Off

After Montrose, in which I had an abysmal finish, I've spent the last two weeks in the start of something of an off-season. The cycling off-season to many is the time when you don't ride much, eat like a pig, indulge, and party. Well, maybe. I've never let myself relax enough to stop riding and really pig out. The off-season for me is always a time of re-evaluation of why I care about training and racing. My interest always ebbs and flows -- sometimes I'm gung-ho on driving five hours to race a CX series. Other times, and more usually, I find it hard to rationalize the expense of racing a local event only an hour from my door.

My training, though, is unlike my dedication to racing -- I always like feeling I'm working for something. The OSRS road series, Barry-Roubaix, and Schabobele in the spring, sure. All that stuff is in about three months and I have plenty of time to prepare. Or maybe I just won't care -- a lot of it is contingent upon discretionary funds, which I have very little of. Student loan payments, rent, food, all take away from racing. I'd rather eat than race my bike, sorry. Also, it's always free to ride to Highland Park, $4 for a mid-ride muffin and coffee. Plus, more fun. Racing's a good way of making riding a bike a horrible and stressful activity.

See what I mean? Evaluation of priorities.

This December, I've only been riding about three times a week in lieu of P90X workouts, coming out of a Simplefit routine. I'm not going to preach that gospel because any time that someone does, it comes off as shilling. But holy hell, does that protocol work. I've been fairly trim for a while, but even my hipster tight Levi's 511s are getting loose on the waist. Plus, the improvements to my core strength and flexibility are pretty evident to me.

I know cycling's a great workout and it's my primary form of exercise, but riding a bike lots is pretty bad for any muscles above the waist. When I'm 50, I want to look like and ride like Al Thom and to do so, I have to do other forms of exercise other an riding a bike. Steve Edward's website is a pretty good resource -- plus, he rides for Ritte, which is straight-up awesome.

I probably won't talk about this much, just because I know no one really cares.

Update

Just laying low.

Spent Thanksgiving week visiting Philly, NJ, Columbus, Pittsburgh, Marietta, Barlow, and Cincinnati. The Saab passed the 1,200 miles without a hitch, though I had to replace a long-leaking power steering line in Allison's driveway.

Campton Hills

This race wasn't as muddy as last year. I went in costumed as the "Cross Commando" in camo, but I never secured a gun and I didn't want to test the ire of USAC by using a WWII army helmet as I intended. Jason Knauff of the ChiCrossCup called me out on my "half-assed" costume. He was right. I got a call-up, though, which proved modestly helpful.

The day before, the crew and I went out for a pretty hard tempo ride of three hours to Highland Park and back. I was at first trying to reserve my juice for Sunday's race, but that's no fun, so I put in the digs. I ended up paying for that on Sunday when about 35 minutes into the race, two Pegasii came around me, followed by Isaiah Jay. I managed to hold off a couple of dudes for 36/52. I did better last year.

After screaming and heckling lots of guys and gals faster and slower than I, Mike Palmer and I drove to Elgin where I got a bunch of used Saab parts for really cheap. The cooling fan has a funky resistor and the headlight relay is on the fritz -- got the parts I needed for 10% of list.

This weekend I'm not racing in order to save money. I'm itching to skedaddle in the winter when the wind's blowing hard and the mood is bleak. Vacation>CX, at least until Ohio and Illinois State Champs.

Check out my recap of the Campton Hills race on Gapers Block. Yeah, I shot the video.

UCI3

Three days of racing October 8-10 in Cincinnati nearly killed me.

Friday, pulled with two to go. I was a complete wreck, dehydrated and tired. 46/52, pathetic.
Saturday, came out with a 59/79, still pretty rotten, but I felt good.
Sunday, a repeat of Saturday's performance. 55/78, serviceable.

The bruises on my legs I earned from a spill on Sunday's Harbin Park race have finally faded, though I'm still just tired all around.

The UCI3 weekend is a yearly celebration of lactic acid. I've raced Harbin every year since 2005, except 2006 when I was recovering from a broken wrist and in graduate school. Every year, I've seen some good friends and former teammates from the Campus Cyclery crew; every year, I hack up a lung full of dust. Cincinnati had not had significant rain in months and it showed in rutted, dusty racecourses that blistered hands.

Big props to the dedicated Chris Jensen who flew to Cincinnati after a business trip to NOLA, rode back with Allison and I, and filled our car full of gas, too. He's a generous man.

---

I had a better result at Hopkins Park, the race that my team Half Acre Cycling, throws in DeKalb, IL. I raced on a borrowed Ridley way too small for me and with a non-working front brake and got 32 out of 64 racers. I can roll with that.

Cars I've Owned

1988 Saab 900S
1987 Mazda 626 LX
1988 Mazda RX-7 GXL
1990 Mazda RX-7 Turbo II
1986 Mazda RX-7 Base
1994 Mazda Protege DX
1988 Mazda 626 Turbo
1990 Mazda RX-7 GXL
2001 Honda Prelude
1994 Saab 9000 Turbo
1996 Toyota Avalon XLS
2002 Saab 9-3 SE Turbo

I'll get into a more detailed list with photos. This will be good.

Updates in Mediocrity

On August 28th, I raced the Unnamed Epic, a 76 mile mountain bike race that went from Mineral Point, WI to Blue Mounds. The race was on a mix of terrain -- road, doubletrack, singletrack, with lots of climbing, but also big stretches where we basically rode a road race.

