The Four T's

To follow up the four H's post, now we have the four T's, or the TTTT, or the Tinton Trail Time Trial, put on by the same guy, Perry Jewett, that puts on the Dakota Five-O, which I planned on racing this past Sunday.  And I did, but with one exception, for which I have a new "hero" in cycling to look up to (or down to as it were).

Sunday morning came and I got up at my normal ass-crack-of-dawn time and started getting the Moots and my stuff ready for the TTTT.  As I was getting closer to time to leave, I went into the Boy's room to get him up so we could drive the hour to the race venue, just outside of Spearfish.

I whispered to him that it was time to get up so we could go to the race.  Earlier in the week I had mentioned the race and said if he felt like it, we could race it on Barney, our big, purple Cannondale off-road tandem, so I asked him if he wanted to race, expecting him to say no based on our previous conversations.  I got the typical kid response which was something along the lines of "well, duh Dad, of course I am going to race it with you!"  Wow.  Knock me over with a feather.  I really wasn't expecting that answer.

So, we got everything ready to roll, packed up and headed out to Spearfish.  It was a perfect morning here at NSSC headquarters, with the temps in the low 70's and barely partly cloudy.  As we traveled northwest getting closer to Spearfish, my wife says, "those clouds don't look so good."  No, no they didn't.  As we get into Spearfish, it is completely overcast, temps in the low 60's but no rain at least.  As we head out of town to the venue, we climb into the clouds which is now fog, getting more and more thick as we end up at the Big Hill trailhead parking lot.

We sign up for the race, saddle up and ride the 1/2 mile or whatever it was to the starting area to do a practice run.  We struggled up the climbs and it felt like I was doing the majority of the work.  Damn, I thought to myself, if the Boy rides like this, it's gonna be a long, LONG day.

We get to the starting area, wait for a couple of other guys to take off and then we follow.  We're rolling pretty well and it feels like the Boy is loosening up a bit and feeling the flow.  The course is divided into two sections, the upper section, which is rocky and not so tight and twisty, then after you cross Tinton road, the lower section which isn't as rocky, but much tighter and more twisty than the upper and making threading a 7' long tandem through it a bit sketchy.  About 1/2 way down the upper section, I hear the sshhhHHWWWeeew ...sshhhHHWWWeeeww ..sshhhHHWWWeeeww sound that only a flat can make.  Sonofabitch.  We're under a time constraint to get to the bottom and catch a shuttle back to the start of the race.  Flat fixed and we're back off down the trail.

We catch a ride back to the top by riding in the back of a pickup, holding Barney.  It was the first time the Boy got to ride in the back of a pickup and he thought that was the shit.  At the top, I find my fixed rear tire losing air.  DAMMIT!  I pull the tire off and find a small pinhole.  No more tubes.  My patch kit is an "emergency" one only, with those foamy, stick on patches that work good enough to get you home, but no better.  Thankfully, Chadwick bails me out with the primo Park Tools stick on patches that I am now thoroughly impressed with.

Race time comes with the Dash for Cash class (expert) taking off first then the Steer for Beer (sport), of which we're part of.  Jasper gives us the line up order and we're in line awaiting our turn.  The Boy is a bit nervous before we roll out, but once we hear the 3...2...1...GO he settles in and is pedaling REALLY well and hanging with me like a champ, leaning into turns, standing up and basically following my body english really well.

The top 1/2 went by like a blur.  We didn't get passed by anyone on the top part, which I fully expected.  We cross the road and drop into the second section and are rolling well.  We get passed about 1/2 way through the second section, which I expected as we can't turn through the corners as easily as a single bike.  Shortly after we get passed again to which I respond to the Boy "we will NOT get passed again!"  The Boy asks "how do you know?"  and just then another rider comes by.  SHIT.  We keep the on the gas and fly through the last couple stretches, into Cleaver's Corner which is a double switchback that was more than tricky on a tandem, but we make it.  A few more pedal strokes and we cross the line in 28:11.  Not shabby for a 7'ish mile Super D.  We later find out we have beaten a good number of singles and are not far behind people that think they are good downhillers.  We're STOKED.

Which brings me to my new cycling hero...The Boy.  That kid kicks some major ass on the back of a tandem.  He is mostly fearless, and whenever there is a hesitation, if I say we'll be OK, he goes with it.  He pedaled his little ass off and rode really, REALLY well.  I am super-stoked to be part of a tandem team with him and I can't wait to do it again!

