters into two groups of 2 and a single rider off the back.  I’m in the middle group of two.  We’re taking turns pulling each other along Highway 34 west of Loveland and glade road.  I can see the lead group of two and I decide I want to try to catch up to them, so I max out my effort once more and reach them where Glade road meets the main Masonville road.  Ryan goes right, towards Masonville, and the other cyclist left, back towards Highway 34.  I follow Ryan to the right, although I later find out the group route was supposed to go left here.  I catch up to Ryan and we catch another rider.  “I’m trashed,” I say as I latch on to this new group of three.  “No problem,” he says, “we’ll catch our breath a bit and then do some short pulls.”  You know, these cyclists are really nice.  Very few of them are even blonde.  It’s encouraging.  It’s all I can do to keep up with my little group of three, but I take my turns leading the pack all the same.  If I’m going to participate in the ride I am going to work my share.

Our little group makes it to Masonville and as we begin the climb to Horsetooth Mountain Park I realize that I am completely shot.  I have no energy for this relatively minor climb, having spent all of my strength trying to keep up with these spandex-clad crazies on the flats.  My two partners quickly leave me behind, and finally, 24 miles into what turned out to me a 38 mile ride, I let them go and start to ride at my own pace.

Now at this point I actually had managed to keep several of the other riders behind me, but now several of them start to reel me in on the hill.  And some of the “big dogs” catch me as well, even though I took a 4 mile shortcut to Masonville.  Heck, I’m sure some of the really fast riders beat me to Masonville even though they took the longer route.

Up and over Horesetooth mountain park I went, where I could see the top of towers, and I wistfully thought of my bi-weekly group trail run up to that shining landmark.  For you see on towers I feel like a hero.  Out here on the bike getting passed, I feel more like a zero.  But it’s ok.  I realize that it’s good to be humbled, to stick out your neck, to try and fail.  Fail big, in full color.  I got a lyric from Prince stuck in my head, “Whenever you say that you can’t, that’s when you need to be trying”, and that brightened my mood as I separated completely from the group ride at the South dam of Horsetooth reservoir and took a crack at maniac hill, before dropping down to Hughes stadium and thence directly back home.

Prince knows what I'm talking about

So I’d say that the experience fell somewhere between “hanging on to the back of the pack”, and “getting dropped completely”.  I’m no king, but I didn’t get laughed at either.  I’m happy that I tried to ride with the big boys and girls, happy, even, to have been dropped and humbled by the experience.  And I’ll try it again in a few weeks, absolutely. 

And once again, the links for our courage classic fund-raising:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste 

or:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

Doble-Vail

My training for the Courage Classic in 2+ weeks continues, with many detours along the way.  First of all, let’s review our progress towards our goal of raising $2,000 dollars for Childrens Hospital:

Celeste and I have raised $580 so far, thank you all so very much!  We are over one quarter of the way there!  If you are considering making a tax-deductible donation to Childrens Hospital on our behalf, I encourage you to do so by clicking one of the links below:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste

or:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

And for those of you who have donated, a heart-felt thank you!  Your support means a lot to me.

So how has the training been going, you ask?  Well, you know, some good, some bad.  Last we left off last Thursday I had decided to bike to Towers and then run towers through a dangerous storm, and then bike home through the rain.

Friday was far more sedate, probably too sedate, as I only logged about 13 miles of city riding, much of that during my normal work commute.  And Saturday was even worse; housework beckoned so I spent no time on the bike at all, and did fun things like trim the trees and drain the hot tub.

But I made up for my slothfulness on Sunday.  Sunday I got up very early and drove to beautiful Vail, Colorado, for the 300^th annual La Sportiva Vail Hill Climb race.  Or 30^th annual, I don’t remember.  Point being, people have been lacing up their running shoes and climbing the cat trails up the side of Vail mountain long before I even contemplated doing something this nutty.  Yes this was not a biking event, so I’m still not really on the ball here.  Regardless, it is a good workout; the race climbs over 2,000 feet from the covered bridge in Vail Village to the top of the Lionshead gondola at Eagle’s Nest.  There were about 400 competitors lined up at the start, including me and my friends Sarah and Ellen.  Thankfully for all involved, the course did not go straight up the ski slopes, but rather chose a twisty route up the service roads, which double in the winter as the “easiest way down” trails with such names as “Cub’s Way”, and “Getalong Road”, and “Eternal Peril” Wait, I must have misread that last one, that doesn't sound right. 

