Cleansing, Self-inflicted Pain

If you squint really hard you can see Denver in background.  This is Kev.

The last ride I did was with Kevin.  Kevin plus myself make 2/3rds of the homey trinity(definition:  it's like three peeps who are homeys, c'mon, work with me here).  Where?  You ask is the third?  Good question.  He was doing work stuff.  Yuck!  But he is Teacher of the Year 2012 at RHS so I will not disparage my brother on this blog (maybe the next one though).  That last ride was before my vacation to southern California to visit me Mum (yes, I'm English, Southern English that's why I have this tan) and li'brah and sweet sis in-law.  It was amazingly cool and I learned two things.  One, the sweet tooth my mother has is genetic; and two, I can honestly say I don't like sitting around on a beach (not conducive to my ADD) and the hotel pool's just fine!  The only beaches I gravitate to are the rugged Oregon or Washington coasts where you can hike and decompress looking at some magnificent, water sculpted shorelines.  
The first thing I learned added girth to my waistline.  My Mum loves DQ desserts (really who doesn't).  So whenever there was DQ around we bust out a Blizzard, a dipped cone, a Caramel Shake, French Fries-and that was just for me!  Do that habitually on vacation and you end up with some sweet potential energy in the form of adipose tissue 'round yo middle.  Being a cyclist-and if you've spent quality time with cyclists-means I'm hypersensitive about my weight.  Call it vanity but you can't have extraneous girth when you're busting an uphill move or in an 80 mile race where thin=proficient, efficient use of transporting and burning crucial kilocalories.  Anyhoo it was my plan to store this potential energy and to transform it into kinetic energy as soon as I returned to Colorful Colorado (not really, I just have no self-discipline).  Today was that day peeps.
Kevin and I did a looped ride called Mt. Falcon to Lair O' the Bear.  I wanted to do the climb up Mount Falcon twice, so the plan was after the big loop, I'd just climb to the top of Falcon again and descend to get ready for the protracted pain threshold I will suffer through doing the Firecracker 50.  My new toy's Airborne Bike's Guardian 29er spec'd with the Goblin's components.  I just added my CrossMax wheelset that I'm running tubeless.  Penelope, after I did my pre-flight ritual of airing the + and - air chambers (10 pounds higher than manufacturer's recommendation), pumping tubeless tires to 40 psi (I know it's high), nighttime soak of chain lube (not me silly, the bike), was raring to go.  Once you've gotten over where the bike's center of gravity is, it's just a matter of expectations of what the bike's capable of doing and the driver's abilities (now I ain't saying she's a gold digger, but she ain't going for no broke...).  So-and I've been racing for a while-my expectation was for Penelope to deliver me a predictable, high performance translation of my pedaling and body english, to speed on the ground and to confidently track on the hardpack...which she did.  The big wheels coupled with the tubeless setup has a characteristic of beach cruiser wheels.  Kinda bubbly and bouncy but extra force dissipation (as oppposed to those forces dissipating via your spinal cord) is a plus.  When I lean to corner, the squish goes away and it tracks confidently (wish they made a UST version of the Small Block Eights). 
Here's why predictable ride quality is important.  Once the bike does what you ask for and you are intimately educated about how to get every nuance of performance out of her, the racer mind kicks in and you can get in the zone-the trance.  Once you're in the zone all the energy is spent on where your focusing your eyes (in tandem with:  setting up the body english, using arms and legs as shock absorbers, and visualizing) towards your desired path (obstacles or not).  It's like skiing moguls as fast as you can, except when you crash at speed in an XC race there's no snow to break your fall.  You worry about equipment (or your equipment flat out sucks), you lose that edge and focus and probably some time.  So thanks Airborne for spec'ing Penelope better than ite. 
Quasi big rocks, at speed mind you, needs a float like water stance and approach once you hit it.  It doesn't look pretty here but that's what I'm doing.

Approach, setting up the english...

Not particularly floating either but the big wheels have inertia baby!



Lair O'The Bear is roller coastery singletrack with these big-ish rocks as either uphill or down hill obstacles.  Another advantage of big wheels is one of my pedal strokes means my wheel will cover more distance than a 26er.  It's like disc wheels, you need leg strength to get the rolling inertia going.  If you have it, you win; if you don't, it's a waste of energy.  They also have rocks strategically placed where you have to thread the needle or else Mr. Rock will shear off your rear derailleur (Moab did that to my Yeti) or shred a sidewall (my tubeless tires are expensive!).  Either way it's not fun...

