Remember When . . .

Warning: This post isn't nostalgic in any light-hearted way. Last night some friends from home stopped by and I cooked them up some dry-aged ribeyes. Good times were had by all. These friends are a rare couple in that 1) they're both my friends and 2) they're both from Blanding. The wife in the family is the sister of a former friend. It is indeed a rare thing indeed that someone makes the move from A-Ring friend to former friend. Her telling of the former friend's (FF) side confirmed that I made a good move in letting him go. Basically, his side of the story is that the only thing he did to merit my disdain was the thing that broke the camel's back. As Dan and I drove in to work together today, we thought of an apt analogy that applies: a friendship as a bank account. With relationships, I'm not the kind of guy that worries about a balance. My basic approach is to try to contribute and avoid taking. In the end, my best friends are those who also contribute and our friendships just get better. FF had a decidedly different approach. He figured that because of our long history (we grew up together) that there was enough in the account that he couldn't ever possibly spend it. I believe he stated it loosely as "I could piss in his face and he'd not only take it, he'd be cool with it." And so rather than contribute, he did his best to make as many withdrawals as possible. He chose to make his withdrawals by doing his best to piss me off just for the sake of pissing me off. Like many who've had their accounts closed, he made his withdrawals to impress others. I'm not talking about the good natured ribbing, I'm talking about comments like: "You say you went for a run? You don't run. You jog. Running means going fast. You jog." Thanks for making sure that I know that I'm slow. That kind of crap went on non-stop for a long time. After a year and a half, his account total was quickly down to zero, but because of our history I gave him a line of credit. He blew through that as fast as he could. A year later and he'd reached the point that I simply had to cut him off. It wasn't that big of a thing that did it, more of a cumulative effect. It just wasn't worth the resources and time to maintain a relationship with someone who had explicitly stated that my only value to him was as someone to mock. Last night, FF's sister noted that FF figured it was his last withdrawal alone that got him cut off. That would be like a situation in which a guy tries to buy something only to have his card declined and then assumes that his last small purchase drained his entire account. Nope, it was a constant series of withdrawals over a period of time without making any contributions. That's how you run an account dry. Anyway, just a confirmation for me that if I hadn't closed the account, FF would have continued to make withdrawals without contributions.

It's a Go!

I'm not the biggest proponent of the exclamation point as I think it's often overused. But I am giddy about the news from the doctor this morning - I've been cleared to return to the road bike and running. Four weeks of indoor training during the middle of the summer has been killing me. I plan to head out this weekend with some friends and pedal for a good, long time. I'm hoping for five hours of saddle time this weekend. Afterwards, I think a nice summer barbeque of salmon, watermelon, corn on the cob and other garden vegetables and fresh fruit should do the trick nicely.

That Guy, Those Guys

I'd like to think I'm not that guy. You know the guy you do a favor for (at no benefit to you) and then he proceeds to berate you about how it turned out? That guy. I'm not him. But I am realizing that I just might be one of those guys that BSNYC likes to make fun of. No, not the fixie-crowd guys that ride around in their sister's Capri's. The other guys. The unnecessary/fancy bike crowd. One of those guys who buys cool stuff to make himself feel good about his lack of cycling prowess, as if cool equipment will make up for a dearth of fitness and talent. Let's see, I'm fat, I'm an attorney, I have several bikes for each occasion, including Serottas in the road, mountain, and 'cross variety. I don't ride that much. Yep. I'm one of those guys. Now that I've come to that realization, I've decided there's no point in fighting it. I've given in to the one last piece of magpie equipment that I don't have. Fatty had something to do with that with his beratement of Assos. I've realized that not wearing a pair of Assos shorts won't stop my from being one of those guys. So, I might as well try to see if those shorts will make riding any more comfortable, despite my fat ass. That's right, I've completely given up on pretending.

Damn Those French

The Godfather Part III sucked and we all know it. But, it did have one good line: "Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in." For Michael, it was the mob. For me, it's french food and that damn Tour. Much like I can't say no to well-executed steak au-poivre or escargo, I find myself drawn back into the TdF. And I'm not sure why. Just days ago I was discussing with a co-worker the complete disregard the ASO has for their own rules and procedures. Fatty made some great points about how the race this year appeared to be slated for a bore-fest with no prologue, no time-bonuses, no TTT, and fewer mountain stages. Neither of these even address the absence of the defending champion. ASO are even smug about it, much like the narrator in Ratatouille. For these reasons I had planned on not watching any of it. In fact, I hadn't planned on watching the opening stage. Then I found myself at my parents house on a Saturday afternoon with nothing to do. The only thing on was the Tour. When I switched to the Tour, my brother even asked why since I'd voiced my plans to avoid it. I answered because there was nothing else on. And then I saw the sights and heard Paul and Phil. And the next day, a break stayed away and the jersey changed hands. And then . . . .. So now, I'm back watching the Tour. It's pulled me back in. Like the spouse of a prolific philanderer, I'm making myself believe the promises that this time it will be different. This time I can get behind Garmin-Chipotle and Team Columbia because of their anti-doping programs. Big corporate sponsors surely wouldn't get into a troubled sport unless they had assurances that the teams were doing what was necessary to ensure their riders were clean, right? Or at least doing everything they could to keep them out of a scandal. Yep, this time it's going to be different.

Misposted - check fisherstyle for today's post

My Security Blanket

One thing that we Fisher boys all like is redundancy. I'm not sure we all generally operate under the standard that if one is good, a second would be better just in case. I realized this last night as I was packing for my next race. Two sets of goggles? Check. Two wetsuits, just in case? Check. Two aero helmets? Which reminds me, I think Dan still has the third one. Or is it the fourth. I have to force myself to take my tri bike only, and satisfy myself that taking a spare set of wheels is enough. What's worse, is we usually don't know when to stop. Or maybe it's a good excuse to get more stuff, especially bikes. I mean, if two is backup, a third could certainly come in handy, just in case one of your buddies shows up. Right? After all, you wouldn't want him riding your B bike. What would happen if by some fluke both bikes were rendered inoperable? What would you ride while the bike was in the shop, especially if you had to order the parts? That's why I'm trying to stick to a policy of having two and preferrably three bikes for each occasion. My wife has given up trying to understand why.

Bessy's New Dress

I got out with Nails and Shae on Saturday afternoon to ride S. Fork. The conditions were perfect. It was warm but not hot, the trail wasn't over crowded, and the dust was at a minimum. The most noticeable thing about Bessy as a 69er is that the bike climbs like a demon. One thing I was glad not to notice was anything about the handling. She handled nicely climbing and descending. I did notice the smaller rear wheel in the loose stuff. It came unhooked a little easier than my 29er, or I'd like to think it did. I also realized that I like a suspension fork. All in all, a nice bike that'll definitely make it's way back into the rotation. It was about 4 miles, leaving me with 854.