No matter, I like to climb hills, and I thought I would be relatively competitive in this event, so I lined up right at the front of the pack like a big boy.  I realized quite quickly that I would not be winning this event right after the race started and the leaders blasted out to a 5-minute mile in the first, flat mile through town.  I knew what effort felt good for me and let them go, and tried to maintain a hard but sustainable pace.  Happily I was able to reel in quite a few runners who may have been a little over-eager at the start, and by about mile 4 or 5 everyone was pretty much settled in to their slots.  The road kept climbing up the side of the ski hill, and we crossed under numerous chairlifts, and across bare ski slopes, and through shady groves of trees as the views of the surrounding mountains got more and more impressive.  But the more impressive the view got, the less interested I was in enjoying it, as the climb, as climbs are want to do, got more and more difficult.  By mile 6 (out of 7.3 miles total) my legs and lungs were at the breaking point.  My only thought was not to let those people whom I passed pass me back.  A point of pride, I suppose.  There were two racers just ahead of me but I could not close the gap on them, no matter my effort.

Ellen cranking it out on the final climb

Sarah looking strong in a picture that is in no way staged whatsoever

I was trying to climb the hill in under one hour, and as I rounded the final switchback and the finish line came in to view, I saw the race clock at the side of the finishing arch, and it read ”59:59”, and quickly rolled over to “1:00:00” before I could muster the strength to cross under the banner.  Alas, I came in just over one hour at 1:00:04, finishing a gentleman’s 19^th place overall, and a, uh, gentleman’s 4^th place in my age group.

The weather was beautiful at the top of the mountain, and we enjoyed a nice cool down run on the trails and then took the gondola back down to Vail.  Then I ate lunch at the Red Lion bar in Vail Village with Sarah’s family, and then started part two of my Vail adventure.

You may be wondering why all this running, and writing about the same, when I should actually be riding in preparation for the Courage Classic.  Fair enough.  That’s why I packed my road bike with me on my trip to Vail.  I decided that after the run, if I felt up to it, I would ride my bike from Vail Village to the top of Vail Pass and back down.  What was I thinking?  And of course I had to open my big mouth and tell everyone I was doing that so now here I was, at 1 pm, clipped into my bike and trying to navigate the Vail Village parking garage in order to strike out for mountain adventure number two for the day.  Finally, some biking to write about!

Vail pass is a lovely mountain climb that is made even better by the fact that it is a car-free climb.  The route uses what I must assume is the old Vail pass road, and then a purpose-built bike trail that parallels the interstate up to the top of the pass.  It is also the centerpiece climb of the first day of the Courage Classic ride, so I figured it would be good to know if I could handle this climb on tired legs.  I changed from running to biking gear and washed my face of salt and trail grime in the public restroom of the Vail parking garage (how glamorous is my life!), applied another round of sunscreen and thought that any day that required multiple applications of sunscreen is a good day, and as mentioned, wound my way out of the parking structure and pointed my bike towards the hill.

I'll be back here in a few weeks!

And you know what, ultimately it really wasn’t that bad.  Indeed I took my time, I think it took me about 1 hour and 45 minutes to reach the top of the pass, but other than being fairly stiff at the beginning of the ride I felt better than I thought I would feel.  Of course a large part of this may have been do to the fact that there was a spectacular tail-wind pushing me up the pass, but let us not obsess over minute atmospheric details, shall we?  Also I must mention that although Vail pass is significantly higher than Rist canyon in Fort Collins, I think Rist is more difficult.

Having successfully attained summit number two on the day I pointed the bike back down to Vail, and then drove back to the Fort for a well-earned dinner at Enzio’s with the Speights, where we were expertly-waited-upon by super-nice Nicole, runner-extraordinaire and apparent inspiration for many dashed adjectives.

For the 4^th of July the plan was to ride Rist canyon with Celeste, after we volunteered at the local Firecracker 5k.  And then take the dogs up into the mountains so they would be out of earshot from the loud and scary city fireworks display, which happens to be staged right in our neighborhood.  But nothing went to plan and everything fell apart.  But you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to read about that because I have to go to work!

Again, thanks for donating, and once more here are the links:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste

or:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

Dumb and Dumber

Celeste and I are still soliciting donations for our Courage Classic Ride in July.  We're trying to raise $1,000 each, $2,000 total.  Any amount you can contribute would be just wonderful, thanks!  Donate here:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste

or here:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

And I'm blogging about my attempts to train for this ride.  Follow along with my misadventures!  And donate!!

Well things got a little crazy today, and probably not in a good way.  Today was a Towers day, which means all the crazy trail runners in town congregate at Horsetooth Mountain Park west of town to run up Towers road.  It's a beast of a workout, and we do it every other Thursday, rain or shine.  I had the hair-brained idea to ride my bike to towers, run towers, and then bike back home.  And believe it or not, Alex had the same idea!  Hey if another person wants to do it, how crazy can it be?  And our friend Jonathan Z does this all the time, so it really wasn't that special of a plan.

So after work I rode to Alex's house, and we biked up to Towers together.  The Fort was pounded with a furious rainstorm earlier in the afternoon but things seemed to be clearing up, and our bike ride was dry and uneventful.  We got to towers, changed from biking shoes to running shoes, and ran a little one mile warm up.  Oh I hate how my legs feel trying to run after a ride, all wobbly and such.  Best to work out of that before tackling towers.

