I think I am going to do something that is unprecedented ever since I started this blog back in January of 2006. I'm actually considering a "mancation."
I might actually travel more than three hours from my house in order to ride my bike in a new location without an actual race or event being the motivation for said travel. I've been wanting to do it for some time, it's just that I did not want to organize it, but would be happy to join in on a "mancation in progress."
You will know more when I know more, which is to say, not now, but maybe later.
Before I get back to packing for the Le Tour de Burg, I wanted to show you this, which I saw first on Dirt Rag:
I am not much of a pack guy, but when I use a pack I either grab my trusty 70oz Octane LR or its slightly larger counterpart, the 100oz Charge 450. So what's Camelbak coming out with in 2012?
The Charge LR... a power packed Octane that basically puts the best of both worlds into one pack, and they're making it in a color that doesn't hurt my eyes. Better compartmentalization, bigger/better waist pockets, more padding, bladder that sits lower than a pebble pusher, and did I mention it's dark gray?
They have decided to go with over-the-shoulder hose routing instead of the under-the-shoulder routing on the Octane LR. Apparently I am the only guy in the world who likes it that way. Meh. I can always poke a hole in it.
I will have to play some mind games on my guy at Camelbak to obtain one of these before the average consumer can purchase one for themselves. Yes, I have a guy at Camelbak. Most companies, once they start dealing with me, realize that they have to hire a guy just to deal with my annoying emails and phone calls. This position is typically known as "Dick Handler." The pay is commensurate with the risk, hassle, and pain involved.
Dick Handling ain't easy.
Tomorrow I am on my way with Zac to the Tour de Burg, first stop: Tour Directeur Carp's house.
You know the place.
In every neighborhood there is one house that adults whisper about. In Harrisonburg, that would be Carp's house.
Zac and I will be living under the stairs in the Stankment for the week. If we are lucky, maybe Buck will feed us through the vents.
Anybody interested in a "Dick Handler" position, go ahead and forward your résumés my way. Small, soft hands are a big plus.
More Tour de Burg prep was had last night. Since I have now ripped an IKON EXO tire thrice in less than six months of use, I felt it prudent not to take it to the Virginia Badlands. Taking its place is the 2.2 WTB Wolverine, otherwise known as the WTB BFT.
This Big Fucking Tire will more than likely not flat, but it will surely slow me down. Heavy, but better than having to stop to fix a flat and beg Harlan for a spare tire later.
I've also come up with a plan of attack, or more to the point, a plan of non-attack for the race. I realize that I am on a very similar path of self destruction to the one I chose to follow last year. I do not want to blow up again, and I think I can pinpoint my 2010 downfall to the TdB, or at the very least, the bottom of my downfall. Too much horseplay and stupidity for sure. Chasing down pointless KOM points, launching off the front of the A-group trying to chase down a lone breakaway rider, trying to put in a "solid ride" on the mountain bike... all less than a great idea.
There's a term that gets bandied about at Le Tour; "slumming." To "slum" is to not put out a full effort, to be comfortable at the back, to just enjoy the ride. It's not quite DFL, which takes a maximal amount of minimal effort to achieve with this bunch and a jersey on the line, but it's very close. This year I will absolutely be slumming, especially on the road sections where I will be seeking out a slum partner to get me through the hard times. I spent too much time in no man's land chasing the dust plumes and ghosts of much better riders last year. Lesson learned. If you can't run with the big dogs, find another small dog to walk with (and then piss in the big dogs' shoes when they're not around).
Did I mention just how poorly I'm descending on the road bike lately? Worse than ever. I spend far too little time ripping down the asphalt at 40+ in my underwear to be comfortable. Last week's road ride showed me that I'm going to have to bring up my downward game if I don't want to let my slum partner down. I sucked really, really bad.
The mountain bike portions will be ridden fast enough to be fun, but not so fast as to be aiming towards any goal more noble than to hurry towards the hummus and cheese sandwiches and Coke. I've got another plan in the works there, and although I doubt I'll be able to stick with it, we shall see.
#1 Of the six days of Le Tour (de Burg), only two of them involve road bikes.
#2 Of those two days on road bikes, racers will see more than 40 miles of gravel.