The Four H's

As I might have mentioned a few times, Mother Nature has been a bitch as of late, deciding that summer (which in my book is June 1 through September 1, not that whole June 20th or whatever) weather here in the Black Hills should be more April like than June like, meaning cool and WAY TOO MUCH fucking rain.  I have permanent prune hands I think.

We scheduled our normal Tuesday night Rambler ride at Bulldog which was postponed because of...wait for it...RAIN (imagine that).  So, we rescheduled for Wednesday evening after seeing the forecast for that day with no rain predicted.

We met at Bulldog at 6 pm after a day when the highs were in the low 80's.  Perfect you'd think, huh?  Hold on there Tonto...under normal circumstances, 80 would be an ideal riding temperature, but here in the Black Hills, the average afternoon relative humidity for June floats around in the mid 40% range.  Wednesday's afternoon relative humidity?  Almost 70%, and I would argue that on the trail with all the vegetation and the supremely damp trail, it was much higher than that.

I can already hear the grumblings of those that live east of the Missouri River, where humidity is usually the same as the temperature outside in the summer but understand, we live in a semi-arid area and we are not used to humidity which is where the four H's come in.

Heat, humidity, hairiness and heaviness.  Hot, H2O, hirsuteness and huge.  Whatever your words, pick 3 and leave the humidity out.  They do NOT mix, trust me.  I was sweating like a fat hooker in church.  My clothes felt like I went swimming in them.  Not cool.

In addition, thanks to all the rain, the area around the trail looked like it was some sort of poison ivy farm.  Nice.  Hairy, huge, sweaty and itching oozing blisters.  What isn't to love about that?  Thankfully, I've managed to steer clear of the ivy so far this year, knock on wood, but I know my luck is running out.

I suppose I could do something about the hairiness...I guess I need a good clipping over the whole body.  Now that we are dog free in the house I guess the clippers are free for human use.  I just hope I can balance on the grooming table while my wife trims me up.

Inspiration...

Man, I don't know how to take a compliment I received the other night.

I was on our usual Tuesday night Rambler ride, when Jim (from Quarq) says to me "Hey, did you know you're an inspiration?"  What the hell are you talking about, I think.  So, he proceeds to tell me "I didn't know if I should tell you or not but you inspired A.S..  Remember the other night when we rode Lookout Mtn and he was sucking wind?  He talked about you kicking his ass up the hill and now he's getting after it, riding Lookout almost every day."

God, I LOVE bib shorts...

Cool.  I'm inspiring someone to ride...hey, wait a minute.  I don't know if I like the way this is going.  Why am I the one inspiring him?  How was it phrased when he told Jim I was an inspiration?  Did he say "Damn, that big guy stomped my ass!" or did he say "I need to get after it, that fat fuck just kicked my ass!"?  Although I can't really tell the difference between the two, I suppose there is a positive to the whole thing, but I haven't quite figured out what that is yet.

I'm gonna put on my Lampre gear and go for a training ride.  I'm going out to be a fucking inspiration!

Shattered...

Recently, I made disparaging remarks about Mother Nature.  I did apologize, but I think I need to yet again.  She obviously knows better than I do and has tried to save me from myself.

My 30 days of riding was shattered a week ago.  The weather was rainy and cold and I could have ridden but at almost 40, I'm not that into it where I will ride in shit weather.  No rain capes, no fenders, no gaiters.  In addition to the weather, I have some SERIOUS ass problems which is how Mother Nature has saved me from myself.

Now, for those that know me personally, you might say, "Well you have always had a problem with your ass...it stinks!"  But, that is not the problem.  Well, it is a problem, but not the problem we're discussing here.  No, the problem I've got with my ass isn't really my ass but more my grundle, t'ain't or for the female readers, Brunswicks.  (What are Brunswicks you ask?  Imagine a bowling ball...it says "Brunswick" between the holes.)

So two days off the bike, I thought, would be OK.  I could still easily maintain pace to get 300+ miles this month.  On Sunday, I went for a road ride with some friends.  A good climb (4000+ feet of climbing) and a SCREAMING descent (50+ miles per hour) were highlights of the ride, but my ass wasn't happy with me at all.  I had a hard time finding a comfortable spot on the seat for the whole ride.