Chris Jensen was the real hero of the day, driving the pace in our group, and climbing better than I. At about mile 30, I started to cramp up some and fell off the back of our group and Chris Jensen, hero of the day, gave me a massive tow all the way back into the group. At the Barneveld climb (which came after the Barneveld descent where I hit 50 mph), I started falling apart and started riding solo on the trail up to Blue Mounds. In the park itself, I had the worst leg cramps I've ever had -- it was as if my legs were coursing with electricity. I rode one mile into the singletrack, starting veering left and right into trees and rock, and stopped. I looked at my bike and down into the hill toward huge razor-sharp rock gardens, boulders, and gnarled trees, and turned around and rode out of the woods.

Yeah, I quit.

Unlike my DNF at Palos, I was accepting of my fate and my inability to complete the race. As I left the race, I started riding up the hill to the parking area and ran into Dan, who encouraged me to turn around, ride back down the hill, and get into his car. I was OK with that as well.

Chris finished the race in 6:45 -- and finished around the middle. The Unnamed Epic was a stupid hard race -- I may do it again next year, most likely not. I'm just not tough enough.

The next day, Chris and I raced the xXx-Racing/Athletico relay cyclocross 1/2/3 race at Jackson Park in scorching heat. I also did the co-ed race with Allison. My race with Chris went pretty badly -- we came in dead last. My race with Allison went much better -- she wasn't keen on riding offroad or barriers, so I tried my best to make up the difference. She was also on her singlespeed Raleigh One-Way commuter and way overgeared. We ended up 39/49.

Allison finally learned what cyclists mean when they say they rode so hard they felt like they were going to puke. She came close, apparently, so good for her. She's not going to give cyclocross too much of a go, but she may be out racing on occasion if I can entice her.

Processed Lunch Day

I just got really nostalgic for a lunch consisting of a Wonder Bread PB&J sandwich, ridged potato chips, a Coca-Cola, and maybe a packet of Gushers as a side.

My mom packed my lunches all through high school and the only thing from that list that was occasionally in the brown bag was the Coke. We were healthy eaters, a tradition I uphold to this day, albeit amplified.

But man, have you ever had a Wonder Bread PB&J? It tastes great -- especially if the bread has been smushed down from riding around in a brown paper sack with books in a backpack. It's even better slightly warm.

I know I won't act on this desire for processed food, but I'd like to think I would, given that it's not a regular thing.

Palos Meltdown

The Meltdown melted me. I had a horrible race -- cramped up and dehydrated by the end of the first lap, my rear tire started going flat so I just decided that I was done with not having fun. I was in the dead-man zone for about an hour after I got back, which never happens to me. Oof. So much for a repeat of my 4th place last year.

At least I looked really pro sucking. Thanks to Jen Mosley for capturing a shot of me where I didn't look like absolute hell.



I did win a Specialized Phenom saddle in the raffle. I don't really deserve it because I didn't finish the race, but that's just an ethical quibble that I'm gonna just ignore.

This weekend is the Unnamed Epic -- 80 miles of MTB action. Then, the xXx Relay 'cross race in Jackson Park where I'm doing the 1/2/3 with Chris Jensen and the Coed with Allison.

Gonna be tired come Monday morning.

914-6

Why hike through a fen when you can just drive through it?

From BZRONG.

Sweat

I sweat like it's my job.

Big Journeys

My friend Robb Hunter is cooler than me and is riding a 1985 Honda Nighthawk 750 across the country. He stayed with me from Saturday until this morning, whereupon he left with Alaina Laumer, a Walnut Hillsian, to ride to Minneapolis and then onward to Canada, Seattle and California. You can track his progress here -- his Droid's beaming a GPS tracking signal to the webz and then to your home computer. I was getting worried I'd have to drive out and rescue him and Alaina when I saw them stationary at a truck stop for about an hour, but I think they were just eating a late breakfast.

It was a pretty relaxed weekend, starting off with a jaunt with Sean to Tower Road. We made it a mile shy before we got tired of killing ourselves in the heat, so we turned around and hung out in the JJ Peppers parking lot for an hour. Birchwood won out for dinner with Sean and Jessica. Saturday, it was a solid 60 miles in the sun on Saturday to Willow Springs. Sunday, nada, except visiting Evanston to see some bike racing and dinner in Matt and Amanda's backyard.

The girl whose company I keep was interviewed for Future Shipwreck. Read the interview here. I'm pretty proud of her.

Fourth of July

Dairy Queen in Wolcott, Indiana.



Big globe in Hoffner Park in the Northside neighborhood of Cincinnati, Ohio.

It was a trip to pack up more ephemera and visit with old friends.

Rip-off Ray Bans leave good tanlines.



Big miles on the Mystery Route on Saturday with Judi and Eric of Team Hungry. Here we are taking a break at the top of Flick Road. We scoped out the Duke Energy powerplant and got in way beyond the RDA of Vitamin D. Sunday, it was up Kirby to Sheed to some other stupid steep stuff in the noon heat. I woke up with 5 hours of sleep Monday and ended up doing hill repeats in the shade of Mt. Airy's Shepard's Creek so that I could eat the Dairy Queen (white Oreo strawberry Blizzard) without guilt. Ride to eat, dawg.

James and Pam have a really adorable kid. He's well-behaved, too -- good parenting.

It's always sad to get back on the road west-bound on I-74. The house I grew up in is on the market and while it's not received any real offers, it'll be gone someday. That building's got good bones -- and a dingy handprint of mine from when I was 9 in the back stairway.

My dad and I talked about gardening. I helped my mom plan out a new business.

Ohio.

Sigh...

2009 CONTINENTAL IN RETROSPECT from RAPHA on Vimeo.

I love this stuff.