Towers is about 3.4 miles one way, and sports about 1,650 feet of climbing.  It's a beast, don't kid yourself!  I was planning on giving it a nice easy effort today, knowing that I still had to ride my bike home after the attempt, but two things happened that caused me to end up pushing the pace.  One, well, hey, it's towers, baby, and I just get excited chugging up that hill!  I can't help it, somehow I think this is fun.  But second, the relatively nice weather we were enjoying started to turn naughty.  First a brisk wind picked up, usually in our faces.  Then low ominous clouds started to roll in from the south.  We were going to get hit with another storm.  I picked up the pace, thinking I could literally outrun the worst of the storm.  In hindsight I really should have just turned around.  Summit fever, catch it like the plague.  Thankfully nothing bad happened to me or any of our group but I don't think we were being very safe out there today.  I got to the top of towers and immediately turned around and headed back down.

By the time I got to the bottom the rain had started to come down.  Alex and I thought about throwing our bikes into one of the other runners' cars, but ultimately ego took over and we decided we'd ride home through the rain.  Last year at the Courage Classic Celeste and I got caught in a tremendous downpour so I figured I could use a little wet riding.  Oh what fun it was.  I was a little timid on my skinny tires, but Alex and I made it back to town without incident, unless you consider my feet getting soaked and my bike getting filthy incidents.  But it was yet another dumb thing to add to the rapidly growing list of dumb things I did today.

So when you add it all up, I got 26 miles of riding with probably 1,500 feet of climbing, and 8 miles of running with about 1,700 feet of climbing, all told.  A pretty good day's work.  A dumb day's work, but it's a good dumb.

This is for brave little Ziggy, who toughed out the thunder and lightning with Celeste on Towers today.  Yes this is pretty much the best painting ever.  I'm getting a tattoo of it on my shoulder.  Maybe the malamute on one shoulder and the lightning on the other.

Eddie Vedder Opera

So I'm at the health club this morning taking Jeanie's group strength and cardio class, which is awesome, and not riding my bike; in fact I jogged over to the club (about 1.5 miles) instead of riding even that distance.  After work I went to the track for Jane's equally awesome track workout (running).  Apparently I'm training for the courage classic by doing a whole bunch of stuff that isn't actually riding a bike.  Well scratch that, I did commute to work on the bike so that's 10 flat miles for the day.  Incidentally not going to get it done.  Whatever.

Actually that's not what I wanted to write about today.  First, the pitch:  Celeste and I are still soliciting donations for our Courage Classic Ride in July.  We're trying to raise $1,000 each, $2,000 total.  Any amount you can contribute would be just wonderful, thanks!  Donate here:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste

or here:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

Anyway, while I was at the health club I heard a song I've not heard in some time:  "Black" by Pearl Jam.  It was fairly faint in the speakers so I didn't recognize it until they got to the end bit, where Eddie Vedder sings:

"I know someday you'll have a beautiful life, I know you'll be the sun in somebody else's sky, but why, why, why can't it be, can't it be mine?"

Except of course as you know, he doesn't sing "mine" like that, he sings it like:

"Muhhhhhhhhhh-aaa-aaaah-ahhhh-hiiiii-ja-jaaa, whooo!"

(I had to look up the lyric on line b/c I wasn't completely sure that the word was, indeed "mine", incidentally)

Yeah, you know the part, everyone does!  In fact, as I'm listening along I realize that this is a live version of the song, and when he gets to the word "mine", the entire crowd sings along with each and every heartfelt inflection and vocalization of the word, in a grotesque echo of the original.  And I would do exactly the same thing if I was there, oh yes.  And how that must annoy Mr. Vedder!  Actually he's probably come to grips with the fact that every time he sings "black", this totally sincere, passionate, sad, intense, wonderful song, a bunch of idiot frat boys in the front row are going to bellow it right back in his face.  I'm certain he's simultaneously touched and appalled!  "Black" is one of those songs for me that I really liked, then I hated because I heard it too much, but now it is ok for me to like it again.  There's probably 4,000 other songs like that for me, all in various stages of that likability U-shaped continuum. 

But I actually had a good reason for hating that song.  I was in college when "Black" came out, and suddenly every girl on campus was in love with Eddie Vedder, which was bad news for the rest of us very non-Eddie Vedder types.  I heard the song and was impressed with the soulful intense vocal, but the girls heard that song and were instantly smitten with what appeared to be our generation's Van Morrison.  Overflowing with smit, I tell you.  Believe me, us normal guys had no chance to compete.  Oh, I grew my hair our and tried to look grunge, or at least tie a long sleeved shirt around my waist, and write poetry, and say deep things, and look both hurt and angry and cool all at once, but I was a fraud and all the girls knew it.  Damn you Eddie Vedder for being so perfect!  So I turned up my nose on Pearl Jam and went right to, uh, INXS apparently.  Hopeless.

