Sleepy San Ardo signals the end of the 1st season after my 12 year hiatus from saddling up and slogging it out for glory with the other spandex obsessed fools.
Twenty calls to the starting line. Twenty nervous moments of wondering whether I was going to get spanked. And oh yes, I was spanked many of those times. However, I found that I could still spank a few out there. Hopping in with the geezers, nervous as all get out, I quickly found myself at the pointy end of the pack. I even was able to hold my own in a few prosey races. Driven by memory, driven by nerves, I laid it on the line and suffered like a dog.
After a few races into the year, I started itching for podium spots, and started to think that I needed to lean on the grey lump between my ears to help me climb the steps. That, though, did not work for me. Too much time calculating, not enough time cycling. In the end, I want to race first, and placings are cake if they happen. And I figure, for me, the best way to place is to simply race hard. I'm more happy racing that way, anyway. There is just too much going on off the bike to worry the right strategy on the bike. The two wheeled journey is to get away from the rat race. It's my salvation, not my stress.
So, I finished the season like I started this season, dragging and driving myself into the ground. "Nick, there are a lot of people sitting on," said Craig N as our group 'o 10 raced into San Ardo. Oh well, Craig, I hope they enjoy the ride. I did.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Alternate Universe
I got me some airtime on the local news as the face, or at least one of them, of the SLO criterium saying how I remembered watching the crit in 86 as a young high school teen punk and how it got me excited about racing bikes. Well, truth be known, I was not a punk back then, but goth. And more truthfully, we called it death rock back in the day. Long live Bauhaus!
Anyway, it brings back memories, all nostalgic and stuff, but also thoughts about where I am now, home.
Spring of 1986, there I was, nearly a high school dropout. What did I care about education? College was for the rich smart kids. I was a kitchen hack, born and bred. I missed prom cuz there was a punk rock show that night, and I would rather slam dance than dance to Journey (there was a little punk in the goth). And I liked me some cheap beer, and cheap vodka (with plenty of OJ of course).
So, what was I doing watching a bike race and getting all excited and stuff? Well, there was a little bikie under that black hair dye and eyeliner. In fact, I probably would not have gone goth, or at least to the extent that I did, if it were not for a junkie needing a fix.
Grewal, Lemond, and the Badger had all got me excited to turn this pedaling thing I found by accident into something more. The accident: I was caught flipping through Bicycling magazine one day during my junior high pre-algebra class. Hey, I already had pre-algebra in the school I transferred from, so I was bored. Don't ask me why I had a Bicycling magazine, too much cheap vodka between then and now to remember. So, Mr. Beck came by and said, "like biking, sonny? There's a century going on in a couple of days, why don't you give it a spin?" I was 13 and stupid, so what the heck. I borrowed a bike that was way too big, and rode around SLO county in a pair tennis shoes, running shorts and a t-shirt 3 days later. Eight hours and one bee sting later (up the running shorts), I was hooked. I liked this two wheeled thing.
The racing thing did not immediately draw me in. For some strange reason I saw myself as a cycling tourist. It must have been the century influence. But after seeing Grewal spank that Canuck, Bauer, in 84, I knew I wanted to ride, and ride hard. My local shop hooked me up with the kind race ride, and let me make low easy payments. A beautiful, shit brown, quad butted, Suntour equipped Fuji speed machine was mine for the taking, and I planned to do some Grewal style ass whooping with it. Problem was, it got stolen before I took out a racing license, and after only a few payments. I guess I should have known better than to leave it unlocked in the Roach Hotel (it's been seriously gentrified since then, but a little too late for my purposes). Sorry, Alexi, Mr. Brownstone put that inspiration on hold.
Drinking, dark music, and dancing became my new life style. That's right, I said dancing. I tore that shit up on the dance floor, shaking my groove thing to the 80's music that we all know and love (no, not Journey). Okay, I had one foot in that lifestyle and the other on a pedal when the bike was stolen, but I would have probably given that alt lifestyle up to the devotion and money that the racing thing was surely gonna require. But you might understand why Bad Boy Grewal inspired me, given my distain for the norm lifestyle.
Back to the 86 SLO crit. Watching it got me all excited, but I already said that. But at the time, I had a friend who rode for the Cal Poly Wheelmen and was also a DJ for Burnt Dog Radio, Cal Poly's radio station, spinning the punk rock (again, there was, and still is, a little punk in me) and he egged me to hop back on the bike if I was all excited about the spandex spectacle. I stopped dying my hair and started shaving my legs, cobbled together a bike from parts and stuff I had, and started riding with DJ Slow Boy. I eventually paid off that Fuji, too.
The bike racing did not start immediately, and when it started, it was a bit of a rough ride. I worked full time plus, so there was little time to train. But I could ride, oh yeah, I could ride. I lost my cheap beer gut and started to find some speed. But after too many flats, not enough money, a full time job, and a gal that wanted my time, well I gave up the racing thing before it really got off the ground. I did not, however, give up the bike.
After a year off of racing, I gave it one more shot. Boom, a month into the 1990 racing season, I got my cat 2 upgrade. Boom again, a few months later I got my cat 1 upgrade. Somewhere in between, Tracy told me I loved my bike more than her, and boom, I had more time to ride my bike. A few months later, I was at the Olympic Training Center listening to Chris Carmichael tell me how to ride my bike, and building a healthy distain for some young, fat headed punks. A decade later, I would find myself in grad school, watching many of those fat headed punks tearing it up in the Tour. Punks!
Twenty years plus one from the 86 crit, and I am getting ready to saddle up and spin around the SLO block. What a long, strange trip it's been. Wait, I hate The Dead. Long live Bauhaus!
Anyway, it brings back memories, all nostalgic and stuff, but also thoughts about where I am now, home.
Spring of 1986, there I was, nearly a high school dropout. What did I care about education? College was for the rich smart kids. I was a kitchen hack, born and bred. I missed prom cuz there was a punk rock show that night, and I would rather slam dance than dance to Journey (there was a little punk in the goth). And I liked me some cheap beer, and cheap vodka (with plenty of OJ of course).
So, what was I doing watching a bike race and getting all excited and stuff? Well, there was a little bikie under that black hair dye and eyeliner. In fact, I probably would not have gone goth, or at least to the extent that I did, if it were not for a junkie needing a fix.
Grewal, Lemond, and the Badger had all got me excited to turn this pedaling thing I found by accident into something more. The accident: I was caught flipping through Bicycling magazine one day during my junior high pre-algebra class. Hey, I already had pre-algebra in the school I transferred from, so I was bored. Don't ask me why I had a Bicycling magazine, too much cheap vodka between then and now to remember. So, Mr. Beck came by and said, "like biking, sonny? There's a century going on in a couple of days, why don't you give it a spin?" I was 13 and stupid, so what the heck. I borrowed a bike that was way too big, and rode around SLO county in a pair tennis shoes, running shorts and a t-shirt 3 days later. Eight hours and one bee sting later (up the running shorts), I was hooked. I liked this two wheeled thing.
The racing thing did not immediately draw me in. For some strange reason I saw myself as a cycling tourist. It must have been the century influence. But after seeing Grewal spank that Canuck, Bauer, in 84, I knew I wanted to ride, and ride hard. My local shop hooked me up with the kind race ride, and let me make low easy payments. A beautiful, shit brown, quad butted, Suntour equipped Fuji speed machine was mine for the taking, and I planned to do some Grewal style ass whooping with it. Problem was, it got stolen before I took out a racing license, and after only a few payments. I guess I should have known better than to leave it unlocked in the Roach Hotel (it's been seriously gentrified since then, but a little too late for my purposes). Sorry, Alexi, Mr. Brownstone put that inspiration on hold.
Drinking, dark music, and dancing became my new life style. That's right, I said dancing. I tore that shit up on the dance floor, shaking my groove thing to the 80's music that we all know and love (no, not Journey). Okay, I had one foot in that lifestyle and the other on a pedal when the bike was stolen, but I would have probably given that alt lifestyle up to the devotion and money that the racing thing was surely gonna require. But you might understand why Bad Boy Grewal inspired me, given my distain for the norm lifestyle.
Back to the 86 SLO crit. Watching it got me all excited, but I already said that. But at the time, I had a friend who rode for the Cal Poly Wheelmen and was also a DJ for Burnt Dog Radio, Cal Poly's radio station, spinning the punk rock (again, there was, and still is, a little punk in me) and he egged me to hop back on the bike if I was all excited about the spandex spectacle. I stopped dying my hair and started shaving my legs, cobbled together a bike from parts and stuff I had, and started riding with DJ Slow Boy. I eventually paid off that Fuji, too.
The bike racing did not start immediately, and when it started, it was a bit of a rough ride. I worked full time plus, so there was little time to train. But I could ride, oh yeah, I could ride. I lost my cheap beer gut and started to find some speed. But after too many flats, not enough money, a full time job, and a gal that wanted my time, well I gave up the racing thing before it really got off the ground. I did not, however, give up the bike.
After a year off of racing, I gave it one more shot. Boom, a month into the 1990 racing season, I got my cat 2 upgrade. Boom again, a few months later I got my cat 1 upgrade. Somewhere in between, Tracy told me I loved my bike more than her, and boom, I had more time to ride my bike. A few months later, I was at the Olympic Training Center listening to Chris Carmichael tell me how to ride my bike, and building a healthy distain for some young, fat headed punks. A decade later, I would find myself in grad school, watching many of those fat headed punks tearing it up in the Tour. Punks!
Twenty years plus one from the 86 crit, and I am getting ready to saddle up and spin around the SLO block. What a long, strange trip it's been. Wait, I hate The Dead. Long live Bauhaus!
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Sucking Air, or Maybe Just Plain Sucking
That damn Zaca Fire made for LA like conditions in the Santa Maria valley. Toss in the incessant attacking of that dino Thurlow, and it was wheezy time.
I got me a top 10. Nothing to brag about, though, given that there were only about 25 baby geezers lining up, plus that full blown geezer, Thurlow. He coulda gone for a bear jersey in the 40/50 race, but given that he already won a road one a few weeks ago for 45 + (for some strange reason, we have two masters championships in these parts), I guess that he decided that wearing two jerseys would be a bit warm. Damn unselfish bastard.
Lap 1, the dino whips it up, looking at us young pups with the look that says "take off your diapers, boys, and race your bikes." Ah man, old man, can't we just warm up? Nah, whip it, and whip it good. By the end of the lap, we are all pretty much together, not for lack of TR trying to bust things up, though.
Lap 2, the dino keeps wagging his tail at us. Mid way through the lap, things get busted up. Four go, then I chase, and look at about 4 on my tail. We connect, then two more maybe, and it looks like this is going to be be the race. Unfortunately, though, half the guys were Amgen guys, two La Grange, then the rest were solo. Of course, this means that the hemoglobin boys can attack freely, and no one really wants to work. And oh yeah, that damn dino Thurlow. I try to cover when I can, and try to catch my breath from what feels like one working lung. Coming to the end of the lap, I'm looking for Ale-Jet's phone number. "Ale-Jet, this is Nitro. Got the number of your doc so I can get me some of that special mist you use? And oh yeah, how much is too much?"
Lap 3, I get popped. The bottom fell out of my lungs, and my head did not want to push them further. I drop off, thinking that 3 laps is good enough for the day, but I end up getting caught by a group of about 7, including my mate in blue, Peter B. What the heck, let's go for a ride boys. Going up the bump, I get up front and just get in diesel mode, which is not too taxing on the carburetors. Going over the top, Peter says, "We've got a gap." A gap over the laughing pack? Wait, I want to laugh. Oh well. And looking up the road, it looks as though the lead group have eased up on their war, and that we might actually catch them. So heck, time to put some berryboy representation back in the front group.
Lap 4, we catch. Missing from the front group, though, was a certain old man. I ask one of the hemoglobin boys about the status of things up the road, and he says it's just Thurlow and one of their boys off the front. Cool and the gang, maybe I can breathe. The fourth lap was pretty civilized. I pull through with the non-hemo's in the group, knowing full well that we ain't catching the boys up front, but I may as well make an effort of it and get my money's worth.
Lap 5, the remaining hemoboys get their blood pumping. Peter makes a show of it too, and things start to whittle down. Up the steep, short bump, hemoboy Els lets one rip. I get on and we split from the group. It seemed good for a short while, a real short while. After one pull by me, I find myself wheezing to get back on his wheel, and that was all she wrote; third place went up the road. I catch back on what is left and try to find my missing lung. Going up the final long bump, an attack goes, and I wheeze my ass off to go with him. No go. Ah heck, I already dragged my ass, with the help of PB, back into a race that I was all prepared to drop out of 3/5ths of the way though; sitting up with 4 miles to go to cruise in for a top 10 was fine for me, and that is what I did.
No glory at Sisquoc, but of course glory is not want I'm in it for, unlike some brown skinned Norcal riders out there. I'm in it for the lung abuse. Mission accomplished.
I got me a top 10. Nothing to brag about, though, given that there were only about 25 baby geezers lining up, plus that full blown geezer, Thurlow. He coulda gone for a bear jersey in the 40/50 race, but given that he already won a road one a few weeks ago for 45 + (for some strange reason, we have two masters championships in these parts), I guess that he decided that wearing two jerseys would be a bit warm. Damn unselfish bastard.
Lap 1, the dino whips it up, looking at us young pups with the look that says "take off your diapers, boys, and race your bikes." Ah man, old man, can't we just warm up? Nah, whip it, and whip it good. By the end of the lap, we are all pretty much together, not for lack of TR trying to bust things up, though.
Lap 2, the dino keeps wagging his tail at us. Mid way through the lap, things get busted up. Four go, then I chase, and look at about 4 on my tail. We connect, then two more maybe, and it looks like this is going to be be the race. Unfortunately, though, half the guys were Amgen guys, two La Grange, then the rest were solo. Of course, this means that the hemoglobin boys can attack freely, and no one really wants to work. And oh yeah, that damn dino Thurlow. I try to cover when I can, and try to catch my breath from what feels like one working lung. Coming to the end of the lap, I'm looking for Ale-Jet's phone number. "Ale-Jet, this is Nitro. Got the number of your doc so I can get me some of that special mist you use? And oh yeah, how much is too much?"
Lap 3, I get popped. The bottom fell out of my lungs, and my head did not want to push them further. I drop off, thinking that 3 laps is good enough for the day, but I end up getting caught by a group of about 7, including my mate in blue, Peter B. What the heck, let's go for a ride boys. Going up the bump, I get up front and just get in diesel mode, which is not too taxing on the carburetors. Going over the top, Peter says, "We've got a gap." A gap over the laughing pack? Wait, I want to laugh. Oh well. And looking up the road, it looks as though the lead group have eased up on their war, and that we might actually catch them. So heck, time to put some berryboy representation back in the front group.
Lap 4, we catch. Missing from the front group, though, was a certain old man. I ask one of the hemoglobin boys about the status of things up the road, and he says it's just Thurlow and one of their boys off the front. Cool and the gang, maybe I can breathe. The fourth lap was pretty civilized. I pull through with the non-hemo's in the group, knowing full well that we ain't catching the boys up front, but I may as well make an effort of it and get my money's worth.
Lap 5, the remaining hemoboys get their blood pumping. Peter makes a show of it too, and things start to whittle down. Up the steep, short bump, hemoboy Els lets one rip. I get on and we split from the group. It seemed good for a short while, a real short while. After one pull by me, I find myself wheezing to get back on his wheel, and that was all she wrote; third place went up the road. I catch back on what is left and try to find my missing lung. Going up the final long bump, an attack goes, and I wheeze my ass off to go with him. No go. Ah heck, I already dragged my ass, with the help of PB, back into a race that I was all prepared to drop out of 3/5ths of the way though; sitting up with 4 miles to go to cruise in for a top 10 was fine for me, and that is what I did.
No glory at Sisquoc, but of course glory is not want I'm in it for, unlike some brown skinned Norcal riders out there. I'm in it for the lung abuse. Mission accomplished.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
If the Young Want To Serve Themselves Up, Then Let's Chow
I tried to make light of the Chicken affair, but this ain't fun anymore (not that it ever has been). It looks like the Kazakh kid pulled a Hamilton, and now my excitement over tomorrow's battle in the Pyrenees is gone.
Oh, Alexander, please confess. Please, please, please. Please don't blame it on a sloppy lab. Although I'm sure that conspiracy theorists are already thinking that this is a response to Moreau's bashing by the Astana boys, and I certainly think that the lab's sloppy work should lead to having its credentials revoked, a confession would better serve the sport, which I'm sure that you love dearly. There's a nasty culture that still exists, and it needs to be cracked.
This is a fight that needs to be won. Let other cyclists know that cheaters will get caught. This will help bring in fresh kids who do not want to subject their bodies to suspect doping techniques, and instead simply subject their bodies to the beautiful abuse of pushing their bodies to the limit. Their bodies, not someone else's, or some other animal's. It can be done.
Confess, Alexander.
Fans, hold tight. This won't go down easy.
Oh, Alexander, please confess. Please, please, please. Please don't blame it on a sloppy lab. Although I'm sure that conspiracy theorists are already thinking that this is a response to Moreau's bashing by the Astana boys, and I certainly think that the lab's sloppy work should lead to having its credentials revoked, a confession would better serve the sport, which I'm sure that you love dearly. There's a nasty culture that still exists, and it needs to be cracked.
This is a fight that needs to be won. Let other cyclists know that cheaters will get caught. This will help bring in fresh kids who do not want to subject their bodies to suspect doping techniques, and instead simply subject their bodies to the beautiful abuse of pushing their bodies to the limit. Their bodies, not someone else's, or some other animal's. It can be done.