Focus on the Positive

I'm now resigned to my fate at the Vikingman. It's time to focus on the positive. The positive is that the day after the Vikingman I'll be touching down to Honolulu. There are several things I'm looking forward to that are definitely positive. These include: The ocean. You can't keep me out of it when it's in sight. Not even the frigid temperatures of the Pacific in Oregon can dissuade me. I'm looking forward to the smell of it. Swimming in it. Just bobbing in it a few hundred yards off shore. Seafood. Big Eye Tuna - sashimi style, poke, seared. Hamachi - sashimi style. Garlic truck shrimp. Grilled Mahi. More poke. Fresh fruit. Pineapples. Mangos. Apple bananas. Strawberry guava. Papaya. Whatever else local, fresh, and tasty that I can get my hands on. Plate lunch. I love the local dives. Katsu, lau lau, poi, more poke, more garlic shrimp, teri chicken, Kalbi short ribs, Rice, mac salad. Pearl Harbor. I'm a huge WWII history buff. My grandpa was working at the harbor when it was bombed. I'm also a big baby at places like that. I hope I can keep it together. The PCC. I can't wait to see my kids react to the whole experience. Visiting my Dad's old stomping grounds with my Dad. This is kind of the point of this trip. His original home. The house now. Grandparents' graves. Meeting an uncle I've never met. Getting it all on tape. Hanging with Racer. It's always fun to hang with Racer when the stress of running the shop is off. Just be sure he has a map as soon as he lands, and it'll be okay. This trip has really snuck up on me. And as you can tell, there are a lot of things about the trip that are exciting to me.

Details

Stu was fond of saying, "Don't sweat the small [stuff]. And then you'll realize it's all just small [stuff]" But I can't help myself. Unfortunately, I've seen small details derail someone's race.

I know I'm not fast, so winning isn't really the point. I just want to keep Devin within a reasonable amount of time. More than anything, I want to keep my suffering limited to the type of suffering that always comes with endurance events. So I'm sweating the details of how to avoid the other types of suffering.

First and foremost is the dreaded bonk. I've never trained with the stuff they have on course, so I'm trying something new for me: I'm bringing my own. The plan is Carbo Rocket concentrate in a bottle on the frame. I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I bought what has to be the single geekest piece of equipment available:

Man, that thing is ugly. What's worse, I actually put that thing on my bike.

Next, my aerobar setup has got me in a lather. I can't seem to get them to stick and they always twist. They did this to me in Hawaii and I ended up torquing one of them so tightly it collapsed. So, I've got a new pair of extensions coming as well as a torque wrench and some assembly compound. Here's to hoping.

Sunscreen. Last year in Hawaii I sweated off my sunscreen and got a sunchar so bad that the marks are still on my arms. The problem with sunscreen is that once I sweat it off, it's next to impossible to get it back into my skin. I'm hoping a quick towel off after the bike and spray sunscreen will keep the blisters away this year.

The rest of the stuff doesn't have me as worried, which means it's inevitably going to be one of those things that goes wrong. Hey, I can't just admit that I'm fat and slow, now can I? It's got to be something else that made me have a crappy day, right?

Quirks

I've always been a magpie. I love shiny new part and spend a lot of time, effort, and money accumulating them. That's not what I'm referring to as quirky. I'm talking about how I tend to go most of the way and then fall short on the final details. For example, I just put a shiny new SRAM rear derailleur on my TT bike, then balked at putting a high end SRAM chain on the bike, opting instead for a 105 chain. I've got carbon aerobar extensions, but have been too cheap to buy a good torque wrench. I've had no problem buying Zipp wheels, but then quibble over $20-30 difference in tubular tires. I'm working on it, but I don't see progress coming any time soon. Last Saturday I put in 62, leaving me with 858 to go.

Current Top 5 Comedy Shows

I'll switch between drama/action and comedy as my media of choice from time to time. Right now I'm more into the funny stuff. Off the top of my head, these are the five or so I've found the funniest: 1. The Office, "Goodbye, Toby." Memorable lines, as best I can remember: "Of all the idiots, in all the idiot villages, in all the idiot worlds, you stand alone my friend." "You have 75 cents, so you can have anything on the top row." "Suck on this." 2. Ze Frank, May 19, 2006. Memorable lines: "I love your wife's cooking. Would you mind sending over the recipe? I'd like to do the same thing only with bigger portions and more cheese." "Mom . . . Dad . . . I'm dating me a monkey." 3. The Chappelle's Show: True Hollywood Stories featuring Rick James. Memorable line: "Come on have some sense. I didn't just do things to do them. Yeah, I remember stomping my boots on Eddy's couch." 4. The Big Lebowski. It's a love it or hate it kind of a film. I happen to love it. I love the scene where The Dude tries to flick his joint out of the window to have it bounce back in and the final scene where The Dude is covered with ashes. Brilliant. 5. Dug's Blog. No disrespect is intended to my other friends' blogs. Each is special to me in their own way. But Dug's posts on driving and bathroom etiquette strike a chord with me and my commuting/office bound existence. Thanks, Dug.

Brent's 1000 Mile Count

I'm going to take up this challenge with Brent and append the mileages (if I remember) at the end of my posts. Brent started on May 14th and so will I. I spend a lot of time on the trainer, but those don't count. These are actual wheel-to-ground relative miles. On Thursday, I logged 21 miles and on Saturday I put in another 59 for a nice round 80 miles. 920 left to go.

Spoonful of Sugar

My little girls, like most little girls, love Mary Poppins. As a result, I've seen (or at least heard) that movie more times than I can count. As Mary is found of pointing out, a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down in a most delightful way. I'm going to be taking my medicine in a couple of weeks, so I'd better start getting my sugar ready. Last week's training made clear that I'm slow. It's also made me think about what I've bought myself with all the LSD (long, slow distance). Every one is pretty sure than can go easy for several hours. Jared's little brother Butch's display on Saturday showed me that most people can go easy for several hours, they're just going to suffer while they do it. I have been going easy for several hours each weekend, which I'd hoped would help me at the Vikingman. I realized today that all that this LSD has earned me is the ability to go slow for a long time without suffering or to go slow for a really long time while suffering. Notice how none of that included going fast for any amount of time. So, I'm pretty sure Devin is going to hammer me at the Vikingman. So here's how I'm getting myself ready to take my medicine. I'm going to guess at my Vikingman times, omitting transition times since I have no idea how it's set up. The bad news is that these are my optimistic predictions. Swim - 0:40-0:45. This is a down river swim, with middle of the pack folk swimming in the low to mid thirties. It'll be faster than other swims, but not that much faster. Bike - 3:00-3:15. I'm guessing I'll do just slower than 18 m.p.h with all the corners and the setup of the course. It's flat, but that hasn't seemed to matter on my training rides. Run - 2:30-2:40. 11 min/mile average would put me at 2:23. I've been doing a 10:1 Jeff Galloway protocol and it puts me at about that 11 min pace. Heat and exhaustion will inevitably slow me down. That puts me at between 6:10 and 6:40 before transitions. The 6:10 is a pipe dream. The 6:40 is more realistic. I'd really, really love to be wrong about this, but so far my training hasn't born it out. I once read somewhere that your training pace is a good indication of your race pace, and I've been training at these paces. My only hope is that somehow my aero package gets me 3-4 m.p.h., but I'm not enough of a tri-geek to actually believe that the gear makes me any faster. I just buy it because it looks cool. So where's the medicine? Devin's self proclaimed love of the 'heat check' is going to have him going full-bore to beat me down. He won't be able to hide his glee in doing so, either. That beat down is the medicine. I just hope I can take my medicine like a man.