Selling my Seigler

Help me pay for my last thesis hour of graduate school:

Seigler ALR large (57cm) frame/fork/seatpost made of Dedacciai 7003.

Seigler's no longer in business, but this frame was made in the same Taiwanese factory as many of other quality race bikes. Beautiful welds. This bike's made of the same tubing as the previous generation aluminum Pinarello Prince, et. al. Extremely light, very quick handling, and an all-day rider. English BB; braze-on FD.

I'm asking $400.

Never crashed, never tipped-over. It's been rained on a few times, but never saw salt. I had the frame built up with Campy Record and with a Powertap, it was sitting at 15.5 pounds. Damn!

I've put in 7 hour long rides on this frame and I was no worse for wear other than being exhausted out of my mind. Stiff for the sprint; climbs like a goat. I'm sticking with steel for now, so hey, this one's got to go.

Included is a CarbonLord 31.6 seatpost and a Reynolds Ouzo Pro fork. The stock fork had a "line" on the inside of the steerer and I got paranoid, so I replaced the fork, while keeping the stock one in a box. I really think the OE fork is fine -- the line looks to be from the molding process -- I just was in an overly cautious fame of mind at the time.

The paint on this frame is fairly fragile -- a few minor chips and a chainsuck mark. No dings, no dents.





I have parts available to build the bike up if you want. At this time, I'm not looking to sell this stuff outright, but if you want a jump start building the bike up I have a Centaur brakeset, Centaur or Chorus crank and BB, Centaur FD, stems and handlebars.

Belleville, Illinois

I got back last night from a last-minute, mid-week trip to Belleville, Illinois to help Jen lay her father, and Naz's father-in-law, to rest. It was good to see Jen and Naz, albeit the circumstances could always be better. Andrew, Cinnamon and I helped out as much as we could, which basically meant being there.

Jen and Naz (and family),

You guys are strong, real strong.

***

I went out for a run and came across this abandoned railroad trestle. "I've grown tired of holding this." That's a sentiment we all share at some time or another.

Necessities

I've been doing some thinking about downsizing and rightsizing, to borrow those horrible words that are so tossed-about when discussing the layoffs of hard-working Americans. I'm interested about reduction, slimming down the weight of possessions. I've talked about this before, and it's something I'm still working on, even if I'm not doing such a good job.

All I need to make my life complete is:

A) Panini press, which I have thanks to my mom. Love ya! I grill asparagus, I grill sausages, I press sandwiches, I grill burgers thanks to this fancier version of a George Foreman grill. (Maybe the Foreman's a more basic version of the panini press.) I don't want a BBQ -- I have no use for that fuss.

B) A nice, medium-quality 'cross bike. I don't need three road bikes in various states of repair, a 'cross bike, a mountain bike, a fixed beater, and a mountain bike. I ride all of my bikes lots, but I only need one. I'm not sure how, if ever, I'll achieve the whittling down of my collection to one machine, but it's kinda nice to think about making it so. OK, fine. Two bikes, one 'cross, the other mountain. You can't rip rocky trails on a 'cross bike.

C) A good knife. I got a lovely one from Naz for my birthday. I'll post up a picture of it tonight. Most food worth eating ain't worth eating without cutting it. Something's wonderful about slicing some manchego cheese and a ripe pear for your beau in a park on a lazy Sunday afternoon while you catch up on the news (see E).

D) A French press. You can't have revolution without caffeine.

E) The New York Times. Quality information in a portable non-electronic format is indispensable for killing the commute, luxuriating in a park on a lazy Sunday afternoon, covering one's head in a hailstorm, or blocking out a crack in a drafty door. A newspaper is so much more than reading material -- it's a tool.

Ridiculous

Via Big Ring Riding.

I wish my legs looked like this.

Sausages

Dinner two days ago:

Mushroom and swiss sausages from Gene's Sausage Shop in Lincoln Square
Sauerkraut
Lentil and spinach soup

Thomy Delikatess senf mustard was applied liberally to the sausages, which were consumed via a whole wheat bun.

Life was golden that evening. Post-sausage feast, we went for a walk and sprinted in the park. I told more jokes about cats and tried to do a headstand.

Destinations

Moscow, Idaho
San Francisco
South Dakota Badlands
Prague
Warstein

If only my bank account matched my ambition. I'll be lucky if I make it to Moscow or SF.

WEMS 12 Hours of Northern Kettles

It pays to know the rules.

Sean, Jessica and I drove to the heart of Wisconsin last Saturday to race the three hour solo WEMS Northern Kettles race. I went in feeling pretty optimistic about my chances -- I do prefer longer endurance events instead of shorter, sharper efforts. Good golly, though, was this a tough cookie of a race.

We started off with a Le Mans-style start and I was about the 8th rider into the singletrack. I was moving pretty well and riding reasonably clean over the "babyheads" that lay across most of the first half of the course. The track was pretty technical -- some of the more technical trail I've ridden and it demanded constant attention. A few times during the race, I'd space out and start thinking about things other than racing and I'd find myself running of the course into a bush or bank of dirt. About 10 minutes in, I snagged a good sized branch in my rear wheel and stopped to pull it out, which gave an opportunity for four riders or so to pass me by. That sucked.

What also sucked was that I started wallowing in the corners and riding sloppy. Where the first half of the first lap had me cruising and railing, the rest of the race I was a mess on wheels.

Oh, and my saddle kept on coming loose, forcing me to stop and tighten it up. This also caused me major discomfort because the Arione saddle I use on my MTB was now in a pretty bad position for riding.