Confess, Alexander.
Fans, hold tight. This won't go down easy.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Would You Like Some Fresh, Cracked Pepper With Your Young, Sir?
The Danish Cycling Union (DCU) announced that it is suspending the Chicken due to accusations that while in Mexico, he had injected gerbils with EPO and then stuffed them up his gizzard hole. This process is known to mask synthetic EPO. This accusation first came to light after Richard Gere met the Chicken in the emergency room of a Mexican hospital.
Gere contacted the Danish federation about this several years ago, but pleaded to them not to let it out. Gere only wanted the cruel practice of injecting gerbils with EPO stopped, and hoped that the federation would have a chat with the Chicken. "I also thought his wife was kinda hot, so I did not want to be a dick and make a public statement or anything," added the aging star of American Gigolo and Pretty Woman.
But after seeing the Chicken tell the world that he could be trusted, Gere noticed a little bounce in his step that led Gere to believe that the Chicken was still subjecting gerbils to abuse. Gere called the press and the Danish federation to put a stop to it, claiming that he was afraid that other cyclists might be "enticed to use the procedure in order to get themselves one of those pretty yellow shirts."
The DCU was only too happy to drop the hatchet on the Chicken while he was in yellow, especially since they felt that the French, and their silly little Tour, were hogging the cycling limelight. "This will knock them down a notch," stated a source within the federation, who asked to remain anonymous. "I mean come one," he continued, "the Tour of Denmark, with its hors catégorie dykes, is just as prestigious."
The press, running out of stories about the hot wives of pro cyclists, were also eager to cover the story. "We're doing it for the animals," said one journalist. Some TV stations, though, have taken the higher ground. In response to all the doping scandals in the sport, German TV has stopped coverage of the Tour. Instead, they filled the normal 6 hours a day of live cycling coverage with Dancing With The Stars. "You know the stars are not on drugs," said German TV's president.
The Chicken was quick to point his pecker in response to the allegations. "It was Menchov who could not get his ass over the Galibier, not me. He probably forgot to take the poor little bugger out before starting the stage," bawked the Chicken. "Bakawwwk!" he added.
Many of the other riders in the Tour are now dropping their shorts to show that they are not hiding any gerbils. Of course, those who are keeping their chamois close to their sphincters are suspect. "My mom taught me to be modest," stated a cyclist from team Discovery Channel who wished to keep his private parts private. He added "plus, I love gerbils, and have many at home." That rider's room was raided later that night, and he has since been suspended by his team for being in possession paraphernalia used for doping practices.
Meanwhile, cycling fans are left scratching their heads. Most don't mind if Al Trautwig and Bob Roll lose their jobs as cycling commentators due to the implosion of the sport, but many are addicted to the spandex spectacle, spending hours and hours on blogs obsessing over the smooth-legged boys of the pro peleton. For many, it is the spectacle that gives them the inspiration to lube up their chamois (clearly not for gerbil purposes) and hit the road. "What happened to the good old days," lamented one fan, "when riders only injected speed into their asses?"
Gere contacted the Danish federation about this several years ago, but pleaded to them not to let it out. Gere only wanted the cruel practice of injecting gerbils with EPO stopped, and hoped that the federation would have a chat with the Chicken. "I also thought his wife was kinda hot, so I did not want to be a dick and make a public statement or anything," added the aging star of American Gigolo and Pretty Woman.
But after seeing the Chicken tell the world that he could be trusted, Gere noticed a little bounce in his step that led Gere to believe that the Chicken was still subjecting gerbils to abuse. Gere called the press and the Danish federation to put a stop to it, claiming that he was afraid that other cyclists might be "enticed to use the procedure in order to get themselves one of those pretty yellow shirts."
The DCU was only too happy to drop the hatchet on the Chicken while he was in yellow, especially since they felt that the French, and their silly little Tour, were hogging the cycling limelight. "This will knock them down a notch," stated a source within the federation, who asked to remain anonymous. "I mean come one," he continued, "the Tour of Denmark, with its hors catégorie dykes, is just as prestigious."
The press, running out of stories about the hot wives of pro cyclists, were also eager to cover the story. "We're doing it for the animals," said one journalist. Some TV stations, though, have taken the higher ground. In response to all the doping scandals in the sport, German TV has stopped coverage of the Tour. Instead, they filled the normal 6 hours a day of live cycling coverage with Dancing With The Stars. "You know the stars are not on drugs," said German TV's president.
The Chicken was quick to point his pecker in response to the allegations. "It was Menchov who could not get his ass over the Galibier, not me. He probably forgot to take the poor little bugger out before starting the stage," bawked the Chicken. "Bakawwwk!" he added.
Many of the other riders in the Tour are now dropping their shorts to show that they are not hiding any gerbils. Of course, those who are keeping their chamois close to their sphincters are suspect. "My mom taught me to be modest," stated a cyclist from team Discovery Channel who wished to keep his private parts private. He added "plus, I love gerbils, and have many at home." That rider's room was raided later that night, and he has since been suspended by his team for being in possession paraphernalia used for doping practices.
Meanwhile, cycling fans are left scratching their heads. Most don't mind if Al Trautwig and Bob Roll lose their jobs as cycling commentators due to the implosion of the sport, but many are addicted to the spandex spectacle, spending hours and hours on blogs obsessing over the smooth-legged boys of the pro peleton. For many, it is the spectacle that gives them the inspiration to lube up their chamois (clearly not for gerbil purposes) and hit the road. "What happened to the good old days," lamented one fan, "when riders only injected speed into their asses?"
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Respect
So, the Chicken does not mince his words. Said the Chicken of his team mate, and presumed team leader wearing the famed #51 (winingest # in tour history), "It was disappointing that Menchov couldn't get his ass over the Galibier."
At least Menchov has an ass, Chicken Boy.
At least Menchov has an ass, Chicken Boy.
Monday, July 16, 2007
They Forgot Bad Teeth
Last on the medical reports list from yesterday's stage of the tour was the diagnosis of Pastey Britishitis.
Millar (Saunier Duval), allergy to sun
Thursday, July 12, 2007
For Want of a Tool
My "work" consists of producing intangibles, or possibly tangibles 2 or 3 steps removed. Thus, I really do like producing things that I can taste, touch, see; basically just be able to stand back and say looky at what I did.
So today, it was a mix of intangibles and tangibles.
Intangible: I got what we call an R&R. Not a rest and relaxation, but revise and resubmit, which is supposed to be a good thing. In fact, one of the two reviewers said publish as is, but the other reviewer wanted to be all snotty and academic, suggesting so and so's theoretical framework. So, I had to find so and so, and figure out a way to incorporate it into my manuscript. That's what I produce, manuscripts and lectures. Oh, the intangibles. For the curious, it's about the interaction of race between citizens and police officers, and how that interaction affects perceptions of legitimacy.
Almost tangible: I worked with a student who is working for the Department of Drug and Alcohol Services (in a sore need of a name change so it does not sound like a place to go to get drugs and alcohol). This student is putting together a survey to assess the situation in which DUI offenders got busted. There is a possible value here, since it could lead to information to help program administrators improve DUI offender programs. The frustrating thing is that I'm the one the students come to for this kind of stuff, even though I am only a lecturer. That is, someone who is only expected to teach. I like teaching, and I certainly like working with students doing research, but in a rational word... ah, I ain't going there.
Moving on
Tangible: Pasta sauce. I spent thirteen years working in a kitchen (before I got all educated and stuff), but I still love wielding a knife and making a big pot of sauce. I might have gone a bit heavy with the serrano peppers, but the house smells yummy, and I just always feel good after all the ingredients have gone in the pot. Now, if I just had the kitchen help I used to have in the old days to clean up the mess I made.
Yet another tangible: I replaced fork on the dirt machine. Okay, I dig the technology they got going on the bikes these days. Up to a couple of years ago, I had a complete stiffy, front and rear, mountain bike. Yet, that stiffy made my old joints stiffy, so I got me a complete cushy, with brains front and rear. Damn cool stuff when it works. But, my brain died up front, and now the fork does not lock out all by itself. This is where I don't dig all the technology on the bikes these days. It's finicky and wallet busting. So, off with the high tech, and on with a loaner. It does have this do-hicky manual lever you hook onto the bars to lock out the fork, but come on, how lo-tech. Probably is a bit more reliable, though.
It should have been a fairly straight forward swap, but apparently not all headset races are created equal. I put on the loaner fork, and I could not get the headset adjusted properly. I pulled it out and looked at the race on the old fork and the race on the loaner, and low and behold, they were different. Now, on my headset someone used their brain to design the race, cuz all you had to do to remove it was to gently pry at the split in the race and slide it off. On the loaner, it had to be knocked off. Old school headset thinking. Come on people, the bearings don't run on the bottom headset race anymore. Screwdrivers, Swiss Army knife, butter knife, and then a socket extender were all used to get the damn thing off. Oh yeah, a hammer. It's all together now, so it's time to test the work on a treacherous, rocky descent.
The big question is: Do I attempt the rebuild on my fork? I found a manual that shows how to take it apart, and I can buy new seals online. I'd feel manly if I fixed it all myself. I'd feel like a tool if I screw it up. Hmm?
So today, it was a mix of intangibles and tangibles.
Intangible: I got what we call an R&R. Not a rest and relaxation, but revise and resubmit, which is supposed to be a good thing. In fact, one of the two reviewers said publish as is, but the other reviewer wanted to be all snotty and academic, suggesting so and so's theoretical framework. So, I had to find so and so, and figure out a way to incorporate it into my manuscript. That's what I produce, manuscripts and lectures. Oh, the intangibles. For the curious, it's about the interaction of race between citizens and police officers, and how that interaction affects perceptions of legitimacy.
Almost tangible: I worked with a student who is working for the Department of Drug and Alcohol Services (in a sore need of a name change so it does not sound like a place to go to get drugs and alcohol). This student is putting together a survey to assess the situation in which DUI offenders got busted. There is a possible value here, since it could lead to information to help program administrators improve DUI offender programs. The frustrating thing is that I'm the one the students come to for this kind of stuff, even though I am only a lecturer. That is, someone who is only expected to teach. I like teaching, and I certainly like working with students doing research, but in a rational word... ah, I ain't going there.
Moving on
Tangible: Pasta sauce. I spent thirteen years working in a kitchen (before I got all educated and stuff), but I still love wielding a knife and making a big pot of sauce. I might have gone a bit heavy with the serrano peppers, but the house smells yummy, and I just always feel good after all the ingredients have gone in the pot. Now, if I just had the kitchen help I used to have in the old days to clean up the mess I made.
Yet another tangible: I replaced fork on the dirt machine. Okay, I dig the technology they got going on the bikes these days. Up to a couple of years ago, I had a complete stiffy, front and rear, mountain bike. Yet, that stiffy made my old joints stiffy, so I got me a complete cushy, with brains front and rear. Damn cool stuff when it works. But, my brain died up front, and now the fork does not lock out all by itself. This is where I don't dig all the technology on the bikes these days. It's finicky and wallet busting. So, off with the high tech, and on with a loaner. It does have this do-hicky manual lever you hook onto the bars to lock out the fork, but come on, how lo-tech. Probably is a bit more reliable, though.
It should have been a fairly straight forward swap, but apparently not all headset races are created equal. I put on the loaner fork, and I could not get the headset adjusted properly. I pulled it out and looked at the race on the old fork and the race on the loaner, and low and behold, they were different. Now, on my headset someone used their brain to design the race, cuz all you had to do to remove it was to gently pry at the split in the race and slide it off. On the loaner, it had to be knocked off. Old school headset thinking. Come on people, the bearings don't run on the bottom headset race anymore. Screwdrivers, Swiss Army knife, butter knife, and then a socket extender were all used to get the damn thing off. Oh yeah, a hammer. It's all together now, so it's time to test the work on a treacherous, rocky descent.
The big question is: Do I attempt the rebuild on my fork? I found a manual that shows how to take it apart, and I can buy new seals online. I'd feel manly if I fixed it all myself. I'd feel like a tool if I screw it up. Hmm?
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Generations
Okay, so bikini watching is off the table (at least in SLO county), but there are still sights to see on a bike ride.
So, the other day while riding, I see a car pulled over, with its passengers off to the side of the road. I'm going to make the assumption that it was grandpa and one of his grand kids (if not, I should have called the cops). Grandpa was looking proud, and sonny was showing his manhood; pants down to the ankles, t-shirt held up by his chin, and two hands on his little fire hose. Bless him, all of 4 years old, maybe, and he was already learning that the roadside is one big urinal.
I was soooo tempted to take out my phone and snap a pic (and I finally realized why they have cameras on the things), but I was afraid I'd be busted for kiddie porn.
So, the other day while riding, I see a car pulled over, with its passengers off to the side of the road. I'm going to make the assumption that it was grandpa and one of his grand kids (if not, I should have called the cops). Grandpa was looking proud, and sonny was showing his manhood; pants down to the ankles, t-shirt held up by his chin, and two hands on his little fire hose. Bless him, all of 4 years old, maybe, and he was already learning that the roadside is one big urinal.
I was soooo tempted to take out my phone and snap a pic (and I finally realized why they have cameras on the things), but I was afraid I'd be busted for kiddie porn.
Monday, June 25, 2007
The Thrill Is Gone
Okay, I admit it, bikinis are hot. And I admit it, I've been known to ride down to the beach just to check out the latest bikini styles. But that was in my 20's. Nearly a decade away.
So, I found myself heading to the rail at Avila today, looking to take a peek, but the rail was all of the sudden off limits, cuz as I looked out across the sand, I had a reality check, or two.
First, I'm old. However, that ain't that bad. Plus, I look better than half the 20 something males with beer guts rolling in the sand. But something about the thought of being that middle-aged man gawking at girls, well it has a cold shower effect. Reminds me of cruising down to the beach in Capitola with Hubes, doing the bikini check, and he points out a very stylish two piece on a little sun worshiper. But when she got up, it was clear that she was little. Twelve maybe. Chris tried to blame it on his old eyes (maybe 35), but he'll never live that one down. And now, my eyes are older, and, well, shudder to think I make the same poor gawking judgement call.
But I could just about live with the middle-aged thing. After all, one of the first rides I did last year when I moved back was an Avila rail ride. What as different this time was job-related, damn it. It hit me that there were students down there. Students who might see me in a classroom.
Hi, my name is Dr. ...
Wait, do you ride bikes?
Um yeah, but let's talk about the course this...
Yeah, don't you ride down to Avila a lot?
Um, err, I meet a group for a ride there.
I never saw you with a group, just with all the other gawkers.
I've learned how to handle running into students in a bar. After all, you can go to a bar and not gawk. Really, you can. But the sidewalk rail at Avila is a gawker rail. No two ways about it.
So now, rides to Avila have no stops. It's still a nice ride, though. Really.
So, I found myself heading to the rail at Avila today, looking to take a peek, but the rail was all of the sudden off limits, cuz as I looked out across the sand, I had a reality check, or two.
First, I'm old. However, that ain't that bad. Plus, I look better than half the 20 something males with beer guts rolling in the sand. But something about the thought of being that middle-aged man gawking at girls, well it has a cold shower effect. Reminds me of cruising down to the beach in Capitola with Hubes, doing the bikini check, and he points out a very stylish two piece on a little sun worshiper. But when she got up, it was clear that she was little. Twelve maybe. Chris tried to blame it on his old eyes (maybe 35), but he'll never live that one down. And now, my eyes are older, and, well, shudder to think I make the same poor gawking judgement call.
But I could just about live with the middle-aged thing. After all, one of the first rides I did last year when I moved back was an Avila rail ride. What as different this time was job-related, damn it. It hit me that there were students down there. Students who might see me in a classroom.
Hi, my name is Dr. ...
Wait, do you ride bikes?
Um yeah, but let's talk about the course this...
Yeah, don't you ride down to Avila a lot?
Um, err, I meet a group for a ride there.
I never saw you with a group, just with all the other gawkers.
I've learned how to handle running into students in a bar. After all, you can go to a bar and not gawk. Really, you can. But the sidewalk rail at Avila is a gawker rail. No two ways about it.
So now, rides to Avila have no stops. It's still a nice ride, though. Really.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Thank You Sir, May I Have Another?
Before this weekend, I had only done 3 criteriums this year (well in 12 years to be correct). I nearly doubled that total this weekend. Why? Well, to justify all the driving it took to get to them.
First, Stockton. There was money there, but let's be honest, it was doubtful I was going to get my hands on the prosy purse. Not enough circle dancing in my legs and head this year to do well. I was just using it to warm me up for the geezer race later (Stockton was backwards in the the 1/2/pro was before the old guys). Yeah, a 90 minute race to warm up for a 50 minute race. That's smart, but that was what I was gonna do.
Bang, and a 100 guys, and a couple of gals, start the spin cycle. Typical me, I drift to the back to feel things out. No problem, plenty of time to get comfortable and find my way upfront, which was about three corners ahead.
Several hours into the race, I look down at my number spitter, and it shows only 15 minutes, and I think to myself, holy sheeite, I'm going to be doing this for over two hours. Why I just did not listen to Trina's advice and stay home and go to her and Ed's place for their summer kick off BBQ. BTW, Trina, when I pestered you at the Solstice affair to have a shindig, I did not mean two days later. Oh well.