Bessy Resurgent

I've always had a close attachment to my Serotta mountain bike, Bessy. She made the transition to single speed a few years ago, but my fitness didn't have me wanting to ride her much in that condition. So she hung as a frame after I pilfered the rear SS hub for use on the Rig. Then, Zeus brought out his dork bike and Ben switched his IF to a 69er. Interesting enough, but that didn't get me that excited - Maggy has been the primary MTB, and we've got a good thing going. Then, I decided to send Maggy down to visit Jon for the summer. The plan has been, and still is, to ride Keono as a primary mountain bike. I reckon that'll work for rides under 2 hours or so. Well, with Jared back in town and Danilo expressing his interest in long ATB rides, I've got to have something geared. I'd also like Cindy to be able to ride with a geary bike as well, so I'll need two. I've got one in Hillary, who's now doing MTB duty, but I still need another. Enter Bessy. I've picked up parts here and there to put her back together as a 26er, and then it occurred to me: I could keep Bessy's angles as intended AND run her as a 29er if I ran her with a rigid 26er suspension corrected fork, disc brakes, and a 29er front. And so that's the plan for her. I'm actually pretty excited about trying it. I'm also excited about bringing Bessy back into the game.

Seriously?

I saw a bumper sticker this morning that made me shake my head in disbelief. I'm not very handy with pagemaking, so it's down at the bottom. See it? Okay. It was the sentiment or the point. It's the car it was on and what it was doing. A single passenger automobile, driving into work in down town SLC. That it's on a single-passenger commuter would be enough. But it was on a massive SUV. Either that lady was some kind of comic, or she's clueless about what her bumper sticker actually means.

User Conflict

The Provo River Trail is a favorite of many different groups, including runners and cyclists. With that many groups doing vastly different things, user conflicts are bound to emerge. The City of Provo in its wisdom has divided the trail into three lanes - one for runners, one for faster people going up (like cyclists) and one for faster people going down. They even have easy to understand signs for those challenged with illiteracy or inattentiveness. Apparently, a significant number of long boarders are completely devoid of the basic skills needed to understand the signs. Either that or they just suck. Before I completely let loose on this rant, you should know that I do know that there are responsible long boarders and that the statements I make below are gross over generalizations. Brent and his crew are fine. So, BH, don't be too offended by what's about to follow. So, with that out of the way, last weekend cemented my hatred for the Slacker Long Boarder. The slacker long boarder (SLB) spends most of his time in a marijuana and/or alcohol induced haze that seems to prevent him from finding pants that fit. His pants are either too skinny to fit over his butt or else too baggy to stay over his butt. That same haze makes it hard for him to attend to personal hygiene. As a result, he looks like he's in stage 1 of a homeless lifestyle, which is the stage where they start to look dirty. Just so you know, stage 2 begins with a powerful odor and stage 3 begins when the homeless person is carrying more than 10 plastic grocery bags, which act as a sort of portable chest of drawers. There are five basic types of SLBs. These include the solo upright hammer, the dream weaver, the sheep, the luger, and the skeleton. In addition to poorly fitting pants, each of these types share an utter disregard for any type of signage. And for basic decency. And for common sense. Maybe they share the feeling that they own the entire trail. Or maybe it's some combination of these. I just don't understand those people, but I can describe them. The solo upright hammer hasn't figured out how to turn very well, so he just points the board down hill and hopes the board around corners. He aims for the dead center of the trail and he's not going to move for anybody. If there's a pedestrian in the right lane and a cyclist in the middle, they damn well better work out between the two of them how they're going to make room, because that SLB ain't changing his line for nobody. The dream weaver has figured out how to turn, but he's still afraid of speed. He weaves back and forth across the path in a dream-like trance. I dream that he's awakened from his slumber by running wide, catching a wheel, and falling into the river. But I digress. Then there are the sheep. Or are they cattle. In either case, they move in a large, compressed group and break from the group only reluctantly. Like sheep, they spread out across the road and take their own sweet time while traffic stops to let them by. And like sheep, they're a bunch of dumb animals. At least sheep provide something useful. The luge SLB has decided that it's entirely too much work to just stand on a board. Yes, this guy has reached a level of laziness that he even lays down during outdoor recreation. At least he's smart enough to lead with his feet. The skeleton SLB is the biggest idiot of all. These guys head down hill, in an aero tuck, with no breaks, on a winding trail next to a river that is chock-a-block full of boy scouts, dogs, and little kids while leading with their head. What's more, like their upright cousins, these guys think they own the trail. It's only a question of time before one of those guys puts his brilliant head into some rocks either on the hill side or in the river. Anyway, I'm sick of all of them. Good thing I never bother anybody while I'm on the trail.

The Elusive Route/Impending Natural Selection

One of the things I liked most about my time in Provo was the bifurcation of the terrain: If you wanted something long and flat, it was easy to find. If you wanted something hilly and challenging, that was also just as easy to find. And you could do one without doing much, if any, of the other. There were great rides of all distances, from 20 miles on up. It's been a few years now since we moved to the north end of Happy Valley. Hilly terrain we have plenty of, especially with the Alpine Loop just up the road. Flat rides are available, but the routes have almost always included some combination of high-traffic, narrow or non-existent shoulders, or bad roads. I can take one of the three, but two or more and I'm out. What I've been looking for is a good short to medium flat, road ride. My initial explorations took me toward Eagle Mountain/Saratoga Springs. There are enough rednecks in compensation trucks out there that I've decided I'd rather ride the trainer than ride out there. In despair, I began riding down the Speedway that is Geneva road to get to my familiar grounds near Provo, even enduring the narrow shoulder and the garbage in the road. Last weekend Cindy and I ventured out and I found it. From the house we rode to the Timpanogos temple, turned south to the hospital, and then took 1oo E. to the AF Boat Harbor. We rode back toward the freeway and wound our back to the Lindon Boat Harbor and around the back side of Geneva road and into Vineyard. From Vineyard we crossed the freeway onto the frontage road that runs in front of UVSC and onto Sandhill road. Sandhill road led us to Grandview road and then down into Provo. A short stop at Racers and then up University Ave to the mouth of the Canyon. We took the Provo River Trail up to Vivian park and back and then took the back roads home. It was great. I've got a separate post about the River Trail. This is a happy post. The River Trail post is a rant.

Daniel Ray

To see Dan and I separately, you'd see few similarities apart from our balding heads. Dan's thin build reflect his fitness. I don't any think body has ever used the term 'thin' when talking about me. The disparities don't stop there - Dan's considerably more moderate (read liberal here in Utah) than I am. Yet Dan is one of my best friends. And it was cycling that brought us together.


Dan and I first met in a computer seminar during law school orientation. He had a screen saver with the profiles of the stages of the former race, currently a rolling disaster, known as the Tour. I struck up a conversation based on this. I found out that his carrel was near B's, and we've been hanging out since.


I have survived more epics with Dan than everybody else combined. I've tested his willingness to adhere to our riding motto of "dance with the one what brung ya" on nearly every occasion, and he's never let me down. Well, he did once, kind of, when he and either Bryan or Doug took off the front on a Timpanooke Loop. The two of them ended up riding a Tibble Fork loop while the rest of us waited at the car. For a long time, Dan and I rode together doing short to medium length rides. Each year we focused on making the most of the fall riding. Those were good times, that included Dan crashing on Tibble Fork and breaking a rib and the two of us giving a good wide berth to a big bull moose and his two cows during the rut on S. Fork.

And then we started getting our epic on. The first epic was the Trail of Tears part 1. It involved Dan, Doug (Larsen), Tom, and myself. It involved a late start, a forgotten map, tales of previous epics, dehydration, darkness, a long stumble, and salvation from a hunter on horseback named Beau Hunter. You can't make this stuff up.

We didn't learn our lesson and the next year started off on the Trail of Tears part 2. This time Yury came along and he should be credited with naming the ride. That ride involved an early start, the deepest bonk I've ever seen, peanut butter and jam burritos, a downhill hike-a-bike, and a well earned descent.