And I was overheating like a pig and started running out of gas in the third lap, despite three bottles of normal-strength Perpetuum. I was coming off a cold, but I felt good enough to ride.

I was pulling in OK lap times. 45 minutes apiece for the first and second, 48 for the third. As this was a MTB race with a set duration, I was to do as many laps as I could in the time allotted (three hours). For some reason I thought that we were to continue riding as much as we could within the three hours, including going out for a final lap knowing that we'd finish after the three hour window. I was wrong. We were supposed to finish under three hours.

As I went out for my fourth lap, I saw the clock say 5:19, which gave me only 41 minutes to do a lap. If I wasn't riding like complete garbage and was feeling better, that might have happened. But the odds were against that and if I so wanted, I could have left the race at that moment and finished. But, I did an extra lap as I'm a glutton for punishment and I don't understand the rules.

That's OK, though, as I ended up 18th out of 34. Not as good as I had hoped, but not as bad as it could have been. I really do think I'll improve at the endurance MTB game -- apparently the Northern Kettles course was a real tough nut, an assertion with which I agree.

Afterward, we stopped at the Hamburger Haus in Dundee and met Scott, a forklift operator for Piggly-Wiggly, who broke the ice with us by asking if we ever shopped at the Bass Pro Shop in Chicago. He was a real awesome guy, just hanging out, eating his ice cream.

Ohio.

Everything's green and verdant in Ohio. The southeastern and southwestern corners of the state are where my heart lays to rest. It's familiar territory and familial -- the rolling hills and fields of the farm is my heritage.

I spent five days in Ohio visiting my grandparents who are along in years along with my brothers and some friends. I cleaned out gutters, worked in the yard, got some superlative riding squeezed in. This was my birthday gift to myself. It wiped me out, though. 85 degrees and thick air. It was a day of hard steep sharp climbs, up-and-down with little rhythm. 30 minutes in, I was covered in hives from some sort of allergic reaction. I slogged through, scratching the entire time. Special thanks to Pepsi Co. for the salvation in form of a soda at the Bartlett Exxon. Every day was a variation of the Deming Loop -- I did explore the Veto Lake wilderness area on Sunday before a breakfast at my aunt's. Thanks Cindy for the eggs.

God bless the Midwest.

Leaving (for a bit)

5/12/10: Chicago to Columbus
5/13/10: Columbus to Barlow
5/16/10: Barlow to Cincinnati
5/17/10: Cincinnati to Chicago

It'll be a long trip to see the family. I'm looking forward to some John Deere and Caterpillar time out in the fields of the family farm.

I may never come back.

Winona Lake/Public Image

So, I bought a new mountain bike, a new-old-stock Jamis Dragon for a stellar price, which arrived last Monday. Five days later, I raced it at the Fat and Skinny Tire Festival in Winona Lake, Indiana. The big idea was that I'd race the Cat. 2 "expert" race that did two laps of the 10 mile course and aim for a top-10. It didn't really happen like that.

Saturday morning, Pete met me over at my place and with Allison, we got ourselves on the road by about 8 a.m.. Which was about an hour too late to do the Cat. 2 race, because I completely forgot about the time-zone difference from Chicago to interior Indiana. I arrived at the race two minutes before the start of the Cat. 2 -- if I hadn't gotten lost in Warsaw, I probably could have made it and had a moment to warm up. I registered instead for the Cat. 3 "sport" race at 2 p.m., which only did one lap of the course, which looking back was a kind of good idea.

As teammates Paul-Brian and Jen came back in from doing the 2, they told me how treacherous the trails were with mud and roots. The critical takeaway notes were to run the rock garden and watch the bridges, which were slick with mud.


Chris and I at the start, ready to bring the awesome. Thanks to Paul-Brian and Jen for the photo.

The start was a loop through the grass with a hairpin to string the field out. We all sprinted off the line like we were in a 'cross race, which at about an hour long, would approximate. I was in third place going into the woods and just felt good. This sensation of feeling confident and at ease on the bike lasted about another five minutes. At the rock garden about a mile in, I disregarded Jen's advice and tried to ride over the stones, which caused my bike to drop its chain. Five riders passed me by right then, including Chris. Then, I tried to get going, but I was in the 44x15 gear or something and was on an uphill -- I couldn't even get the bike to start rolling, so I had to jump off and run it to get some momentum. Then once I got moving, I stalled out a few more times on some small ridges and had to run the bike.

This was not good.

I was stressing out and watched my possible finish on the podium disappear in a sweaty frenzy of grunting and crashing. After about five minutes of awkward, bad riding, I started to get back some rhythm and began making up some time and places. I also ran into some trees with my shoulders, both of which are now heavily bruised, and also flew over the handlebars in a crash.

Little by little, I brought it back. I ended up passing Chris in the last couple of miles, as he'd broken his chain. Like a true Hero, he was running it in to finish with dignity. I managed to come in at a decent 6th place, covered in mud, blood, and bruises. Afterward, we all went to the festival in town and enjoyed pulled pork, ice cream, and other healthy post-race food options.

Sunday, it was a hard ride to Highland Park with Sean with the usual mid-ride espresso. Sunday night, Allison and I went to see Public Image Limited, who are in the States for what is undoubtedly a tour all about the lucre.