#3 On one of those road days, racers get to look forward to a MTB time trial that night.
#4 When was the last time you saw Andreas Kloden hop in a truck with TdF race director Chistian Prudhomme to go mark the next day's stage with spray paint?
#5 No sissy pants neutral support Mavic vehicles. You're on your own out there. I've seen 2005 SSWC Champion Buck Keich standing at the side of the route changing flats so many times it's burned into my retinas. A World Champion changing his own flats? Sacrebleu!!
#6 No racers get kicked out for drug use. There is no Team Green in the other tour.
#7 Racers stop like civilized people to have lunch in the middle of the day. There are no man purses (musette bags) filled with paninis and Perrier.
#8 WADA will not be there, and the only blood that will be drawn will be spilled.
#9 Lance Armstrong will not show up and grab all the attention.
#10 Tourmalet? Ventoux? Alpe d'Huez? We got the Reddish Knob Shirtless Club for Men Dance Party.
An odd failure in communication had me running 1.5-2 miles in sandals to dinner on Saturday. I have not ran since February 2010, and definitely not since I hurt my ankle in September of last year.
I woke up Sunday pretty sore, not remembering that I had ran the day before until much later.
I had no ride plan on Sunday. I had an invite to ride faster and probably further than I wanted to approximately 40 minutes (by car) from my house in the cool of the morning. There was another option on the table. I called Stabby, and he and Eric Van Driver were going to wait until the heat of the day to ride at the US National Whitewater Center.
Strange. I don't ride out there for over six months, and now I find myself riding out there three weeks in a row. In keeping with recent stupidity, I decided to ride the 16 miles out there once again since it just seems like the thing to do.
On the way out I considered how I needed to get the Misfit diSSent Brontoawesomeous Meatplow V.5 ready for the Tour de Burg. At the very least I need to get a beefier tire than the IKON on the rear since I ripped two of them in State College at the Trans-Sylvania Epic. Then I considered my options, took it a little too far, and decided I would steal the wheels and 120mm Rock Shox Reba XX from the Superbeast and roll some squish at the TdB.
Then I hit the trails at the USNWC with Stabby and Eric Van Driver. The trails were in perfect condition and my bike just felt perfect, convincing me that I needed to not screw with it... save for the fragile (for the VA conditions) rear tire. Rich meet Square One, Square One, Rich.
Maybe I'll wake up someday this week and change my mind again.
Not that it matters much, but I did finally take the time to swap the almost two year old header image that George took of me in my MOOTSkit at the SSWC09 in Durango on my results page to something more current.
Yeah, life has been that busy and my focus/humor has gone to shit. It's about time to do one of the hardest stage "races" a normal person can do, yet there are never any normal people there.
I got my latest copy of Dirt Rag in the mail the other day.
The mailman must have wanted to test it for nutritional content. Inside, of course, is yet another article of massive brilliance from yours truly, along with a sweet photo from Big Worm.
This issue is one of my favorites. There's a great article by Guitar Ted about gravel road racing (AKA Gravel Grinders).
There's also a pretty tits article from Missouri Miller about his trip out to the Breck Epic last year.
He writes pretty well for a teenager. I'm thinking about adding him to my "department" at Dirt Rag. I can pay him in Ramen noodles, and he will like it.
I know I promised to post some A E Landes photos from the Trans-Sylvania Epic, and I totally failed yesterday. Here's me not breaking the promise today.
I'm amazed that Abe was able to capture the exact moment when I ripped my legs apart.
That would be some sort of muscle separating from one of its attachment points.
Victory.
Speaking of "victory", The Pie returns today from Give Kids the World, and I accomplished my goal of making a six pack of New Belgium Trippel last the whole week. I came out of the locker room a little hard, paced myself mid-game, and enjoyed the final beer last night.
Who am I kidding?
I can put together a great drive, but when I get in the red zone...
Tuesday night I had two optional plans for Wednesday. Either go for a road ride or do another stupid mountain bike ride from my house to a trail to another trail and back to my house. Storms rolled through the area that night, and so my decision was made for me.
Road ride.
Meh.