Next came my first RAWROD. Poor equipment selection was the order of the day. I brought a greased carbon seatpost, drop bars, and 42C tires to the party while Dan showed up with soft-soled shoes.

Neither Dan nor I wanted to do it the nextyear, but Aaron talked me into it last year. Dan rejoined the fray this year. Dan was done 35 miles in, but mushed on past four rest stops. His display of mental energy to keep pushing for nearly six hours of saddle time after he was tapped comes only second in my first hand experience to Nails' finish at the LT100 last year. The pic above is Dan and I riding DFL down Murphy's Hogback.

We've suffered a lot on the saddle, and regroup every year for Fall Perfection. Hopefully this year, we can get in some epic riding in the fall that doesn't involve a rescue. Here's to hoping.

My Own List of Cycling Pet Peeves

Right up front, I'll admit that I've been reading Bike Snob NYC's blog. I've made it through June and July of last year's posts. His universe of NYC and fixies might as well be a million miles away from our wide open spaces and accessible mountains. So, here are some of my pet peeves in the mountain biking realm: Skidders. If you don't know what a skidder is, you probably are one. A skidder is usually someone who hasn't figured out that the front brake provides a great deal of power and control. One type of skidder is a guy who's first and only helmet is full-faced and his bike is 'sick'. This particular type of skidder carries entirely too much speed into a corner. They don't actually have a sense of how fast they're going because their bikes are so squishy they can't feel the trail. This is the guy that comes in too hot and grabs a right-fistful of brakes. This is the guy who hasn't ridden long enough to know when he's over cooked it and yet doesn't seem to learn because he can skid through it and never feel it. Thanks for the wash boards. Learn how to brake next time. The Best Ambassadors. These are the guys who are so busy rippin' sick down hill that they forget that other people are on the trail and leave others diving for cover. The rules are that hard - yield to horses, hikers and up-hill riders. These guys often have skidding issues. The Ambush Specialists. I suspect these guys are equestrians, but I've never actually seen them doing it. These are the people that have had some contact with The Best Ambassadors and figure they'll take it out on all cyclists. Their favorite move is to drag trees over the trail or litter the trail with debris. Apparently, they feel justified in intentionally putting other people's lives at risk. Whenever I come on one of their traps, I start envisioning what it would be like to catch one of them in the act. If I dwell on the thought long enough, I get mad enough I start envision me hitting one of them with a water bottle or a pump, maybe even a rock in the trail. And then I remember that these people are almost guaranteed to packing a revolver (not a pistol), and the fantasy kind of falls apart for me. I don't feel like less of a man to admit that I'm scared of the Single Six. My biggest pet peeve, not getting out to ride. I'd better get back to it so I can do some pedalling this weekend and next.

Ambivalence

I've substantially changed my training approach this year in anticipation of IMAZ. In years past, I've over-focused on the first race of the season, which left me burned out and flagging for the rest of the year. IMAZ is at the end of November, so I've adopted a different approach for this year. And thus the ambivalence. On one hand, I've significantly reduced my overall weekly training volume. I've done that by reducing the number of workouts I do per week. At the same time, I've increased the length of my long days. As a result, my long weeks are down in the 9-10 hour range, instead of the 13-14 hour range of the past. At the same time, my long swim is up to about 2500m (done continuously) at a comfortable 2:10-2:15/100m pace, my long bike is hovering around the 4-5 hour range (with the notable exception of RAWROD) and my long runs are in the 2-2:30 hour range. So, on one hand, I feel confident that I'll be comfortable on each of the legs because I regularly do longer distances and do so comfortably. The problem is, none of it's fast and I've not been doing much brick work. The vast majority of my bike time has been on a mountain bike. I'm still 1o lbs. heavier than my goal at this point. The good news is, I'm fresh mentally. So, what will win out - extra big long workouts or skipping all the volume? I've been stuck at work all week, barely taking enough time to sleep, so this doesn't much matter now. I've got long workouts slated for Friday and Saturday. I sure hope I haven't lost too much, but I'm afraid I have.

RAWROD Reminiscence

These will widely be inside-jokes, so that's why I'm posting them separately. Raman at Acorn - I need to go back there to buy those wings so his daughter can go to college and Dan and Jon need to support me on this. Quick release devices are awesome. Horse Thief campground is not actually anywhere near Horse Thief Canyon and the road past Horse Thief Campground actually is the road to nowhere. Vice grips and a spatula make cooking dutch oven potatoes on a camp fire a lot easier than a burning rag and a cutting board. Sleeping on a cot under the stars is way better than sleeping in the car. Again. Great harvest bread with plenty of peanut butter and strawberry jam is almost divine for lunch during an epic. I can't believe how steep Murphy's and Hardscrabble are from this side. I thought they were bad from the other direction, but it's silly how steep they are from this side. Or else I was just cooked by the time I got to them, one of the two. I've got to remember the Spam Musubi next time. Brad, I promise the asado will make up for it. I get unreasonably grumpy when I'm dehydrated. The good news is that I know for a fact that I can come back from it. The Crank Brothers Acids were definitely my best bike equipment purchase ever for epic rides. I'm considering the Acids with carbon for future rides. Brad Keyes is in fact Zeus the Greek god transported to our day. He has chosen to manifest his divinity in the form of unbelievable riding abilities. Zeus's All Day is the real deal. It stayed tasty all day. I was right - the conversation in the car with Jon, Delena and Dan were the best part of the ride. Fatty always claims that his super power is to put down unreal amounts of food after an epic ride. I don't doubt that, but I also am sure that Nails should also be in the Justice League for his ability to eat pizza post ride. It was amazing.

