Thanks, MKE

I left my soul, heart and liver somewhere between Woodman's and Kilbourn Park, and my legs at the Labovitch's in Whitewater. All just to see Ben Popper off away from the world of bachelorhood and into the life of the married man. We played on a water slide, drank delicious beers, walked about 8 miles to a drag-queen show, and ate bad, but tasty, pizza.

I have the feeling that Ben and Julie won't be living the suburban life just yet. A career as a cyclocross journeyman awaits for the time being. I think Julie's alright with that, though. She's tearing it up on two legs with those deathmarches known as marathons. I like running, but not for 26 miles – just call me Mr. Three Mile. Right at that distance is when I'm pretty much tired, sore and wishing that I'd gone for a bike ride instead. To do a marathon? Hell, that sounds like fun, but that's some serious dedication. And figuring that Ben's been waking at 4:50 for hardcore 1.5 hour rides on the LFP, you gotta figure that in that household there's a fair degree of obsession and dedication not seen in most others.

But anyway. Again, Milwaukee, I hardly knew ye from such a short trip, but besides not getting much in the way of sleep (four awful hours on the ground in a tent, without pad, blankie, or pillow), and indigestion from the aforementioned bad pizza, I had an awesome time. So did Ben.

That Strange Emotion

MBV in about two months, and Nick Cave the day after. Both being the only things I'm really looking forward to.

Excitement is my Raison d'Etre

For the past week and a half, and for the remainder of this week, Allison's been in Chester Hill, Ohio, taking part in the annual artists' residency. Communication with her has been hit-and-miss – I know the area reasonably well, having gone to school in Athens which is only 20 miles away, and having most of the family on my mother's side 20 miles from there, and I'm well aware that cell-phone reception is sometimes iffy and the Internet in some small municipalities is most often accessed by dial-up.

We've still managed to communicate, though. The occasional text message gets through, or a phone call comes in. But as each day wears on, I get looser, freer, and itching to tear Chicago down.

Here is a typical day for me:

6:00 AM: Wake-up, put the coffee on, get the paper, eat some oatmeal.
7:00 AM: Ride for 1.5-2 hours, shower, work for an hour
10:30 AM: Eat lunch
11:00 AM: Work
2:00 PM: Eat a snack of almonds, yogurt, or other exciting and spicy food
3:00 PM: Go to my job at After School Matters
8:00 PM: Come home, eat dinner
9:30 PM: Fall asleep on the couch while watching PBS

As is plain to see, my daily agenda is chock-full of exciting things. And as each day goes by that Allison is away, the reigns of control that were tight around my neck have slipped and loosened. A few days ago, I was at Trader Joe's and I saw something that Allison's forbidden from the household in the refrigerated section. I looked around to make sure that no one I knew was around and I snatched my hand out and loaded the contraband into my cart. As I finished my shopping and made it out the door with my two bags, I knew at once that my mission was a success. Inside one of the bags was a dozen eggs, which for some of you is a daily staple. But in my household, eggs are a banned commodity, only because Allison is allergic to them, and I must suffer constantly from a desire for eggy foods.

With her away, I am free to do what I what and I've really let loose. Going to bed at 9:30 at night and eating eggs – that's what freedom really is!

Getting Insane with the Terrain

A few weeks ago, Bob sent out word on the team list-serv that the Viking Biking Club up north in Madison, WI was organizing a ride called the Insane Terrain Challenge, with options of 125K or 200K. As I'm always a fan of what some may call "insane terrain" and being optimistic, I signed-up for the 200K. That's a distance of 125 miles, with over 100 feet of climbing per mile.

And after confirming my registration, I sat at my desk for a moment and thought to myself, "What the hell did you just sign up for?" Since Bob, Keith and Dave from the team, and some of the members of Dave's dad's cycling club had committed to riding the ride as well, I was locked-in. It's all too easy to back out of something if you're doing it by your lonesome, but if you have other people goading you into doing something, not matter how unpleasant, you take up their challenge and make with it. In the back of my head I knew that I was likely to forgo the 200K in favor of the 125K, especially if doing the former would mean going at it by myself. I'm all for solitary riding, but not for 125 miles.