Kev threadin' the needle...

...me threadin' the needle.

Punctuating LOTB is a rocky, stair-steppy path.  'Tis better to descent it than ascend it so that's what we do...


This is actually pretty steep!

Almost done!

Back at the cars, Kevin gives me the remainder of his Cliff-Bloks and I still have some more potential energy hanging around.  Better do that second climb up Mt. Falcon.  Saturday's going to be an off-road Natural Grocers Dirt Team ride at White Ranch-a bunch of grown men sporting Halloween's colors wearing spandex.  Funny if you think about it.  If Penelope's going to be this confidence inspiring I await her debute at the first WinterPark XC race June 30th 'til then it's self-inflicted pain mixed with spiritual cleansing after epic rides setting up for the Firecracker 50 (guess the date). 



Eric and Billy are Ninjas

Eric (this is a pseudonym by the way, names were changed to protect the innocent and besides he’s in the witness protection program) and I had post-ride talk today.  It all started with the ride with my teacher-of-the-year home skillet and 1/3 of the homey trinity: Billy aka Hez-Chilly (which is a variant on the militant Islamic group Hezbollah, which is a variant on Hez-Billy, where I arrived on his moniker:  Hez-Chilly, get it?).  I could write a whole blog on Hez-Billy (that's his real name by the way), also my Ninja, but I digress…

…Eric and I have very similar life trajectories.  Even though he is merely a child as compared to yours truly who’s in his twilight years, we are quite sympatico.  We both love bikes, not solely as a vehicle of utilitarian purposes but for the simple aesthetics of it (I can stare at a clean bike for hours given my druthers);  we love the athletes who suffer for a pittance in National Tours;  we raced and still race all manner of bikes (‘cross, mountain, road-well I guess that’s all), we went through a mind numbing divorce of nutty, mental proportions, we actually lived in Alamogordo, NM (‘nuff said),  we’re single Dads and we truly love the simple (I guess simple is relative) things in life.

It all started after Hez-Chilly and I did our annual post-graduation cycle-fest.  About 470 kids at our HS graduated today and to commemorate that, we went on a bike ride, a mountain bike ride.  So, I like have this new ride from Airborne called the Guardian (same frame as the Goblin) and it’s red.  Red is the color of passion.  It reminds me of lips.  Billy showed me a statue of lips today at the University of Denver’s Ritchie Center and I liked it.  In fact, I wanted to kiss it, it looked so inviting (but I didn't).  Coincidental?  I think not.  When unpassionate things are colored red it’s like polishing a turd.  It just ain’t happening.  My new, red Guardian is truly a work of art that’s race ready (and diametrically opposed to said turd).  This was my second ride where I can truly push the performance envelope.  Yesterday I took it on a hill climb workout and it rocked but today with Billy, we did rather rocky climbs on tight singletrack, off-the-beaten-singletrack in a place called Green Mountain.  We went chilly-chill and after a lap, Billy had a tutoring gig and after our teary-eyed goodbyes (c’mon, I’m a guy, NOT!) I tore off for a second lap of $hit on your neighbor intensity. 

I’m 5’7”and weigh 135 lbs.  Ain’t a whole of competitive cycling disciplines this morphology is good for.  I suck at individual TTs, can barely tolerate criteriums, and long road races usually get me cramping but you know what I can do?  I can climb.  I climb all right (for an old guy).  I haven’t checked out my prowess in a climbing road race so I might just be talking out of me arse.  I’ll let you know if I do the Colorado State Road Race Championships.  On the second lap I tried my darndest to go at TT pace without being a dick to other trail users (I always yield to other hikers and uphill cyclists).  The Guardian was killin’ it!  There was a valley on the course where the downhill was shorter than the uphill but if you have sprint intensity you can punch yourself up the hillside marching the big gears.  I stood on the pedals mightily, cranked and wailed and contorted myself on the cockpit to get every ounce of energy delivered to the rear wheels with the lockout on, and not only did she not break traction but she was super quiet (nice component build-X7), tracked nicely due to its wheelbase, and the gearing choices were sufficient from the 10 x 2 setup (goodbye 9 x 3)thereby punching me over the top.  At the top, she whispered in my ear, is that all you have?  I replied with a smile.  I stood on the the crankarms with so much force it actually hurt the bottoms of my feet due to my shoes' stiff carbon insole.  Sho-nuff peeps there is little left to do in the dialing-in department.  She was an extension of my piston-type legs!  The big wheels, should you daydream at speed, will take you flying off the mountain.  When Billy shot out of the cannon at the beginning of the ride (I thought this was going to be chilly-chill?), I saw him down the course and I punched it.  I was also noticing how picture perfect downtown Denver was in the distance.  And in just that short distance, Peneolope picked up so much speed that I was about to go flying off the trail into a ravine. I did a supreme counter steer, contortionistic body English while locking up the brakes to get me back into my line.  This bike is FAST yet compliant enough to take your orders and translate it into manners on the trail.  The Kinesis geometry is aggressive while the 29er takes a wee bit of edge of the babyheads if you can’t thread the needle in the rock garden.  Great second lap and Penelope continues to impress me with what she’s capable of (translatable speed with confident steering, including very fast avoidance maneuvers, while looking sexy in red).  She has balance too.  On somewhat downhill sections of gradual serpentine profile, without too many babyheads, I take my hands off the bars and steer with my hips (yeah ladies!  I apologize…).  I rode nearly all of that short section hands free but needed to hit the brakes because I had to scrub off some speed.  No shimmies, no nothing, like a sled y’all.  Except it has wheels because you know, sleds have rails?