RAWROD Reality

The entire trip can be summed up with "Everything took longer than I thought it would." Dan brought his already loaded car to my house in the morning and we journied into work. I had some things I needed to get done, and apparently so did he. We headed back promptly at 1:00 p.m. and things were looking good. I'd prepared most of the bike stuff already and had sent my lovely wife to the store to pick up the soft goods I'd need for the trip. I decided to prep the potatoes I was planning on cooking that evening and then we loaded the car. Add in a stop to pick up things at Racer's, picking up Jon and Delena, and a final stop at the gas station, and we were already getting behind. Then we took a wrong turn to the campsite. The constant wandering on the wrong road was too much for Delena, who became horribly carsick. When we rolled in, everyone had eaten and were headed to sleep. I made the potatoes anyway, and apart from Dan and I having a plate each before bed, the potatoes went uneaten. The next morning we got up early and managed to head out a little earlier than the main group. Hours 0-2 went fairly well. Mineral Bottom road between Horse Thief and the highway is long and straight. It also is a pretty constant climb tjhat ended up feeling like the road to nowhere. I was concerned that my legs were feeling tight the entire time we were on the road. Once we turned onto the highway, we climbed for a little bit and then the road turned down hill. The speed and some time actually spinning loosened up my legs and I started to feel pretty good. The descent down Shafer's was loose and nasty. Sandy rockfields are my least favorite type of terrain as I feel that at any second I'm likely to crash and break bones. After we picked our way down, we trudged on toward Mussleman. My primary goal for the ride was to have enough in the tank to climb out of Horse Thief, so I didn't push it on any of the climbs before lunch, finding the granny more than once. Hours 2-3.5 went pretty well, and Dan looked strong. Hours 3.5-5.5 were rough as we spent most of the time pedalling slightly uphill again, but this time the wind was blowing hard. The trail meanders, so its effects varied. The one thing it did do was cool me down, so I didn't drink as much as I should have. After lunch, we began the dreaded cycle of being near the rear. By the time we arrived, everyone else was rested and ready to leave. We could either rest and get further back, or move on without rest. We picked the middle line - rest for long enough to still get left, but not long enough to recover. After the walk of shame up Murphy's, my dehydration showed it's ugly face. At mile 65, I got really grumpy and my heart rate soared. I was ready to quit and climb in the truck. The good news was that I had underestimated my CFC and actually felt good until 6:15. The bad news was that suddenly I was completely out of mental reserves at the precise moment I needed to tap them. I realized I hadn't peed since we started and guessed that I was probably getting dehydrated. I slowed down and drank a liter and half or so of plain water. I continued cruising at an easy pace until mile 70, at which point I rebounded and felt good again. Unfortunately, this is were it all fell apart for Dan. He could barely pedal. The support vehicles caught us again, and Dan figured if I was going to soldier on, so would he. Which left us 15 miles to the next stop with absolutely no chance for aid. Dan continued to deteriorate until he could no longer swallow the peels from the apple he was trying to eat. I started to get really worried, but finally we limped into the last prearranged stop at mile 87. Chad and Margaret were rolling out as we rolled in. We refilled our bottles in earnest and made our way on. As we began the descent, Dan told me he had had enough and that I should try and bridge my way up to Chad and Margaret. Not wanting to try to finish alone, I pushed on and caught Margaret, who was by then riding alone. We pushed on together. My iPod and GPS both died before the bottom of the Horse Thief, which sucked a lot. We rode the last first 1/3 of the climb until Margaret's back told it was time to walk. We walked until the last switchback where Brad, Chad, DanN, Jon, and Delena were cheering us on. Or mocking us derisively. It felt like both at that point. I climbed back on to finish the last little stretch and Jon hooked me up with a Cock and Bull Ginger Beer hand-up for the finish. We packed up and headed into town for some pizza. Afterwards, Jon drove back as I drifted in and out of sleep. I finally arrived home at 2:45 a.m. and promptly collapsed. I woke up and had some breakfast, then slept until 1:00 p.m. The home teachers showed up and I tried to keep myself awake. After they left, I slept until 6:30, missing our rendevous with Jon and Dan to sort out our stuff. Sorry guys. I'm sore today. My legs hurt worse than I thought they would while my hands, feet, and back all hurt less than I thought they would. I sure hope we go the other way next time, as I suffered less going the other way despite having less fitness. My goal for next year is to get the same training time in and to not get dehydrated and see what that does for me. I also am hoping for no wind.

RAWROD Prediction '08

So it's about that time. It's time to get my brain wrapped around an entire day of suffering. Aaron once had a nice, tongue-in-cheek way of describing it: "We're going to get up really early and ride until dinner. No big deal, right?" Except for me, it kind of is. The first time I rode it, my fitness and weight were both sliding. Even then, I was only slighter heavier than my low point and reasonably fit. If I'd estimated my comfortable fitness capacity (CFC), I would have put it at about 6 hours. My CFC is how long I can go at a respectable cruising speed without having to dig into my mental reserves to overcome what my body doesn't want to do. I'd done a HIM a month earlier so was confident I had six hours. That's if everything had gone right. However, Mahana had decided to come along at the last minute. He didn't want to ride his mountain bike, so he took mine. Which left me on a cross bike. It was great for the first half, but the higher air pressure and not being able to brake from anywhere but the drops made for a long day. My back and butt were killing me. I swore I'd never do it again. The next year (last year) Aaron talked me into it. I was 10-15 lbs. heavier and my fitness had completely stagnated. In fact, my long ride was in the three hour range and that was on the road. I would have estimated my CFC to be in the four hour range. But this year, I brought my mountain bike. The first four hours went as planned - comfortable. The next four were rough. The last two were a nightmare. But it was better than the previous year and I was excited to go again. So, here we are. I'm about 5 pounds lighter than I was last year. I've got a new fork and my bike is running well. I've got some long, comfortable rides in with my nephew and I know what to expect. The direction we're riding also helps. I'm estimating my CFC at around five hours, which is actually pretty exciting. You'd think that one hour less of suffering wouldn't be that significant. For me, one hour is huge. I sure hope my estimate is close. Jonboy and Delena are joining Dan and I for the ride down. To tell you the truth, I'm more excited about hanging out with those guys both before and after the ride than I am the actual ride. Dan commented, most of it sure sounds like a good time, except for that part in the middle. As for food, I plan on Brad's All-Day (CarboRocket) for fluid and Spam Musubi for snacks. Lunch will include PB+J with milk as well as some chips and some chicken and stars. The last stop will include plenty of NSAIDs and some cupcakes to be shared with Dug.

Dogs

I am not a dog guy. This is despite the fact that I've got the best dog in the world, Jesse. Jesse's a Golden Lab that doesn't bark except to be let back in the house and is more likely to lick you to death than bite you. He doesn't even respond when Blossom, the over-eager juvenile orange tabby we have constantly nips at his ears, feet, and tail. This is the only kind of dog I could have. You see, dogs don't like me. Most dogs immediately give me the stink eye with many adding a growl for good measure. What's more, I've been attacked by a wide variety of dogs. Some people say dogs can smell fear, that they smell the fear in me, and that's what inspires their aggressive behavior. The thing is, I'm not really afraid of dogs. Don't get me wrong, an amped up dog makes me nervous. But not nervous enough to run away. I've only twice ever run from a charging dog. The first time I was six or seven and my lovely neighbor 'sicked' his pit bull on me from across the street. I set a new personal best time in climbing from the bottom of the catalpa tree in the front yard to the absolute highest branch in that tree that could hold my weight. As I got older, for some reason I just started standing my ground. The first time I remembered doing so was several years later when the same neighbor had Chows instead of pit bulls. Those Chows were mean. One jumped the fence and ran across the street to attack me as I walked back from retrieving the mail. I turned to face him and kicked his jaw as he turned his head to bite me. I was almost shocked I'd done so. So was he. We stood there facing each other for a few seconds in confusion until he growled and went home. Later, I'd be attacked by other dogs, including cougar hounds and large mutts. Every time one of those dogs would charge, I'd boil with rage afterwards. One particular instance involved a cougar hound that attack me on the street at his owner's command. After I fended off the attack, the owner expressed his frustration at me hurting his dog, which made me even angrier. The second time I ran was on my mission. When I was a greeny, a mangy dog chased me on my bicycle and I simply kept pedalling instead of kicking the dog - you know, for appearances' sake. That little bastard bit me, in full view of his owner. I jumped off my bike and he came in for a second go, this time getting my pants. I waited in vain for the owner to get involved, but instead he looked on in apathy. My companion intervened and kicked the dog to get him to leave. That ended the owner's apathy as he yelled at my companion for kicking the dog. While there, I was also attacked by a Collie (I hate Lassie now, by the way), several mutts of all sizes from Chihuahua size to Saint Bernard size, and a German Shepherd. Chad inspired me to write this with his post about being bitten. I'm amazed by several parts of his story. I'm amazed that he apparently didn't lose his temper at any point with either the owners or the dog. But then again, I've always known Chad to be the acme of self-control. Good work, man. Hopefully these setbacks won't keep you away from RAWROD. As a side note, I think you should let me punch you in the right arm as hard as I can. You're completely out of balance and a sore right arm should bring everything into back into alignment.