Thursday, I was off the bike due to a long day of work and the heat. Friday morning, I went out for a good 34 mile ride with Adrian, with a few efforts to stretch the muscles, but nothing that would wear me out for the next day's efforts. Dave's wife needed the car for the weekend, so we had to rent a vehicle – scored a Ford Escape from Budget for $70, with insurance for the weekend, the only catch was that I had to go to O'Hare to pick it up. So after getting home, eating and showering, I was taking a two hour trip to O'Hare via the CTA to get our sweet SUV.

At five, me and David were off to Madison, stuck in traffic mostly, but on our way. Got to Mad City by 8:45, and hungry, so we drove around for a bit to find something to eat. Hit up Tex Tubb's Taco Palace, where I slaughtered a witbier and a huge mushroom burrito. After plowing through the food, we got to our hotel, watched some TV and then crashed.

The alarm had us up at 4:50, giving us plenty of time to shower, perform our morning ablutions, and prepare for what we were about to undertake. After getting completely turned around and lost on the way to Blue Mounds state park, where the ride was to start from, we drove up through the front entrance and found many cyclists already out and on the road. So were we, after changing into our kit, pumping up our tires, eating, talking for a bit with the group. Due to misgivings about the weather, Keith and his friend Doug had decided not to come. All of us, too, were questioning the weather - the radar had huge storms coming in our general direction, and Chicago was inundated, but besides some fog at the start, the weather turned out to be perfect for the duration of the day.

About five miles in, we started upon the first of the dozens of climbs that made up the ride. I was feeling awfully strong and I was often at the top of the hill first or second to Derrick from the Blackhawk Bicycle and Ski Club. He and I rode together at the Stateline 60 ride back in May and he's a capable, strong rider, with great stamina for hard climbing and efforts. I had the feeling that the day would end with him and I sprinting for the finish (and oh, how I was wrong!) After about 20 miles, the pace was pushed and the two of us went off on a flyer, planning on a rendezvous with the group at the first feed zone at mile 31.

After passing through a town and climbing for a while up a long slog, Derrick looked at me and said "I think we missed the feed zone." At this point, we were already four miles out, and we decided to keep on going and push it through to the second feed zone at mile 52. I was feeling great anyway – I had Perpetuem in my bottles and a gel, so I was well hydrated and had calories to consume. Derrick was in good shape, too. So onward we went, at an average speed of around 18 MPH over the steep pitched terrain – a hill bombed down at 42 MPH was climbed at around 14 MPH, so it all worked and balanced out. Power up the climbs was pretty good - I was able to sustain 450 watts uphill and I didn't feel like I was laboring.

By the time we got to the feedzone, we were ravenous – I had a PB&J bagel, some watermelon, a banana, and some trailmix and promptly felt like shit. My stomach felt like a rock and as soon I was done eating, I knew I'd overeaten. Derrick and I stood about for few minutes and got back on the bikes before the sweat had even stopped pouring out of our pores. The last 25 miles were a severe test of my abilities – about 10 miles in to the last section, my legs started giving out on the climbs and where I was earlier staying in the big-ring up most climbs, I was dropping down to easier and easier ratios, just to spin and save my muscles. I was still cranking out good wattage, but anytime that Derrick pushed the pace a bit up a climb, I couldn't respond and I was constantly 30 feet behind him at the crest of a hill.

After miles of this yo-yo-ing, we were near to where we started and I let Derrick go in the last miles by himself. The last uphill section was probably one of the worst times ever on the bike: I was barely able to turn the crank in the 39x25 ratio and any time that I tried to stand on the pedals to stretch my legs, my calves started to cramp, which got my back on the saddle. After riding through a residential area, the road turned right up the final climb. A 12% grade for a mile – pedal RPMs at 50, watts at 300, sweat pouring off of me like a rainstorm, I weaved back and forth up the hill, cursing myself and everyone who persuaded me to embark upon this foolish endeavor. At the finish a group of volunteers took pictures of my sorry self and complimented me on my mismatching kit (with a rain storm probable, I didn't want to muck up my shorts with road dirt, so I wore bibs from my old team.)

Ahead of me was the shelter, with food and drinks set out, and Derrick sitting on a bench drinking a Coke, having just arrived only a few minutes before me. I got something to drink and sat down, unable to get back up. Eventually the rest of our group rode back in, Bob having taken the SAG wagon due to being overwhelmed by the ride – having just had a child a few months previous, and being unable to adequately train, he had a perfectly valid excuse.

