Salem Spring Tri

Last week I decided to start my taper for Boise last weekend by switching a really long brick out for the Salem Spring Tri. I didn't do anything to get ready for this race other than pack my things and head down there - I did my hardest run this year on Wednesday, swam hard with the masters team Thursday, and went mountain biking on Friday morning with B, DR, and Alika. So, I wasn't exactly fresh to start the race. But, that wasn't the point. The swim was a mixed bag. I hadn't done any recon on the swim course. Without knowing where I was going, the swim felt really long. Plus, for some reason, even though there were only 75 or so people in my wave, I spent more time running into people than I have at almost any other swim - I simply couldn't get clear. After what felt like an eternity, I came out of the water in 13:51. I'm not sure how to interpret those results since there is a slight current in pond. But, I did finish 186/645 in the swim. I guess we'll see how it goes at Boise. As I started the bike, I felt the effects of fatigue. It felt like the swim had soggied all my matches, and the fuel for the matter, so I couldn't get moving on the first lap. Even that guy with the mountain bike helmet that was going shirtless passed me. Finally, after fifteen minutes or so, my matches dried out and I was able to light something to get moving. The bike was a two lapper, with my second lap coming in four minutes faster. As I started the run, I was sluggish and I felt that heavy dread that I may have to push through the entire run while I felt like crap. I hate that feeling. It soon faded and as I started the second half of the run I actually started enjoying it. My overall time was definitely slower because of the built up fatigue, but I had fun and either my wife or I will be doing this race whenever we can.

Commuting Etiquette, Mass Transit Style

In the last year or so I've switched to mainly commuting by car to mainly commuting by mass transit. On occasion, which is less often than it should be, I ride my bike to the bus stop and take the bus in. On those trips, I usually don't bother with cycling shorts on the way in since the ride down is so short, but usually do put on cycling shorts for the ride home, which usually takes about 45 minutes to an hour. And I always wear the courtesy baggies for the bus ride back to the UC. Everybody should. There are a couple of semi-regular commuters who ride one of the same later buses I take - one of the buses I catch when I've been too lazy to get up early and ride to the bus. I call them Bent Pedro and Short Bus. Short Bus is apparently a PhD student in physics or the like and insists on wearing his helmet the entire time, but at least he's wearing baggies. I shouldn't say much more about the name, lest I risk being sent to hell. Bent Pedro on the other hand is a multiple offender. He rides a recumbent. I'm just saying - a recumbent. And spandex. Sans the courtesy baggies. It's disturbing. Picture a bus full of guys in shirts and ties, women in suit pants, and Bent Pedro make his way along down the aisle with his pinnochio pants on. And then he finds that lucky person to share the ride with and sits down right next to them. For 45 minutes. Don't get me wrong, I firmly believe there is a time and a place to go with spandex - and straight spandex to boot. You don't want to show up to a group road ride and be that guy - you know who I'm talking about, the fellow on the hybrid with the baggy shorts and 20 oz. of root beer in his cage. There is a definitely a time and a place where the spandex is appropriate. But it's not on the bus.

Big Day

I've always wanted to do a multi-course dinner, especially with a group of people who love food as much as I do. Pat's admission to medical school provided me a pretext, so after a month or so of thought we made it happen. But first, I had to get some suffering in with the wind with Chuckie and Mahana. Good company to suffer with. It was a meal to remember. The menu: Appetizer - Tuna Sashimi with Fresh Ponzu, Tuna Tartar with Wasabi Aoli Salad - Amy's Salad (Spinach, Bacon, Walnuts, Feta, and Poppyseed Dressing) Bread - Whole Grain Bread, Vanilla Whipped Honey-Butter Fish - Garlic Shrimp, Sticky Rice, Fresh Ginger Soda Palette Cleanser - Fresh Fruit Smoothie White Meat - Apple Cider Baby-Back Ribs, Potato Salad with Homemade Lemon Mayo Entree - Filet, Potato Waffle with Fresh Horseradish Cream and Port Pan Sauce, Seasonal Vegetables Dessert - Vanilla and Chocolate Creme Brulee We were all too full when we were done with the entree so we skipped the cheese course, which was supposed to be Kerrygold Dubliner Cheese with D'Anjou Pears and went straight to dessert.