Reality Check

I came to some realizations last week when Dan, my nephew and I had headed out on a long ride in anticipation of RAWROD. And since I'm long-winded, it'll come at the end. Last Saturday, despite the windy, grey weather, Dan showed up and we rolled out. I switched my Hillary over to mountain duty. This included moving the suspension fork and front brake from the Rig and putting on some Paul Thumbies/Bar End shifters. We rode down the canal to 1600 N. in Orem and then turned and headed east behind the Orem Cemetery. On the way, the zipper on my saddle bag broke so I had to stuff everything into my camelback. We climbed until we reach the top of Lower Frank from the backside. It was there that my front brake completely lost power. Completely. I had two choices - walk down or ride as carefully as possible with one brake. So I rode it. It was nerve racking and slow. We got to the bottom and then headed for the Provo section of the shoreline to meet my niece. She showed up with two flat tires, which is all the delay Dan needed to head home to take his daughter shopping. The small hand pump was virtually useless at getting air into her Schraeder-valve tubes. The CO2 I brought was completely useless. So my nephew and I got our forearm workouts in pumping up her tires with the hand-pump. After a while, we called it good enough and moved on. After we got rolling, I picked up a whole patch of thorns with my front tire. Surprisingly enough it held air until we got down. The steep descents were scarier than I remembered, especially without a front brake. Luckily, there were always run outs below the steep stuff so I could just roll the steep stuff and stop at the top of the other side. Once we got down, I stopped by Dan's house to borrow his floor pump to change my tube. I pulled out the thorn-riddled tube and put in a fresh one. Once the tire seated on the rim, I started pumping to fill up the tube. That's when the fresh tube gave up. Apparently it had a bad seam. Alika had an extra one in his pack, so I put it in and this time it held. Alika and I started the ride home into a pretty stiff head wind. By the time we got back, we were both completely done. Most days, this combination of things would have driven me over the edge and I would have been unbearable. So what was different? For one, I was riding on dirt instead of pavement most of the time. I realized I like to ride my mountain bike. Second, Dan and Alika are perfect riding company. Neither were any hurry to get there and were perfectly content to hang out and chat while we cruised along. Third, BK's CarboRocket and Spam musubi are great for long rides. I tolerate both well and both tasted great after a couple of hours in the saddle. Fourth, I would definitely prefer a slightly heavier bike with simple, reliable components. I've decided to make the move to cable actuated discs and thumbies on Maggie as well. Hillary performed like a champ for Dan the entire time. I actually prefer the modulation of cable actuated discs and am now comfortable enough with myself to switch to those, even if they aren't as cool or as light. Perhaps the most important thing I realized is that I should start moving my Saturday morning rides to Saturday afternoon as soon as possible. This has several advantages. For one, I get to sleep in and catch up a little on my sleep deficit from the week. Second, it gives Cindy time to train since she's more of a morning person. And most important, it gives me some really good time with just the kids.

That Big Ol' Belt Buckle

I am referring to the big belt buckle you get when you finish the LT100 in under nine hours. Not me, obviously. After all, LT100 is code for "Something Fish Should Never Do . . . . Ever." Who am I to argue with that? I know my role in these occasions, and that role is support. Part of what I'm able to bring to this year's race is a geary rig for Jon to ride (without him having to build his own). This is where my obsession begins. I've got two on offer. The first is Maggy, my trusty IF dedicated mountain bike and the second is Hillary, my do it all cross/mountain bike. Each have their merits. Maggy was designed for a 100mm fork and has an XTR Hydraulic system with Rapid Rise shifting (high-normal). Hydraulic and rapid rise are the down side. Jon also wants a rigid fork. I picked up an 80mm suspension corrected Switchblade. 80mm suspension corrected when it was designed for 100mm may also be a down side. A big upside is that this bike has a top tube that is longer than Hillary's, and more in line with what I think Jon normally runs. Hillary is now setup with an 80mm Reba and was designed to be run as such. Hillary also has disc brakes, but they're cable actuated. I also have her set up with Paul Thumbies and traditional (high-normal) derailleurs. On the down side, her top tube is shorter. I sat on her last night with a 100mm stem and the cockpit felt too short. I've ordered a 120mm Salsa Stem to help alleviate the shortness and I hope that 120mm is the right balance of length without being too long. So, which should Jon ride on his quest for the big'un?

Worst . . Movie . . . .Ever

That's right, I've got a new standard for the worst movie ever. When I say that, I mean worst movie that I've seen. I'm sure there are plenty worse, but not that I've actually been talked into watching. In order for a movie to be this bad, it has to be so bad that it's not even fun to make fun of. Anaconda was a dog, but it was a riot to laught at. Each of the movies described below have no real plot to speak of, only a general premise that never developed. The first movie to definitively set that mark for me was Hope Floats. Hope Floats had an interesting premise, but was just excruciatingly painful to watch. Then, two hours into the movie five different plot lines have emerged. And then, in one non-sensical swoop, the movie ended. No resolution to the various plot lines, just a thinly veiled attempt to cover up the fact that they had run out of time, but not figured out how to end the movie cleanly. It's not that I hate romantic comedies. I loved Notting Hill. Love, Actually is (actually) one of the films in my top 10. Next came Happy Feet. What a fuster cluck that was. I envisioned the writing process beginning with a loose idea of penguins suffering from global warming. Then came a series of non sequitirs. It feels like after the initially session where everyone got an idea of a theme, each writer then moved into a cave and wrote their part in complete isolation. The ideas were then thrown together and animated. They figured animation would cover up all sins and Global Warming was popular enough of a cause that people would over look the fact that the movie was a steaming pile of terd because it was about global warming. It's not that I don't like animated films, Shrek (only the original) was great, as was Monsters, Inc. Then came along a little romantic comedy entitled "The Wedding Date." Apparently, a big time movie exec has a penchant for spoiling his young daughter. The Wedding Date feels like it was plotted by a fourth grader and her friends who were asked to think of the perfect 'chick flick.' What if a guy dumped a girl. And what if the guy that dumped her dumped her for her sister. Oh yeah, and what if she never found out. She could find out at a wedding. . . . It was all over the place. Not even the potentially humorous parts delivered. The acting and directing were atrocious. I dare you to watch this. For me, The Wedding Date is now the worst . . . movie . . . .ever.

Welcome, Keono!

We welcomed Keono to the family on Saturday morning, March 15 at about 10:00 in the morning. She's a beatiful Sabrosa with many wonderful features. The important statics include that she's a 29er, single speed mountain bike with a custom lugged steel frame, fork, and stem. She hit the ground running and had her first ride yesterday in St. George on the Green Valley Loop with many kindred spirits.

From the rear.



And the front.



What are you going to call it?



Custom stem and spacer.


No detail overlooked - check the sweet headbadge. This one was taken inside.


Kerry provided the grips. A very nice touch.

I had built myself some really, really high expectations for this bike. Expectations I could never actually expect to be reached. This bike blew them away. Not only does it look great, but it rides like a dream. The geometry is similar to my Indy, but tweake just a little to perfection. No detail was overlooked. I know I don't deserve a friend like Jon, but I consider myself privileged that he counts me as one. There's no way of thanking for someone for something like this. Without a doubt, this bike is as cool as the rest of my bikes combined. Cool enough that I'm confident in concluding that my bike is the coolest ever.