So, after that great ride (I truly don’t need much to keep me happy), I called Eric (mind you this is a pseudonym) for cosmic validation-a cosmic uh-huh from my Ninja.  To keep a long story short, we are kindred spirits of the highest order (my inner circle of friends are more than avid cyclists) and how simple things like guilt-free bike riding is so mentally underestimated but can also lead to meaningful satisfaction that saturates all the fibers in your body with euphoria.  To the uninitiated it looks like grown men riding a bike, a mere child’s toy.  It doesn’t make sense.  It’s like an inside joke for anachronistic weirdos (because of the UCI)  and strangely esoteric to say the least (if you’ve been to a party where two cyclists have a conversation, it’s like a whole other language).  But for Eric and Billy and for myself it’s the straw the breaks the camel’s back for making a difference in mood, identity, and self-inflicted, drug-free therapy.  Riding isn’t our life, but the quality it provides us and  the tangential opportunities that present itself in the cycling community, its absence would make us feel lost.  So, Airborne cycles and Eric-my Ninja (and Jeremy), thanks for providing me a child’s toy where my homies and I can repeatedly find our happy place (it all begins with pedaling), burning enough calories for a beer or a doughnut or a cheese pizza (all at the same time if need be), and a means to $hit on my neighbor come XC race day.   So, like Cube said in his seminal LP The Predator, this is dedicated to all the Ninja's [sic] down on day one.

Hello Airborne, it's been awhile--welcome back!

Getcha sum.  Here's my new love suckas, and she's inanimate.

Busted the inaugural off-roadmove on Airborne’s Goblin/Guardian rig. She was spec’d with X7 with a 10x2 drive. First time to run a 10x2 and it worked just perfectly. The big gear wasn’t quite as big as the outer triple and the small isn’t quite as small as the inner but it didn’t slow me down. Seemed my rpms where a tad slower than I remembered but it never slowed my climbing down. Absolutely loved the tires that are on this rig-the Kenda’s small block eights. I’m gonna transfer ‘em on my Crossmax’s and run some Stan’s to become tubeless once more. I did switch the 160 mm rotors and ditched the 185 mm and transferred the 9 nine speed into the 10 speed cassette from my original 29er. Now, after some blue loc-tite and torque spec’ing the TORX bolts, the Crossmax’s are on the Guardian with the proper hardware.

Farted around after I assembled the bike, so my first ride (instead of going during the day) was a night ride. No worries though because I’m pretty familiar with all the terrain nuances out at Green Mountain here in Lakewood. Off the get go I’m digging my upper body stance and how lively the frame is even with the stock wheelset. I remember when I bought my first Yeti racing hardtail how it seemed like it was like a sled on snow. The Airborne geometry is sending the same sensations through my brain, recalling my fondness for a fast, hardtail with sexy lines (no dual suspension evokes such aesthetics like an old school hardtail). The deluxe dealio about this ride though is that she’s a 29er. Thought I’d be the last to pull the 29er trigger but once you start rolling on the big boy wheels the rolling inertia makes for overcoming obstacles, climbing, throwing it around switchbacks almost like cheating (let alone hammering on the flats). Got the 16” frame thinking it might be too small but once I settled in the cockpit and did some counter steering around some curves it felt perfect (maybe a smidge longer stem because I’m a road weenie?). Where the smaller frame shone for me was my ability to English the bike as threading the rock needle or humping over an uphill obstacle without pedaling. Effortless I’m telling you!