Tuesday and Thursday Mornings

B is back in the game - we're riding Tuesday and Thursday mornings before work. Tuesday involves a brisk ride up AF Canyon and Thursday is for mountain biking. DR comes along as well when he can. I push myself when I ride with these guys to try and keep the gap at least respectable, which I wouldn't do without them.

Good Morning

I love South Fork in the spring. Hard-packed and tacky without a hint of dust. I've had an SEG going ever since I started the descent.

Luau

I know it's early, but the planning and purchasing stages are already well underway. This year, the luau will be held on September 12 starting at 5 p.m. and going until it gets dark or every body leaves. The menu will follow closely with years past, with chicken, pork, beef, sausages, my brother's famous coconut pudding, as well as various sides. Please don't feel obligated to bring anything. That rarely works as some people insist - if you're the insisting type you can bring a salad or a desert or if you've got a particular side you want to eat with Hawaiian food then you should bring that. Hopefully you can make it and have a good time. It will be at Timpanogos Cove Park in Cedar Hills again at Timpanogos Cove Park, which is at 9508 N Timpanogos Cove Dr. I'm super excited.

Cultural Barriers

I spent two years as an Mormon missionary in Buenos Aires, Argentina in the mid 90's. Most of the missionaries in my MTC district were headed to the same mission. One of them was Ryan. Ryan came from a pampered background. Which I heard all about during the MTC. His dad was a VP at an international hair care products company and his mom was a phsychologist. He also had plenty of photographic evidence to back up his story. He lived in what I would still consider a mansion, complete with a large swimming pool and hot tub, a gym - the works. His parents bought him a nice car, a nice truck, a bullet bike, jet skis, a boat . . . .. well, you get the picture. Ryan hated the conditions in the MTC and didn't hesitate to voice his complaints. It only got worse for poor Ryan once we arrived in Argentina. As it turned out, Ryan and I ended up in the same apartment, which was a squalid dump even by South American standards. I was partnered with an American, Ryan with an Argentine named Campos. Campos spoke no English. Ryan not really any Spanish. As we they tried to settle in that first night, they struggled to communicate. Finally, in frustration, Ryan decided to take a shower. No hot water. Regardless, at least he could wash his face before he went to bed. As Ryan was finishing up, Campos started laughing. At Ryan. Campos did his best to explain the situation to Ryan, but to no effect. So he explained it to my companion in Spanish, who translated what had happened to Ryan when my compansion could compose himself enough to talk instead of chuckling. You see, Ryan had taken the time to really clean his face with a facial cleanser. After having rinsed it off, he had grabbed the first towel that was handy and dried his face with it. After all, the maid at home always kept fresh hand towels at the ready. The towel he grabbed was not a hand towel. And it was by no means fresh. Ryan had thoroughly dried his face with a well-spotted bide towel that was crusty enough to stand upright by itself. Dirty enough that none of the others would use it for any purpose, regardless of how desperate they were. Or even touch it. After Ryan learned what he'd done, he spent the better part of an hour scrubbing his face again - which was red the entire next day.

Different, But Definitely in a Good Way

This last weekend, I made it priority to get to Dew. It's a tiny little joint in Provo. The food was amazing. We had a little bit of everything - the boba drinks, the dumplings, the pho', the bahn mi, and some dessert. If you're looking for something reasonably priced that is a break from the freeway food ubiquitous in Happy Valley, I'd definitely recommend you stop by. If you happen to stop by on a Friday night, we'll probably see you there.

Lessons from RAWROD

When it comes to epic adventures, time tends to dim not only the memory of the pain that would otherwise teach me to avoid future endeavors, but also some of the lessons learned during the day. So, I'm writing them down to help me remember them next time.

• Proper bike preparation definitely includes making sure the fork settings are correct. I hadn't ridden my suspension fork in about six months and I didn't have the settings handy. I realized after a bit that the fork felt a little low both in the compression spring and the damping chamber, so that it felt like something like a low travel pogo stick. I ended up riding about half the day with it locked out.
• Don't forget the camp chair. I always forget it and always regret it.
• Take ear plugs for the night before. I was down before 10, but unable to sleep until much later. I don't do Ambien, etc. What I really needed was The World at War on my iPod - puts me right out every time.
• Take more Carbo Rocket - I took the better part of a bottle, but at the concentrations I use it, that wasn't enough. I needed to put more water and other fluids in the truck as well.
• Dan is my epic riding partner-in-crime. Do whatever it takes to get him there. If he's not going, I shouldn't go unless I am 100% comfortable with the likelihood of spending most of the day alone. And in the wind. And dehydrated. And not having very much fun at all.
• Scott and TM are awesome. I need to feed them something awesome some time soon. Let me know when works for you guys.
• No long runs the week of the ride.
• Take a lens cloth for my glasses.