I just mounted up the heavy, wired bead 28mm tires for TdB, so my zippy little plastic bike was going to feel kinda turdy. I wanted to get an early start before the heat, but I wasted too much time on the internet. Big Worm had sent me a couple routes, but one came back as a link to Gmail and the other was a map as opposed to a cue sheet. Since I pissed away so much time, it was late enough in the day to just stop at Ilan's Bicycle Emporium and Mustache Wax Salon on my way outta town. They printed me off a cue and sold me some bicycle energy food with which I might complete the route.
I took my own route from the shop through downtown. I always see roadies passing through while I'm at work, and I wonder why they come through all the congestion and lights if they don't have to. I'm still wondering. Maybe they come for the great Viking food.
Once I got out to the route I realized that my computer was still set for 23mm tires, so I tried to change it over to 28mm, but all I did was erase all my current ride info. I knew this misinformation would mess with the distances on the cue, but enough to matter? Dunno.
I pulled out the cue sheet, and found that it was getting soaked in sweat. What to do, what to do?
Built in cue sheet holder thanks to the Tour de Burg approved Zone.
This thing, in case you forgot:
Did I fall off the cue sheet and into no-man's land a few times ? Yes. Cue sheets derived from things like google maps means that you're going to see instructions like this:
Mile 23.756 Rt turn → on Old NC Route 349756
When you get to the turn you think you should take there's a sign for Fucklebuckberry Lane but no sign for Old NC Route 349756. Is it the right right turn or the wrong right turn, especially since your computer is off in regards to true earth distances? Dunno.
With all the "slight right" and "continue on" and "stick your left foot in" instructions I had to pull out my Fisher Price Not-so-Smart phone quite a few times to get back on route. Never mind that I've ridden this loop at least ten times in the past. I'm always talking too much to pay attention.
At one point I was almost in South Carolina, and judging by the name of this bar I believe I was on Mars at one point.
Once I got home I was @4.5lbs lighter than when I started the day. I only rode somewhere in the neighborhood of 75 miles, and although I drank four bottles, apparently that was not enough. I decided to drink water until I peed clear and then drink beer. I never peed clear all night.
I recovered in front of the TV watching Machete.
It was not good, unless "good" means "bad" on Mars.
Then I watched the Gunnar Shogren biopic that was loaned to me from Damian R.
Gunnar's 1998 season scrunched down to 40 minutes and stuck on a video cassette tape. I used to attend some of the same races shown in the movie, albeit in the beginner/sport classes. Di Di Mau, Seven Springs... oh the memories, the trails, and the horrid kits. I have a fair dinkum more respect for the man now, and I actually sorta enjoyed the show. V-brakes, saddle bags falling off, Grip Shift, Time shoes, 26" wheels, mullets... I thought I was having a nightmare, but I was awake the whole time. The whole experience of watching the movie made me wonder...
Has USA Cycling ever made a Stars and Stripes jersey that wasn't the fucking ugliest garment on the planet?
I spent the rest of the evening playing with my Danny Trejo and Gunnar Shogren action figures. Was it wrong that I dressed them in Barbie clothes and had them driving around in a pink Corvette?
Whenever you first mount up a new set of brakes you have to be aware of the fact that neither the rotors or the pads are bedded in. I went outside, rode around, and grabbed my brakes as per instructed per instructions. Convinced my job was done, I went ahead and set the Poppet Cam to the shortest throw setting thinking I'd want it that way.
Then I went for a ride. I was wrong about the bedding status of my brakes post initial bedding.
This is where it ended up.
That's about a hair shorter than the middle setting. I found the brakes to be quite grabby, quite a bit stronger than my Strokers, thus I was pulling like I was riding my old Strokers and getting a whole handful more than I was ready for. Wanna know why they are more powerful? Read all the marketing whiz bang science stuff here.
It took me a while to dial both the lever reach and the Poppet Cam to suit me, but I'm pretty sure I've got both where I want 'em now. The wider lever blade (than the Strokers) took some getting used to as well, but I can see where more contact with my braking finger would be a good thing, so I'm going to stop thinking different is bad (not really).