Remember when you have a bike that’s so novel it’s like having the placebo effect? Once I got on the long downhill fireroad at Green Mountain she started talking to me (oddly my Yeti was red too, is red my conduit to the darkside?). A smile came over my face because it was like a sled on fresh snow. The 29ers where rolling fiercely and I felt like I was gliding. She, I’ll call her Penelope, was saying stuff to me like, “Hey Mikey, you know you can go faster….” And “What’s up with feathering the brakes?” and “Doesn’t that wind feel good against your face?” I know it’s a piece of aluminum but jeez the riding sensation was terrific. It’s like the difference between quality clinchers and middle of the road tubulars-there ain’t to substitute for tubulars. Well there is no substitute for quality ride sensation that translates to ease of clearing obstacles and climbing. It was quality. The only thing I forgot to do was to put noise erasing material on the drive side chainstay. Other than that the entire ride was ninja quiet. I love quiet bikes.

I also notice I was smiling a lot. Maybe it was night and other senses where being used, but I couldn’t get over how silky smoof my new ride was. Kept thinking to myself, I can upgrade the components on this race frame and she’d be a killer. Ran the fork at higher pressures but that’s because I’m a road weenie and don’t need the big hit setup, just enough to float over the profile that ills me.

Dare I say there are endocannabinoids floating around in my bloodstream? Yes, I think I will.

Spring Break Came and Went!

White Tank Mountain Regional Park

Well, I'm sitting in my classroom getting caught up from Spring Break and what better way to get caught up than at work?  I've come in on a weekend that's how much of a professional I am (right!).  I don't have internet service at my house but I do have a smart phone and besides I'm too cheap to pay for internet.  I should ask my neighbor's what their password(s) are so I can do this at home but that's ite.
It all started back in March the 24th.  The kids and I go to visit their cousins (my nephews) and Uncle (me brah) and Aunt (me sis in-law) out in Goodyear, AZ.  Goodyear's essentially in the Phoenix area.  First night we spent at one of the illest La Quinta's in Albuquerque, NM.  The pool was closed and I told the kids to pack their swimsuits because we love nothing better than swimming.  The ocean's our first choice but pools are our second.  Next door was a Denny's we hit for dinner.  Yuck.  Needless to say we got some quality time talking and watching MTV. 
Next day, we hit Goodyear!  Awesome to see the family.  Mom was there too visiting from SoCal.  The kids play up a storm and we're ready to hit the ground running the next day.

My brah, in the zone...

 Monday, Jeannine and my Mom take the 5 kids to the Arizona Museum of Natural History while my brother and me ride White Tank Mountain Regional Park.  Couldn't tell you the names of the trails but 23 miles later we were smiles from ear to ear.  Brought the 29er this time (although I love riding his Moots hardtail-the RigorMootis).  It was a blast.  The single track was tight and the rocks were abundant.  The trail he took me on was more technical than the ones he took me on last break.  No roots out here just rocks and rocks and rock obstacles where the soil eroded leaving some gnarly looking obstacles that isn't graded for pedestrian use.  The climb out translated into an ass-kicking descent that left me feeling pinballed and jackhammered.  On one picture I'm pinching but tubeless saves the day.  Thanks inventor of the UST compatible wheelsets.  Still, the goofy grins on our faces were there.  My brother rocks like that.
Unfortunately the community pool was too cold because it still gets pretty cold at night here in Goodyear.  The next day, we went bowling at the AFB.  We put the bumpers down for the kids and they had a blast!  My daughter Maura scored two strikes in a row whereas my oldest daughter bowled with the adults where the gutters beckoned our bowling balls.  First game I beat my daughter but in the second we tied.  My brother's score was unreachable from us.  Earlier that day we went for an extended family bike ride to the local park where I explained to my brother and sis in-law that although Maricel is rather slender and tall, don't let those appearances deceive you, she can run like greased lightning.  So we had races from one end of the grassy field to other where my brother, my sis in-law, and I tried to knock down Maricel a podium finish or two but it was to no avail.  She smoked all the adults.  She fast my daughter o'mine.

Feeding the giraffes.  The baby's on the right.