But now I can like it again as I have come to grips with my own inadequacies in comparison to Eddie Vedder.  It's tough to be angry with him for stretching out the word "mine" into a 5 second aria, I applaud his verve.  Which brings me to my final observation about "black".  I've decided that the song is all rather operatic in nature.  You may scoff, but the overwhelming sense of sadness and lack of any redemption, lyrically or musically, rather strongly reminds me of some of Puccini's best work.  I'm thinking Tosca, but I always think Tosca.  Well, here.  Compare Placido Domingo with Eddie Vedder for yourself.  It's rock vs. opera, but they share the same intensity and passion, and in this case, the same ability to really milk a word for all it's worth.

First, Placido Domingo:



And here is Eddie Vedder:



Maybe I'm the only one seeing the similarities here? Well, it sounds like opera to me. And that's a good thing!

Ok tomorrow I will ride.  More than 10 miles.  Should be all rather exciting.  Hopefully not operatic though.

Oh and one more thing, congratulations to Ft. Collins' own Nick Clark for finishing in 3rd place in last weekend's Western States 100 miles race!  Jolly good Nick.  See you at Towers on Thursday.  I might ride my bike to the bi-weekly suffer-fest on the hill!

How to Train for the Courage Classic Without Really Trying: Part 1

Don't lean on me man, 'cause you can't afford the ticket, back from Suffragette City!

As you may know, Celeste and I signed up to ride in the Childrens' Hospital Courage Classic charity ride again this summer.  We did it for the first time last summer and had a really good time, even though the weekend ultimately entailed about 200 miles of bike riding over several high mountain passes in its three days of road biking mayhem. 

Well in spite/because of that, we're back again this year to ride once again.  Now, mind you, this is a charity ride and not a competitive ride, so quite frankly I don't feel too terribly stressed out about being in top riding shape when the event starts.  Which is a good thing, because I can safely tell you all that I am not in any way in top riding shape right now.  I'm in pretty good running shape right now, and I'm sure some of that fitness translates, but running and biking are not the same thing.  So I think I'd better train a bit before the event.  Now I don't need to be in Jan Ulrich shape in 4 weeks, but I don't want to be miserable out there on those mountain climbs either, so some riding is in store. 

Therefore please join me on a little blogging adventure as I try to get myself in biking shape for the Courage Classic.  I hope that you will also consider donating to the Children's Hospital on my or Celeste's behalf by clicking on either or both of the links below, and giving generously:

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/srslush

http://www.couragetours.com/2011/celeste

We're trying to raise $1,000 each -- $2,000 total, and I think as of today we have raised about $270 between the two of us.  Not too shabby to start, but we have a ways to go.  We're riding as part of the "Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars" team, whose members number six:  Celeste and I, our cousins Tim and Brian, and our friends Tony and Chryss.  We named out team after our new dog, Ziggy.  We rescued him back in December and we named him after David Bowie because he had one brown and one blue eye.  Come to find out that neither of David Bowie's eyes are Brown or Blue, they're both Hazel, and they only look like they're different colors because one eye is permanently dilated due to an old injury.  This is David Bowie I'm referring to, not our dog Ziggy.

Regardless, I'm a bit off topic here, which is just as well because I'm not sure exactly how much time I can spend telling you about how badly I'm riding right now, but once and finally I'll get to that bit now.

The training:

So I figure, this Courage Classic features 200 miles of riding and bunches of hill climbs.  I've been riding my bike to work most days, to the tune of 10 miles per day, but my commute is rather flat.  So today after work I decided to go ride the biggest nastiest local hill climb I could think of.  That's right, Rist canyon.  I've only successfully climbed this crucible of pain one time ever.  In fact it was last summer, when I was once again cramming for the courage classic.  So here we go again.  Rist canyon is about 2,500 feet of climbing in 10 miles of road.  A pretty mellow climb for a run, actually, but nasty stuff on a bike.  I've been doing a lot of hill climbing on foot lately so I thought I could breeze up Rist without too much trauma tonight on the bike.  I thought wrong.  Dang, biking is totally different than running.  Maybe I went out too hard, but I fell apart about half way up the canyon.  I didn't get started on my ride until about 6:45 pm, so I was actually running out of daylight in the narrow mountain canyon, but I was not able to make it to the top tonight.  Heck, I think I only made it about 1/3 of the way up the canyon before I turned around into the calm cool evening. 

It was a pretty ride, and I didn't see too many other riders up there tonight.  I ended up with about 23 miles of riding and about 1,500 feet of climbing all told.  This on top of my 10 commuting miles today makes for a fairly respectable 33 mile day.  I'll take another crack at Rist next Monday on the 4th of July, and this time I may drag Celeste and Tony and Chryss along with me so we can all curse Ziggy together.  It will be a team-building experience. 