Round and round, I'm thinking that, okay, this ain't that hard, but I am merely pack fodder. Where's the old flame, Tracy, who used to sit on the sidelines yelling "Get up front!" Mind you, this was not an encouraging kinda cheer, but instead more like, "Get up there cuz your embarrassing me by being in the back of the pack!" I was only embarrassing myself, and my head was telling me to chill and make an effort to get up front at the end with about 15 minutes to go. Looking down at the number spitter, there are 40 more boring minutes, plus 50 more minutes with the old guys. Damn number spitter.
The whole day was a mind game.
Why am I doing this?
It's good training.
You need to work on pack positioning.
Oh hell, there is not rational reason for me to be subjecting myself to this abuse.
And abuse I received. My crotch and wrists were not happy. You'd think with the high tech ergo carbon bars, that I dropped way too much money for, that the damn things would massage my wrists. But no go. Ouch city. And I really did not expect my minimalist seat to offer much protection against the bumps, but I did not expect my crotch to get bruised. Okay, some of it was being bent over for soooo long. Grad school all over again.
I played around moving up front, or at least moving in the direction. But of course, it was too early to be putting in an effort. The master plan for was for a last 15 minute surge. And I was saved from that plan by a spill (though it was already 10 minutes to go, so my plan was falling apart anyway). I did not go down, but some poor fools in the pear-bottom part of the pack did. For me, it was the chase back on that sealed the deal. Making progress, I noticed that some seemed to be giving up. So hey, I've got another race, I should pack it in too. After all, there was sure to be more spills as these kids start slipping on their own drool thinking about getting some of that fat purse. I'm done.
Of course, as soon as I make the decision, I feel like a loser. Oh well. At least I get to watch the finish. Sprint finish. Spills in the last corner. Berry boy wins. I wonder what I am going to do for the next hour before I do this again.
Riding around, I can barely sit down on the saddle. Bruised and cramped crotch. Legs were fine, but where they met the torso was used and abused.
In between races, smiling Jack rolls up, so I go out and back and forth with him while he warms up, and I try to keep warm. We reminisce about days gone by and chat about young up-and-comers. But it soon came time to sweat again. Chat it up with you later, Jack. Keep smiling.
The old guys race was pretty much more of the same. However, I did get some PA recognition on the second lap as I led the field through, chasing down a first lap flyer fool. After I spoiled the glory of the eager elder, I slipped back and chilled. Throughout the race, there was always someone off the front, which I could even see from the back. Yes, I was in the back. But moving up in this field was not a problem.
In fact, without really thinking of it, I found myself upfront with 5 laps to go. Finally, the day's end was in sight. Sixty miles of spinning round and around was coming to a close. Two split the pack to chase down Jack's teammate, who had be slogging it by himself off the front for 5 or 6 laps. Four to go, I shot from the pack crossing the S/F line. "There goes Cal Giant Strawberry rider chasing the two chasers, and he flies right past them." Eat my dust. Blow my wad. A couple catch me. We catch the soloist. Pack catches us.
Coming across the line, 3 to go, I'm still up front, but so are 30 others, as the bloated pack crosses the line. Two corners later, I'm in the back. Mind shuts down. Plus, I realized the that noise I had been hearing the last few laps was my front brake shaking around. Not too comforting. So, pack it in until tomorrow. Tomorrow. I'm going to do this again tomorrow. At least it was only a 40 minute plus 60 minute circlefest.
Alright, this post is already too long, much like my time doing crits this weekend. I'll just state that Burlingame was somewhat more fun. Good course. There was even people lining the course. Ah, my adoring fans. But I have to apologize to my fans, as I spent the day as pack fodder again. There were a whole hell of a lot of old guys, so moving up front was a bit more difficult. Plus, Dirk got himself off the front with a group, so when I got up toward the front 2/3s of the way through, I sat back and tried to chill. But, I could not hold my position, so I slipped back. About four to go, it looked like the group might get caught, so I tried to get up front to be prepared to give a shot at a last minute flyer. But going into the finishing stretch, I was bouncing on my front tire, as old guys started bouncing off each other. Luckily, no one went down, but I did get bounced back to the back. Dirk's group stayed off, and he got silver, and I was warmed up for the prosey race.
Cool down lap right to the the start of the next. I survived, but my wrists screamed for most of the race. I played around, trying to work my way through the field, but maybe got in the top 3rd of the pack. Where was that Tracy motivation when I needed it? "Get up there! You're embarrassing me!"
So, about 110 miles of crit racing this weekend, at about a $1 a mile. My legs felt fine, but I had a serious mental block. I far too easily resign to the thought I'm not a crit rider. But, if I'm going to ride in crits, I better get a change of attitude. I don't have to pay to ride the roads of SLO county, and I don't want to pay to be pack fodder.
First, Stockton. There was money there, but let's be honest, it was doubtful I was going to get my hands on the prosy purse. Not enough circle dancing in my legs and head this year to do well. I was just using it to warm me up for the geezer race later (Stockton was backwards in the the 1/2/pro was before the old guys). Yeah, a 90 minute race to warm up for a 50 minute race. That's smart, but that was what I was gonna do.
Bang, and a 100 guys, and a couple of gals, start the spin cycle. Typical me, I drift to the back to feel things out. No problem, plenty of time to get comfortable and find my way upfront, which was about three corners ahead.
Several hours into the race, I look down at my number spitter, and it shows only 15 minutes, and I think to myself, holy sheeite, I'm going to be doing this for over two hours. Why I just did not listen to Trina's advice and stay home and go to her and Ed's place for their summer kick off BBQ. BTW, Trina, when I pestered you at the Solstice affair to have a shindig, I did not mean two days later. Oh well.
Round and round, I'm thinking that, okay, this ain't that hard, but I am merely pack fodder. Where's the old flame, Tracy, who used to sit on the sidelines yelling "Get up front!" Mind you, this was not an encouraging kinda cheer, but instead more like, "Get up there cuz your embarrassing me by being in the back of the pack!" I was only embarrassing myself, and my head was telling me to chill and make an effort to get up front at the end with about 15 minutes to go. Looking down at the number spitter, there are 40 more boring minutes, plus 50 more minutes with the old guys. Damn number spitter.
The whole day was a mind game.
Why am I doing this?
It's good training.
You need to work on pack positioning.
Oh hell, there is not rational reason for me to be subjecting myself to this abuse.
And abuse I received. My crotch and wrists were not happy. You'd think with the high tech ergo carbon bars, that I dropped way too much money for, that the damn things would massage my wrists. But no go. Ouch city. And I really did not expect my minimalist seat to offer much protection against the bumps, but I did not expect my crotch to get bruised. Okay, some of it was being bent over for soooo long. Grad school all over again.
I played around moving up front, or at least moving in the direction. But of course, it was too early to be putting in an effort. The master plan for was for a last 15 minute surge. And I was saved from that plan by a spill (though it was already 10 minutes to go, so my plan was falling apart anyway). I did not go down, but some poor fools in the pear-bottom part of the pack did. For me, it was the chase back on that sealed the deal. Making progress, I noticed that some seemed to be giving up. So hey, I've got another race, I should pack it in too. After all, there was sure to be more spills as these kids start slipping on their own drool thinking about getting some of that fat purse. I'm done.
Of course, as soon as I make the decision, I feel like a loser. Oh well. At least I get to watch the finish. Sprint finish. Spills in the last corner. Berry boy wins. I wonder what I am going to do for the next hour before I do this again.
Riding around, I can barely sit down on the saddle. Bruised and cramped crotch. Legs were fine, but where they met the torso was used and abused.
In between races, smiling Jack rolls up, so I go out and back and forth with him while he warms up, and I try to keep warm. We reminisce about days gone by and chat about young up-and-comers. But it soon came time to sweat again. Chat it up with you later, Jack. Keep smiling.
The old guys race was pretty much more of the same. However, I did get some PA recognition on the second lap as I led the field through, chasing down a first lap flyer fool. After I spoiled the glory of the eager elder, I slipped back and chilled. Throughout the race, there was always someone off the front, which I could even see from the back. Yes, I was in the back. But moving up in this field was not a problem.
In fact, without really thinking of it, I found myself upfront with 5 laps to go. Finally, the day's end was in sight. Sixty miles of spinning round and around was coming to a close. Two split the pack to chase down Jack's teammate, who had be slogging it by himself off the front for 5 or 6 laps. Four to go, I shot from the pack crossing the S/F line. "There goes Cal Giant Strawberry rider chasing the two chasers, and he flies right past them." Eat my dust. Blow my wad. A couple catch me. We catch the soloist. Pack catches us.
Coming across the line, 3 to go, I'm still up front, but so are 30 others, as the bloated pack crosses the line. Two corners later, I'm in the back. Mind shuts down. Plus, I realized the that noise I had been hearing the last few laps was my front brake shaking around. Not too comforting. So, pack it in until tomorrow. Tomorrow. I'm going to do this again tomorrow. At least it was only a 40 minute plus 60 minute circlefest.
Alright, this post is already too long, much like my time doing crits this weekend. I'll just state that Burlingame was somewhat more fun. Good course. There was even people lining the course. Ah, my adoring fans. But I have to apologize to my fans, as I spent the day as pack fodder again. There were a whole hell of a lot of old guys, so moving up front was a bit more difficult. Plus, Dirk got himself off the front with a group, so when I got up toward the front 2/3s of the way through, I sat back and tried to chill. But, I could not hold my position, so I slipped back. About four to go, it looked like the group might get caught, so I tried to get up front to be prepared to give a shot at a last minute flyer. But going into the finishing stretch, I was bouncing on my front tire, as old guys started bouncing off each other. Luckily, no one went down, but I did get bounced back to the back. Dirk's group stayed off, and he got silver, and I was warmed up for the prosey race.
Cool down lap right to the the start of the next. I survived, but my wrists screamed for most of the race. I played around, trying to work my way through the field, but maybe got in the top 3rd of the pack. Where was that Tracy motivation when I needed it? "Get up there! You're embarrassing me!"
So, about 110 miles of crit racing this weekend, at about a $1 a mile. My legs felt fine, but I had a serious mental block. I far too easily resign to the thought I'm not a crit rider. But, if I'm going to ride in crits, I better get a change of attitude. I don't have to pay to ride the roads of SLO county, and I don't want to pay to be pack fodder.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Mad Props to the Young Up-and-Coming Punk
So I was looking at the pics that Marco posted of his blog of Nevada City, feeling like a chump for not blowing off grading and making the long drive up, and I see this local college kid in shots, right on Moniger's wheel. Then another shot of him leading Moniger's group down the hill an hour into the race.
This kid has dished me out some pain on the Tuesday ride, but what the F$%k? The week before he was a 3. So, in his first race after his cat 2 upgrade, he is trading blows with Disco kid Cruz, and BMgeezer Moniger. Arrogant little punk. Later shots show him absent, but the results are finally up and what do ya know, he held on for 6th (although they got his team affiliation wrong). Sixth at Nevada City, the first time trading blows in a prosies field. Hot damn.
So, it looks like when the kid comes back from his summer vacation, he'll be dishing out a lot more hurt, as he'll fo show be get'n a lot faster if he keeps this brash stuff up.
Kick ass, Jared. Keep it up.
This kid has dished me out some pain on the Tuesday ride, but what the F$%k? The week before he was a 3. So, in his first race after his cat 2 upgrade, he is trading blows with Disco kid Cruz, and BMgeezer Moniger. Arrogant little punk. Later shots show him absent, but the results are finally up and what do ya know, he held on for 6th (although they got his team affiliation wrong). Sixth at Nevada City, the first time trading blows in a prosies field. Hot damn.
So, it looks like when the kid comes back from his summer vacation, he'll be dishing out a lot more hurt, as he'll fo show be get'n a lot faster if he keeps this brash stuff up.
Kick ass, Jared. Keep it up.
Looking at Pro Cycling Through Dope Colored Lenses
UCI looking for men in Black.
Levi rode Copperopolis in an all black kit.
Vino good day, bad day, good day.
Dr. must have not been able to get to the hotel room the night before bad day.
Valv having stomach problems, says that it might interfere with tour prep.
Ulcers caused by stress of losing the protection that Spain's legal system has given him up to this point. He'll be playing fetch with Piti in July.
Christ, been looking through the lenses for over 20 years. Alexi and poppy seed muffins and antihistamines. Delgado and masking agents on IOC banned list but not on UCI list. Lance loosing a ball to roids (okay, this is only peleton gossip).
But it feels so bad now. Like a guilty pleasure I can't quite deal with. Am I to blame for tuning in to the sites and VS's crappy coverage? But if I don't, the sport dies. I want to see the speedsters in spandex duke it out, but what happens when the race is over? Argh.
And like an addict, I keep saying that it is getting better. But is it? The culture seems to be cracking, and that is a start. Teams actually seem to be taking measures to protect the riders, instead of wink wink, push shove, dope 'em up and let 'em race until they drop. Maybe I should actively seek out the products of those teams to show my support. What does Slipstream sell anyway?
Levi rode Copperopolis in an all black kit.
Vino good day, bad day, good day.
Dr. must have not been able to get to the hotel room the night before bad day.
Valv having stomach problems, says that it might interfere with tour prep.
Ulcers caused by stress of losing the protection that Spain's legal system has given him up to this point. He'll be playing fetch with Piti in July.
Christ, been looking through the lenses for over 20 years. Alexi and poppy seed muffins and antihistamines. Delgado and masking agents on IOC banned list but not on UCI list. Lance loosing a ball to roids (okay, this is only peleton gossip).
But it feels so bad now. Like a guilty pleasure I can't quite deal with. Am I to blame for tuning in to the sites and VS's crappy coverage? But if I don't, the sport dies. I want to see the speedsters in spandex duke it out, but what happens when the race is over? Argh.
And like an addict, I keep saying that it is getting better. But is it? The culture seems to be cracking, and that is a start. Teams actually seem to be taking measures to protect the riders, instead of wink wink, push shove, dope 'em up and let 'em race until they drop. Maybe I should actively seek out the products of those teams to show my support. What does Slipstream sell anyway?
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Dizzy Time
Love 'em. Abso-f#$&ing-lutely love 'em. Crits. Round and round, corner after corner, usually free of gravity, and just long enough to get warmed up.
So, that's why I'm thinking that I should do 4 in one weekend, prosies geezers, geezers prosies. What the heck. Kinda like some submersion therapy. Maybe after the upteenth million lap, my brain might associate the silly event with something that I like. You know, kinda Pavlovian, or something like that. Of course, there would have to be some sort of pay off.
Podium glory.
That's a stretch.
Big cash pay off.
Stretching some more.
The roar of the adoring fans.
The elastic is breaking.
Ah well, why the heck would I want to stick around the slumhole of SLO county when I could bathe in the glory that is Stockton, with a Burlingame chaser?
Racing calls, and I drool.
So, that's why I'm thinking that I should do 4 in one weekend, prosies geezers, geezers prosies. What the heck. Kinda like some submersion therapy. Maybe after the upteenth million lap, my brain might associate the silly event with something that I like. You know, kinda Pavlovian, or something like that. Of course, there would have to be some sort of pay off.
Podium glory.
That's a stretch.
Big cash pay off.
Stretching some more.
The roar of the adoring fans.
The elastic is breaking.
Ah well, why the heck would I want to stick around the slumhole of SLO county when I could bathe in the glory that is Stockton, with a Burlingame chaser?
Racing calls, and I drool.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Stop Staring at My Ass, Tri-boy
Okay, be forewarned, my ego is coming out.
In SLO country, the hills are mine. Okay, lil' L. Euser could spank me, but he has flown the coop. And sure, bean pole Ozzie Ozfest could spank me if he wants to, but beyond that, they're mine. The first day back in the promised land, after years of exile in the flat land purgatory of Texas and Kansas, I let 'em know them know that I still had it going up (going down, though, was another story), and I remind 'em every opportunity I can.
So today, it was up one of my favorites, Santa Rita Creek Road. Twisty, shady, dirty, sexy. First, there's the nice ride to and up the coast to Cayucos. A litter warmer upper up to Whale Rock Reservoir, drop and right on to SRCR. On the prelude, thick leg Pat took control. Hmm? Okay. Yet, just before the real up, he peeled, and order was established. Excitable tri-boy Chris took my wheel, so I thought (I already gave y'all the ego warning, so here it comes) this will be fun. The only question I had was when to duck when the shrapnel flew. He was going to dig a hole, and I was more than happy to be his shovel.
So, tap tap away, going through the bends and twists, he's there, and he's breathing hard. This will show him for hurting me on LOVR on the Tuesday ride a few weeks back. He's built for that flat to down tailwind stuff, but getting that tall, head-to-toe cut frame (yeah, tri-guys tend to have better builds that us pure cycling freaks) up this dirt climb was gonna take a lot of umph. Pant away big boy. The panting, though, was not fading. And to boot, it seemed as though he had the audacity to try to take it to me on the hill. Ego, wake up, someone wants to play.
Going to through the corners, he would take the inside lines, trying to get by. I don't know, maybe he thought I was trying to sweep him off by going from one side to another, always on the outside line. But it wasn't no Michael Schumacher starting line antics, I was just keeping it smooth and shallow. Apparently he was more concerned with straight lines. Kinda fun seeing him get beside me, then get bumped back by the washboards. But damn, it did not crack him.
Okay, let him go by half way up. This will blow him. But of course, I can't handle being behind, so I zip by around the next bend, as even in front he took the short, steep and bumpy, while I went smooth, shallow and wide. I could have said something, but it should have been clear that I was not bouncing about and he was. Too blinded by his determination. And me, too ego driven to offer him a clue.