I Hate the False Spring

I hate this hot and cold weather. I wish the weather would pick a line. I don't care what anyone says, this winter has felt longer and harsher than previous winters. It feels like we've had more days of snow and a lot of those came consecutively. Too many days were in the teens or worse. This cheers me up, a little. Kuhio Bay - I like bradda IZ's rendition. 'Akahi ho'i a 'ike ku'u maka I ka nani a'o Waiakea 'A'ohe lua e like ai Me ka nani a me ka nani A'o Kuhio Bay Mahalo a'i au i ka nani a'o Hilo Me ka ua a'e ho'opulu nei 'Oni ana Mokuola au i ke kai 'O ua 'aina 'e Kaulana nei Wai anuenue a he wai kaulana Wai maka'ika'i a ka malihini Wai kamaha'o i ka'u 'ike E papahi e ho'ope nei I ka nahele

And All The Rest

The assorted and sundry bikes in the rest of the stable include those that I don't have a deep and abiding relationship - which is to say they are the bikes that are neither titanium nor custom. These include a pair of Felts - a 2007 B2 Tri bike and a 2008 F1X Cyclocross bike. Both are light, workman-like bikes that are good looking and well-suited to their disciplines. I also have a GF Rig that has served me well in that it's helped me feel the SS vibe. I have a Colnago as well as a LeMond each of which I hope to build up soon. We'll see which one makes it to the finish first. And finally, there's my towny - a GF Monona. When Brad Keyes talks about getting your dork on, the Monona is the bike I think about. It's cheap, it's replete with appearance-be-damned accessories (like a light and fenders) and cheap parts. It's also a boat-load of fun to ride. So, with the rest of the stable now described, we await the triumphant entry of the latest addition, The Sabrosa.

Hillary

Hillary is my Swiss-Army bike - the bike that can do it all reasonably well, but not exceptionally well. I can, and have, ridden Hillary on mountain bike rides on the Ridge and on long dirt/pavement rides along the canal and through town. She's also seen more than one 'cross race. She's built with almost a mountain frame with clearance for up to 2.1's with disc brakes and drop bars. She can also be readily converted to a mountain bike as she's designed to ride properly with a Reba 29er fork. In fact, her next mission is to be ridden as a dedicated mountain bike this coming season as Jonboy trains for and rides the LT 100 on her. A big wheel geary bike should be just the ticket for Jon to get that big'un belt buckle and I'm more than happy to oblige. So the drop bars are being replaced with a flat bar and the road shifters are going to give way to bar-end shifters mounted to thumbies. Later, Hillary will make her return as a cross bike.

Maggy

Maggy is my IF Deluxe Ti mountain bike. The one I bought after I talked Ben out of buying a 29er. It's that bike. I don't want to talk about that more than I already have.

Alex

Alex is the third of my Serottas. She's a cross bike that Serotta built during one of their semi-custom bouts when you could choose the seat tube length and the top-tube length and they picked everything else. She has a matte finish and red stickers. Ultegra shifter/brake levers, Race Face Cranks, XTR Derailleurs and Red King hubs were the initial partset. Alex and I share one very painful memory that makes us comrades. It was on Alex that I suffered my most serious injury. I was living in Portland. I commuted to and from work on Alex nearly every day. At the time, I was living with B and Coxey while each of our wives stayed back in Utah to work. Health insurance was tough to come by and not something you gave up when your wife was pregnant. I was headed home from work to go on a ride with B and a couple of guys from work. I was within a few blocks when I came to an intersection that had cars backed up for blocks. It was my intent to take the bike lane to the intersection and then cross at the cross walk as a pedestrian. It was a trick I'd learned in a pamphlet from a 'bike attorney' that all the bike shops gave out. I should have taken my chances on the bike. As I neared the intersection, the light turned green. I was already committed to my plan and there was no way I was going to safely navigate three lanes of traffice to be able to make use of the turn lane, so I continued down the bike lane. I large white box delivery truck was stopped. It didn't seem too odd since trucks like that are almost always slow to get moving. As I passed the truck (while still riding in the bike lane with a green light) I realized the truck had stopped to let a pickup come across double-double yellow lines to enter the wrong way into a parking lot. I grabbed two fistfuls of brakes and threw the bike hard to avoid the truck. No luck. The old lady driving had to slow down in order to drive around the barriers intended to keep people from driving into the parking lot in the manner she was entering. The impact was incredible. I couldn't believe I could cause so much noise. The sound of my bike and then my legs hitting the bed of her truck. The shattering of glass as I put my head, arms, and half of my torso through the window in her camper shell. As I hit the ground, I laid there for a while to assess the damage. My mouth immediately felt like I'd had all of my front teeth knocked out and that they'd left the hard-way through my lower lip. I could feel my extremities. At first, it felt like the bladder in my camelback had burst from the impact. I sat up to see if I could assess the damage to my poor bike. It was lying several feet away, and I couldn't tell the extent of the damage. Then I looked to see that what I thought was water was in fact blood from massive damage to my left arm. I knew then I was going to the ER, so I laid back down and started to feel around in my bag for my cell phone. I had to let B know that I wasn't going to be making the ride. An off-duty EMT was there before I could find the phone. He immobilized me and wouldn't listen to my requests to get my phone. I even explained as rationally as I could that all he had to do was hold down number 4 and it would dial him automatically. Then I he could hold the phone up to my mouth and I could explain the situation. Meanwhile, back at the apartment B and the other joked about what was taking me so long. B even joked that maybe I got hit by a car. Moments later a large engine revved. The joke was going so well that they joked that maybe it was the truck that hit me. Moments later, (I'm told) knock came at the door and a fireman handed B my bike and told him that I had in fact been involved in a serious accident and that I was on my way to OHSU Medical Center. You see, the fire department arrived in short order. They quickly secured me to a backboard. As they were strapping me down, I asked the fire fighter nearest me - "Tell me honestly, how many teeth did I lose?" He responded, "Let's see." I opened up my mouth to show him. "Nah, you're still pretty. You didn't lose any" he answered back. I then pleaded with him to take care of Alex. I made him promise. I made him give me his name. He came through. I didn't do any more road riding for the rest of that year, the best I can remember. The fork was bent, the front wheel trashed, headset, shifters, bar - the whole front end was toast. But the frame was still straight. So I rebuilt her with new parts and she soldiers on. Several years and four 'cross seasons later and Alex is still going. Surviving the 'cross campaigns for that long would be enough to establish comradry, but surviving a car crash puts Alex in another league of tough.

Bessy

Bessy is my second oldest bike. She's actually not completely built right now, but I'm working on it. Bessy is a Serotta CHT that was built to Fisher Genesis Geometry. She started out with a White Brothers SC80, King wheels, XTR, and Sugino Cranks. The WB fork lasted exactly one ride and I switched to the bomber. Over time, Bessy took a back seat as Maggy became the A-Bike. I converted Bessy to a rigid single, but only rode her like that once. A rig has taken over single speed duties, which in turn will be permanently replaced by the Sabrosa (to be known as Ke Ono). So now, Bessy sits in limbo. But I have too many fond memories with her to put her away. Those were the days when I had ample time to ride. The Golden Days of discovery with Racer, Red and the man formerly known as Keller. Back before Racer got fast on the descent. Exploring unknown trails up Nebo Canyon with Stu and Brent. Grinning rides down South Fork with Jared and Stef. Good times. That's why I keep Bessy. One of these days I'll get around to putting rear wheel on and taking her back out, right?