So I must admit that I was humbled by Rist tonight.  Again, I may be in good running shape, but I am not in really good riding shape.  At least not where I want to be.  I'll keep you all updated on my training and fund raising progress over the next 4 weeks though, hopefully I'll be able to report good news on both fronts!  And yes I'll continue to run as well, I can't give up my true love!  I have a Bighorn 50 mile race report (I ran that jewel of a race the weekend before last) that I'll post in due time as well.

But for now let me remind you that while Ziggy played guitar, he never rode Rist.

aaaaaah, Wham Bam Thank You Ma'am (for donating)!

Noodles 2 Noodles 3-D, 9/18/2010

Hello all --

It's fall, and that means another Noodles 2 Noodles Century ride!  This September 18th we will enjoy the Third annual Noodles 2 Noodles ride, and I hope you can join us!  This is a self-supported century ride from Fort Collins to Boulder and back.  As far as century rides go, it's a pretty easy ride; we try to avoid all those nasty hills, and we generally take our time.  We normally take about 8 hours to complete the ride, including a stop for lunch at the Noodles & Co. in Boulder.  So pump up those tires, fill up a couple of water bottles, and come ride with us!  the first year I was the only one who rode this ride, and I made the mistake of riding it in November.  Let's call it a test ride!  Last year we had about 8 participants, and we did it in October.  Let's see if we can double that this year, shall we?  September 18th sounds like a much better date for the ride than November or October, that's for sure.

And if you know us, you know we like to turn these events into charity fundraising opportunities!  This year we're supporting the North Shore Animal League, a non-profit no-kill animal shelter.  If you know anything about Les and I you know that we are strongly committed to animals, and particularly to rescue and shelter animals.  Please consider making a tax-deductible donation to North Shore Animal League via this link:

North Shore Animal League -- donate here! (then click the "Support Lindsey" link)

And we'll accept donations at the ride itself.  Even if you don't ride, you can pledge a little money for the shelter on our behalf!  Now you may notice the page is for Lindsey, she set up this fund-raising pledge but we're all committed to the cause -- they only put one name on the pledge page. 

Anyway if you're interested in joining us this year for the ride, the ride starts at 8:00 am at the Noodles & Co. in Fort Collins, at the corner of Laurel and College.  from there we make our way west to Taft Hill Rd, and then turn south towards Loveland.  From Loveland we take the "back way" tacking West towards Carter Lake (but we avoid actually climbing to the lake of course!), and eventually popping out on North of Hygine in Boulder County.  From there we continue to tack generally West and South until we make it to Gunbarrel and Jay Rd.  Jay Rd. is our access point into Boulder proper, where we then make our way to the Noodles & Co. on 1245 Alpine Ave. (near Boulder Community Hospital).  Then we eat lunch and retrace our steps back to Ft Collins! 

For those of you who are more visually inclined, here is an interactive map of the route:

Beyond MF: Asphalt Risin'

October 4th, 2009: Asphalt Risin'


Song of the Day: Fu Manchu, Asphalt Risin' from In Search Of...



Would it seem like life in fast-forward? Would it seem like magic? I put my car into reverse and back out the driveway. I'm disappointed; it all seems so normal, so familiar. Just like getting on a bike, how ironic. I'm sitting in a car for the first time in 35 days. 35 days of auto-self-denial, killed off by a driving trip to Denver. I was hoping that it would feel strange, being in a car again, but it just felt like any other day. Maybe that was the problem; the previous 35 days were the exception, they were the aberration. This was reality.


One thing I enjoyed right away; interior climate control. What a feature! You want to warm up? Red bars! Cool down? Blue bars! I don't really have to plan ahead when I go out in a car. Is it hot out? cold? windy? raining? Don't care so much. Got this miniature self-propelled shelter on wheels here. Very convenient. And I'm hopelessly overdressed, sitting in the car at this moment, wearing a sweatshirt and a jacket. I'll have to peel off those items in a few minutes.



On to the stereo. I look at it. What a delight! I absolutely love music. When the stereo died in this car earlier in the Summer (wouldn't play CDs anymore, just the radio), I immediately sprung for a new car stereo even though I don't drive the car nearly as much as my wife. C_ thought I was a little nuts for that. On the bike there are no tunes to distract and amuse yours truly. Some choose to ride with music anyway; I think it is rather dangerous to do so, but I understand the appeal. I missed cranking the tunes in the car during my exile on bike street. I really do think rock music was made for the auto. In fact I'd go so far as to say that we might not really even have rock music if it wasn't for the auto. Just think about all the rock songs about cars! Little Red Corvette, Thunder Road, Truckin', Little Deuce Coupe, Highway Star, that Gary Neuman song, the list goes on. A comparative list of rock songs for bikes pretty much begins and ends with Bicycle Race by Queen. A solid entry no doubt, but a lonely stalwart in comparison. So sitting now with the car stereo in reach was a joyous reunion after a long forced absence from a best friend. And yet, there sat the stereo, silent. I'm not sure what I was thinking, maybe I felt like it would be too much of a distraction right away. I have to admit I got used to travelling without it. Maybe I wanted to savor the thought of listening to music in the car before actually participating in the activity. The knowledge that I could listen to music was quite enough to satisfy. Maybe I wanted to listen to the music of the engine for a while. To experience the new sounds of driving. I was content without the stereo, for now.