The rotors are the new blingy, two piece, lower noise, high Mu, models from Hayes. I looked up what Mu means on wikipedia and could only glean these facts:
1) Mu was derived from the Egyptian hieroglyphic symbol for water
2) Wikipedia is useless
The rotor is more friction'esque than the previous one piece design, and it's lighter as well. It is also cooler looking, bringing my hooptie up a notch... like spinners on a Chevette.
I am anxious to get these brakes to the mountains. I've gone from a 7" front rotor with my Strokers to a 6" rotor with the Primes, so I am curious to see if I'll notice a difference. Then, and only then, will I be able to make a final judgment on the brakes.
I'm not gonna bore you with all the technical jive that you could easily read over on the Hayes website. I can tell you that so far I'm impressed. Although the brakes are definitely in the "so far, so good" category, I must still only give them my...
SEAL OF SEMI-APPROVAL
Why?
First of all, they are black. I had this whole pro-level looking white thing going on, and when I lost the Strokers I lost 3.5% of my white pro-level look. In order to gain back .75% of my whiteness I had to go out and get this:
Black. It's better than yellow, but it's not white.
Secondly, they are different not only in color but in shape. It takes me a while to get used to different, not only from an ergonomic and performance standpoint, but also from the all important aesthetic balance aspect. I've been staring across the room at the brakes for almost two weeks, and I'm getting used to them... slowly.
Thirdly, and this is most important, I have Strokers on my Superbeast. It's hard enough going from squishy single speed to rigid single speed, but now I'll have to go from squishy Stroker equipped single speed to rigid Prime equipped single speed. That is unless I drop some coin and upgrade the Superbeast, which means I would buy white brakes, have to swap the trimmed lines and bleed them all over again....
Meh.
In other news, I got my Trans-Sylvania Epic photos from A E Landes. They are freaking sweet, and I shall leak them out slowly, saving the best for last.
Sorta proof that I did actually ride the Three Bridges this year without looking like a noobie.
Up next on the agenda is the Tour de Burg. This is 100% going to happen again for me this year, although at the end of last year's event I swore I'd take a year off. It's hard to step away from this race though, as it is known as "The only race that matters," and "Cheaper than living." I spent a portion of my lazy Sunday getting my road bike ready for the beat down days on the pave' and gravel.
This bike is ready for battle, the kinda riding that I think voids my very restrictive warranty.
Big Worm hooked me up with a set of wire bead 28mm Conti Gatorskins that only see use at the Tour. Too much tire for around here, and almost not enough for the Tour.
Punctures. I has them. Last year I took a hard hit on a gravel descent. It helps to be prepared.
Flat number two will be handled with shit under the saddle, though I doubled up on CO2's in case I have to start patching.
You may notice that I sheathed the spare tube with a piece of mtn innertube. This is just in case the high frequency vibrations of the gravel vibrate the tube on the rear bolt of the seat clamp. This is just a precaution, and I'll inspect the sheath after le Tour to see if anything happens.
This is only a test.
Flimsy stainless steel cages swapped out for hardly-can-get-my-bottle-out Rib cages. Did I mention "high frequency vibrations?"
After le Tour is over I don't have anything on the schedule until "the most important race on the international cycling calendar," ORAMM. I don't feel any pressure as I have in years past. Not being a returning champion means all I have to do is not suck to make great bike race. Winning will be really hard in 2011, and if I was a betting man I'd throw my money on Andy Johnston. Not only is he a pro-licensed rider in the single speed class, he's also a successful coach and he's got great hair.
I mean, it's as if David Lee Roth's hair had a baby with a clone of David Lee Roth's hair and that magnificent hair baby decided to live on Andy's head. Andy's around my age, and I'm as bald on one end as the other. Virility, racing know-how, pro license... yeah, he's gonna win. Me? Maybe a podium this year if I can keep my shit together, and I don't blow myself out doing this the week before:
One hundred kilometers up in Damascus, VA. I've only ridden there once in the past, and I'd love to go back and race. If I can figure out a way to do back to back weekends with those two races, I see no reason why I wouldn't just go ahead and sink my battleship the next weekend at the W101.
Now were talking. I haven't tried to blow myself up like this since 2008.
Now to see if the ducks are willing to line up in neat little rows.