PIL, playing "Death Disco" aka "Swan Lake"

PIL put on an amazing, inspired show, which is funny to say considering they've not played together in some 17 years. But, there was Johnny Lydon and a band made up of two former PIL players (former Damned and Slits) playing the classics and with a smile. Dark early blasts such as "Albatross," "Death Disco," and "Religion II" were a mixed with their later post-rock new-wave such as the eponymous "Rise" and "Warrior." Two-plus hours of bass-heavy sound with Lydon showing-off the throat singing skills, Sunday's show was one of the best I've ever seen. I'll stand by that claim.

Beauty

Jamis Dragon

I just consummated the purchase of a brand-new 2008 Jamis Dragon Comp hardtail. It's nothing exceptional -- 631 steel frame, Tora fork, XT/LX mix -- but it means that I'll be able to hit up the late Spring/Summer mountain bike races. I've done pretty well with what was described by many as an obsolete bike, so maybe with something that's reasonably within the arc of semi-state-of-the-art (it has discs and 9 cogs in the back), I may improve just a bit.

I'm still itching to own a Specialized S-Works hardtail or Yeti ARC with XX, but my budget right now is tight and I can't go on looking for the diamond-in-the-rough bargain, because if I do, the season will pass me by and I'll have not done any MTB races or gotten in trail time.

Now I've got Spooky on the mind.



Dang, just look at this thing. $1,100 for the frame, anodized. I'd choose black or orange, maybe both, Halloween-stylee.

Two days ago, I dropped $80 to register for the Unnamed Epic, a 75 mile point-to-point MTB race in southern Wisconsin. The braggadocio came in full effect and I said something to Jensen about finishing it in four hours. I can and have done 75 miles solo on the road in four hours, but in the dirt's a different story. Let's say five and if I can come in under 5:30, I'll be tickled pink.

The Dragon comes to me on Monday. I'm chewing my nails off in anticipation. Expect some serious-looking sepia-toned pictures of me on it in double-time.

Leland

In sum: I flatted five minutes and 2 miles into the 60 mile Leland Kermesse. I rolled over a huge rock and punctured a brand-new Gatorskin. Patrick stopped and said "Take my wheel! Take my wheel!" like a true Hero, but in my hesitation, the pack was already way down the road. Patrick wasn't feeling well and wanted to drop out of the race, so when he saw me at the side of the road, he stopped to help me out.

I should've taken the wheel and tried to get back into the race, but with the wind at near gale force, it would've been hard, maybe impossible. Hey, it's always worth a try.

Instead, Patrick and I rode around to various corners and cheered on friends and teammates. With the tailwind, I saw a speed of 40 MPH on the flat. Woah.

I had to make up the difference Sunday morning, so I woke up early and did the Judson ride -- 71 miles in 3 1/2 hours all the way up to Libertyville, IL and back.

The rest of the day was spent wandering around with Allison, getting coffee, engaging in feats of strength in Winnemac Park, and other really interesting and fascinating things.

Allison and I are talking about moving...again. Our current place sucks, despite how it looks on the surface. There are holes in the building that are home to pigeons, with some pigeons setting up shop in the bathroom ceiling. We've complained to the landlords several times, but nothing. Our rear security gates are still broken, even after several complaints and months. It's stupid. When people on Yelp call your landlords slumlords, it's best to take heed.

H8TR100

Oh, where to begin!? The Hell of the Southern-End-of-Wisconsin, or H8TR100, was just this past weekend and I, along with some of my best pals from Half Acre and from other teams, descended upon Madison for a helluva 43 mile bike race, er..."ride" that had us sweating like the dickens through field, forest, and railroad tunnel.

I brought the Voodoo, for what is looking like its last race before I take the damn thing apart to do the overhaul I said I was going to do back in December. But so long as it kinda shifts and brakes, I couldn't find a reason to get greasy with it. And it didn't break down on me, so maybe no maintenance is good maintenance.

Ben and I drove up Friday evening and made the 140 mile haul from Chicago to Madison in about two hours, with traffic. The Saab's a highway star if ever there was one, but man, does that thing suck down the premium fuel with two bikes on the roof. But, like I said over in the Ten Speed Heroes blog, a car with bikes on the roof looks dang good, so wasting a little gas is no bother for the bragging rights. We made it to the Essen Haus just in time for Josh and Lauren to give Ben and I each a free Bitburger. We both also stuffed our pockets full of peanuts to snack on until we were able to get our eat on.

We walked up to the Great Dane and ate like pigs and argued about what constituted the best way to have the "last bite." On our way back to the car we met our new friend Maggie, who left her friends to hassle us about something. Not really sure what was going on there. Then it was to Jason and Amber's lovely little place on the shore of Lake Monona to hang out with their bunny Scout and for sleep. Thanks again to those two for enduring their teammate's stink and sweat for a night.

After breakfast, we rolled on over to the race, whereupon I got to drinking lots of coffee, provided gratis by the handsome promoters. I drank about a pot of the stuff, it was that good. Then after a brief discussion about the dangers of the route and chants of "H8T!" we got down to the business of bike racing. The course started with a neutral rollout through a residential neighborhood to a overgrown, grassy strip of field next to a road. There, the race started in earnest and the crashes commenced!

I'm not the fastest dude on the block, nor the best bike handler, but I can kinda get things done when they need to be done. And done I did. Through the grass, I passed traffic as I could and was sensible, and then when the route transitioned to the gravel/sandy main trail, it was on. I settled in with a few guys and we took hard pulls to try to lessen time loss to the leaders. Oh, and who were the leaders? Just your usual fast-as-hell regional stars such as the Lalonde brothers, Ben Popper, Polska, etc. I have no pretension of thinking I could hang with those guys unless they were going really slow or were rolling on a MTB and me on a motorcycle, but I didn't want to roll in to the finish a half hour behind them.