A few things went right:

• Using only things that didn't need refrigeration was a good call.
• The potato chips were awesome.
• The cupcakes were also awesome.

I'm almost definitely not going to ride next year as I'll be doing IM St. George the following week. Maybe I'll head down and cook instead. We'll see if I can get Ben to come along and help with that.

RAWROD '09

It was an epic day yesterday, even more so than this route normally is. I really hadn't planned on going since Dan was out and I didn't have anyone to ride with. I really had no interest in suffering in the desert alone for an entire day. The riding commitments made that swayed me in to going turned out to be campaign promises. So after getting an early start, I was left for dead on the first climb and spent a lot of time riding alone in the wind. At mile 30, I ran out of water and bonked. After riding alone and dehydrated in a demoralizing 10-15 mph headwind (gusting to 20) for nearly 20 miles, I'd had a gutfull of it and come to grips with packing it in. TM found me limping along and shepherded me back - gathering water, dragging me to the White Crack stop, and making sure I had enough food and water in me at lunch. I was thinking in terms of getting healthy for the truck ride in. TM was more thinking of pedalling. After lunch, we rode together for 10 more miles and I was back to about 80 percent. My legs never did come all the way back from the dehydration. We then had the pleasure of a cold, pounding rain storm. At least it came with a tail wind - for all of about five miles. I joined up with Scotty Pants as the sun came out. With the wind at our faces again. Mile after mile we slogged along in the wind and ground out a finish. I've never been so deep so early and am actually more than a little surprised that I finished. P.S. A little research has turned up different wind speeds. 10-15? That was in the morning, with gusts in the 30's. When the wind picked up in the afternoon, the sustained winds were closer to 30 mph with gusts in the 40's. For several hours.

Peer Pressure

It's that time of year. No, not administrative professionals' day, but RAWROD. Looking back on years past, I figured this year the ride just wasn't in the cards. I told myself that I need to be at the office to be available for work. It's slow and I need the hours. And there's the issue of who to ride with. I'm the special needs uncle in the family - the one who someone needs to keep an eye on at the river during a family reunion while every one else is fishing. And while the fish are biting. I'm that guy. But Sabrosa Jon wouldn't take no for an answer. He offered to leave later and to do all the driving. When that didn't work, he started enlisting help by sending over representatives to help resolve any doubts I might have about the ride. But I have long running doubts. The first year, I was at the same weight and a little less fit. I suffered miserably, mainly because I did it on a cyclocross bike. The second year, I was heavier and not fit, but chose the right bike. Not nearly as bad for most of it, but I ran into the back wall of the pain cave coming out of Horsethief. Last year (the third time) I had more fitness, but was heavier again. Dan had hit the back wall of that cave by lunch, and was deep-hole mining his own personal pain cave until his pick broke, forcing him into the truck at mile 85. Jon persisted and I find myself caving to peer pressure. Even if I find myself exploring a Mariana Trench of pain, the ride down and back is always worth it.

The Fisher Clan Brings It

Alika married Brittney on Wednesday. The weather sucked, but the food did not. We brought it. Mahana put me in charge of the food organization and Kehaulani in charge of the decorations and such. And it was on. We did garlic shrimp, spicy and regular; my luau-style chicken, kalua pig, roasted whole sirloins, potato salad, salad, poi, fresh fruit,and haupia. Kuhia ran the pig and the haupia and helped Lani grill the chicken. I ran the shrimp station. It was a memorable day and it was great to see the Fisher clan pulled together to go really big. P.S. I'm paying for it now. Two days of standing in front of the stove did a number on me - my knees and hips were hating it during today's (Saturday's) workout, so I pulled the plug on the ride and did some swimming instead.