It all came back to me right away, the actual mechanics of driving. So many movements of hands and feet! The mechanics of riding a bicycle are fairly straightforward on city streets, provided one is relatively sober and the roads are dry and there is some available light. Left foot, right foot, steer, brake, shift if you have gears, even that's optional. Cars, particularly manual transmission cars, are a spasmodic dance routine in comparison. Right hand shift. Left foot clutch. Right foot brake. Left hand steer. Left foot off clutch/Right hand off shifter. Right foot gas. Left pinkie turn-signal. Right hand air-vent. Right hand steer. Repeat. Why it's quite difficult, actually, all these coordinated movements. We take it for granted because we do them so frequently. And I'm doing them without having to think about it, I haven't skipped a beat. There's a certain rhythm to it. I imagine drummers make good drivers, at least provided the traffic signals are timed properly, and they're not too distracted tapping out "YYZ" on the steering wheel to be bothered to actually steer the wheel.


I remember once driving in New Zealand, where they drive on the "other" side of the road. I was all messed up then. Of course the shifter was on my left, and the turn-signal on my right. And the car window was on my right shoulder. Thank goodness the pedals retained the same configuration. Could you imagine if the gas and brake and clutch were reversed as well! Not to mention the act of turning that turned every intersection into an Esher drawing, with cars coming out of impossible places and surprising configurations. It's small wonder that I ran into a curb on a bridge and caused a flat tyre some 15 minutes after taking the wheel on those narrow Kiwi roads. That backwards Queens-driving I fear I'll never get used to; but driving American-style was no problem after a prolonged absence.



We spend so much time in our cars, perfecting these movements, that it actually gets a little boring and routine. So we feel the need to spice it up a bit. Time to get a cup of coffee! And call my friend on the cell phone! And update my facebook profile ("I'm driving!")! And read the liner notes from one of my CDs in the passenger seat! All at once!!! Now we're talking; this provides the necessary degree of difficulty to make driving exciting again. And I must point out that it would be well nigh impossible to do all of these things while riding a bike. It's merely stupid to do them in a car, which puts me in the fine company of 98% of the rest of the drivers out there. Oh yes, I'm watching out for cyclists and stuff. Uh-huh. I must admit that I've frequently ridden my bike to work with a cup of coffee in my hand, it's not too difficult. Mostly you have to wait until stops to take a sip though. And I've had more phone conversations than I care to admit from the seat of my cycle. Yeah (pant, pant), I'm on my bike (pant, pant), I know it's stupid (pant, pant), well you (pant), called me (pant), k c'ya bye. Riveting dialogue there. No one said bikers were the most intelligent ones. But we can't claim any moral superiority to drivers here. If bikers could figure out a way to do their makeup and text their bff's while riding, they would.



So I got my cup of coffee, wound my way through town, and headed out towards the interstate. I made a right turn on to the access ramp, and pressed the accelerator as I merged into traffic. 5th gear engaged as the needle arched over the top of the speedometer. 50, 60, 70, 80 mph. There it happened, finally, the moment I was hoping for; just for an instant I felt it. I felt the car accelerate, I felt the force of acceleration literally push me back into my seat. Just a little, but it was a sensation I'd not experienced in several weeks. This power of acceleration! Exhilarating! In the car, going fast, isolated from the environment, one really can lose touch as to how fast one is actually going. Maybe I should have opted for a convertible or a motorcycle. Regardless, once I attained interstate cruising speed it didn't really feel all that fast. Doubtless caused by the separation between me and the road as much as anything else. But there was no denying the force of acceleration as I took the car from 50 to 80. Going fast, ho hum. Getting fast, now that's something! Does it have a hemi? Sweeeet!

And that was it, really. And just the one time too! That was my one and only Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer moment. The next time I did that, accelerated quickly that is, I felt nothing. I mean I felt the force push me back into my seat again, but I had grown accustomed to it once again, the novelty had worn off, it was not exhilarating, I had assimilated.