Coming out to the top, straight and not that steep, I thought, damn, the kid is still there, and damn, he's probably gonna get in his tri-torque mode and get me over top. I let him by, looking for a place to tuck my ego, but what do you know, he was stuck at one speed. He could not torque on the flatter section to the top. It's not over, my ego. Sitting down (just to show off) I show him my torque, and the polka dots are mine.
At the top, we went to opposite sides of the road, like wounded fighters at the end of a tied bout. I was gonna let him in on the little secret about going around the outside of the corner, but he would not come to me. And damn it, I'm the king of the mountain, bow to me.
Anyway, no words were said afterwards. He disappeared after that. Flat on the dirt descent? Went back down to the coast? I don't know. I'll see you out there again, excitable tri-guy Chris. Maybe up something a bit steeper, where those cut, tan muscles will be more of a drag.
Back through Templetucky, Atascadero, Santa Margarita, and dropping into SLO, it was pretty chill. Kenny H was whining about his bruised legs from the Philly pummeling he just received. And oh yeah, how hot it was. Crikey, spend some time in Texas. That's hot. But we cruised into the coffee shop, and chilled like civilized cyclists. Ah, Wednesdays are mine again. And I'll be damned if the hills don't remain mine.
In SLO country, the hills are mine. Okay, lil' L. Euser could spank me, but he has flown the coop. And sure, bean pole Ozzie Ozfest could spank me if he wants to, but beyond that, they're mine. The first day back in the promised land, after years of exile in the flat land purgatory of Texas and Kansas, I let 'em know them know that I still had it going up (going down, though, was another story), and I remind 'em every opportunity I can.
So today, it was up one of my favorites, Santa Rita Creek Road. Twisty, shady, dirty, sexy. First, there's the nice ride to and up the coast to Cayucos. A litter warmer upper up to Whale Rock Reservoir, drop and right on to SRCR. On the prelude, thick leg Pat took control. Hmm? Okay. Yet, just before the real up, he peeled, and order was established. Excitable tri-boy Chris took my wheel, so I thought (I already gave y'all the ego warning, so here it comes) this will be fun. The only question I had was when to duck when the shrapnel flew. He was going to dig a hole, and I was more than happy to be his shovel.
So, tap tap away, going through the bends and twists, he's there, and he's breathing hard. This will show him for hurting me on LOVR on the Tuesday ride a few weeks back. He's built for that flat to down tailwind stuff, but getting that tall, head-to-toe cut frame (yeah, tri-guys tend to have better builds that us pure cycling freaks) up this dirt climb was gonna take a lot of umph. Pant away big boy. The panting, though, was not fading. And to boot, it seemed as though he had the audacity to try to take it to me on the hill. Ego, wake up, someone wants to play.
Going to through the corners, he would take the inside lines, trying to get by. I don't know, maybe he thought I was trying to sweep him off by going from one side to another, always on the outside line. But it wasn't no Michael Schumacher starting line antics, I was just keeping it smooth and shallow. Apparently he was more concerned with straight lines. Kinda fun seeing him get beside me, then get bumped back by the washboards. But damn, it did not crack him.
Okay, let him go by half way up. This will blow him. But of course, I can't handle being behind, so I zip by around the next bend, as even in front he took the short, steep and bumpy, while I went smooth, shallow and wide. I could have said something, but it should have been clear that I was not bouncing about and he was. Too blinded by his determination. And me, too ego driven to offer him a clue.
Coming out to the top, straight and not that steep, I thought, damn, the kid is still there, and damn, he's probably gonna get in his tri-torque mode and get me over top. I let him by, looking for a place to tuck my ego, but what do you know, he was stuck at one speed. He could not torque on the flatter section to the top. It's not over, my ego. Sitting down (just to show off) I show him my torque, and the polka dots are mine.
At the top, we went to opposite sides of the road, like wounded fighters at the end of a tied bout. I was gonna let him in on the little secret about going around the outside of the corner, but he would not come to me. And damn it, I'm the king of the mountain, bow to me.
Anyway, no words were said afterwards. He disappeared after that. Flat on the dirt descent? Went back down to the coast? I don't know. I'll see you out there again, excitable tri-guy Chris. Maybe up something a bit steeper, where those cut, tan muscles will be more of a drag.
Back through Templetucky, Atascadero, Santa Margarita, and dropping into SLO, it was pretty chill. Kenny H was whining about his bruised legs from the Philly pummeling he just received. And oh yeah, how hot it was. Crikey, spend some time in Texas. That's hot. But we cruised into the coffee shop, and chilled like civilized cyclists. Ah, Wednesdays are mine again. And I'll be damned if the hills don't remain mine.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Squeaky Dog
Sasha (my lil' blonde bombshell) had a bout of indigestion last night. Musta been the sourdough rolls he got into yesterday. Quite the counter surfer. She has even figured out how to climb on the couch and reach over to the breakfast counter to grab stuff. Clearly her cleverness is a function of her time on the streets before I took her in. But baby, you get fed on a regular basis, no need to scavenge anymore. Yeah, like she'll listen.
Anyway, little miss squeaky stomach kept me up. And now, I need to stay awake for student presentations. Oh, it is a good lesson, though, to put yourself on the other side of the room and try to appreciate the challenge of staying awake. But of course, if I slumber off during presentations, well let's just say that that would cause a bit of a stink.
Oh well, here I go. Get through this, and get on the bike.
Anyway, little miss squeaky stomach kept me up. And now, I need to stay awake for student presentations. Oh, it is a good lesson, though, to put yourself on the other side of the room and try to appreciate the challenge of staying awake. But of course, if I slumber off during presentations, well let's just say that that would cause a bit of a stink.
Oh well, here I go. Get through this, and get on the bike.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Slum'n It Socal Style
No bear this year. Did not expect it, but maybe that was the problem.
First thing, there is a lot more red in the Socal Kits compared to the Nocal kits. Did not really recognize any faces, even from the way back when. Of course, that makes for the "hmm, who's got it?" Okay, did know of Mark Noble, and he has got it, but his team blew it (more later). There was some fuschia haired dude that kinda reminded me of my old flame, Tracy (only the hair). And a few more tatoos. This was definitely Socal. But to the race.
The race really was not that hard, and I tried to play all strategic and all, supressing the aggressiveness that usually gets me blown.
Pretty much from the get go, there were two danglers. It seemed perfect for the sit and wait until the last time up the bump strategy. Let the little Amgen guy get all EPO up front, even chasing down his own teammates once in a while, but more or less keeping the two escapists in sight, but also keeping some what of a tempo. Then there was the silly short-lived chase by the Denis King boys (Noble's squad). Any organized chased could have easily tempoed in the break, but the CCM boys went bonkers for a couple of K, but did not quite close it down, blowing themselves 1.5 laps (10miles x 5 laps) to go.
On the penultimate bump before the finish, I pushed it with one of their guys, and thought that it would string out the pack to a select few, but it was too select, just me and that guy. Again, suppressing the aggressiveness, I slipped back to the pack, not wanting to blow myself. Ultimately, this was a mistake. I should have just rode, cuz on the last lap two slipped away and caught the two danglers with a half a lap to go. One was an Amgen guy, and his little teammate finally realized that he should not chase them down. Not having any teammates, I played chicken shit, hoping that the CCM guys or some others would do it. Hollow hope.
Going up the bump for the last time, it was clear that the bear was up the road. Played with the field for a bit up the last bump, but pretty much threw in the towel. No jersey, ah, who cares? I really need to get more competitive.
At the end, I was barely tired. Too much watching, not enough doing.
I also remembered another reason why I avoid Socal, the air. Okay, it was Bako, but there was plenty of yuk in the air. Hack hack.
Anyway, screw this sitting back and watching. I like racing. And now I get to ride to my beatity beat heart's content during the week. On the weekends, attack with somewhat reckless abandon, having some confidence (hopefully) that my legs will respond to my fat head. If not now, by Cal Cup would be fine.
First thing, there is a lot more red in the Socal Kits compared to the Nocal kits. Did not really recognize any faces, even from the way back when. Of course, that makes for the "hmm, who's got it?" Okay, did know of Mark Noble, and he has got it, but his team blew it (more later). There was some fuschia haired dude that kinda reminded me of my old flame, Tracy (only the hair). And a few more tatoos. This was definitely Socal. But to the race.
The race really was not that hard, and I tried to play all strategic and all, supressing the aggressiveness that usually gets me blown.
Pretty much from the get go, there were two danglers. It seemed perfect for the sit and wait until the last time up the bump strategy. Let the little Amgen guy get all EPO up front, even chasing down his own teammates once in a while, but more or less keeping the two escapists in sight, but also keeping some what of a tempo. Then there was the silly short-lived chase by the Denis King boys (Noble's squad). Any organized chased could have easily tempoed in the break, but the CCM boys went bonkers for a couple of K, but did not quite close it down, blowing themselves 1.5 laps (10miles x 5 laps) to go.
On the penultimate bump before the finish, I pushed it with one of their guys, and thought that it would string out the pack to a select few, but it was too select, just me and that guy. Again, suppressing the aggressiveness, I slipped back to the pack, not wanting to blow myself. Ultimately, this was a mistake. I should have just rode, cuz on the last lap two slipped away and caught the two danglers with a half a lap to go. One was an Amgen guy, and his little teammate finally realized that he should not chase them down. Not having any teammates, I played chicken shit, hoping that the CCM guys or some others would do it. Hollow hope.
Going up the bump for the last time, it was clear that the bear was up the road. Played with the field for a bit up the last bump, but pretty much threw in the towel. No jersey, ah, who cares? I really need to get more competitive.
At the end, I was barely tired. Too much watching, not enough doing.
I also remembered another reason why I avoid Socal, the air. Okay, it was Bako, but there was plenty of yuk in the air. Hack hack.
Anyway, screw this sitting back and watching. I like racing. And now I get to ride to my beatity beat heart's content during the week. On the weekends, attack with somewhat reckless abandon, having some confidence (hopefully) that my legs will respond to my fat head. If not now, by Cal Cup would be fine.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Fat Leg Tuesday
Right leg banged up good, I become a lefty. I roll out okay, but when push came to push harder, I had one cylinder. The buldging one on the right was not buldging from extra muscle mass. Not like my calves were not big enough anyway.
Bummer, too, cuz there was one heck of a booty wind on LOVR. Even on one cyclinder, I was hitting 35+ (just like my racing category) all by myself.
Hoping the swelling goes down, though. Not that I'm as fit as I'd like to be, but I'd like a shot at getting a bear on my back this weekend. Probably not going to happen this year, but with a little luck...
But hey, last 8-8er tomorrow. Yeeeee ha. Don't even have to lecture. Guest lecturer at 8, test at noon, debates at 6, with maybe a mini lecture afterwards. Yeeeeeeeeeee ha.
But grading. Damn.
Bummer, too, cuz there was one heck of a booty wind on LOVR. Even on one cyclinder, I was hitting 35+ (just like my racing category) all by myself.
Hoping the swelling goes down, though. Not that I'm as fit as I'd like to be, but I'd like a shot at getting a bear on my back this weekend. Probably not going to happen this year, but with a little luck...
But hey, last 8-8er tomorrow. Yeeeee ha. Don't even have to lecture. Guest lecturer at 8, test at noon, debates at 6, with maybe a mini lecture afterwards. Yeeeeeeeeeee ha.
But grading. Damn.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Flamme Rouge
The finish line is near, oh so near, and the sprinters are massing. Problem is, I'm not a sprinter. So, sitting here, grading, prepping, licking my wounds figuratively and literally (see below), I've got a strong urge to coast in.
Students, help me. Write good papers. However, what is under my nose varies a great deal in quality. Did not I not give good enough guidance and direction? Do they have Spring quarter blues? I have the affliction.
The lab the other day smelled of it. Students getting odd results that I now have to go back and check. I know what their data is supposed to produce, so how in the heck did they get their numbers? Time to write new labs, I guess. More hand holding?
500 meters
Three, maybe 3.5 lectures left. One exam to write, and more papers coming in on Friday and next Tuesday.
No podium, but crossing that line will lead to a much deserved break. Collect my thoughts, and attack it come fall.
Students, help me. Write good papers. However, what is under my nose varies a great deal in quality. Did not I not give good enough guidance and direction? Do they have Spring quarter blues? I have the affliction.
The lab the other day smelled of it. Students getting odd results that I now have to go back and check. I know what their data is supposed to produce, so how in the heck did they get their numbers? Time to write new labs, I guess. More hand holding?
500 meters
Three, maybe 3.5 lectures left. One exam to write, and more papers coming in on Friday and next Tuesday.
No podium, but crossing that line will lead to a much deserved break. Collect my thoughts, and attack it come fall.
Rocks Are Hard
So, I was feeling good about my mtb descending skills on the Thursday night dirt session, keeping pace going down with the venerable Sterling McBride, and other bombers. But today that went out the window, as I went off the trail into the rocks. And damn, there are a lot of nasty rocks on the west Cuesta Ridge. Oh, I'm familiar with them, as I've hit them before, but it has been a while.
Took it a bit easy up Shooters, letting my legs rest a bit after abusing them on the Fig yesterday. Even though I backed off, I was only about 15 seconds off the pace (11:05 compared to about 10:50). Across the ridge, and down Pick and Shovel to the truck, still good. The screaming brakes were bugging me (damn metalic pads), but beyond that I felt in the groove.
Then, on the next section, I started off shakey, and ended up in the rocks. Maybe too much front brake to compensate for the howling rear. Front end got swimmy on the rocks, and I flew sideways. I had one of those "damn, this is going to hurt" moments between coming off and landing. And I was right. Damn, it hurt. Right side took a banging, but no deep cuts, and nothing broken (bike or me). Made for a painful rest of the ride though. Right leg crampy, head freaked out, brakes howling.
Looks like my left leg will have to take up the load next week, as I work on the kinks on the right. Hopefully I can work out the kinks in the head too, cuz going down rocky stuff ain't fun when you have fresh thoughts of how hard them a rocks are.
Took it a bit easy up Shooters, letting my legs rest a bit after abusing them on the Fig yesterday. Even though I backed off, I was only about 15 seconds off the pace (11:05 compared to about 10:50). Across the ridge, and down Pick and Shovel to the truck, still good. The screaming brakes were bugging me (damn metalic pads), but beyond that I felt in the groove.
Then, on the next section, I started off shakey, and ended up in the rocks. Maybe too much front brake to compensate for the howling rear. Front end got swimmy on the rocks, and I flew sideways. I had one of those "damn, this is going to hurt" moments between coming off and landing. And I was right. Damn, it hurt. Right side took a banging, but no deep cuts, and nothing broken (bike or me). Made for a painful rest of the ride though. Right leg crampy, head freaked out, brakes howling.
Looks like my left leg will have to take up the load next week, as I work on the kinks on the right. Hopefully I can work out the kinks in the head too, cuz going down rocky stuff ain't fun when you have fresh thoughts of how hard them a rocks are.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Up Up and Away
Just cleaned my ride so as to get every last speck of extra weight off my bike for the ascent up the Fig tomorrow. Miles and miles of uppity up up up. And given the sad news of the passing of a fellow racer from way back when, there will surely be a stop at his market in Los Olivos.
It was the last time I rode up the Fig and popped the tale in this blog that I heard from Mark Fennell, telling me that the market I stopped at was owned by Steve Dennel, which brought back a flood of memories. Steve was that sprinter breed, so I did not associate with him too much, but I do remember him zipping to the front when the speedsters smelled the finish line. I would, however, become teammates and close friend with one of his teammates, Dave Feingold, and ended up spending a fair amount of time tooling around SB with the SB cycling crowd as a result.
The news brings back more memories, and makes me truly value those memories. Here's to you, Steve. Up up and away.
It was the last time I rode up the Fig and popped the tale in this blog that I heard from Mark Fennell, telling me that the market I stopped at was owned by Steve Dennel, which brought back a flood of memories. Steve was that sprinter breed, so I did not associate with him too much, but I do remember him zipping to the front when the speedsters smelled the finish line. I would, however, become teammates and close friend with one of his teammates, Dave Feingold, and ended up spending a fair amount of time tooling around SB with the SB cycling crowd as a result.
The news brings back more memories, and makes me truly value those memories. Here's to you, Steve. Up up and away.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Punt
Okay, I admit it, I punted this morning. Not happy with how my lecture outline was coming together, I instead slid in a dvd for class this morning. Really, I had been meaning to show the video, but it covered topics over a couple of weeks, so it was not a good fit anywhere. Shoe horned it in today, anyway. And to boot, it was a tear jerker.
No actual tears today (have seen them before with this video), but some serious long faces when I dived into the discussion topics after it was over. What was the tear-jerker? The Man Who Knew, a Frontline documentary on FBI agent John O'Neil, who had nearly connected all the dots of the 9/11 plot. Good documentary, but the very definitinition of irony in the end, and incredibly sad irony at that.
I did have a discussion on the relevant issues--organizational culture, interagency and intra-agency conflict, SOP's, goal conflict.
So, okay, maybe I did not earn my keep today. but hopefully the punt will allow me to have more focus on my lectures on unobtrusive and evaluation research. Oh yeah, something about the privilaged position of business tonight. That, and a debate on on bilingual education. Give me an opportunity to whip out some of my mad dissertation knowledge on them young punks.
No actual tears today (have seen them before with this video), but some serious long faces when I dived into the discussion topics after it was over. What was the tear-jerker? The Man Who Knew, a Frontline documentary on FBI agent John O'Neil, who had nearly connected all the dots of the 9/11 plot. Good documentary, but the very definitinition of irony in the end, and incredibly sad irony at that.