I rode to work on Monday and I'll tell you, on my ride home, I don't know if I sat down once.  Super pain. I got home and sat on an ice pack for the evening.  I needed to get it all healed up so I could ride on Tuesday night with the Ramblers.

Tuesday night came and we rode Bulldog in Sturgis.  Just like my ride to work and my ride on Sunday, I had a hard time finding a spot on the seat that didn't cause a flaming pain in my ass.  Once at the top, we stood around for a few minutes (which was a relief for me) and headed down.  Once again, no sitting down for me on the descent.

I can't say for sure if this is me or a baboon.

Long story short, I got home from my ride, went for the grundle-ice for a bit and went to bed.  When I got up Wednesday morning, I felt like some sort of baboon in heat.  My t'ain't was all swollen, which in turn caused my nuts to swell up too.  And let me tell you, for all you short horns out there, if your sack has gone from the size of a coin purse to the size of a grocery tote, it doesn't do anything thing for the visual size of your member.  Imagine Danny DeVito standing next to Mickey Rooney.  Now imagine him standing next to Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.  He's not any shorter, but he looks a lot shorter next to a 7' man.  Same thing for me.

So, now I've been off the bike all week.  It really hasn't mattered as it's been raining like mad here, so my 30 days would have been shot anyhow.  And, the swelling has gone down and stuff is healing up down there.  So, thanks Mother Nature.  I won't disparage you again.  Unless I try this again in June.

30 Days...

30 days.  Is that too much to ask?  I suppose living in South Dakota, 30 days might be too much to ask, but I went ahead and asked anyhow.

What did I ask for?  Well, I was shooting for riding my bike 30 days in a row.  Setting of this "goal" happened organically and purely by accident.  I got rides in for 3 or 4 days in a row and I thought "hey, I could go for 30, culminating with my final ride on my 40th birthday".  It would be sweet to end my 30's with 30 days of riding. You see, to the non-cyclist, riding your bike 30 days in a row might not seem like such a big deal.  "Hell, I (insert your non-cycling activity here...watch TV, drink beer, masturbate, drive your monster truck) for 30 days in a row all the time."  But, in reality, riding a bike 30 days in a row is tougher than you'd think.  Shit gets in the way, like life, work, family, and more importantly, the weather, trying to drag you down and keep you off your two-wheeled love.

And sure, I could just go for a spin around the block, but I set goals dammit.  I set goals of a minimum of 10 miles per day for 30 days.  300 miles minimum for May (actually shooting for 4-500, but anything less than 300 will be unacceptable).  I have a GREAT start too, 8 days in and well over 100.  But, this all might come crashing down tomorrow.

I don't care if yesterday was Mother's Day or not  (is it Mother's Day, Mothers' Day or Mothers Day?), if I run into Mother Nature, I'm gonna kick that bitch right in the slats.  No, seriously I am, as the weather this Spring is getting ridiculous.  I mean really, we've had like 3 truly nice days since the first of the year and now we've got some bullshit rain in the forcast for tomorrow.  After I'd gone and planned a ride with the Ramblers.  And if I hear just one old geezer quack that "we need the moisture" I'm gonna trip the light fantastic.

So, now I'm stuck.  I'm 8 days into my 30, with a good start going.  I've got a ride planned for tomorrow, with eating and drinking planned for post ride.  What to do?  Well, I'm sure as hell NOT going to put fenders on my bike, get a poncho and ride in the rain, I can tell you that.  Oh well, I can just start another goal, maybe ride 40 days in a row to kick off my 40's...

UPDATE: The weather made an about-face, so we got our ride in, and it was REALLY GOOD! So, my apologies to Mother Nature, you know, about the whole "kicking you in the slats" comment.

Mountain bikes, injured livers and Pandora

Without getting into crazy details, the annual Rambler trip didn't happen for me.  Logistically and financially I couldn't swing it.  But damn, I needed to get away for a desert trip, so I planned out a trip with Al (previous owner of Backcountry Bikes in Sheridan, WY and long time friend), Cletus, Bobki and my cousin Aaron.  Even though this is my "core" group of friends and we've all been friends for a long time (16+ years) we all had not ridden together in, shit, something like 7 years.  

So, last month, we saddled up Al's ride (the only one big enough and/or reliable enough to take us all) and headed to points south.  We ended up riding in Colorado Springs (my old stomping grounds), Fruita and Moab.  