 Last day we went to the zoo.  Not particularly a fan of zoos but hanging out with my family I'll pretty do anything and it turned out pretty special too.  At the Icee machine when the girl wasn't looking we refilled our drinks several times.  The award for most brazen has to go to my middle daughter when she refilled it for the fifth time.  I'm so proud!   I forgot how damn tasty Icee drink concoctions are!
The trip home in the cab of the Tundra was spent rewinding how the trip and connecting again with family members was special.  Every time I visit my brother, however short the time is, we have an absolute blast.  The kids being present made it the icing on the cake.  We spent a night in Santa Fe.  The only pool that was open the entire trip.  So of course not only did we jump in the regular pool but we hit the hot tub as well.  Yea!  The results of this trip were funky tan lines, more fun than you can shake a stick at, and reinforcing how hanging with family is the shite.
The following Saturday I entered my first race of the season after going on the USA Cycling website the night before to NOT race the Cat 5's and to get licensed with my local governing body (the ACA).  What better training than eating and eating in Arizona and hanging with the fam?  Did the 45+ open and blew up mid-race.  45 open means racing with Cat Is and IIs.  Fast and more than decent bike handlers.  I couldn't believe the pace!  I was still pretty happy and now I know the speed expectations of this group.  60+ competitors in my wave.  Amazing.  Gotta due some power workouts.  What ended up being my demise was the accelerations up the hill.  I tried to spin in the pack but that only got me going backwards.  I have no wattage.  Gotsta work on that.  I chock it up as a learning experience.  Our group was lucky, my friend Kenny L.'s group had to call in ambulances for the crash-fest they experienced.  One of my teammates needed 5 stitches on his elbow.  Ouch.  First race done.  Looking forward to the next when I can redeem myself (pack finish).  Been doing some of the Meridian local rides but apparently it doesn't translate to power.  We'll see this Saturday when I do my second race of the season, the Denver Federal Center Criterium.  I'll race the 35+, Cat IIIs because a weather front's coming in later that day and bringing with it snow.  We'll see how I do tomorrow.  Tonight though, I witness a pop act called (the) Cults at the Fox Theatre in Boulder up on the Hill.

Ever Have One Of Those Weeks?

Really, when I look back on how the week has been shaping up to this point, it isn't that bad.  When you witness one of those postings from a 'friend' on FB and some dude is pushing a wheel barrow jerry rig'd to the stump where once his fully functioning arm used to be or an adolescent boy with prostheses for legs I really don't have the right to bitch.  But, all things considered that's what makes a Filipino living in America wanna practice that privilege to bitch or at least be out-of-sorts with one's self.
A series of unfortunate events have been unfolding recently in my current and not so current history and every now and again-completely out of the blue-it settles in my consciousness and colors it.  It's how I choose to deal with it, to resolve it, and get going with 'normalcy' is how I gotsta get it done right.
Work is going relatively okay.  I have been getting in the Meridian rides the past two sessions consecutively and thankfully it does release endocannabinoids.  Cycling therapy.  I don't know what it is.  Is it the white noise, alpha brain waves?  The rhythmical cadence sync'd with my heart rate?  The repetitious motion of others' around me snaking around a corner like a swarm of bees?  I don't know but it sure make me feel better.
My first Meridian ride saw me riding with some of my teammates and finishing with the leaders.  That was cool.  Tonight though was a slog.  I hate post-slog mental resolving.  Endocannabinoids were present but here's how the conditions played itself out tonight:  It was ehfing cold and windy.  Thankfully I packed my cold weather gear the night before.  To add insult to injury they had the ehfing sprinklers on tonight.  So-on top of our self-induced wind chill-we had evaporative cooling due to the water spraying on ourselves as we passed through puddles in the road.
You ever have that moment when you're right near your breaking point and you say to yourself, "Self? What. Now. Am. I. Exactly. Doing. Here?"  Then you look around, and see collective suffering with your competition inches off your wheel and you buck up.  It wasn't necessarily fun, but for the sake of the collective, you push forward, and there was only 20 minutes left in the group ride/race.
Did I mention how ungodly cold it was tonight???
Every lap had some attrition and nobody wanted to re-emerge themselves back into the laps.  They just went home except for a Team San Jose guy, he kept re-emerging at the entry point on the top of the hill.  The pack would surge, my cold ass body would respond and I would be near the back but at this point there was no yo-yoing effect because I was at the back of the pack.  I looked back and there was nobody.  I would say there were maybe a dozen riders left.  The cadence was chill.  Just a smidge off of race pace but just enough for me to pedal 80 rpm's in my large chainring.
Even on the pesky, sprinting, hill I was able to stay seated albeit I would get out of the saddle some 50 meters near the top as they were accelerating but I was never in trouble of getting dropped even when my calves started to cramp.
Last lap and it falls apart.  I hold her steady and finish with a group of three with me just pedaling tempo up the sprint hill finish line, turning into the parking lot, shedding my skinsuit-ss jersey, leg warmers, beanie, toe covers, gloves and shoes and putting my work clothes back on while wearing a towel.  Holeee sheep shite, it was cold but I finished!  The therapy was fine.  Now I have to keep the mental phantoms at bay, all the while, counting down my days towards spring break with my kids and me visiting my brother and their cousins in Phoenix, AZ.
Topsy-turvey or even keeled mentally.  As with my week, I don't know what to choose (nor would I choose-how's that for oscillation).  I am grateful though for the invention of bicycle though not as much for the automatic sprinklers.   
I wrote this at a Starbucks in 25 minutes because they're closing.  Forgive me for syntax errors.  I don't pay for Wi-Fi anymore that's my situation...