Friday I celebrated my birthday after getting off work later than normal. I use the term "celebrate" very loosely. I cracked a beer when I got home, planned on bleeding my Hayes Primes when I got done with supper, ended up on the phone with four different "industry" people, drank more beer, watched some Craig Ferguson stand-up, and went to bed at midnight... without bleeding my brakes.
I woke up Saturday morning at 5:00AM realizing that if I did not bleed my brakes I would have to ride the Superbeast on the same stupid ride I attempted last week but did not complete due to lack of planning and mechanical malfeasance. I was feeling the effects of "celebrating", and just assembling the bleed kit took a half hour of effort.
I watched the Hayes Prime bleed instructional video once, remembered the steps but forgot the order, attempted a bleed on the rear and failed. I watched the video again, focused on getting it right, and won on the second try.
First victory of the day.
I did not have to bleed the front. Somehow I had magically trimmed the line and reassembled the brake without allowing air into the system.
Second victory of the day.
I then decided to PLAN the ride that I failed on last week. Instead of wearing a hydration pack and carrying 122oz of water to ride to two parks with two perfectly functioning water fountains, I opted for two water bottles. The short sleeve TSE jersey would be replaced with a jersey of the sleeveless variety due to the extreme heat, I would look at my route before leaving the house to get a general idea of where I was going, and I swapped my gear to a more road friendly 32X17 instead of the Superbeast's 38X23.
The ride was as awful as I had planned it to be. I normally ride a 32X19 at the USNWC center due to 3-4 climbs that are awkward with an 18, and the 17 certainly sucked a capital amount of ass in that manner. I did n0t wreck as I did last week, although I almost ate shit on the slippery roots while an attractive female runner personally witnessed my lack of grace and flow. Moving on, Stabby and Eric Van Driver met me at Renaissance Park for one lap out there, and then I headed home rounding out my day with 60.07 miles and the satisfaction of accomplishing the stupidest MTB ride I've ever been on right out of my front door. I could pretend it was more thrilling than that, but it was not.
Third victory of the day.
This week Fajita is at camp and The Pie took my niece to Give Kids the World to volunteer. While she's out saving the world one cause at a time, I'll be holding down the fort... alone. I would like to say this opens up my ability to ride before/after work, but I'm on dog duty. In order to ride I will have to once again motivate myself to head back out the door on a bike for the second time of the day after the evening feed and poop. Seeking motivation, I thought maybe I would join in on some scheduled rides already in progress. I picked the wrong week for that. The Charlotte Summer MTB Series is on break this week, and Two Wheeled Tuesdays is taking the week off to "reassess, retool and make it how we wanted."
First fail of the new week.
I finished so many of my bike related projects over the weekend that I have no idea what I'll get into this week (after I finish my next article for Dirt Rag... I promise).
Neither Sonya or Rebecca is even paying attention to what appears to be a casual midday semi-mini-chub. Sue was taking the photo, so maybe she was looking. Probably not.
Maybe it's an old guy thing. I saw this on Fatty's blog the other day:
Apparently it's not the size that matters, it's the presentation. I gotta work on that.
Honestly I did not have a semi-mini-chub in that photo. It was just a wrinkle in my shorts. I can't say the same for Elden. He just loves mini-vans that much.
It's my birthday today. I know this because I logged into facebook already this morning. I am 42 years old, which makes me twice as old as Missouri Miller and half as old as Gunnar Shogren. Speaking of old man Gunnar, if anyone has the movie Scars Don't Sweat, (Gunnar is facing the end of his racing career, and more importantly, the end of a way of life... attempts to capture this emotional struggle of a professional athlete facing the end of his career) please let me borrow it. I need to learn how to "retire" like a pro now that I am six years older than he was when they made the movie in 1998 (do the math). I looked for it on Netflix, but this was the closest thing available.
I'm sure it's pretty similar.
42 year old status report:
I shaved my head last week. I felt like my hair and I were in one of those relationships where we both knew it was over, but I wanted to be the one who ended it first.
I have a large bruise on the back of my right calf where the Superbeast landed on top of me after I wrecked on a rock that has always been in the trail, but my Alzheimer's addled brain had forgot about it.