I could blather on about the minutia of the trip, but I won't. I will tell you that we all tried to get all Chuck Norris and karate chop our livers (and I think we were successful in this endeavor), I discovered the joys of Pandora and a smart phone, which was detailed in a previous post regarding that and the temporary death of my Mac.  (I'm actually listening to Pandora right now, though it is on my computer as opposed to my phone, since my phone is decidedly not smart.)  Overall the trip was super rad, we had fun together, met cool people and rode some sweet trails. I'll let the pictures do the talking. And maybe add some captions that enhance your viewing pleasure.

Aaron looking into the trailer and wondering if it is too late to back out of this trip.

Al, looking refreshingly dapper in his Dog the Bounty Hunter attire.

Bobki, getting ready to set sail in Palmer Park.

Aaron reflecting on where his life went so wrong he ended up with us, in front of Pikes Peak.

Bobki, making the turn on the Cheyenne Trail, Palmer Park.

Aaron letting us know he's not a stupid as we are.

Me, giving my suspension a workout at Palmer Park.

Cletus, making the turn at Palmer Park

Seriously, this was a long time coming...Cletus FINALLY swapping out those things he called grips with actual, new grips.  We all were scared of those old ones.

"Hey Al, isn't that the spot where we consummated our love?"

"Where the fuck did I put my riding skills?"

Bobki takin' a leak...honestly, who DOESN'T have a picture of this?

"If I have to look up ONE MORE thing for these old fucks, I'm gonna download an App to kill them in their sleep..."

Cletus makin' it look easy...that bastard.

Cletus doing what he does best...freakin' Bobki out and hanging his feet off a cliff.  About 300' above the ground at Gemini Bridges.

I think I found Jim Morrison...

A ruggedly handsome crew.

We had a long way to go to the Portal...

The LaSals from the rim.

Once again, Cletus hanging his legs over the edge (note how small the highway below looks).

The holiest of mountain bikes at the Holy Cross (this picture was taken expressly for the Princess).
Cletus droppin' a chute at the end of the Holy Cross and makin' it look easy.

Cletus lookin' super sexy...too bad the inside of this tent smelled like the inside of Al's ass.

So there you have it.  A photographic journey with us.  I might add a few more pics when I get them, but I'll let you know when I do.  Just looking at these shots makes me want to do it all again.

A ban on yoga pants.

Spring is starting to, um, spring around here. We've actually strung 3 or 4 nice days together, which hasn't happened yet this year. Consequently, my son started riding his bike to school, which has caused me to ride my bike to work. Since he's only 8 and has to cross a few pretty busy intersections, I'm riding with him to school, helping him get his bike locked up and then heading to work.

Which is why there is a ban on yoga pants. What the hell do yoga pants have to do with me riding to work you might ask? Well, lemme 'splain.

A bike path goes basically right from the Boy's school to my place of employment, so it is an easy way to get to work. It might be a bit faster going on the actual road, but I can still get to work in under 15 minutes, so it isn't a big deal. And on this bike path is where the ban on yoga pants needs to take place.


I've determined a couple things. First, yoga pants have their place in the world. In a FUCKING yoga class. Not out in the world, getting a damn half-caf-skinny-double-douche-latte at Starbucks, not at the grocery store, not picking your kid up from school in your gas guzzling Escapade. Change after yoga class and don't wear 'em anywhere else. You're not cool and core if you're wearing 'em outside of yoga class. It makes you look like a wanna-be. I don't wear my bib-short-plum-smugglers when I'm not riding my bike. It isn't cool.

Actually, if people (mostly women, as men don't wear yoga pants since they wear shorts and hope their balls fall out during yoga class) follow the first rule, the second rule would be a moot point. The second rule is no more than 2 women, in said yoga pants, can walk together on a bike path (or other multi-use area). If more than two are walking together, they tend to lose their brains because they're talking about how rich they are, how their husbands don't satisfy them anymore, they want a 20 year old lover, blah, blah, blah and they hog the whole damned bike path.

Can they walk on one side? Nope. They walk 3 (or more) abreast and then when a cyclist overtakes them (read: me) they act like I just pissed on their doorstep. I usually give a friendly "hello" a couple times before I come up on them, but because they are so wrapped up in their inane conversation they don't hear me. Then, when I pass them, they look all shocked and surprised.

So, if you wear yoga pants outside of yoga, please stop. Or I'm coming to your house in bib shorts only. Trust me, you don't want that.