Momentum

Before California, I was worried about having a big drop off in motivation after what was supposed to be a training race. The very thing happened the first time I did California. Not so much this time. I'm motivated. I'm even a little bit excited about cranking up the intensity ahead of Boise. I'm also looking forward to some good MTB time in the summer and then hopefully back to it ahead of IMZ (assuming I can get a spot in Boise). I'd done my best to get out of RAWROD, but it looks like Mr. Sabrosa has worn me down and I'll be heading down to get my suffer on to hang out with the crew. Hopefully Racer can at least make the drive this year.

Payback

As many-a-roadie can attest, motorists often underestimate the catch-up speed of road bikes. Especially in town, with the stop signs, and the traffic lights, and what not. With this underestimation, motorists sometimes find themselves in an awkward situation when you catch up to them - you know, after they've just shouted some lame remark or, better yet, tried to scare you by swerving as close to you as possible and/or honking or yelling. Every cyclist has been there. And instead of the usual one finger salute, you finally have a chance to actually call them on their behavior. What to do - do you dump a water bottle in their window, do you smash their window, or do you just look threateningly at them as they try their best to look straight ahead and ignore you? I rarely get it right. One time I did. Jared Hill, Ben Rabner, and I were headed back from a trip up Hobble Creek Canyon. It was spring time, late May if I recall, and during the week. And in the middle of the day. I was in college and school was out - what can I say. Anyway, we were riding downhill near Springville High when a couple of girls drove as close to me as they could. The girl in the front passenger seat shouted, "HEY" at the top of her lungs. The car speed off, the girls giggling with satisfaction. And then they ran into a line of cars at a four-way stop. I saw my chance and gave chase. I quickly realized I had plenty of time to catch them and plenty of time to plan what I'd do. I really wanted to get it right. With my plan thought out, I moved in close to the line of cars and slowed down. As I neared the vehicle, I leaned in until my head was nearly in the front window and screamed, "WHAT!?" The girls shrieked and jumped, which caused the former shouter to spill her drink all over herself. As I rolled on, I could hear the rest of the girls giggling - I assume about how the shouter was now covered in Diet Coke.

California Trip/Race Report

The Highlights, in time-saving, bullet-point format: - We had a lot of fun as a family, especially at Disneyland. - The location of the condo across the street from the beach and 200m from the transition area made the trip much more relaxing. - I got a wicked stomache ache from choosing the safe route and doing pasta the night before the race. To hell with it - next time I'm eating something I actually like. - I hate being in the last wave - waiting over an hour in transition before our wave staged sucked. - I had fun at the race in spite of an outgoing tide, lots of wind, and cramps on the run. - We managed to eat at only local joints for the entire trip.

Good Day

Saturday was a good day. I had a great race at the AF Icebreaker. Afterwards I won an entry to the Utah Half during the raffle. Pat was admitted to med school at the U. Sushi with my brothers. A good day. It's getting me through the snow today.

Winter

Recently Aaron analogized his relationship with winter as a girl friend. For me, winter is more of an in-law. The kind that does nothing to veil their contempt for you. The kind that mocks all of the things you like. The kind that comes to stay with you for a while. Most of the time, the trips are scheduled, which makes it a little easier to deal with. That way, at least I know she's coming and about when she'll leave, though in Utah that can vary widely. When she does show up, we do our best to deal with each other - by staying away from each other. I stay primarily inside, spending a lot of time in the pool and on the trainer watching movies. And working. That way I pass the time while she does her thing. And when she leaves, I feel reborn. I love spring. These last three weeks have been great, with long rides full of soul cleansing sunshine. And then that bitch showed up unannounced and ruined everything. It took me two hours to get to work because of the iced up roads. And like real in-laws, I can't just throw her out.

Getting Back to Zero

Ever since my first half-ironman race I've been on a steady decline. I hope that last year was the absolute bottom with absolutely dismal days at both the Vikingman and the Utah Half. While I was able to gut out IMZ, it got the better of me. I'm not about to go back to the Vikingman, but I'm heading back to Idaho in June - to Boise this time. Dan almost has me convinced to do the Utah Half again. And if I can get a slot for IMZ at either California or Boise, I'll be heading back to Tempe this fall again. I'm hoping things are better this year and that I can get at least closer to how things went for my first race.

Si Se Puede

I learned to speak Spanish on my mission to Buenos Aires, Argentina. I love languages - so I was excited about the possibility of learning in a native environment. I actually chose to study the language while I was there, going so far as to pick up middle-school level grammar books. I've never denied that I'm a nerd.