Then, finally, it was time for the stereo. I turned the volume up to 11 and felt the music fill the space in the car. The music never sounded so good, tearing down the interstate on a sunny Autumn day. I settled back and cruised, and thought about how much farther back I'd be on my bike on this day. I really felt no regret or guilt for driving the car this day, more like an academic curiosity about what it would have taken to ride to Denver again. I appreciated the fact that I could zip down to Denver in 1 hour instead of the 6 or so it took me the other week. I thought also though about what I was giving up, driving in my self-constrained box. It's not a sense of eco-superiority, although I surely gave that up. I think I felt a little melancholy remorse at missing out on the chance of adventure. Everyone drives, it's easy, it's convenient. It's isolated, too, and lonely. I hit some traffic on the interstate on the way home from the game (go Broncos!). The light was fading and I was facing a sea of red brake lights on the road. Everyone else was in their cars, facing straight-ahead, lost in their own little worlds. There was no interaction between us, between them, no awareness of our environment. There was no anger, just bland resignation, just another traffic jam on the freeway in the dusk. It was all rather depressing. Is this what we do now? Sit in our cars and stare ahead at the tail lights in front of us? The whole world at our disposal. I could be in Mexico in less than 24 hours in this thing. But mostly my world has shrunk to the span of the interior of this car, and the space of asphalt between the front of my car and the rear of the car in front of me. I can be bounded by a nutshell, or a car-shell, and call myself a king of infinite space, but those are just words (words, words); I'm still bounded, no matter how much freedom I tell myself I have.

On a bike things are different. Like it or not, you're connected to the environment. You feel the sun and rain on your face. You hear the sound of the wind in the trees, the other cars and bikes. You interact, you say hello to the crossing-guard at the school. You wave to the other cyclists, the joggers, the moms with their strollers. You don't really do that in a car. They all go by too quickly. You don't have time to really see anyone else. Particularly other motorists, but pedestrians as well. And they don't really see you in your car, they mostly just see the car. You're just another automaton on the Autobahn. In a car you affect the scene, but you're not part of the scene. On bike the scene effects you as much as you affect it. There's an interplay you get that doesn't exist in car-travel. It's the play of life, really, and you get to participate. It may seem insignificant, but at a minimum you get used to it, and may start to miss it.

I'll be back on the bike on Monday, I've grown accustomed to it. I'll call my new campaign "MFMF" -- Motor Free Monday Friday. But it's more of a guideline than a rule. You'll see me in the car, driving fast, eating a sandwich and blasting tunes. I am still American, after all!

MFM Day 35: Don't Let's Start

October 3rd, 2009


Motor Free Month Day 35: Don't Let's Start


34 degrees. That'd be 34 Fahrenheit, not Celsius. Maybe we should have started the ride at 9? Well it's 8, and that's that. The blood in my brain was moving like the syrup on the pancakes I just ate at the Rainbow Cafe, and those synapses were not firing. Must. pedal. bike. We started the ride and I immediately took our group of 8 the wrong way through CSU campus, so we had to backtrack to get back to the original route. Can't stick to a plan for more than, oh, 30 seconds it seems like. Also we were all moving very slowly at this early and frigid hour of the morning. My knuckles were freezing and my toes were numb.


This was the final day of Motor Free "Month", 35 days of living without setting foot in any sort of motorized transport. To celebrate this final day, I and some friends rode our bikes from Fort Collins to Boulder for lunch, and then back to the Fort. A nice 100 mile ride. The ride was named "Noodles 2 Noodles" (everything has to have a name) since the start, turn-around, and end were at Noodles & Co. locations. I suppose it could have been called Noodles 2 Noodles 2 Noodles? I wonder if I could figure out a ride whose initials were H1N1?



Regardless of the name, or perhaps because of it, I was actually able to convince 7 other people to join me on this ride. It was to be C_'s first century ride. Several friends of mine also joined: Jim and Katrinka were game as well, and also Jeff and Emma. The 4 of them had rode "E-Rock" earlier this year and were excited to ride another century, particularly an easier century ride with a cooler name. Tony joined us as well. He was an experienced cyclist who also rode with us earlier this year at the CFF charity ride to Ward. Rounding out the 8 was our ringer Felix, who quite recently successfully completed a solo 200 mile ride in one day, from Fort Collins to Walden and back, surmounting Cameron Pass twice on the attempt. I wasn't too worried about Felix finishing the ride. Or breaking a sweat.


Our route to Boulder took "The Back Way". This is a lovely and flat route that generally tacks West towards Boulder at is meanders through the back roads of Larimer and Boulder counties. It's a nice way to get between the two cities by car as well, if you have a little extra time. On bike it's probably the fastest route between the same two cities. Curious that the same route could be the slowest (Standard route) via car, and the fastest via bike. Clicking on the map will take you to an interactive map of the route. Much of the first 10 miles of the route were the same as my ride to Denver the previous week, due to the paving detour fiasco that time. Today there would be no construction messes; we knew that Hwy 66 between Longmont and Lyons was all torn up, so we opted for the straight shot through Hygiene instead of the more scenic but more difficult "36" route via Lyons. Ironically we had to stop on the route in nearly exactly the same spot as my construction detour, but one mile West, when Jim got a flat tire not even 10 miles into the ride. This was to be our only mishap of the day, thankfully. And now that I've given away that nothing really crazy happened during the ride, I'll be hard-pressed to keep your interest, patient reader. But I'll try nonetheless.