So, in propelling myself forward on my bike, I was dropping the dudes I was with pretty easily. This kinda sucked. Why? I wanted to ride with other people, but ride fast. I could opt to ride fast and solo, or go kinda-fast and with other people. I guess I'm pretty competitive, so I opted for the former. And I ended up riding with a number of different folks, who helped me get a breather and vice-versa.

At the railroad tunnel, it was just me and this guy B.J. on a singlespeed and we had to slow due to the tunnel being completely, absolutely pitch-black on the inside. Oh, and there were firecrackers going off and speed metal playing out of a boombox as we rode through. Totally and completely awesome. About a mile or so from the turnaround, the train of elite racers, led by Ben, came screaming by. I offered a whoop and a pumped fist to spur him on. He kinda just looked at me like I was a mirage or a ghost.

We were offered a choice of beverage at the turnaround, PBR or water. I slugged a PBR down my gullet to help with the hydration; however, once in my stomach, though, that light pilsner proceeded to mix in strange ways with the Hammer Perpetuum that I'd been gulping. But, my stomach is ironclad, so after a few belches, all was well.

Then back to the park, it was mostly a solo ride, except for about 5-7 miles I shared with Dave from Flatlandia until he had to drop off to let off some natural pressures. I kept on trucking along, the wind at my back, and got myself back to the park well ahead of much of the field. No results, because I finished outside the top-10. Let's say I got 15th!? OK! 15th!

Then we partied, well, I ate about four bagels and drank a gallon of water. My face was encrusted with salt, my legs were covered in filth and dirt, and my eyes were bloodshot. I was a walking, talking mess and it felt great.

I won a t-shirt at the raffle, but so did everyone else. The team also provided some booze that went out to three hardest dudes around -- one had just recovered from a broken shoulder, the other a broken ankle, and the last some wicked kidneystones. All three rode a hard race and all three deserved some Half Acre Lager.

Notch my first H8TR100 down; let's make this a yearly tradition.

Then it was back to the city and an evening spent hustling around with Matt and Amanda. Holler.

Yesterday I rode an uninspired and lazy 35 miles to Highland Park because I was tired and sore. I should've just gotten brunch or slept-in instead.

H8TRate

Ben and I are driving up to Madison, WI to take part in the H8TER 100 with teammates Jason, Tim, and Josh. We've got a case of Half Acre to give out as a special prize for the racer who most epitomizes "suffering".

If I don't make it back, look somewhere by the railroad tunnel we're supposed to ride through. Gah.

Mitchell Memorial

So, when the Ohio State Race Series schedule was posted up a few months ago, I saw that there was an event titled "Mitchell Memorial". Huh, Mitchell Memorial is on the west side of Cincinnati -- and where I do most of my riding when I go back home. There's very little traffic, and a mix of short-n-steep and long-n-gradual climbing.

I'll argue that the riding in Cincinnati is some of the best in the midwest and the racing scene is great, too. This is a typical "killer loop" that I like to do. It hurts like the dickens, but it's such a great ride. There are a few reasons I go home as much as I do: I do my laundry for free, I eat Graeter's ice cream, and I get in real hard hill training.

There aren't a ton of crits, but lots of hilly and flat road races, a long-running weekly time-trial series, and tons of 'cross. Chicago's crit scene is amazing, so any other locale pales. Chicago's got a bigger scene that's also for many people, me included, most of their social circle. For a transplant, most of the people I consider my best friends in town I know from riding and racing bikes.

But Mitchell Memorial -- that's home turf for me. I know those roads -- I know every crack in the pavement, every turn. And to race it? Shoot, got my target race, even though I've never been that interested in "targeting" races; I like doing as well as I can in every race I enter. I pay good money and relationship capital on amateur bike racing, so why waste it on a half-assed effort?

Saturday morning, I rode the 7 miles to the course easy. The weather was calling for rain, thunderstorms, hail, etc -- a dreadful forecast, but I like riding my bike in bad conditions, so I looked at the sky with relish. I got to the registration and talked to Judi for a while; it seemed that a gust of wind had come through and tossed the registration tent into the woods along with most of the registration forms. The race was >< this close to being canceled, but the hard work of volunteers running through the woods to chase down numbers and forms kept the race on.

I then got to hanging with my boys from Team Hungry, which is the team I would probably be on if I were still in Ohio. Team Hungry was borne from the ashes of the Campus Cyclery squad, so in a sense, it's an extension of my former team. Everyone on the squad is solid and all race with heart. I told Scott Pardi that I'd work for him as a Hungry for a day.

The 41-rider 4 race started with a steep descent down Jordan Valley that everyone took cautiously owing to the fact that 30 mph gusts and spits of rain were now making riding conditions challenging. I got to the bottom of the descent, made a right onto East Miami and pushed hard up the short climb, staying in the front 1/3. After a few miles of this, we made a right turn onto Buffalo Ridge. And this is where the pack came apart. I stayed near the front of the climbing group, but saw Scott make an attack with a Main Street Velo dude on the second half of the climb. At the top of the climb, I looked around and saw that it me and about 12 other guys had survived the ascent, which meant that we had to hustle if we were to stay ahead of the rest of the field.

For the next four laps of the 8.2 mile course, we pushed hard, but there were a few moments that our pace slowed to the point the race felt like a normal hard training ride. Well, until we got to the Buffalo Ridge climb where everyone gassed it as hard as they could to either A) shred the pack, or B) hang on for dear life, or C) both. I was in the C camp, maybe all of us were.