11 Feb aka Let's Celebrate Murphy's Law!

Sunny at first but look at those storm clouds.  That was our theme today.

 The day is the 11th of February.  This day -for the Homey Trinity- would be indelibly etched in our memory as Murphy’s Law Day (Dear Mr. Murphy, if I ever saw you, I would ehf you up two times sir).

It began as the middle third of the homey trinity slept through three, separate alarms he allegedly set the night before (mm-hmmm!).  Since the middle third was also responsible for the last third that make up this-our-special union, he was late too.  Finally we hit the road, 5 people with cycling gear for the weekend, bikes, and corollary equipment like tools onboard Betsy the IV (of all the cars I’ve really loved they were all named Betsy:  an 83 Nissan Sentra-Betsy; a 93 Volvo 850 GLT wagon-Betsy II; and a 95.5 Audi S6 Avante-Betsy III), at least an hour behind schedule and what added insult to injury was the weekend ski traffic as we head westbound on I-70.  Snow was also falling on Vail pass so we had to run 4wd for a while just to be safe further reducing our terminal velocity as dictated by Colorado State Troopers.

The further westbound we go the higher the mercury climbs and once we arrive in Moab, at the Poison Spider to retrieve Jeremy’s 2012 Yeti 575 rental my Tundra’s digital thermo-meter says, “52 F°” (actually she says nothing but I’m anthropomorphizing my Tundra because I love her so).  

The La Sals, a pretty beginning for our adventure.

 Murphy’s Law number one:  New bike rear tire shall address the goathead sticker.  Jeremy and Hogan ride to our hotel and once we get unpacked and kitted out to ride, Jeremy, affectionately known as “that guy” was a goat head magnet.   The slime held in the front tire; but unfortunately it didn’t for the rear.  So what seemed to be a hiccup in the space-time continuum it’s 2:30 by the time we change out the rear and Billy and Kevin give some lovin’ to their rigs.  That time, by its own account should’ve sent red flags in our sensibilities of safety with day light burning out near 5:50 but now, we’re too ate up to not do Gold Bar/Portal Trail.

Everything’s good until the first casualty of the day:  me.

Experts?  Close.  Endurance? Yup.  Sunlight? Hiyill Naw.

Murphy Law number two (I said number two):  You talk shite to Mother Nature, Mother Nature will give you shite sandwich in spades!  I thought I was owning Mother Nature and was not respecting her because I was a cleaning/technical machine until Mr. Steep Rock Face had something to say.  He said, “Cycling beeyatch, today you will feel the sting of my lichens, thus shall you lose rear tire traction as you near 99% completion of the perception of cleaning me.”  I swear the last words I said before I lost rear tire traction on the lichens thus torquing my handlebars that served as a battering ram towards my 135 pound self times the acceleration of gravity equaling the force in Newtons as I got skewered by own handlebars, was, “Take that bitch!”  Then almost instantaneously I looked like a fish out of water, having the wind knocked out of me sternum side, with my other side of my ribcage colliding with Mr. Steep Rock Face, flopping on the tarmac holding my breadbasket, speaking in tongues, with the onset of a gran mal seizure, with Kevin running towards me to see if I was okay.  As he was running, he got a left calf cramp and collapsed when it cramped; adding to the log jam as Billy was behind him also trying to give me aid.  If there was a hidden camera capturing all this, it woulda been hella funny!