I did have a discussion on the relevant issues--organizational culture, interagency and intra-agency conflict, SOP's, goal conflict.
So, okay, maybe I did not earn my keep today. but hopefully the punt will allow me to have more focus on my lectures on unobtrusive and evaluation research. Oh yeah, something about the privilaged position of business tonight. That, and a debate on on bilingual education. Give me an opportunity to whip out some of my mad dissertation knowledge on them young punks.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Sleep, or lack there of
Here I am again, laying in bed, typing away, wondering how much sleep I will get. Too many dopios today? Not enough bike suffering. Unenthused about personnel mangement lecture at 8. Yep, that later one might be the ticket.
Suffering on the Tuesday ride was at a minimum today. Small group. Kenny was there, but he was tired too, and was content with chill pace to wind down for Philly week. No other real hitters beyond that. Nevertheless, some effort was exerted on the pedals as we turned back to SLO. But not too much. Kinda sucks, though, cuz I need to pick up the pace so as to make the geezers wheeze. Ah, but the end of the quarter is near, and Wednesdays will be mine again. No 8am lectures on personnel management, followed by whater ever else I'm covering in my other two classes at noon and 6 (should probably look at the syllabi and check that out).
Unfortunately, though, the pro contingent will also hit empty soon, just as I'm getting ready for my summer. First L. Euser splits, now Kenny is getting ready to hit the road. Damn it, who am I gonna chase, and the enjoy a nice dopio afterwards with? I should have a talk with the university admissions office and have his girlfriend's transcripts, shall we say, altered, making it so she has another year for that degree thingy. Hmm?
I think that the dopios are wearing off, and the soft glow of the Powerbook is making me sleepy. Sleep, bring it on.
Suffering on the Tuesday ride was at a minimum today. Small group. Kenny was there, but he was tired too, and was content with chill pace to wind down for Philly week. No other real hitters beyond that. Nevertheless, some effort was exerted on the pedals as we turned back to SLO. But not too much. Kinda sucks, though, cuz I need to pick up the pace so as to make the geezers wheeze. Ah, but the end of the quarter is near, and Wednesdays will be mine again. No 8am lectures on personnel management, followed by whater ever else I'm covering in my other two classes at noon and 6 (should probably look at the syllabi and check that out).
Unfortunately, though, the pro contingent will also hit empty soon, just as I'm getting ready for my summer. First L. Euser splits, now Kenny is getting ready to hit the road. Damn it, who am I gonna chase, and the enjoy a nice dopio afterwards with? I should have a talk with the university admissions office and have his girlfriend's transcripts, shall we say, altered, making it so she has another year for that degree thingy. Hmm?
I think that the dopios are wearing off, and the soft glow of the Powerbook is making me sleepy. Sleep, bring it on.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Mt. Hamilton Century
Holy cow, them old men can go up a hill fast. And down at a pretty good clip, too. I was not that bad going up, but of course could not change speeds when those spazzes like Bagboy Martin, or Spine boy Collins got all excited 'n stuff. Okay, slip back to the second group, and see if we can just tempo up. I gave them some of my umph, and Dylan C. told his boy to take it easy so another boy could come back, but apparently it was opposite day, today, so his disco boy went go go go. What the f? I chilled back with DC, waited for Big Boy Bosch and Troy B. but got my nervous boy arse dropped on the descent. Just could not let it go.
Oh, but swooping down the mt. was Olaf, with an Aussie in tow. We caught Troy B. and zeroed in on group 2. But a punch over a bump put me and Troy in trouble. Man, my legs suck. So, it was me and T left to work a little longer to catch the group.
We got them, though, and cruised it in. Then there was the snobby boy in me, irritated that I got stuck behind a guy who certainly has a nice sunburn strip between his jersey and shorts (bibs my boy), his visor sticking out is jersey pocket, a dirty bike, and simply unkept looking. Crichey, it is a beautiful sport, make and effort to look good. Again, snobby boy.
Okay, then getting ready for the ride back to SJ, the young punk pro who I drove up there up and split with his pro pals. Leaving me to drag old man Kramer and SLO boy Craig Nunnes back to SJ (Henry you know I'll drag you anywhere).
Anyway, one long ass day, at about a buck ten. Probably the longest day in nearly 15 years.
Then there was the 3 hour drive home. The long ass day was starting to wear on my ass. But hey, that young punk pro Kenny slept peacefully as I pegged it home. Good for him. The least he could have done, though, was wait for me and drag my booty back to SJ. Instead, I hear, he gave OV a hitch. No love, no love.
Anyway, nuff of this. Gran Prix of Monaco is on. Go L. Hamilton, get Alonso. Sure could have used one of those four wheel wonders today.
Oh, but swooping down the mt. was Olaf, with an Aussie in tow. We caught Troy B. and zeroed in on group 2. But a punch over a bump put me and Troy in trouble. Man, my legs suck. So, it was me and T left to work a little longer to catch the group.
We got them, though, and cruised it in. Then there was the snobby boy in me, irritated that I got stuck behind a guy who certainly has a nice sunburn strip between his jersey and shorts (bibs my boy), his visor sticking out is jersey pocket, a dirty bike, and simply unkept looking. Crichey, it is a beautiful sport, make and effort to look good. Again, snobby boy.
Okay, then getting ready for the ride back to SJ, the young punk pro who I drove up there up and split with his pro pals. Leaving me to drag old man Kramer and SLO boy Craig Nunnes back to SJ (Henry you know I'll drag you anywhere).
Anyway, one long ass day, at about a buck ten. Probably the longest day in nearly 15 years.
Then there was the 3 hour drive home. The long ass day was starting to wear on my ass. But hey, that young punk pro Kenny slept peacefully as I pegged it home. Good for him. The least he could have done, though, was wait for me and drag my booty back to SJ. Instead, I hear, he gave OV a hitch. No love, no love.
Anyway, nuff of this. Gran Prix of Monaco is on. Go L. Hamilton, get Alonso. Sure could have used one of those four wheel wonders today.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Duh
Okay, no surprise, the big Dane got the yellow in 96 by pumping up his red. Of all the winners in the 90's, he clearly would be the most suspect.
The suprise, that he confessed. But is that even a surprise?
The light has been shining on the sport long enough now, that it is high time that they come out of the wood work.
And maybe I'm an one of them cock-eye optimists, but I think that this is good. And, in a strange way, the big Dane has the cred to take on the dope. I don't think that he got up in the morning, all excited by getting his next EPO, HGH, corto and whatever else fix. And I can buy that he'd like his kids clean.
There will be more drama to come. And I will still have to respond to those who don't bleed the sport like me that it is not cycling, it is professional sports that have a problem. But I think that cycling is the first sport to go through the 12 step program to clean up. We are going past the denial phase now.
The suprise, that he confessed. But is that even a surprise?
The light has been shining on the sport long enough now, that it is high time that they come out of the wood work.
And maybe I'm an one of them cock-eye optimists, but I think that this is good. And, in a strange way, the big Dane has the cred to take on the dope. I don't think that he got up in the morning, all excited by getting his next EPO, HGH, corto and whatever else fix. And I can buy that he'd like his kids clean.
There will be more drama to come. And I will still have to respond to those who don't bleed the sport like me that it is not cycling, it is professional sports that have a problem. But I think that cycling is the first sport to go through the 12 step program to clean up. We are going past the denial phase now.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Pinche Pass
Sunday pain. While the Panoche Pass road race said nothing about time trial, it was a 47 mile road race, and a 20 mile time trial all wrapped up into one for me.
Heading out, I chatted it up with ol' Dylan Casey. It's been a long time since I last saw him as a young UCSB student/punk, before he went Postal. He's a husband and a pop now, doing to Google thang, but he's got the Postal connection riding for the Disco Geezers.
Heading over Panoche Pass, Sassy pushed the pace some. I took it over the top, then held on in the back of the pack for the descent. And damn, the semi-flat before the turn was hair raising fun. 40+ bumping around on some fairly poor pavement.
Then it was serious echelon time. I weasled my way up to the last bit of the tail, trying to avoid the pull through. However, I did contribute a bit.
Going over the bump before the turn around, I let the climbing legs warm up a bit. Not too much of an effort, more to see who would respond. No one.
Then the bump after the turn around, J. Boyer led up to the feed zone (immediately after the turn around and at the bottom of the bump), and I said, maybe somewhat softly respecting his TDF pedigree, “don’t attack in the feed”. I thought he slowed it down a bit, but it was still hard to grab a bottle at the speed we were going. After I slipped the bottle in my cage, I looked back, and we were gone, screaming up the bump in the big ring. Okay, here we go. Sassy made the huge effort and bridged the gap, with a couple of others, making it 9 going over the bump, and dropping down into the crosswinds. We worked it pretty well, and it was clear we were gone.
Trouble in the engine room, though. I sat out a couple of pulls when we turned into the mondo head wind, but sucked it up and got back in line after a few rotations out. When we hit the pass, I did the Grewal. Feeling off, go hard. Plus, I thought that my legs might be better with the climb. And at first, it felt like that was the case, stringing out the group and believing that I was causing some hurt. But that did not last long. Snap, crackle pop, gone half way up. Pinche Pass.
From that point on, it was a 20 mile lonely journey to the line. Okay, so some dropped 2’s came by, and I hopped on for a couple of turns. However, I did not think that was right, so I dropped off the back. Yet, they did not drop me. I kept pace about 40 meters back, and caught up every so often. In the end, I came across the line for 7, about 2 minutes back from the winning group. Congtrats Sassy.
Mt Ham next week. Legs, and stomach, don’t fail me then.
Heading out, I chatted it up with ol' Dylan Casey. It's been a long time since I last saw him as a young UCSB student/punk, before he went Postal. He's a husband and a pop now, doing to Google thang, but he's got the Postal connection riding for the Disco Geezers.
Heading over Panoche Pass, Sassy pushed the pace some. I took it over the top, then held on in the back of the pack for the descent. And damn, the semi-flat before the turn was hair raising fun. 40+ bumping around on some fairly poor pavement.
Then it was serious echelon time. I weasled my way up to the last bit of the tail, trying to avoid the pull through. However, I did contribute a bit.
Going over the bump before the turn around, I let the climbing legs warm up a bit. Not too much of an effort, more to see who would respond. No one.
Then the bump after the turn around, J. Boyer led up to the feed zone (immediately after the turn around and at the bottom of the bump), and I said, maybe somewhat softly respecting his TDF pedigree, “don’t attack in the feed”. I thought he slowed it down a bit, but it was still hard to grab a bottle at the speed we were going. After I slipped the bottle in my cage, I looked back, and we were gone, screaming up the bump in the big ring. Okay, here we go. Sassy made the huge effort and bridged the gap, with a couple of others, making it 9 going over the bump, and dropping down into the crosswinds. We worked it pretty well, and it was clear we were gone.
Trouble in the engine room, though. I sat out a couple of pulls when we turned into the mondo head wind, but sucked it up and got back in line after a few rotations out. When we hit the pass, I did the Grewal. Feeling off, go hard. Plus, I thought that my legs might be better with the climb. And at first, it felt like that was the case, stringing out the group and believing that I was causing some hurt. But that did not last long. Snap, crackle pop, gone half way up. Pinche Pass.
From that point on, it was a 20 mile lonely journey to the line. Okay, so some dropped 2’s came by, and I hopped on for a couple of turns. However, I did not think that was right, so I dropped off the back. Yet, they did not drop me. I kept pace about 40 meters back, and caught up every so often. In the end, I came across the line for 7, about 2 minutes back from the winning group. Congtrats Sassy.
Mt Ham next week. Legs, and stomach, don’t fail me then.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Bike Lanes Suck
Really, they do. In Kansas (not like I am nostalgic or anything) there were few, if any, bike lanes around Lawrence. Thus, we rode in the road. And thusly more, the roads were clean cuz of the cars. That ain't so with our lovely wide enough to go two abreast and more room to spare bike lanes in bike friendly Cali (except for the car-centric cali types).
Why the ire? Me lost another tire today. A week old beauty. That’s two in two weeks. Now, I've taken to riding nice tires in my old age. In part due to riding on clean roads before I moved home. But now it is a bit of laziness as well. Now that I am racing again, I don't want to have to change anything between when I am riding (not quite to the point of calling it training) and racing. I bought me some damn fancy Fulcrum Zeros (which took a bit of a hit today as well) that are light as all get out, and sturdy to boot, and I dress them up with nice rubber. Again, from coffee shop ride to sweaty road race without having to fiddle around changing wheels, tires, gearing, nothing but my attitude. Yet, road debris eats up the tires before they get worn out most of the time.
What's the solution? Admittingly, I can get S-Works Mondo's pretty cheap through the team. But I could get other Specialized tires even cheaper. Do I just suck it up and change the shoes before I race? Ya get the "damn these are nice" feeling when you race on the nice stuff and ride on the bombers. That said, that feeling goes away quickly when the suffering starts. Screw it, I want that yum yum feeling all the time. So, point that S#%t out, people. And hey, any motorists out there, could you do some road sweeping in the bike lane? Preferably when we are not actually in the lane.
Why the ire? Me lost another tire today. A week old beauty. That’s two in two weeks. Now, I've taken to riding nice tires in my old age. In part due to riding on clean roads before I moved home. But now it is a bit of laziness as well. Now that I am racing again, I don't want to have to change anything between when I am riding (not quite to the point of calling it training) and racing. I bought me some damn fancy Fulcrum Zeros (which took a bit of a hit today as well) that are light as all get out, and sturdy to boot, and I dress them up with nice rubber. Again, from coffee shop ride to sweaty road race without having to fiddle around changing wheels, tires, gearing, nothing but my attitude. Yet, road debris eats up the tires before they get worn out most of the time.
What's the solution? Admittingly, I can get S-Works Mondo's pretty cheap through the team. But I could get other Specialized tires even cheaper. Do I just suck it up and change the shoes before I race? Ya get the "damn these are nice" feeling when you race on the nice stuff and ride on the bombers. That said, that feeling goes away quickly when the suffering starts. Screw it, I want that yum yum feeling all the time. So, point that S#%t out, people. And hey, any motorists out there, could you do some road sweeping in the bike lane? Preferably when we are not actually in the lane.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Insomniac
Maybe it’s cuz I did not post the normal Tuesday ride review. Maybe cuz it’s that I am getting a faculty review tomorrow. Maybe it’s I’m not quite prepped for my 8-8 day tomorrow.
So, here we go. The Tuesday ride seemed harder than normal this week. Maybe I still have dead legs from riding them six feet under on Saturday at b-hills. Or, that I just can’t seem to get my saddle height to feel right after the pedal and seat swap. I swear it is below where I had it before (according to my super special tool), but it feels high. Maybe I’m high. Anyway, this big, enthusiastic, tri-guy added his muscle to the ride. He gave me the slip going up the Col de Turri, and I, more or less, set Ozzie up to take him out over the top. No KOM for me today. On the way down, there was a big regroup. Way too big if you ask me, but no one is. And, while we did not have the speed of last week on LOVR (wind was a bit abnormal), it hurt. The tri-kid put the hurt on, and I just tried to stay glued to the tri-guy's wheel. Try as I might, I could not up the ante. Oh well.
Oh yeah, Kenny’s back, but he did not make the ride. Kick ass on the TTT win in Italy BMC boys.
On the professional stuff. Peer evaluations. Fun. This is where a faculty member sits in on your class. Survived it before wit flying colors, but it still seems an odd process. I am really not too worried, but I could have a bad day. Especially if I am up late doing the stupid blogging thing. The sit in just happens to coincide with the day I assigned the students to read an article of mine. So, seeing that I’ve published in the area of performance management, and that is the topic, who the heck can question my authority? Hmm? Me, maybe. It is one of those areas where there is a lot of talk, and all the management solutions are just about beating one’s chest and saying you're right. So wait, I’ve published something in the area, so all I have to do is go in and beat my chest tomorrow morning. Maybe I should bring some bananas to toss around as well.
Okay, will this cure my insomnia if I hit the publish button. I hope it does, cuz the alarm is going off in 5 hours.
So, here we go. The Tuesday ride seemed harder than normal this week. Maybe I still have dead legs from riding them six feet under on Saturday at b-hills. Or, that I just can’t seem to get my saddle height to feel right after the pedal and seat swap. I swear it is below where I had it before (according to my super special tool), but it feels high. Maybe I’m high. Anyway, this big, enthusiastic, tri-guy added his muscle to the ride. He gave me the slip going up the Col de Turri, and I, more or less, set Ozzie up to take him out over the top. No KOM for me today. On the way down, there was a big regroup. Way too big if you ask me, but no one is. And, while we did not have the speed of last week on LOVR (wind was a bit abnormal), it hurt. The tri-kid put the hurt on, and I just tried to stay glued to the tri-guy's wheel. Try as I might, I could not up the ante. Oh well.
Oh yeah, Kenny’s back, but he did not make the ride. Kick ass on the TTT win in Italy BMC boys.
On the professional stuff. Peer evaluations. Fun. This is where a faculty member sits in on your class. Survived it before wit flying colors, but it still seems an odd process. I am really not too worried, but I could have a bad day. Especially if I am up late doing the stupid blogging thing. The sit in just happens to coincide with the day I assigned the students to read an article of mine. So, seeing that I’ve published in the area of performance management, and that is the topic, who the heck can question my authority? Hmm? Me, maybe. It is one of those areas where there is a lot of talk, and all the management solutions are just about beating one’s chest and saying you're right. So wait, I’ve published something in the area, so all I have to do is go in and beat my chest tomorrow morning. Maybe I should bring some bananas to toss around as well.