Nothing felt better than the right turn onto Jordan where the white-knuckled descent only offered a few minutes of rest where one could coast and allow some recovery. There wasn't any bad riding in our group and everyone kept their line.

The final time up the hill, a few guys broke loose ahead and I couldn't bridge it back up to them. I blew up some at the end and rolled in for 14th. I wanted to get in under 10th place, maybe that was my goal, but I'm not at all disappointed.

Scott ended up winning. Stud. (Now I can rationalize my performance by saying I was regulating the pack to prevent them from bridging up to him as he soloed it in. Ha.)

Good news for once

This happened.

More information here.

It seems rare when justice is served and truth and honesty prevails. I still have and hold doubts about the OU administration but this move at least means that the powers-that-are at that school can act reasonably.

Barry-Roubaix/Panini Party

The last time I was in Michigan, it was about 18 years ago. I remember going to the Henry Ford museum and climbing all over some locomotives and P-51 Mustangs. I went back again on Friday to race the second edition of the Barry-Roubaix 'cross/road race. I did pretty well, which is the first time in a long time I've done well in a bike race.

Preliminary notes:

1. Taco Bell and Dairy Queen is good pre-race carboloading food.
2. Registering for "Sport" category is sandbagging if you train on the road.
3. Five-door hatchbacks are Europro.
4. Paul-Brian's got the best inflatable pads.
5. "Expert" unless it's technical.
6. Gear range is overrated.

The start of the race was cold. I'd underdressed in a Craft thick long-sleeve base layer, jersey, and uninsulated team issue knickers knowing that I'd warm up through exertion. Still, standing on the line sucked -- we were all shaking and shivering waiting for the call to roll.

Eventually the party got moving onto the road for a semi-neutral rollout to the first gravel section. The transition off the road into the dirt, which was more like sand, wasn't all that bad. People were playing it safe and slow. Once into the dirt, I was able to pick up speed and start passing riders who were bogging down. At a small incline, I had to get off and run with the bike due to stalled traffic -- and ended up passing a good amount of them.

Once over the crest, it was a steady mix of rollers. The gravel and dirt was intimidating on the fastest of descents, but you could really fly over the stuff by getting weight off the handlebars and over the rear wheel. I rarely had to touch my brakes.

After a couple miles, I was settled in with a few dudes, all expert racers, who along with me took good pulls and kept the attacks and speed high. I passed by Paolo and worked a while with Isaiah who'd had better starts in the Expert category. Up and over the hills, none all that long nor steep. Which is good, because I totally botched a shifter cable replacement job and couldn't get my front derailleur to move out of the 46 ring AND I could only use my 12-20 cogs in the rear. The longest climbs had me out of the saddle, grinding them out at 45 RPM.

God bless my long legs and 175mm cranks; I've got leverage and know how to use it.

Funny, I actually dropped a fair number of riders on the climbs -- climbing's one of my stronger suits, but it's interesting that even with a gearing handicap, I could still put in a drop effort. By the time our group got onto the 3 miles of pavement left in the race, we were all pulling hard to try to get in under two hours. Turning into the park, some guy made an attack, and I followed suit. A few hundred feet from the finish line, I went into a sprint to stay away from some monster on a MTB who was gaining on me.

I ended up pulling a 1:58:44, which was good for 2nd place in the 30-39 category. My time would have earned me a result in the teens out of 50+ riders if I raced Expert, which I will next year. Unless I decide to race Elites (err...). I came home with a ton of Bob's Red Mill steel cut oatmeal and lots of free beer. Al Thom beat me for a convincing result in the Expert 50-59, but Mike Hemme crushed it in the Elite race, which had to go around that damn course twice.



Afterward, it was to Bell's for beer and eats and the back to Chicago.

I also played host to my cousin Isaac Ward, who was in town with his wife. She was at a bachelorette party and he needed a place to stay. I was more than happy to oblige -- Isaac's a brother to me and we don't get to see each other much outside of the big holidays. We got dinner at Bad Dog and brunch yesterday at M. Henry -- all the while we made jokes about our family and discussed ways of creating a new family legend.

Then my wild weekend was capped with me and Allison's hosting of a panini party at our apartment. Two panini presses, BYOF&B (Bring Your Own Fixings and Beer) and a good group of friends rounded out the evening. Allison and I provided cheese, cole slaw, potato salad, sauerkraut, and pork loin -- our guests did the rest. It was fantastic and it seemed everyone had a panini-filled stomach when they left.

I think we may make this a semi-regular thing. Paninis and bike racing -- a good combo.

I've got a new rose.

Viva Agostini

I rode the self-propelled bike a whole lot last week in North Carolina and Cincinnati. Pictures here. It'll take a while to write something interesting up, so entertain yourself with some sweet photos. I think I got in 18 hours and 280 miles of riding in last week. I'm not even that tired -- I'll attribute that to the Hammer Recoverite I started choking down after every workout.

I've gotta say, everyone on the Half Acre Cycling squad is top-notch. The best around.

Viva Agostini, er...or something.

I just remembered the time I was eight years old and at my grandparent's farm for the Fourth of July. My mom, brothers, and some other family members decided to walk through the woods behind the farm to go look at an abandoned house. I got separated along the way and ended up stuck in a huge blackberry briar patch, covered in scratches from the thorns. I think I was trying to crawl through the patch to get to the other side.

I remember looking up and seeing tons of big, ripe blackberries hanging from the canes. I don't think I ate any -- it didn't seem like a good idea with my family using sticks to push the canes aside so I could crawl back out.