Murphy Law number three:  Plan all you want, when you start late, Mr. Sunshine will go down quicker than what you expect.  Once the sun went down we just started the portal trail and Billy and Kevin brought their lights.  I remember even as my ribcage was throbbing with pain, Hez-Billy and I were flowing through the rolling terrain skirting the edge of the chasm on the Portal Trail.  Thank goodness for a while until…

Murphy Law number four:  Damn suckas, you shoulda done brung a map foo’!  Who you think you are?  Magellen?  Yup our sorry arses got lost, we back-tracked several times to find the trail and by then it was cold and we were all hypoglycemic, hypersensitive to cold but trying not to lose it mentally, and night was on us.  Once we did find the trail we had to hike it out because there was a 500 foot sheer rock cliff that perpendiculared (yeah, I just made up a word) the Colorado River.  To the left, your exteroception facilities  could feel the electricity of the void that would claim your life should you slip, so we just didn’t think about it (too much).  Nothing like walking an hour and a half in carbon soled mountain biking race shoes with death some mere inches away on some parts of the Portal Trail.

Like that sign?  Behind Jeremy's a 500' sheer drop...

 Murphy Law number five:  You got lights?  Yeah, you think you got lights…Billy said we should move quicker because he only as about 35 minutes left o’juice on his lights.  35.00001 minutes later, light source number one goes bye-bye.  One light, Kevin’s light, lit 5 people walking down a precipice with 20+ pound bikes in tow, walking on cycling shoes in one of the world’s gnarliest, lethal terrain in pitch black (clouds obscured a normally ¾ moon).  I did see the sign stating three people have died here, so walk your bike: so that’s when I had Kevin take a picture of Jeremy and me flanking the sign.  What seemed to be an eternity prompted Hez Chilly to holler, “What the fuc* are y’all waiting for?!!”  So what seemed to be an eternity we’re finally on the road.  The cold made me urinate at least five times that evening.

Murphy Law number six:  Ite you sorry punks, I’ll give y’all a break.  We are still hypoglycemic, still hyper-cold sensitive but being on a one lane road with trucks in the middle of the night leaked out some adrenaline.  First, Kevin busted a high pace out in front, as I half-wheeled him, he increased the pace.  So what did I do?  I increased the pace some more.  He then half-wheeled me, and once he tired of my pace he amped it up a smidge.  After reciprocating this 3 more times, I busted the Alberto Contador I’m-standing-on-my-pedals-out-of-the-saddle-to-vary-my-pedaling-motion-so-as-to-vary-the-muscle-recruitement-and-not-cramp-but-little-do-you-know-I’m-fitt’na-bust-a-move-on-your-least-suspecting-arse move.  So I busted that move and attacked and the lactic acid flooded my chubby thighs.  We’ve been on the trail for nearly six hours now and here’s my busted ribcage self attacking out of light’s reach.  Once they were closing, the shadows cast by the chasers from Kevin’s light seemed to be out of a surreal movie.  The shadows were so big and so unorchestrated and so metronomic with the pumping of their pedaling action that it seemed phantasmagorical.  I don’t let up and finally Kevin chases on so now we’re two.  As we cross the last bridge into town we’re now three with Jeremy chasing on and that’s how it finishes as we head into the lighted parking lot of our hotel.  Holee Mackarel not only did we light all the matches in our matchbook, but we lit the matchbook as well and are HOLLOW to the point of bonking.  A round of fist bumping goes around as we’re finally the homey trinity plus two in disbelief of the lethal booshite we just experienced and survived collectively with nary a scratch (‘cept for some eft up ribs) as we’re putting the bikes in the hotel’s bike room as head out to City Market to spike our glycemic indices.  The other two that make up our group is Hogan:  Hez-Billy's mountain biking phenom (son); and Jeremy (aka that guy!):  said mountain biking prodigy's BFF.  A good group with heaps of testosterone keeping it competitively friendly.

Tomorrow, Sunday, we ride Sovereign but tonight we bask in the afterglow of the favorable results (that could've been a major failure or lethality due to stupidity by adults in the presence of minors) with happy endings (but not those kind of happy endings).  Everything else from this point forward is just quotidian.

Here's our lookout: Hogan, trying to spot any more trouble...