After a little while, I ate a little fruit and started feeling better as the rock of undigested food in my stomach made its way into my alimentary canal. And after saying our goodbyes, David and I were off for home to Chicago. Our initial plan had us riding home from O'Hare after dropping the car off, but we decided that wasn't such a hot idea - not because of safety, but because we were both so exhausted from the day's efforts. So his wife Bobbi met us at Budget and I was given a lift to my door. Thanks.

Total time spent riding was just a hair over four hours, for a total mileage of 79. Not at all bad – a five hour century could have been made had I gone the extra distance and ate a bit smarter. Next time, though. As my PowerTap was acting up a bit, I didn't get much consistent data, but total KJ burned (read: calories) was around 2,200. Yes, a whole day's worth. Nutters.

Not Quite the Easy Weekend

Photo by Naz Hamid



And just like that, the despondency in my veins from last week has evaporated. Spent Saturday morning working on the thesis, just listening to the rain fall outside. I'd woken up early to go to Metropolis with the crew, with a ride to follow, but precipitation has its ways and we called it off. So, I hung out at home, got some work done and relaxed – no pressure. At noon, I went for an easy ride to Glencoe and just rode to enjoy the ride. I had my PowerTap on, but I stuck a Post-It on top of the display, just so I wouldn't be tempted into gassing it or taking it too easy – I just wanted to ride my bike and take in the sights.

Got home, cleaned-up, and Allison and I went out walking. Wandered around the neighborhood, went to Berger Park (or Cheeseburger Patch) and went to Ethiopian Diamond for dinner. The food sat not at all right with Allison, so we went home and watched Control, a dramatization of Ian Curtis of Joy Division's life.

Sunday, I woke up at 3:55 AM so that I could get to Naz's place where Dave Bowers picked the both of us up for the Hampshire Time Trial that our team, Half Acre Cycling, helped run. As a team, we are required to host an event in order to maintain our USA Cycling certification and the time trial fit the bill. The volunteers I conscripted bailed, which hurt my chances to race, but no matter, what was important that things would go off without a hitch.

After a drive with the sun rising in the rear view mirror, we made it to Hampshire at about 5:45. Dave and I got our bikes off the back of the car and rode around in the lot 'til the organizer showed up. Bob Meinig was already there waiting for us and he let me try out his sweet time trial rig. The air was cool and there was already a strong wind blowing from the west – weather conditions more familiar to early April than mid-July.

The organizer showed up shortly and put us to work – I was tasked with assembling the staging area and platform with Bob, Naz and Dave were to drive around and place signage on the course. Kevin Clark, Helge, Ryan Thormann, and others started arriving and soon enough we had a good crew, all looking at each other for instruction and throwing rocks at anyone who ventured into the nearby cornfield to evacuate their bladders.

By 9, all setup work was done and we were assigned corners to watch and direct traffic. Bob and I rode to our station about four miles away, Corner 3, and set up camp. We were joined shortly by Dan Labovitch and Helge, who supplied us all with orange safety vests and flags – we looked the part of a highway crew, albeit with skinny, shaved legs. Shortly, the first racers came through and our real work had begun – as our station was on a somewhat busy road, we had to stop cars coming in three different directions so that cyclists could come through without stopping. Most drivers were understanding, but a few shouted at us, cussed us out, or just floored the gas as they accelerated past us as we let them go.

The disregard these drivers have for someone who has just stopped them for less than a minute so that a bicycle race could proceed is amazing. Luckily, most people aren't sociopaths behind the wheel, and my faith in humanity was assured by some people who waved and smiled at us as we let them through after a cyclist turned the corner. Thank you, whoever you are.

After a bit, racers started coming back through the course and we waved them through the minefield of gravel (kibble!) that littered the middle of the intersection. One cyclist, buried deep in the pain that is time trialing, missed the corner, overcorrected and endoed over his bike onto the pavement. He got up, but could hardly walk as he'd landed mostly on his butt. Luckily, it seemed that he wasn't badly hurt, but I was dreading the 911 call that I had my phone out to make. His bike, a ~$5,000 Cervelo, had a broken seat post and likely other, less obvious, damage. Helge drove him to the start and made sure he made it to first aid.