I rode in today listening to the New Bomb Turks. For the first time in a long time, the sun was shining over the lake. Sunshine and the New Bomb Turks.

Things are gonna be alright.

Do the Strand

We've all been here in a literal or figurative sense. Covered in crap, exhausted, but exultant. Right now I'm definitely underwater and tired, but I feel like the finish line is coming up ahead.

From Yay Cycling!

Rode with Ben and Sean to Calumet Park yesterday to scope things out for the upcoming Gapers Block crit series. Three hours, 48 miles. It was slow going at times - the path was iced over much of the way south of McCormick and 23C tires don't grip all that well. I didn't stack it, although Sean did in the sand by 57th. The way back was much better - the sun melted a path through the ice and I was able to drag race Ben at a few spots.

Somehow I managed to ride 9 hours this week. Now I'm tired and I have this huge urge to drink lots of orange juice.

Orange juice.

Chill Out.

Lanolin over at Ritte Van Vlaanderen says it best:

Cycling for recreation and sport is a silly silly thing. Seriously. Most of us are grown ups who shave our legs, wriggle into spandex, and fret over color coordination to such a degree only a hipster could understand. We’re all just riding around on bicycles for shit’s sake. And perhaps to make the scene even more absurd, we’re racing each other, like little kids at recess. The next time you’re on a group ride, sprinting for an imaginary line just think about how inherently silly the situation is. And then to take it a step further, we pay lots of money to organizers to let us sprint each other to actual lines so we can get points and race against people who are even deeper in clutches of the Obsession.

[...]

The vast majority of roadies out there are good people, but the assholes taint the scene, pun intended. Just go to a cyclocross race… the vibe is completely different because the inherent absurdity of cyclocross is undeniable by anyone, so therefore nobody makes the mistake of taking it too seriously. But the road scene won’t change unless we all recognize that we too are doing something very, well, silly.

But most importantly:

In the end, we’re just grownups riding around on bicycles. And there’s nothing serious about that whatsoever.

Freezing Rain

I picked a really lousy day to ride the Seigler to work. The weather calls for freezing rain sometime in the afternoon and the slick tires on the bike are no match for that. I checked the weather this morning and all seemed well. Sucks.

I'm not feeling particularly brave on ice either, ever since I smashed my face into the top-tube of the Voodoo while trying to avoid falling on the ice a few weeks ago. Coming into work with a busted nose kinda sucked.

Unrest

When I moved away from Cincinnati in the summer of 2006, I had to put my collection of CDs and LPs into storage at my parents' houses. I loaded up my computer and iPod with as much stuff as it could hold, sealed the lids, and stuck the bins into the basement. They've sat there ever since -- I barely remember what I even have. I won't get rid of any of them, not unless my situation is dire, but it's funny to think about how something that was such a big part of my life (collecting and buying music) fell by the wayside. Now I don't even keep up, other than reading Pitchfork every couple of days or stopping in Reckless or Shake It! whenever I'm close by.

I really got into Unrest, a DC post-hardcore/pop/punk band, right before I moved away. When I first moved to Athens, I would listen to nothing but Unrest as I'd ride up and down the hills in the afternoon after class. They always sounded so lonely to me, desperate. Considering that they made these songs in their 20's and 30's, Unrest was really good at channeling the dire situation of being a teenager. "Perfect Teeth" is one of my favorite albums ever, the song "Cath Carroll" one of my favorite songs. It's the sound of caffeine-medicated loneliness, traced with a crush.

Difficulties.

I had a minor procedure done last Friday to remove a small cyst from my lower back. Gross, I know. I don't think many people care about the details enough to hear them, so I'll oblige on that end. I have no urge to elicit sympathy, either. In the healing process, I find it hard to walk as each step is painful, not even when I take short, slow ones. I can only sit very still and can only touch the ground by crouching. I'm moving like my grandfather -- hesitatingly and with care.

It's frustrating to be compromised in my movements. I'm a fast impatient walker. I squeeze past people on escalators, move them out of my way with my arms on the train. I now stand still and hope that no one pushes hard into my back because if they did, I'd likely drop to the ground in pain.

I'm optimistic that I should start feeling better in a few days, though the complete healing process takes weeks. Some yoga I can manage, but nothing else. This breaks my heart some, as the weather here in Chicago has finally turned slightly. I can't imagine throwing my leg over the top-tube of the bike, let alone actually riding it. No big deal, though. The lesson learned from back in the spring is that it won't take too much hard work to get back to where I was. I came into this thing in good shape, so provided I don't gain a big spare tire, I'll be alright.

No News

The only green thing these days is the moss.

I spent a week and a half in Ohio as a vacation from the noise, congestion, and the people. Half of that time was spent at the family farm. Now that's a vacation. I would do anything to live in the country -- I feel like I'm just biding my time.



Ohio riding is the best: Athens to Barlow. Cincinnati Loop. I daydream about going up and down these familiar hills under my own power when the weather's as ratbelly grey as it is today. I go home to visit my folks and I spend half the time out rolling around, doing my thing.

I finally bought a 24-hole PowerTap 2.4SL Campagnolo-specific hub to replace the Shimano unit that I've been using with a conversion cassette. It's being laced up to a DT Swiss aero rim and with blue nipples. I guess that's cool.



Also we bought another Saab, a 2002 9-3 SE with the high output turbo engine. It's the third Saab I've owned, the others being an '88 900S in red and a '94 9000 CS-Turbo. It's good to be back in something Swedish, even though GM's probably going to kill the brand. All it needs now is a roof rack and a "SAVE SAAB" sticker on the rear window -- both in the mail.