I found that it was easier riding with a group instead of solo. I frequently found myself happily putzing along in the back of the group, enjoying the nice draft effect. When I rode to Denver I was completely on my own, so I obviously got no drafting benefits. Apparently drafting can reduce the effort required to cycle by 25% or more. Meaning if I drafted the whole way, I could expend only 75 miles worth of effort on a 100 mile ride. Of course someone has to lead the pack and put forth the 100% effort -- we can't all draft! I did take a few turns up front but I don't think I pulled my weight there; mostly I was content to hang out back. With 8 people on a 100 mile ride, if each person did their share of leading, then each person would lead the pack for only 12.5 miles. If we were organized we probably would have come up with a system for switching up leaders and what not. As it was we were not terribly organized, nor were any of us racers, so we really had no idea what we were doing. The group tended to get split up into two or more smaller groups fairly frequently, which meant that 2 or more people had to put forth full effort instead of only one. And none of us were all that great at maintaining a steady pace, which made staying together difficult and somewhat dangerous. And frankly I wasn't paying much attention to staying on the wheel of the person in front of me, and I frequently found myself far behind the slipstream of the pack, and needing to bust my butt to get back in the pack several times.



For you non-biker-types, that's why you see all the bike racers all bunched up in the big peleton during le tour. They're just straight-up lazy, ha ha. I suppose that's why those flat Tour de France stages are so boring; there's hardly any reason or opportunity to break away and win those stages until the very end. Why don't they just do a 5 mile race on those days? Only the last 5 miles seem to matter anyway! It is interesting being in the slipstream of another rider's wake. You can tell you are drafting by the lack of wind, and it's even a little warmer. You start to catch yourself wondering, "jeez, why isn't (so and so leader) pedaling any faster? This is a really easy pace!" not remembering of course that they are having to work 25% harder than you to maintain that pace. If it feels easy, big boy, why don't you take a turn up front!



Overall we were not as organized as the massive groups or riders we saw in Boulder County that day. But when the group was all together it really worked! And besides, it was a lot more fun to ride with friends than on my own. A 100 mile solo ride is an awfully long time to be without any communication aside from the voices in one's head, which in my case are fairly entertaining, but probably not good for my mental state.






We arrived at the turn-around Noodles in Boulder (the one by Ideal Market) at about 11:45 am. That was about 3 hours and 17 minutes "in the saddle" as they say, and close to 3 hours and 45 minutes transit time when breaks are taken into account. I was able to meet up with my friends Mike and Valia, Ken, and Kathy, and assorted progeny for lunch. The MFM theory tested today was, how difficult is it to meet someone for lunch in Boulder? Apparently it's possible, provided you have about 8 hours to spend doing it, and your friends don't mind waiting about 30 minutes at Noodles & Co. for you to arrive. Not terribly convenient, truth be told, but kind of fun.



Our gang spent at least an hour at the cafe before saddling up and starting home again. The weather had warmed up nicely and there was little if any wind. We really got lucky with the weather this day. Unlike running which one can do under almost any conditions, biking does have a threshold of atmospheric crappiness below which riding really can't occur. Aside from the cold temperatures that bedeviled us in the first hour, we were far above that line and enjoyed a beautiful ride home. Emma's husband Blake met us at about the halfway point between Boulder and Fort Collins, and we enjoyed a bona fide aid station complete with bananas, cookies, bagels, and water. That was awesome!



Like I said, the ride was uneventful in the epic sort of way, unless one considers the accumulation of miles in and of themselves to be epic. We hit 90 miles just north of Loveland, and with just one more hill to climb on the South ramparts of Fort Collins, we knew we had this ride "in the bag". Consequently it seemed like the group really started to splinter at this point. Every man for themselves! Last one to Noodles is a wet noodle! All the stoplights in town served to keep the group together, but everyone was excited to be done, and ready to be done. And after a quick shortcut back through campus that actually was a shortcut this time, we found ourselves back at the original Noodles.



Done at last! A quick celebratory drink at the Pickle Barrel, and the group split up for good. Thus concluding Motor Free Month for yours truly. But that zombie wouldn't die. There was one more trip left in the 'ol month it seems. Besides, even considering the extra distance to and from our house to the start of N2N(2N) I don't think we had covered the requisite 100 miles to consider our journey a "century". So back on the bikes we got, to go to a friend's house for a housewarming party. The riding was slow on tired legs but C_ and I sucked it up and did it. This was one trip I'd have gladly done in the car had I not been Motor Free.


Now finally, returning home, I was done at last. 35 days of motor free travel, "in the bag". It was quite the adventure. Thanks for following along on the blog! I plan on posting about driving a car on October 4th, what that felt like. Until then, ride on, courageous reader, and I'll see you at the bike rack!