By 11, the last of the riders had gone out and we were waiting patiently for them to roll back on in. Saw Ben Popper, Mike Hemme, and a bunch of the Half Acre team really tear it up and eventually we got the word that our services were consummated and that we could come back in to the finish line. Bob and I struggled back in the wind – at 15 MPH, in the crosswind, I could hardly ride straight and I was pushing 280 watts – I couldn't imagine how my numbers would've looked if I were racing.

After breaking everything down, we were free to go. Got back to the city around 3 and after a short, pleasant ride up Clark, I was home, showered and on the couch for a nap.

Eh.

Full of the self-loathing, bile and spit right now. The only thing keeping me on the bike right now is cyclocross in the fall. I've posted up a schedule of the races I've done/am planning to do, and they're all the light at the end of the tunnel right now. I am in dire need of some fun social time on the bike – my schedule's not afforded me much of that, but I'm aiming to change that up this week.

I am doing the Hampshire TT tomorrow, which I am kinda afraid of doing. I feel like I'll be slow as a drugged sloth and that I won't deserve to wear the skinsuit that's sitting, unworn, in my kit drawer. But, I'm doing it anyway, 'cause I like time-trialing. I've given up on mass-start road races – I've seen too many bad crashes and the risk/reward payoff, at least for me, is nil. I've won some big races, and I've found my true bike-love in the form of 'cross. I'll let big guns such as Chris Padfield take on and slaughter those squirrels in the crits – he's faster than me and I don't like losing to friends.

Oh, and despite my better judgment, I've registered for the 200K Insane Terrain Challenge up in Wisconsin. 12,400 feet of climbing over 121 miles. The longest I've ever ridden is 90 miles, so this might prove to be one humiliating day on the bike. But, I've paid my entry fee, and I've got friends in the ride, so there ain't no backing out now. I figure it's going to be a 7-8 hour day on the bike – I'm going to push hard with any comers, so if I can get below 7, maybe 6.5, I'll be really happy. Maybe I'll just keel over on some hill and they can drag my carcass into a ditch and leave me for good. That way I won't have to complete the damn thing and I won't have to ride a bike ever again.

Punk Rock

A long time ago, back in 2001, me, Russ and Kevin put together a band, with music influenced by the Mushuganas and reruns of the Kids in the Hall. Musically we played mediocre-to-competent sloppy punk rock, lyrically, we were rather deficient (I never got around to writing lyrics, so I just screamed a lot.) Our one redeeming trait, was that we found a schtick: we named ourselves after Oil Can Boyd, a player for the Expos, who was known for more his name than his outright ability to play. Adding to this gimmick, we played most of our shows in sports uniforms that we bought from Play it Again Sports or thriftshops. We would toss out Big League Chew to the audience, elicit fights, and would hand out baseball cards to our fans. I played guitar, Russ bass, Kevin on drums. Kevin would make funny faces when playing fast and I earned a drumstick to the head one time for making a mockery of him. I deserved it.

For some reason, we actually earned something of a fanbase, which was made up mostly of our friends. It was a good time and I miss playing in the band terribly. Oil Can Boyd gets brought up with some regularity, most often by me, and if I had my druthers, I'd still be doing it. The only reason we stopped was that our work schedules couldn't really fit the band in, plus Kevin was in Death in Graceland, Russ in a precursor to Voyageur, so our joke band became less a priority. We played something of a reunion show back in 2005 at the Warner House basement, our setlist consisting of the song "Oil Can Boyd" four times and I think "Boomer Esiason's Son..."

Favorite show? Probably at the 2001 "JamFest" in the Cheviot Fieldhouse, which was broadcast live on Public Access. Russ said some terrible things; I acted the rockstar. One of my favorite nights ever. We played "Oil Can Boyd" three times at the end and I jumped over the fence separating the audience from the stage.

I have a copy of the CD we recorded in storage in my dad's basement, but imagine my pleasure and surprise when I discovered that someone went through the effort to rip our album and load it onto Mediafire. Click here and download it and try to imagine me, 21 and with hair, playing shitty punk rock in a suburban basement. Few things are less important in the makeup of who I am as a person.