Okay, will this cure my insomnia if I hit the publish button. I hope it does, cuz the alarm is going off in 5 hours.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Ouch
New saddle (even when it is the same model) just before a 90+ mile hilly road race with the big boys = sore rear.
Of course, the soreness below the rear, and stiffness in shoulders and neck now that I think about it, all have to do with my fat head. Race, and race hard, regardless of the fact that ya ain't on the old training program. But really, that should not be a problem. My legs should do it on memory, right? 15 year old memory. Plus, it was team orders that made me do it (although I really ain't part of the "elite team"). They said to make sure that a berry was always up the road. So, when a couple went chasing a berry up the road, I looked around, and since I was up front, I figured it was my turn to go.
So there I was, on the second 19 mile lap of a long ass race, off the front, trying to draft off of two f'n small cyclists. I gave it a college try, but my legs were not digging it. On the 3rd lap, though, the calvary came charging. About 9, with four berry boys. Damn, this looks good. I worked with them for much of the that lap, but when we hit the bears, I knew that I could not hang. Legs already sore, and keister as well. If I had packed a 4mm allen key, I would have stopped and lowered my saddle, but instead I figured that I would just coast back to the pack, and do one more lap with them. I even drifted off the back on the finishing climb, but when I went over the top, the group was not that far up the road, and one more lap turned into, why don't I just finish (myself off that is). There were a bunch of motorcycles and a couple of cars in between me and the pack, so I chased like an idiot through the vehicles on the descent, caught back on and I spanked myself and kept going for the fifth and final lap. I even put in a little dig on a kicker coming of San Pablo Damn road. Damn it, Nick, yer not 23 anymore.
Well, I shut down on the final climbs, and coasted in. Finished, and finished off. But hey, it was fun to know that I could still mix it up.
And today, round and round in Salinas. Dirk decided to slum it with the geezers, and there was another guy in a berry jersey that we did not know, but rode pretty well. Thankfully the course was fairly smooth, cuz my keister was sore. I lowered the saddle before the race, but that could not heal the sore that formed yesterday, and I felt it for sure.
Anyway, I put in a bit of an effort early, and my legs laughed at me and spit lactic acid into the veins. Yet, a couple laps later, I gave it another dig. Next thing I knew, I was off the front suffering with two others while Olaf was whispering sweet nothings in my ear over the loud speaker (BTW, a little softer on the th of my last name there, Olaf). Yet, I was running on about 90%, due to the silly ass effort from the day before, so it was inevitable that we got caught, which took about 5 or 6laps. A few laps later, though, Dirk was up the road. Thought about trying to get up there, but the thought did not last long, and I kept to myself in the pack. And, while in the pack, I was reacquainted with a smell I had not smelled in a long time, Chris Walker. Oh my, BO big time (apparently it was J. Boyer, not C. Walker, so sorry Chris). And, the boy was a bit scary too. I tried to get away from him, but he followed me and got in front of me wherever I went.
Two laps to go, I made an effort, and even caused a bit of a split. But due to some miscommunication with the other berry boy, I did not bury myself to try to make it stick. So, C. Black came motoring by on the backside, with his boy in tow, and I realized that I am not a sprinter. I finished, and I am again finished off.
Quick journey home, and one happy, tail wagging, paw tapping dog waiting to see me. A load of exams to grade, and an 8-8 day tomorrow as well. Ouch.
Of course, the soreness below the rear, and stiffness in shoulders and neck now that I think about it, all have to do with my fat head. Race, and race hard, regardless of the fact that ya ain't on the old training program. But really, that should not be a problem. My legs should do it on memory, right? 15 year old memory. Plus, it was team orders that made me do it (although I really ain't part of the "elite team"). They said to make sure that a berry was always up the road. So, when a couple went chasing a berry up the road, I looked around, and since I was up front, I figured it was my turn to go.
So there I was, on the second 19 mile lap of a long ass race, off the front, trying to draft off of two f'n small cyclists. I gave it a college try, but my legs were not digging it. On the 3rd lap, though, the calvary came charging. About 9, with four berry boys. Damn, this looks good. I worked with them for much of the that lap, but when we hit the bears, I knew that I could not hang. Legs already sore, and keister as well. If I had packed a 4mm allen key, I would have stopped and lowered my saddle, but instead I figured that I would just coast back to the pack, and do one more lap with them. I even drifted off the back on the finishing climb, but when I went over the top, the group was not that far up the road, and one more lap turned into, why don't I just finish (myself off that is). There were a bunch of motorcycles and a couple of cars in between me and the pack, so I chased like an idiot through the vehicles on the descent, caught back on and I spanked myself and kept going for the fifth and final lap. I even put in a little dig on a kicker coming of San Pablo Damn road. Damn it, Nick, yer not 23 anymore.
Well, I shut down on the final climbs, and coasted in. Finished, and finished off. But hey, it was fun to know that I could still mix it up.
And today, round and round in Salinas. Dirk decided to slum it with the geezers, and there was another guy in a berry jersey that we did not know, but rode pretty well. Thankfully the course was fairly smooth, cuz my keister was sore. I lowered the saddle before the race, but that could not heal the sore that formed yesterday, and I felt it for sure.
Anyway, I put in a bit of an effort early, and my legs laughed at me and spit lactic acid into the veins. Yet, a couple laps later, I gave it another dig. Next thing I knew, I was off the front suffering with two others while Olaf was whispering sweet nothings in my ear over the loud speaker (BTW, a little softer on the th of my last name there, Olaf). Yet, I was running on about 90%, due to the silly ass effort from the day before, so it was inevitable that we got caught, which took about 5 or 6laps. A few laps later, though, Dirk was up the road. Thought about trying to get up there, but the thought did not last long, and I kept to myself in the pack. And, while in the pack, I was reacquainted with a smell I had not smelled in a long time, Chris Walker. Oh my, BO big time (apparently it was J. Boyer, not C. Walker, so sorry Chris). And, the boy was a bit scary too. I tried to get away from him, but he followed me and got in front of me wherever I went.
Two laps to go, I made an effort, and even caused a bit of a split. But due to some miscommunication with the other berry boy, I did not bury myself to try to make it stick. So, C. Black came motoring by on the backside, with his boy in tow, and I realized that I am not a sprinter. I finished, and I am again finished off.
Quick journey home, and one happy, tail wagging, paw tapping dog waiting to see me. A load of exams to grade, and an 8-8 day tomorrow as well. Ouch.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
7:30 Start. What the f?
Apparently I was not paying attention when I registered for the prosey race at b-hill. As Kramer notified me, the damn thing starts at 7:30. Don't get me wrong, by then, I've normally had two cups of coffee, walked me dog, ate a little something, and at least twice a week am in my cement bunker getting ready to get the kids excited about public administration. But a 7:30 start. How the heck am I supposed to digest my oatmeal by start?
Ah, who cares. I get to play the domestique roll with the elite squad, and get to see my long lost buds and their new twins. And maybe even a Hubes sighting as well.
But damn, 7:30. I'm nutz.
Ah, who cares. I get to play the domestique roll with the elite squad, and get to see my long lost buds and their new twins. And maybe even a Hubes sighting as well.
But damn, 7:30. I'm nutz.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Me and the big berry boys at b-hill
It seemed not long ago that any response to questions about me racing was always "nah, done that. Biking is just for fun now."
Then a couple of months ago I find myself in a race. It's okay, it is only a masters race. I can control it and quit when ever I want.
But I just found myself registering for the 1/2 pro Berkeley Hills Road Race.
Oh crap, what have I done? Maybe I can't control this. So the masters is full; I shoulda just stayed home and rode around the central coast. But no, gotta race. And heck, my lisence still says I'm a 1, so why not race in the prosey race. Oh crap, what have I done?
91 miles. Rolling terrain. New saddle that I still have not dialed in. Just how long will it take to get that sweet spot that I had in the last? Hopefully before Saturday morning.
Then a couple of months ago I find myself in a race. It's okay, it is only a masters race. I can control it and quit when ever I want.
But I just found myself registering for the 1/2 pro Berkeley Hills Road Race.
Oh crap, what have I done? Maybe I can't control this. So the masters is full; I shoulda just stayed home and rode around the central coast. But no, gotta race. And heck, my lisence still says I'm a 1, so why not race in the prosey race. Oh crap, what have I done?
91 miles. Rolling terrain. New saddle that I still have not dialed in. Just how long will it take to get that sweet spot that I had in the last? Hopefully before Saturday morning.
Motivation, logit regression, and political participation
What motivates me? Good weather and thoughts of riding. Couldn't slip that into class this morning, so just went over Maslow's hierarchy, Hertzberg, and other stuff. And tossed in a little groupthink for fun. And no one wanted to play in on the application of groupthink to the decision to invade Iraq.
Now, sitting here, in the absolutely perfect weather, I am changing gears (unfortunately not on my bike) to get ready to go over logit regression at noon. It’s so bloody simple, really. Okay, maybe not. But it is only an undergrad course, so I don’t see me going the full 2 hours. Especially since I don’t have a computer projector to run analyses on. Tech school my ass.
So, is it possible to squeeze in a ride in between logit lecture and tonight’s lecture on political participation? Dog walk = 40 mins. To and from campus = 25 mins. Decompression ~ 40 mins. I’ve got three hours between class and office hours before the 6pmer, so maybe.
But of course, I do need to get ready to discuss the threat that declining participation poses to democracy. Riding looking slim as always on Wednesday. At least I’m back in Cali, so I can be pretty confident that I will motivated by good weather tomorrow.
Now, sitting here, in the absolutely perfect weather, I am changing gears (unfortunately not on my bike) to get ready to go over logit regression at noon. It’s so bloody simple, really. Okay, maybe not. But it is only an undergrad course, so I don’t see me going the full 2 hours. Especially since I don’t have a computer projector to run analyses on. Tech school my ass.
So, is it possible to squeeze in a ride in between logit lecture and tonight’s lecture on political participation? Dog walk = 40 mins. To and from campus = 25 mins. Decompression ~ 40 mins. I’ve got three hours between class and office hours before the 6pmer, so maybe.
But of course, I do need to get ready to discuss the threat that declining participation poses to democracy. Riding looking slim as always on Wednesday. At least I’m back in Cali, so I can be pretty confident that I will motivated by good weather tomorrow.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Do I use sunscreen?
Here I am again, doing to coffee shop time, and Pelo Tony (a guy who rides a $10k bike and says he is just a recreational rider) comes in and asks me if I wear sunscreen. Even though I got the rusty top, I'm no Ginger Kid, but in fact a daywalker. And in fact, once I stopped racing years ago, I first did away that that silly computer thingy on my bars (although its back, bigger, geekier, and causing more of a number obsession than before (must be all the stats training, and teaching I've had and do)), then I decided that it was long sleeves or no sleeves. I was done with silly farmer tan lines. I guess it was bound to happen, being a Californian and all, that vanity would hit me so hard in my late thirties.
Anyway, tan lines and sunscreen. Apparently a local dermatologist gave Tony some high-end sunscreen, and he says that he does not wear sunscreen. Not that he uses a low spf factor, but none at all. He says this as though it is against his religion. Now, I have my vanity issues, but he must practice a strict Catholic doctrine like vanity. Church of California Middle Aged man. That said, he has a nice tan. And he does look immaculate on a bike (I’m okay with my masculinity to make comments about men’s looks).
So, I now possess some 57 spf Helioso suncreen by Neutrogena. 57 spf. If I put this stuff on, I will look like I have Gingervitis; then my poster boy moniker will be taken away. Better just use it on the ears and nose, so they don’t drop off later in life. Vanity.
Anyway, tan lines and sunscreen. Apparently a local dermatologist gave Tony some high-end sunscreen, and he says that he does not wear sunscreen. Not that he uses a low spf factor, but none at all. He says this as though it is against his religion. Now, I have my vanity issues, but he must practice a strict Catholic doctrine like vanity. Church of California Middle Aged man. That said, he has a nice tan. And he does look immaculate on a bike (I’m okay with my masculinity to make comments about men’s looks).
So, I now possess some 57 spf Helioso suncreen by Neutrogena. 57 spf. If I put this stuff on, I will look like I have Gingervitis; then my poster boy moniker will be taken away. Better just use it on the ears and nose, so they don’t drop off later in life. Vanity.
Slash and burn
Lost a tire today. It will be missed. So with the money from my pocket. Oh well, all for the sake of going fast, and pumping up my ego. Oh, my poor little ego.
In fact, it was a mechanical kind of day. Dealing with a new seatpost (slippage). Findng out the the shell on my toupe (not my hair piece that I don't have yet) was broken. Got that replaced, but am having the damnest time getting it right. The new saddle does not have the sag yet, so it feels high, but the nose is below the mark (super special adjustment tool, a mark on a motor oil bottle that I sit on the top tube). I feel that that princess and the pea thang.
Anyway, Tuesday special time. I get in a little ride before hand, and roll to the starting point. Smallish group again. No Jared, no Ken, so no one to chase. Craig N. is there, but he seems to not be going too fast, even though he did win the 40 Otter circuit race. Oh well.
Run out, uneventful. Other that slashing my front tire. Argh. Luckily EB (sporting the time trial bike today) had a spent goo packet for a boot, allowing me to finish the ride.
I don't go for the Morro Bay sprint (like I ever do), but Craig N. puts in an impressive dig. The wind is kicking in the normal direction today, so it should be more fun heading back compared to last week. However, this week, it looks as though the sitting on is going to start way early. What's up with these people? Ain't this about getting fast? Put yer nose in the wind. EB, though, decides to pitch in a helping hand right before we head up the hill. Of course, he's got the speedy bike, so cutting through the wind is a bit easier for him.
He ushers me through, and it's time to busta move on the hill. Ain't gonna get competition from the kid today, so it is me against me. And guess what? I won. Yey. KOM is mine.
Going down, I think make 'em chase or wait a bit? Okay, let's be social. But to my surprise, first up is Peter B. He musta got some juice from Floyd when he came through town on his FFF tour. Hey, cool enough. Roation time. But even though Pedro got over the hill well, he did not have the pull through, allowing aero EB to catch up, and C. "the grunter" Black as well. I pull most of LOVR, and even made CB hurt a bit on the downward side, where his superior downhill weight usually gives him the advantage. He does get the sprint, though, cuz we all know that ain't my gig. I just warm them up and let them go. Although, Olaf did make some dig about me not having a finish. Maybe I really should make some out of the saddle efforts some time soon.
Damn, where did the day go? Sahsa needs her walk, and I need to get ready for the 8-8 schedule tomorrow. Yey.
In fact, it was a mechanical kind of day. Dealing with a new seatpost (slippage). Findng out the the shell on my toupe (not my hair piece that I don't have yet) was broken. Got that replaced, but am having the damnest time getting it right. The new saddle does not have the sag yet, so it feels high, but the nose is below the mark (super special adjustment tool, a mark on a motor oil bottle that I sit on the top tube). I feel that that princess and the pea thang.
Anyway, Tuesday special time. I get in a little ride before hand, and roll to the starting point. Smallish group again. No Jared, no Ken, so no one to chase. Craig N. is there, but he seems to not be going too fast, even though he did win the 40 Otter circuit race. Oh well.
Run out, uneventful. Other that slashing my front tire. Argh. Luckily EB (sporting the time trial bike today) had a spent goo packet for a boot, allowing me to finish the ride.
I don't go for the Morro Bay sprint (like I ever do), but Craig N. puts in an impressive dig. The wind is kicking in the normal direction today, so it should be more fun heading back compared to last week. However, this week, it looks as though the sitting on is going to start way early. What's up with these people? Ain't this about getting fast? Put yer nose in the wind. EB, though, decides to pitch in a helping hand right before we head up the hill. Of course, he's got the speedy bike, so cutting through the wind is a bit easier for him.
He ushers me through, and it's time to busta move on the hill. Ain't gonna get competition from the kid today, so it is me against me. And guess what? I won. Yey. KOM is mine.
Going down, I think make 'em chase or wait a bit? Okay, let's be social. But to my surprise, first up is Peter B. He musta got some juice from Floyd when he came through town on his FFF tour. Hey, cool enough. Roation time. But even though Pedro got over the hill well, he did not have the pull through, allowing aero EB to catch up, and C. "the grunter" Black as well. I pull most of LOVR, and even made CB hurt a bit on the downward side, where his superior downhill weight usually gives him the advantage. He does get the sprint, though, cuz we all know that ain't my gig. I just warm them up and let them go. Although, Olaf did make some dig about me not having a finish. Maybe I really should make some out of the saddle efforts some time soon.
Damn, where did the day go? Sahsa needs her walk, and I need to get ready for the 8-8 schedule tomorrow. Yey.
Half hearted confession, half hearted hope
"I was only attempted doping (sic)." So, apparently Basso is only admitting to having his blood drawn? Yet the documents that led him to confess state that it was drawn and pumped back in since 2004. Uhm, only some of accusations were true?
Here I thought that we would get a cleansing of sort, and even willing to respect Basso. Yet, he sounds like a junkie not fessing up to his addiction.
Oh sure, fessing to doping would mean that the maglia rosa would go down to Simoni. But Millar gave up his rainbow jersey.
I'm curious to see what his confession statement says. If he admitted to getting blood drawn prior to the Giro, I suspect that the UCI can still strip that title anyway.
Fess up, Basso! You're gonna lose the title, save some face.