The callous on the ball of my left foot is currently in the middle of it's annual summer heat split down to the red meat. I love summer.
After almost six weeks away from beer it only takes a few Torpedoes to sink this ship.
Make this old guy's day by voting an even older guy into the MBHoF. Maybe someday it will be my turn (doubtful).
To celebrate my birthday I am going to work, covering for my boss while he goes off to watch motorized two-wheeled devices go BRAAAPP!!, and then I will come home, eat, bleed my brakes, and sleep.
"There's only six degrees of separation between any cyclist (in US or Canada) and Team Dicky."
I believe that five years later the theory has evolved and advanced exponentially. The theory, revised for current times, would go as follows:
"There's only three degrees of separation between any cyclist or cycling industry insider (in US or Canada) and Team Dicky."
Case in point: Shortly after the last time I bitched about not being sponsored by Hayes Disc Brakes I received an email from a friend. He knew someone who worked at Hayes in a department that would not necessarily be able to help advance my standing with the company, but he/she possibly could talk to the right people. Next thing you know, a set of Hayes Prime disc brakes arrived at my house a few weeks later.
Since I am such a big fan of Hayes they sent a set of Primes Pros to me for review, provide feedback, and I'm sure to utilize my marketing juggernaut of a blog to make Hayes the biggest thing in brakes since Fred Flintstone's feet.
They were mounted and ready to ride on Tuesday, and I did thusly. I will talk about the actual performance of the brakes when I get around to it, but for now I'll only talk about the boring stuff.
I did ride the bike with the hydraulic lines at their full, pre-bled length. I was a sad sight on the trails.
Last night was The Pie's yoga night, so I decided I would trim the lines and bleed the brakes to set things up proper style. On my way home I recalled that in the Prime Bleed video on youtube the Warranty and Tech Support Coordinator named John suggested something about having plenty of alcohol on hand when bleeding your brakes. I knew there was no alcohol in the fridge, so I headed to the BROcery store after work before going home. I lost a fair amount of time in the beer aisle trying to make an educated decision, and at one point I had a six pack of New Belgium Trippel in one hand and a sixer of Hopsecutioner in the other thinking the New Belgium would get me through any stressful moments, and the Hopsecutioner would be for celebrating a successful bleed. I almost left the aisle before I saw Torpedo on SALE in the bush for much less than the expensive birds in my hand. Victory!
Oddly enough, he suggested putting the alcohol in a spray bottle for emergencies, but I prefer to leave mine in its individual single serving dispenser.
Once I got home I went straight to work. Brake fluid can be nasty stuff, and if you don't have a nice Hayes mechanic's shirt like John's...
I suggest you wear your 3rd Place Men's Solo 24 Hours of Tahoe shop apron... and nothing else.
I figured I would trim the lines on both ends first and then get busy with the bleeding. I lost a lot of valuable time choosing the right beer for the job, so I would have to make quick work of this to get it done before The Pie came home. I started with the rear first. I removed the line, measured once, and cut thrice.
During this process I half-installed the line at the too-long length. By half-installing the line I compressed the fitting into the caliper without it cinching down on the line. When I went to remove the line for the second cut, the fitting stayed stuck in the caliper. Fail... on my part.
I then spent an inordinate amount of time trying to get the little brass piece out with needle nose pliers (fail), a screw (fail), a drill (fail), and an awl (success). Valuable lesson learned. Install the fitting all the way or not at all in future line trimming ceremonies.
Between the confusion in the beer aisle and the unique issue I propagated on my own stupid self, I was running short on time. I did manage to get the front line trimmed as well, so I now have two very aesthetically pleasing but non-bled and non-functioning brakes.
With only a few minutes to spare before The Pie walked in the door demanding beans and rice, I was able to slide the Hayes Tube Tops into place.
Speaking of Tube Tops and top tubes, I got semi-creative on my day off.
Frittering and wasting the hours in an offhand way.
Hopefully soon I will be able to do as John says and as he does thus bleeding my brakes in a proper manner and squirting my bike with beer.
I am not much of a pack guy, but when I use a pack I either grab my trusty 70oz Octane LR or its slightly larger counterpart, the 100oz Charge 450. So what's Camelbak coming out with in 2012?
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