Anyway, it turns out spanish is a particularly useful language to know round these parts. There are plenty of latinos around to practice my spanish with. However, while living in Utah a lot of latinos have learned that switching to spanish doesn't necessarily allow you to talk about somebody without them understanding. There are just too many RM's who've learned spanish. I've learned that this isn't the case outside of Utah.

Several years ago I was in Oregon fishing for steelhead. When we showed up at the stream, we were the only ones there. After trying out a couple of areas, I settled on a particular spot based on how the water was flowing, etc. Minutes later, droves up people started showing up all at once. It felt like a quitting time scene you see in a movie where people come pouring out of a factory as a whistle blows. Except they were showing up at the river.

Anyway, it seems that I had stumbled on to the sweet spot as suddently I was at the front of a line of twenty people queued up nearly shoulder to shoulder and apparently casting at the same spot. Strange. Stranger still were the two standing right next to me.

"Fijate en el tipo este (Check out this guy)," the guy next to me said while looking right at me. I turned and looked at him in surprise. There was no way he just said that.

"Si, no tiene ni idea (Yeah, he's clueless)," his friend responded while joining his buddy in looking at me.

"Si le molestamos, tal vez el salga (if we bug him, maybe he'll leave," the first continued. Casting close, tangling me up, drifting their gear into me - these guys were on a mission to get me to leave. And they discussed it all very openly (in spanish) while looking me in the face the whole time. Finally, the first guy hooked up. As the fish flashed close, it was clear that it wasn't a trophy fish.

"Es chiquito (it's a little one)" the first guy said to his friend. I saw my chance. It was the beginning of the year and with Oregon fishermen limited to 20 salmonid total per year, it was a good assumption that he'd be letting it go.

I had already reeled in as soon as he'd hooked up (just good ettiquette). As he reeled the fish in, I pulled out my leatherman as quick as I could. "Queres que lo suelte (Do you want me to let him go)?" I asked.

"What," he stammered, his eyes bulging and mouth agape with confusion. The other guy couldn't even look at me. I repeated myself, using my thickest Porteno (Buenos Aires) accent. "No, he's little but he's nice. I'm going to keep it." He finished. The two gentlemen then quickly made their way the shore, bonked the fish, and left while it was still twitching.

Bus Etiquette

I was listening to the radio as I drove to the bus stop the other day and the DJ's were yapping about how Fi'ty Cent's advice to Joaquin Phoenix was to rap about what he knows. Here's what I know, some thing has to be done about the etiquette of a group of commuter types. Unfortunately, experience has told me that the primary offenders in my group also work for the organizational arm of the dominant religion around here. At the beginning of every bus ride some Righteous Roger is sure to let every woman in the area go to the front of the line and board the bus first. He'll even box out and hold up the line if he thinks he sees a woman coming down the road who might want to board our bus. Seriously. Of course every other person behind him emphatically agrees with him- he speaks for everyone. Manners first, you know. I swear there must have been a memo about it. I don't know what's up with my TPS reports - I guess I didn't get the memo. And apparently the bit about 'ladies first' was all that was in the memo because that's where the manners on the bus end with this crowd. Loud yapping is a favorite. When I'm talking to someone in a public, crowded environment that is generally pretty quiet (like say, on a commuter bus in the morning), I try to actually look at the person I am talking with to be able to more accurately aim the spew that is coming from my cake hole their way. On one occasion, one of my least favorite riders (he looks like an Ernie, so that's what I'll call him) was talking to someone behind him and across the aisle while he tapped away on his laptop. Ernie likes the grenade approach to conversation to ensure full coverage of the area, raising his voice to one decibel short of shouting so that his friend could hear him. You'd think what he was saying was really important to use that technique. It wasn't - I can tell you for sure since I involuntarily heard the whole conversation. At the next stop that same day, a fellow who looked like a Stanley (a serious power-tool) boarded the bus. As the bus rolled on, he made his way to the seat in front of mine. The seats on the express buses recline, much like the seats on airplane. When I want to recline, I depress the lever and slowly recline it. Not this guy, he sat down, grabbed the release switch, and threw his entire weight backwards thus flinging aside anything in my lap that might have been in the way. I wanted to slap him upside the head. Maybe next time I will since manners are checked at the door when you board a commuter bus.