Here I thought that we would get a cleansing of sort, and even willing to respect Basso. Yet, he sounds like a junkie not fessing up to his addiction.
Oh sure, fessing to doping would mean that the maglia rosa would go down to Simoni. But Millar gave up his rainbow jersey.
I'm curious to see what his confession statement says. If he admitted to getting blood drawn prior to the Giro, I suspect that the UCI can still strip that title anyway.
Fess up, Basso! You're gonna lose the title, save some face.
Friday, May 4, 2007
I have a Ph.D. in what?
So, I'm sitting here, all acedemic and intellectual like, and all, grading papers at a coffee shop, and I evesdrop in on the cute little barrista talking about politics. She's wearing a friends don't let friends vote Republican shirt (giving me excuse to read her... well... I'm a dirty ol...), and the other barista apparently is a Rep. Anyway, she's perplexed by how the rep candidates during the debate the other night were so focused on taxes. Hmm, it is their audience they are talking to, honey. Why not social issues? That's the other party (or are they the anti-war party?).
Now apparently, she was born a Rep. And apparently she's been brainwashed (probably by pin head liberal acadmics like me), so she is wondering how to actually go about changing her party affiliation. Simple, I say (I should know this with my degree). However, what does that mean for primaries. Shit, I don't do elections. I seem to recall one of those silly props creating open primaries before I headed off to the f'n south. However, I seem to remember that something had happened since then (9 people in black robes said nyet).
Anyway, I now know (thanks Google) that California has a modified primary (also would have known that the sec state website would have had this info, since I apparently do institutions).
But, it begs the question, if one can answer these questions with google, why the hell do we need political scientists (BTW, I'm quickly coming to the conclusion that we really don't)?
On another note, the kids here are playing music that they were probably concieved to. Joy Division, The The (feat. Sinead O'Connor), The Smiths, Echo and the Bunnymen, you know, the 80's. And now, Tones on Tail. Oh my. My hair is black again, and eyes circled with dark eyeliner.
That's right, before I started shaving my legs, I had other effimenate tendencies. In fact, I started shaving my legs right when I stopped with the goth beauty products. Right before heading down for a concert where I had front row tickets for Love and Rockets and Souixsie and the Banshees, June 86. The tickets were scored by April and Linda, two UCSB hottie gothies who me and my friend met at a Cult concert in April of 86. Thank you April and Linda, especially April. I Nearly did not get a high school diploma due to that show (missed a few finals my senior year, and I was on the edge of dropping out). Yet, I got a high school dipolma, and several years later a bachelor's degree, and coming full circle to my question, my Ph.D. And again, I have a Ph.D. in what?
Now apparently, she was born a Rep. And apparently she's been brainwashed (probably by pin head liberal acadmics like me), so she is wondering how to actually go about changing her party affiliation. Simple, I say (I should know this with my degree). However, what does that mean for primaries. Shit, I don't do elections. I seem to recall one of those silly props creating open primaries before I headed off to the f'n south. However, I seem to remember that something had happened since then (9 people in black robes said nyet).
Anyway, I now know (thanks Google) that California has a modified primary (also would have known that the sec state website would have had this info, since I apparently do institutions).
But, it begs the question, if one can answer these questions with google, why the hell do we need political scientists (BTW, I'm quickly coming to the conclusion that we really don't)?
On another note, the kids here are playing music that they were probably concieved to. Joy Division, The The (feat. Sinead O'Connor), The Smiths, Echo and the Bunnymen, you know, the 80's. And now, Tones on Tail. Oh my. My hair is black again, and eyes circled with dark eyeliner.
That's right, before I started shaving my legs, I had other effimenate tendencies. In fact, I started shaving my legs right when I stopped with the goth beauty products. Right before heading down for a concert where I had front row tickets for Love and Rockets and Souixsie and the Banshees, June 86. The tickets were scored by April and Linda, two UCSB hottie gothies who me and my friend met at a Cult concert in April of 86. Thank you April and Linda, especially April. I Nearly did not get a high school diploma due to that show (missed a few finals my senior year, and I was on the edge of dropping out). Yet, I got a high school dipolma, and several years later a bachelor's degree, and coming full circle to my question, my Ph.D. And again, I have a Ph.D. in what?
To hell and back
Thursday's dirt went up the venerable Hell climb. I had not gone up that in a decade. That bugger is steep. Brought back memories of a young me on a Bridgestone MB 0. Then we went out to power lines just to make sure that we got a few more gravity defying pitches. Hey, Cat Scratch Fever this weekend, so I should be prepared for the steeps.
For the ups and downs, click here
Just a simple ride up the coast today. A few digs to loosen up the legs.
Should be grading, but decided to spend some money I don't have, ordering a new seatpost. Ya see, my buddy at Time apparently misunderstood me, and sent me some new road pedals. I needed dirt pedals, cuz mine aren't keeping my feet in place. Well, I did want new pedals (love campy, but their pedals suck), but this means that I need to lower my seat. One problem, seatpost seized. Why do they put that damned clear coat on carbon seatposts? Chips, then seals into the seat tube. Anyway, if I ever get this one out, I will have a new one, without clearcoat. Plus, it won't then have a post that goes down to my bottom bracket (screwed up by going to the wrong shop in Lawrence Kansas (Sunflower is the right one)). Ah toys.
TIme, now, to slap some chicken on the grill, beer in my gut, and then get to some grading. Grading. Oh, fucking grading.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Where have all the pros gone?
The prevailing wind did not prevail the way it normally does. Additionally, the ride was missing some muscle. No pro, no up and comer. But, Craig N. shows. Given his Laguna Seca performance, he should add some juice. And, I want that juice, cuz now I've become a complete geek to my new toy, and as looking forward to establishing some benchmarks. Here's the link, although it has a little trip to the beach. Next week, only the noon ride will be included.
Anyway, things were quick heading out, quicker than normal. And given the wind, I fiured that I'd give a long wind up for the first sprint. C. Black takes over, then someone takes the sprint. Not my concern.
Hitting Turri, it is clear that things will be a bit different. No big tail slapping wind. Another kid, though, does add his juice to the road to the hill. Everyone else, as expected, sits back and play oposum. Fools. However, it ain't gonna be as easy to cause ripples up the hill without the big tailwind. Oh well. The kid tries to go by, but I establish order over the top.
By LOVR, we are a group of four, with C. Black being the last to add his grunt to the train. And no Craig N. Hmm, the pace must have been 2bmp outside of the range his trainer said he should stay within. But again, no big speed without the big tailwind. Fun nontheless. But I want the benchmark. Oh well, next week.
Now, it is time to finish writing a test for my public administration class. Any takers. Can you detail the politics/administration dichotomy as detailed by W. Wilson, and discuss how it is difficult to apply in the real world? How about discussing some ways that the principal/agent problem can be solved? Ah, who cares. Wait, I do.
Anyway, things were quick heading out, quicker than normal. And given the wind, I fiured that I'd give a long wind up for the first sprint. C. Black takes over, then someone takes the sprint. Not my concern.
Hitting Turri, it is clear that things will be a bit different. No big tail slapping wind. Another kid, though, does add his juice to the road to the hill. Everyone else, as expected, sits back and play oposum. Fools. However, it ain't gonna be as easy to cause ripples up the hill without the big tailwind. Oh well. The kid tries to go by, but I establish order over the top.
By LOVR, we are a group of four, with C. Black being the last to add his grunt to the train. And no Craig N. Hmm, the pace must have been 2bmp outside of the range his trainer said he should stay within. But again, no big speed without the big tailwind. Fun nontheless. But I want the benchmark. Oh well, next week.
Now, it is time to finish writing a test for my public administration class. Any takers. Can you detail the politics/administration dichotomy as detailed by W. Wilson, and discuss how it is difficult to apply in the real world? How about discussing some ways that the principal/agent problem can be solved? Ah, who cares. Wait, I do.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Shoot 'em up.
No firestone for me. Can't see dropping the big change for a NORBA license that I might only use once this year. Plus, I have work to do to prep for tomorrow (clearly what I am doing now).
And seeing that I was not going to be racing, I went ahead and drank a few last night. Part of that, though, was fueled by talking to some grad students about mess of a program that I am trying to land a permanent position in. What a quandry. The progam is a wreck, so why would I want to be part of it? However, I see what it might be, and I want to fix it. Unforturnately, those who are driving the train off the cliff are making the hiring decisions. Oh, gotta love the academy. Might have to exit to the real world soon.
Anyway, back to riding. The first option got called off. Some excuse by Gavin about a client or something or another. Option 2, standard Sunday dirt ride. When I get there, it is only Dean waiting. Good enough. Dean has not been riding that much, so he will match my lazy, hangover (or at least feeling slow) state of mind. Up shooters, down Botanicala and Morning Glory. Good enough for me. And again, here's what the toy said I did.
Going up shooters feels a bit slow, but by golly, Dean is really slow. No problem, though, seeing that i do enjoy the quiet time atop the hill looking out hte Chorro Valley and down the coast. Dean's pace was a function of his back tightening up. After a little thought, he decides to ride it out over to Botanical at least.
Nothing too eventful coming down. I really do need to change out the pads, though, cuz things are getting a little sketchy in the braking dept.
So, race free weekend. Kinda nice. It will be Cat scratch fever next week. But in the mean time, gotta work. Social Equity lecture at 8am, experimental design at noon, and watch them take an exam at 6, so I only have to decide what questions to toss at them. Maybe a little Madison's federalists 10, seperation of power v. parlaimentary system.
And seeing that I was not going to be racing, I went ahead and drank a few last night. Part of that, though, was fueled by talking to some grad students about mess of a program that I am trying to land a permanent position in. What a quandry. The progam is a wreck, so why would I want to be part of it? However, I see what it might be, and I want to fix it. Unforturnately, those who are driving the train off the cliff are making the hiring decisions. Oh, gotta love the academy. Might have to exit to the real world soon.
Anyway, back to riding. The first option got called off. Some excuse by Gavin about a client or something or another. Option 2, standard Sunday dirt ride. When I get there, it is only Dean waiting. Good enough. Dean has not been riding that much, so he will match my lazy, hangover (or at least feeling slow) state of mind. Up shooters, down Botanicala and Morning Glory. Good enough for me. And again, here's what the toy said I did.
Going up shooters feels a bit slow, but by golly, Dean is really slow. No problem, though, seeing that i do enjoy the quiet time atop the hill looking out hte Chorro Valley and down the coast. Dean's pace was a function of his back tightening up. After a little thought, he decides to ride it out over to Botanical at least.
Nothing too eventful coming down. I really do need to change out the pads, though, cuz things are getting a little sketchy in the braking dept.
So, race free weekend. Kinda nice. It will be Cat scratch fever next week. But in the mean time, gotta work. Social Equity lecture at 8am, experimental design at noon, and watch them take an exam at 6, so I only have to decide what questions to toss at them. Maybe a little Madison's federalists 10, seperation of power v. parlaimentary system.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Up and Down Old Creek
Took the new toy up Old Creek today. Click here
Come to think about, I've only gone up that central coast classic twice since I've been back. Hmm?
Anyway, me and my Berry boys Gavin and Ben, along with Geoff and Joel hit the road up the coast.
A lot of tinkering around today. Geoff got his new ride and was trying to find the G-spot.
Over Whale Rock, no real effort. No big. But in the valley before the climb, I start to pick it up. Some old, same old. What I can't remember, though, is the starting point of the climb (for measurement purposes that is). I pick a point, but think that it is earlier than usual. Oh well, I want to establish a standard for the toy. Click the lap button and go.
Going up, I don't feel great, don't feel bad, just grunt. A couple started up the road, and I pick the one off half way up, and the next after the hairpin. He had the gall to say "good job." Of course, I am such a snob to think that was a gallish thing to say. Anyway, grunt away. Over the top, I give it a dig to keep up with my new goal, never slow down over the top. The speed must increase all the way over.
11:44 for the two miles. I seem to think that the distance was 1.8, and that I used to be able to crack 11. If the distance is 1.8, then I'm not far off the good ol days, even though it did not feel like it.
Now, the descent. Used to be my favorite, and have certainly gone down it in the past at a rediculous speed. A bit more reserved today, but a good clip anyway. Hit 50, which is darned fast for the narrow, twisty number.
Dig it over the back side of Whale Rock, and make the boys chase into Cayucous. Unfortunately, they are not up for keeping it up. The Payne man stops to adjust a slipping carbon on carbon post, and then we meander through MB. A little dig over the golf course, and even an effort on the col de Turri, but it is tame. Even the kick ass LOVR tailwind does not get the boys excited. Okay, Joel is over that silly stuff, Gavin has moving pains, and I don't know why I could not get anyone else excited. Oh well.
A little coffee time, and the day is done. And, clearly I'm back in the racing mode, cuz I'm thinking that there was not enough hurt on hte ride. What is wrong with me?
Come to think about, I've only gone up that central coast classic twice since I've been back. Hmm?
Anyway, me and my Berry boys Gavin and Ben, along with Geoff and Joel hit the road up the coast.
A lot of tinkering around today. Geoff got his new ride and was trying to find the G-spot.
Over Whale Rock, no real effort. No big. But in the valley before the climb, I start to pick it up. Some old, same old. What I can't remember, though, is the starting point of the climb (for measurement purposes that is). I pick a point, but think that it is earlier than usual. Oh well, I want to establish a standard for the toy. Click the lap button and go.
Going up, I don't feel great, don't feel bad, just grunt. A couple started up the road, and I pick the one off half way up, and the next after the hairpin. He had the gall to say "good job." Of course, I am such a snob to think that was a gallish thing to say. Anyway, grunt away. Over the top, I give it a dig to keep up with my new goal, never slow down over the top. The speed must increase all the way over.
11:44 for the two miles. I seem to think that the distance was 1.8, and that I used to be able to crack 11. If the distance is 1.8, then I'm not far off the good ol days, even though it did not feel like it.
Now, the descent. Used to be my favorite, and have certainly gone down it in the past at a rediculous speed. A bit more reserved today, but a good clip anyway. Hit 50, which is darned fast for the narrow, twisty number.
Dig it over the back side of Whale Rock, and make the boys chase into Cayucous. Unfortunately, they are not up for keeping it up. The Payne man stops to adjust a slipping carbon on carbon post, and then we meander through MB. A little dig over the golf course, and even an effort on the col de Turri, but it is tame. Even the kick ass LOVR tailwind does not get the boys excited. Okay, Joel is over that silly stuff, Gavin has moving pains, and I don't know why I could not get anyone else excited. Oh well.
A little coffee time, and the day is done. And, clearly I'm back in the racing mode, cuz I'm thinking that there was not enough hurt on hte ride. What is wrong with me?
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Double dose and a new toy
Tuesday, so we all know what that means, mini noon race/not race.
First, I'll admit it, I am scared by tri guys. Especially when they wear something that looks like a valley gal with hang over between the singlet and shorts. Oh my, fashion faux pas. Anyway, a tri guy shows up, and a few others that made me feel a bit elitist. Oh well, time to ride, and ride hard.
The rotating on the way out was a bit disorganized. To be expected. However, tri guy was not so bad, but I could not get over the flesh squeezing out between his top and bottom. Stretch marks and all.
Going up to the Col de Turri, it happens again, they sit on me before the bump. And again, most of them will be adios. Over the kicker, the kid hits it again. Ken tries to get him, but he remembers he likes the flats. He and I go over togther and catch the kid.
Kick ass tailwind today on LOVR means that it will be high speed boogie time. When the kid pulls off, I do the subtle dig to make life a little difficult for him to get back on. Apparently this puts the hurt on Ken a bit. I knock it hard coming home and feel pretty good. Sure, I let them have the sprint, but I put in some good pulls making some hurt. Good stuff.
Now, Kenny and all who rode the TOC got a little Garmin toy. He does not want it, and I don't need it, but want it. So, I drop him some change and take it home. So, I must check it out, and take up ol' Sterl McB. on his Tuesday evening mt ride (after all, I might be doing a mt bike race this weekend for some idiot reason). Anyway, hit Madonna (really is Cerro San Luis) with Sterl and Brian. For a look (those who might be interested), click here. Gotta love new toys.
First, I'll admit it, I am scared by tri guys. Especially when they wear something that looks like a valley gal with hang over between the singlet and shorts. Oh my, fashion faux pas. Anyway, a tri guy shows up, and a few others that made me feel a bit elitist. Oh well, time to ride, and ride hard.
The rotating on the way out was a bit disorganized. To be expected. However, tri guy was not so bad, but I could not get over the flesh squeezing out between his top and bottom. Stretch marks and all.
Going up to the Col de Turri, it happens again, they sit on me before the bump. And again, most of them will be adios. Over the kicker, the kid hits it again. Ken tries to get him, but he remembers he likes the flats. He and I go over togther and catch the kid.
Kick ass tailwind today on LOVR means that it will be high speed boogie time. When the kid pulls off, I do the subtle dig to make life a little difficult for him to get back on. Apparently this puts the hurt on Ken a bit. I knock it hard coming home and feel pretty good. Sure, I let them have the sprint, but I put in some good pulls making some hurt. Good stuff.
Now, Kenny and all who rode the TOC got a little Garmin toy. He does not want it, and I don't need it, but want it. So, I drop him some change and take it home. So, I must check it out, and take up ol' Sterl McB. on his Tuesday evening mt ride (after all, I might be doing a mt bike race this weekend for some idiot reason). Anyway, hit Madonna (really is Cerro San Luis) with Sterl and Brian. For a look (those who might be interested), click here. Gotta love new toys.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
No Diesel, No Nitrous
Wente RR. Up and down, get blow around. Oh yeah, burr, cold.