Hello 2012

Was haulin' butt out the house to try and catch the Hour of Power down at Wadsworth. From my house, it was above freezing, just slightly, but as the day went on it was eventually going to snow.  I took the back-woodsy way to the start- the hypotenuse of a right triangle as opposed to the three and four sides-and got there with five minutes to spare!  I yanked all my clothes off in the back seat and in order, put on my base layer T; bib shorts; jersey, socks, shoes, jacket, wind proof tights (oh hecks yeah! thought it was overkill but it was toasty), booties (I said, "booty"); balaclava; helmet; neoprene gloves; and shot out the back seat to assemble my bike lying in the trunk of my car.  When my non-drive side shoe popped into my speedplay the group was off and there I was drafting off the back as I slid my glasses off my helmet onto me mellon.
There was a group that left an hour earlier but it would've been waaay to cold for me.  I was after all born near the equator.  As we were rolling downhill towards the left turn into Waterton Canyon, people were already fading off the back.  Just that slight, downhill acceleration.  Maybe they were full blast into the wind?  Oh well.
Now comes the little riser, the pace was stiff but just enough for the group in front of me to climb it sitting in the big ring.  Once it backed off, I get up off the saddle and do the swimming lizard dance on my pedals.  A group of people got shelled from that climb.  I saw a tri-geek go backwards and felt no sympathy for him (sorry if you're a tri-geek).  I tried to bury myself in the pack to get ready for the climb up Arrowhead Golf Course and I noticed my heartrate wasn't backing down before the uphill crapfest.  Not good.  So I increase my rpms on the pedals, pedal smoothly but brisk with deep, get-your-heartrate-back-down-sucka belly breathing.
Here comes the hill and I have a nice spot in the peloton going up.  Halfway up they accelerate and I BLOW!  Can't even catch up to the flotsam from the acceleration and when I make the  180° turnaround it's off they go!  As I u-turn it, the smart alecky gate guard said, "Better catch 'em!"  For an instant my smart alecky self wanted to say, "Catch this beeyatch" while flashing the you're number one hand gesture.  He wasn't being malicious I was just in some mental distress.  I didn't do it.
As we're rolling downhill towards the reservoir, the people who got shelled recycle themselves into the chaos that's known as the Hour of Power.  Since the pack isn't so big there weren't too many yellow line violations fighting for that sweet echelon spot.  I tried to think ahead on our turns from where the wind was blowing (to seek shelter) and in one particular spot got some full-on headwind.  This is where I tucked in real close (without being a dick and pushing someone out) so I wouldn't have too much exposed surface area and I was hoping the guy in front of my wasn't a Fred in the echelon (he wasn't) and wouldn't fade in the wind (we didn't).
The rolling hills into the park was mellow too, not the awful accordion-effect we experience as we go like gang busters.  I was able to get some rest as I climbed with a slightly higher rpm than my neighbors but still sitting to conserve.
The lefty in the park was where the kookoos go ballistic, but thankfully it was smooth.  Danny Summerhill was in the pack, Greg Daniel was there too flying the Stars and Stripes. I saw them surge, gain some time but since nobody was working we eventually caught 'em.  Nothing too spectacular to the yellow sign sprint other than a slower dude got clipped as an accelerating rider passed him and came onto his line just a little quicker than the pass distance.  He got a wicked shimmy from where the rider clipped his front wheel.  We're doing  about 37 miles an hour (I really should look up) and I'm two riders deep to his left.  I was wondering, if he falls my way there's going to be a nasty domino effect that might could take me out.  Luckily he got control of his bike and it's off for the last burst. I holler, "Good recovery!" A group of four took off, and I found myself up front.  I get out of the saddle to get the lactic burn out and people think it's a sign to kick it.  Needless to say, the pack passed me but I was able to reinsert myself some 15 cyclists back to the leading group.  We let the out-of-saddle sprinters go while the rest of us just sat and marched a big gear to the line.
I look at my odometer and we covered 18 miles in 47 minutes.  What's that, some 23 miles per hour?  That's ite for the first crap-on-your-neighbor ride for 2012.  Saw some cycling acquaintances as we noodled back to the start.  Mike, for example, was sporting a nice beard for some insulatory purposes.  Still rockin' the carbon Giant.
After a chit-chat session, we did some chill ride miles.  It was getting cold so I turned around so's I can get 30 miles total.  So after an hour and a half;  thirty miles it is!  This was a good omen for my rag-tag attempt to kick start my 2012 cycling campaign.  45+ category here I come!  As I took off my not-so breathable winter weight cycling jacket in the car I noticed I was smelling something fierce!  Time for green tea and a hot shower peeps.