All started out well. Try to sit back, don't blow yourself early, that's the plan. Phipps should be hitting it on the climb, but there is no way he is going it alone. Way too windy.
On the second lap, Copperopolis again. I drop my chain after passing over 580. No power, and I come to a dead stop mid pack (I think I now fixed it, though I should have taken care of it earlier (not quite fixed, but now shifts back on without having to stop)). I put my hand up, but can't help but feeling like the idiot for the midpack dismount. I keep it calm and get it on, but now it is time to get back on.
Slow and steady, I claw them back, but now I am in the back, and it takes most of the lap to get up front without violating the centerline. And when I get up there, something is gone. Oh no, here it comes again, urge to chase.
Of course, all the right teams (wrong from my persepective) are represented. I keep the pace up an bit, but not full throttle, cuz I don't want to get spanked by the counter. HK reminds me of my tendency to help others at the expense of helping me, and I slip back. But on the little bump on the back side, a split happens, and I am now in a chasing group. Game on. We catch the group at the old start finish line, and I look to protect my nose from the wind.
Penultimate finish climb, and I make rookie error in my positioning. I'm toward the back. As the line stretches, I snap. Sleepless week. Damn academy. Can't ride on Wednesdays hurting my training. Dam academy. One more time, damn academy.
Well, I see the lead group go, game over. Oh well, ride hard with my fellow stragglers and get a workout. We claw back half of the deficit by the final climb, but as I said above, game over.
Afterwards there's time for a mini lap with HK. He knows where he is going, but stops to ask an attractive course worker directions. Dirty ol' man. While going through the post race analysis, I start to bonk. That must be what that gooey stuff and bars in my back pockets were for. But wait, they were hidden under the vest I was wearing, no wonder I forgot to fuel. Stress too. Damn academy.
Maybe I'll do the get dirty thing next weekend.
All started out well. Try to sit back, don't blow yourself early, that's the plan. Phipps should be hitting it on the climb, but there is no way he is going it alone. Way too windy.
On the second lap, Copperopolis again. I drop my chain after passing over 580. No power, and I come to a dead stop mid pack (I think I now fixed it, though I should have taken care of it earlier (not quite fixed, but now shifts back on without having to stop)). I put my hand up, but can't help but feeling like the idiot for the midpack dismount. I keep it calm and get it on, but now it is time to get back on.
Slow and steady, I claw them back, but now I am in the back, and it takes most of the lap to get up front without violating the centerline. And when I get up there, something is gone. Oh no, here it comes again, urge to chase.
Of course, all the right teams (wrong from my persepective) are represented. I keep the pace up an bit, but not full throttle, cuz I don't want to get spanked by the counter. HK reminds me of my tendency to help others at the expense of helping me, and I slip back. But on the little bump on the back side, a split happens, and I am now in a chasing group. Game on. We catch the group at the old start finish line, and I look to protect my nose from the wind.
Penultimate finish climb, and I make rookie error in my positioning. I'm toward the back. As the line stretches, I snap. Sleepless week. Damn academy. Can't ride on Wednesdays hurting my training. Dam academy. One more time, damn academy.
Well, I see the lead group go, game over. Oh well, ride hard with my fellow stragglers and get a workout. We claw back half of the deficit by the final climb, but as I said above, game over.
Afterwards there's time for a mini lap with HK. He knows where he is going, but stops to ask an attractive course worker directions. Dirty ol' man. While going through the post race analysis, I start to bonk. That must be what that gooey stuff and bars in my back pockets were for. But wait, they were hidden under the vest I was wearing, no wonder I forgot to fuel. Stress too. Damn academy.
Maybe I'll do the get dirty thing next weekend.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Carrots
It's Tuesday again, which must mean lunch time is suffer time.
Heading out, in fact, kinda realized that I should have been eating lunch instead of expending calories that I seemed to be low on. Too stressed to remember to eat, I guess.
Heading out, rotating peacefully, Kenny boy decides that he does not like the organization of things and lets a few rip. This makes for a quaint group of 7 rotating out to MB. Mui Bueno. Better workout, and a bit safer.
On the Turri flats, me and the new young speed demon find ourself off the front. Maybe, then, he will take a turn going up. But wait, Ken and a few others come up and roll through. I can't wait, though. Hill, me push, uhg. But today, the kid has more kick, or I have less. He gaps well, and good ol' Frankie M gets me a bit too. Pretty sure that I did not put myself in full pain. Just did not feel it.
Going over, the kid lets it rip and me and Frankie hook up. After chasing him all the way down LOVR, I'm making the prediction that he'll come back from Lawrence KS with something. Maybe even some stars and stripes. I put some serious digs in, but we could not get him back. The three behind could not get us, so I figure that it we were not piddling about.
Of course, Ken decided to sit out the chase. Things would have been different. And C. Black notes that if I would have dropped back, we would have caught the kid. However, it is a traing ride. It's not about tactics, those you can do on a chalk board, it is about pushing your limits. And boy, that boy made me push my limit. So close. Oh so close.
Heading out, in fact, kinda realized that I should have been eating lunch instead of expending calories that I seemed to be low on. Too stressed to remember to eat, I guess.
Heading out, rotating peacefully, Kenny boy decides that he does not like the organization of things and lets a few rip. This makes for a quaint group of 7 rotating out to MB. Mui Bueno. Better workout, and a bit safer.
On the Turri flats, me and the new young speed demon find ourself off the front. Maybe, then, he will take a turn going up. But wait, Ken and a few others come up and roll through. I can't wait, though. Hill, me push, uhg. But today, the kid has more kick, or I have less. He gaps well, and good ol' Frankie M gets me a bit too. Pretty sure that I did not put myself in full pain. Just did not feel it.
Going over, the kid lets it rip and me and Frankie hook up. After chasing him all the way down LOVR, I'm making the prediction that he'll come back from Lawrence KS with something. Maybe even some stars and stripes. I put some serious digs in, but we could not get him back. The three behind could not get us, so I figure that it we were not piddling about.
Of course, Ken decided to sit out the chase. Things would have been different. And C. Black notes that if I would have dropped back, we would have caught the kid. However, it is a traing ride. It's not about tactics, those you can do on a chalk board, it is about pushing your limits. And boy, that boy made me push my limit. So close. Oh so close.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Six Hours in a Car for 40 Minutes of Racing, Not Today
I thought that I would have some team mates to hitch a ride to SC, but no go. So, as much as I wanted to do the SC Classic, I could not convince myself that a solo drive up and back was worth it. I went to bed thinking that maybe I would, but I forgot to set the alarm clock (intentional maybe), so that answered that quesiton. Had my coffee, watched the Gran Prix of Bahrain (it's turning out to be a good year in f1 even without King Schumi), and walked the little one.
Road ride or standard Sunday dirt session? Screw the skinnies.
So, it was the trails today. Probably got more of a workout than a short crit. Hit it hard on shooters, rolling especially hard over the top, giving me a good hill workout and plenty of time to enjoy the view and watch Sterl and the rest of the group come up.
Then hit the bumps on TV tower road hard as well.
On the way down Pick 'n Shovel, La Trinidad and Dairy Creek, it was full shake and bake heading down. Lost a bit of an edge going over the rocks, spending too much time on the skinnies the last few weeks, but it was still eye-watering pace down Dairy Creek.
And since Dean took a shortcut, he made for a nice carrot on Hiway 1, putting me into chase mode for a couple k.
I have to say, that I kinda wish I was hitting that climb up 3rd street in SC, but it will be there next year. Maybe I will too.
Road ride or standard Sunday dirt session? Screw the skinnies.
So, it was the trails today. Probably got more of a workout than a short crit. Hit it hard on shooters, rolling especially hard over the top, giving me a good hill workout and plenty of time to enjoy the view and watch Sterl and the rest of the group come up.
Then hit the bumps on TV tower road hard as well.
On the way down Pick 'n Shovel, La Trinidad and Dairy Creek, it was full shake and bake heading down. Lost a bit of an edge going over the rocks, spending too much time on the skinnies the last few weeks, but it was still eye-watering pace down Dairy Creek.
And since Dean took a shortcut, he made for a nice carrot on Hiway 1, putting me into chase mode for a couple k.
I have to say, that I kinda wish I was hitting that climb up 3rd street in SC, but it will be there next year. Maybe I will too.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Corkscrewed
Is it in my head, or is it not in my legs? I could get me self up the steep part of the pitch on the Laguna Seca circuit no problem. And when Pizza man Phipps kept on popping it, and I'd hop on no prob, except for when it flattened out over the top. Ouch city.
I let him go, though, once, thinking that he might wear himself out a bit. Okay, that kinda worked. Let him out there for two laps, then hit it on the bottom of the climb and pulled the TGIF guy and Alaska man up the steep pitch, but then TGIF guy weezed by me with Alaska man in tow. Dig, no dig. They're gone down the screw and I'm a lonely boy.
Wait. Did I let that happen? Argh!
How embarrassing. Like a damned broken record. Me lacking the kick. Kinda makes for the irony for my handle. Don't let the kids call me doc, and don't got the kick of the nos.
Alright, so sit back and see of they can be brought back, but you know it ain't so. Save some juice, then, and give 'em the slip on the final pop up. Bell rings, bell hill, ring their bells. I gave my group the slip, and it looked good. I also realized that since I had more of a kick on the bottom of the steep, than over the top that I should have worked that in earlier. Too late now, need top five.
Get down the hill, then crank up the hill by the pits and it's still looking good, even though it is not feeling good. Going by the pits, they are chasing, but I should get it. Pain, pain, pain around the final bend, but that gap has not yet succumbed to my pain. Coming over the line blue and red streaks by on my left and I get nipped for fourth. Who cares, I get 5th. Race paid for. And, at the tummy eater classic, it's good for a podium stop and a medal. Nothing more.
Of course, for the big money entry fee you pay, you get the serious pro organization. Only had to wait 2.5 hours to get a kiss and a medal.
Race fee $55
Top five team pays
Gas ~$30
~$30 worth of Cytomax stuff
Run into Gilles at the Time booth
New pair of mtb pedals
So, it looks like my return to the tummy eater (it was not the classic the first time I did it since it was the first time they put it on) was a profitable one. Even got some interval training in.
I let him go, though, once, thinking that he might wear himself out a bit. Okay, that kinda worked. Let him out there for two laps, then hit it on the bottom of the climb and pulled the TGIF guy and Alaska man up the steep pitch, but then TGIF guy weezed by me with Alaska man in tow. Dig, no dig. They're gone down the screw and I'm a lonely boy.
Wait. Did I let that happen? Argh!
How embarrassing. Like a damned broken record. Me lacking the kick. Kinda makes for the irony for my handle. Don't let the kids call me doc, and don't got the kick of the nos.
Alright, so sit back and see of they can be brought back, but you know it ain't so. Save some juice, then, and give 'em the slip on the final pop up. Bell rings, bell hill, ring their bells. I gave my group the slip, and it looked good. I also realized that since I had more of a kick on the bottom of the steep, than over the top that I should have worked that in earlier. Too late now, need top five.
Get down the hill, then crank up the hill by the pits and it's still looking good, even though it is not feeling good. Going by the pits, they are chasing, but I should get it. Pain, pain, pain around the final bend, but that gap has not yet succumbed to my pain. Coming over the line blue and red streaks by on my left and I get nipped for fourth. Who cares, I get 5th. Race paid for. And, at the tummy eater classic, it's good for a podium stop and a medal. Nothing more.
Of course, for the big money entry fee you pay, you get the serious pro organization. Only had to wait 2.5 hours to get a kiss and a medal.
Race fee $55
Top five team pays
Gas ~$30
~$30 worth of Cytomax stuff
Run into Gilles at the Time booth
New pair of mtb pedals
So, it looks like my return to the tummy eater (it was not the classic the first time I did it since it was the first time they put it on) was a profitable one. Even got some interval training in.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Wax On, Wax Off, Wax on, Ken Off
Well, today is Tuesday, so we must be doing the Tuesday noon race/not race. The ride I always dred showing up to, and wish I could just convince the guys to go slow, even though I always end up being a full-fledged participant in the painfest.
Well, today I have a new focus. Olaf offered some training advice, and I'm pretty sure that he is trying to keep my in diesel mode throughout the year. So today, I was committed to do some efforts before the ride, and do some sprinting and attacking during the ride. Especially after last week when I did the traditional long pull up the cote de Turri just to be outsprinted by the new hot pair of legs in SLO, and Kenny, who subsequetnly left me in never never land over the top. But that was last week. Things will be different.
Same ol' song and dance going out. Rotate, then ask yourself how much is it worth to risk your skin for the Morro Bay sprint. Not much. The real stuff was to come.
Get on Turri, and low and behold, I find myself in front heading up to the hill. No one ever seems to want to pull through. Always thinking that they will get a free ride, but they usually just get left behind anyway. So, no biggie. I put in the push up the steps. Save a bit, your gonna sprint for that KOM today, even if you pull 'em up the hill. Keeping the pace high, there were no early attacks, just the sound of a weezing and grunting C. Black fading away. Sounds naughty, but it seems to work for him. Hit the sharp bend, and wind it up. Where are they, the boy in yellow, and the boy in red? Yellow makes his move, and instead of keeping it steady, I dig more. He gets a length, but I lock on and make the tires, and my legs and lungs, scream. I don't get the KOM, but I'm on his wheel, and I'm ready to make him hurt on the tailwind fest home. Just you wait, boy.
But wait, where's the boy in red? Tired from the US Open and his kickass top 20 finish? No, the word is that boys are down down the hill. The kid asks me do we go on or turn around? It's just a training ride, we don't leave any men behind. Back down the hill, Ken, Blake and Black are inspecting their bikes and limbs. Everything looks good, in that it does not appear that 911 needs to be dialed, but the thrill is gone.
Ken's chain hopped the track, down off the front chainring, when he stood up to accelerate up the pitch. Thankfully no one was really hurt. And the bikes looked alright as well. Eric, and Blake dog piled Ken, who apparently makes for a soft landing. Ken, though developed a bit of a derailleur problem. At least he's got the pro sponsorship.
Anyway, while the wind was still whipping down LOVR, begging for a full speed boogie in high gear, the wind is out of the sails of the key playas. Soft shoeing is the name of the game for most of LOVR.
But wait, this is exactly what Olaf is hoping for. Long, slow and steady. Must push it, even if I do it in my diesel way. Over the top, I go 11. Bye bye, y'all, full tilt boogie time. I'm alone, but that's fine, training can be a lonely game.
Not quite was I was hoping for, getting reading for the tummy eater classic. But at least my skin is intact, and I pushed myself a bit harder over the hill, even finding some motivation to put in the solo dig down LOVR. I really do need to get top five on Friday so I can get the mini fortune I paid to race down the corkscrew 15 or so times this Friday.
Well, today I have a new focus. Olaf offered some training advice, and I'm pretty sure that he is trying to keep my in diesel mode throughout the year. So today, I was committed to do some efforts before the ride, and do some sprinting and attacking during the ride. Especially after last week when I did the traditional long pull up the cote de Turri just to be outsprinted by the new hot pair of legs in SLO, and Kenny, who subsequetnly left me in never never land over the top. But that was last week. Things will be different.
Same ol' song and dance going out. Rotate, then ask yourself how much is it worth to risk your skin for the Morro Bay sprint. Not much. The real stuff was to come.
Get on Turri, and low and behold, I find myself in front heading up to the hill. No one ever seems to want to pull through. Always thinking that they will get a free ride, but they usually just get left behind anyway. So, no biggie. I put in the push up the steps. Save a bit, your gonna sprint for that KOM today, even if you pull 'em up the hill. Keeping the pace high, there were no early attacks, just the sound of a weezing and grunting C. Black fading away. Sounds naughty, but it seems to work for him. Hit the sharp bend, and wind it up. Where are they, the boy in yellow, and the boy in red? Yellow makes his move, and instead of keeping it steady, I dig more. He gets a length, but I lock on and make the tires, and my legs and lungs, scream. I don't get the KOM, but I'm on his wheel, and I'm ready to make him hurt on the tailwind fest home. Just you wait, boy.
But wait, where's the boy in red? Tired from the US Open and his kickass top 20 finish? No, the word is that boys are down down the hill. The kid asks me do we go on or turn around? It's just a training ride, we don't leave any men behind. Back down the hill, Ken, Blake and Black are inspecting their bikes and limbs. Everything looks good, in that it does not appear that 911 needs to be dialed, but the thrill is gone.
Ken's chain hopped the track, down off the front chainring, when he stood up to accelerate up the pitch. Thankfully no one was really hurt. And the bikes looked alright as well. Eric, and Blake dog piled Ken, who apparently makes for a soft landing. Ken, though developed a bit of a derailleur problem. At least he's got the pro sponsorship.
Anyway, while the wind was still whipping down LOVR, begging for a full speed boogie in high gear, the wind is out of the sails of the key playas. Soft shoeing is the name of the game for most of LOVR.
But wait, this is exactly what Olaf is hoping for. Long, slow and steady. Must push it, even if I do it in my diesel way. Over the top, I go 11. Bye bye, y'all, full tilt boogie time. I'm alone, but that's fine, training can be a lonely game.
Not quite was I was hoping for, getting reading for the tummy eater classic. But at least my skin is intact, and I pushed myself a bit harder over the hill, even finding some motivation to put in the solo dig down LOVR. I really do need to get top five on Friday so I can get the mini fortune I paid to race down the corkscrew 15 or so times this Friday.
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