The Stable

Recently on the family blog I did a series of posts about my kids. I thought it only fitting that I do something similar with my stable of bikes. So, this is the first installment of my bike collection. My end game is to drag this out until I pick up my bike from Jon. I'm going to start from the oldest and make my way to the newest. The bike I've owned the longest is my Serotta road bike - a Legend Ti. I call her Samantha. I picked up Samantha when road bikes came standard with 1" threaded steerers. She originally came with a finish that was half painted in midnight blue and half polished. I picked up a Shimano 9 speed Dura Ace group with 39/53 and 12/25 setup. The fork is an old Serotta F1 with a steel steerer tube, carbon blades, and titanium dropouts. I picked up one of Chris King's first road spaced hubs. Almost on a dare with Jared Hill I picked up a threadless headset and 1" Serotta titanium stem. The bike remained with this setup until I finished school. My new found weight made climbing a real challenge with even a 39/27 gear, so I put a compact double on. I resisted ten speed for years until every new bike started coming with 10. I then put Force on it. I'm not the biggest fan of the Force, but it is what it is. The Force and the compact double haven't changed the way the bike handles. It still handles like it's locked on rails and is the standard by which I measure every road bike. My favorite ride on that bike is the Alpine Loop. I really like the descent from the Pine Hollow over look down and live for the stretch from the turn off to Tibble Fork to the mouth of the Canyon. Whenever I think about flowing down that road, with trees and the stream, it brings a smile to my face. Many of you will know which part I'm talking about and will have carved that same stretch of road with me. I can't wait for spring.

Building Wheels is Like Riding a Bike

This post is another nod to Greg Reiche as well as a nod to JJ. It's these two, and JJ in particular, that taught me how to build wheels. Greg is a purist and taught me several little things that I hold onto. These little details include lacing the wheel so that the sticker is read from the drive side, positioning the hub such that looking through the hole you can read the writing on the hub (if any), and that the stickers on the hub can be read from the behind. Little things, sure, but they've stuck with me. JJ taught me how a well built wheel should feel. The beauty of inside pulling spokes. How to seat the spokes. Drop, lace, and tension. That's all there is to it, right? But there's something fulfilling about taking a pile of spokes, an empty hoop, and a hub and building a (hopefully) strong wheel. I don't build wheels that often these days, but I can still knock one out in about an hour. Last night I laced up my new King SS Hubs - mmmm, shiny - to some Bontrager Mustang 29er rims. 32H, 3X, inside pulling. They're sure going to look good on that Sabrosa. After all, a hand-built bike deserves nothing less than hand-built wheels.

What I Have Resolved to Do

So here is a semi-public list of what I hope to accomplish this year. I've omitted specifics of parenting and spousery (is that a word) because those are things I try to work on constantly and can't really check off until I check out. So, here they are in no particular order. 1. Get ahead and stay ahead on hours at work. I hope to take the week between Christmas and New Years off next year. This will also make the next resolution easier. 2. Finish Ironman Arizona. This is a big one. The racing schedule is secondary to IMAZ, and includes AF Icebreaker, Lehi Legacy Tri, Ironman 70.3 Honu, Provo Tri, perhaps Battle at Midway, definitely the Spudman, the Provo Half, and then IMAZ in November. 3. In addition to 1) above, in order to do this I'm going to need to lose a significant amount of weight. Get to a truly reasonable and healthy weight. I need to lose about 30 pounds to be on the top end of healthy and need to lose something like 40 pounds to put me in the middle of the fit range. 4. Read, understand, and put into practice the major techniques found in "The New Joy of Cooking." This is my attempt at a self-taught cooking course. This book has a lot of classic recipes and techniques. 5. Spend as many weekends as possible this summer camping with my kids in the mountains. Tent camping, dutch oven cooking, and hiking are what we're looking for. Lilia is starting to take an interest in electronic entertainment and I'd like to balance that out. 6. Ride with Jon in St. George. 7. Catch at least one ocean going salmonid - be it a steelhead or a salmon.

Reality Check

Warning - unusually somber post. Today was supposed to be a normal day. A day in which I spent the vast majority of my time drafting patent applications. It didn't go like that. Instead, as I checked my email on my leash (others call them Blackberry) on my way from the parking garage, I saw a string of emails. Jason Coles, a buddy from law school, was killed in a skiing accident. It's not so much that Jason and I were friends as much as we were friendly to each other and have close friends in common. He married a woman from our law school class and together they recently had a baby. It brought home the fragile nature of things. And brought me to the reality that my tonight would be better spent with my loved ones.

La Sabrosa Mas Linda

My Sabrosa is raging forward. Hand-built and lug-a-licious. And so does my part selection. I've settled on virtually all the parts list - which is as follows. Frame - Sabrosa Hand-Built, lugged Chromoly, single speed specific Fork - Sabrosa Hand-Built, lugged Chromoly, non-suspension corrected Stem - Sabrosa Hand-Built, lugged Chromoly All painted Sabrosa orange with blue lug outlining and detail fill Headset - King 1 1/8 ahead, Silver Wheels - King Classic SS, Silver, Bonti Mustang 32h, DT 1.8 Straight Crankset - Bonti Race SS, 32T Brakeset - Avid SL linear pull, silver Cog - 22T Surly Chain - SRAM PC-1 Tires - Maxxis CrossMark 29er Seatpost - Thomson 27.2, silver Seat - Bonti Race Pedals - Crank Bros., either Candy C's or Acid 2's Handlebar - Salsa Flat, 31.8.

Put the knife down, and step away.

The fear described in the last post about Arizona shocked me back into obsessing about bikes again. Or maybe it was a call from JonBoy. Yeah, it was the call from JonBoy. He'd mitered up the main triangle and was asking me to make some final decisions. Decisions he wanted me to make because it is my bike. Which brings me to my point. I'd written several long-winded pieces about how I try to value my friends and other wandering thoughts. I chose to write this instead. I've got a stable of absolutely first rate bikes - custom titanium or carbon being the predominant theme. A stable I've spent years collecting. Jon is building a bike for me, by hand and without personal gain . He's spent hours on minor details that he could have easily left out. Without a doubt, this will be the bike I value most. It's tough to know how to thank Jon for something so overwhelming. "Thanks, Jon" just doesn't seem to even begin to express it. But I'll start with that, anyway. Thanks, Jon. It means a lot. PQRS (a nod to Jon), you can follow the progress at www.sabrosacycles.com

Wherein I Completely Lose My Mind

The other day the IT guy here, who just so happens to be one of my more consistent racing buddies, stopped by. He told me about a second Ironman Arizona race. It's a 'second' race because the 'first' race is usually held in April and the second race is being held in November. From now on, the race will be held in November, but for this year only there will be two races. It satisfied the criteria I had been looking for in an Ironman race better than the Florida races had. It's late in the year, so I'll have plenty of time to kill myself at work in the first part of the year so that I can slow up and have a little more time to train. It's close to a major airport that is easily accessible from Salt Lake, so air fare won't be ridiculous. It's geographically close, so the travel time will be low. There was only one thing left - who was I going to race with. The IT flat told me no. I called Mahana and he said he and Kalei would talk about. They called me back to tell me that they - three of the four members of Racer's Cycle Service Tri Team (Karl Jarvis being the other) had already signed up. So, without really thinking of the ramifications, I signed up. I figured I've already done three 1/2 Iron distances and a number of shorter races. Put another way, I've done enough races that I don't consider myself a newbie anymore. Then it started to hit me. The panic that is the open water swim. I always panic, it's just a question of 1) how severely and 2) how long it takes before I can get it to a manageable level. I always freak out because I can't see where I'm going. Add to that any number of people kicking and hitting you. With all that going on, I often forget to breathe correctly, my form goes to crap, and I start feeling like I'm suffocating. Then I think about quitting. Then I think about labelling myself a quitter. Then I put my head back in the soup, find a sustainable pace, and start playing fractional mind games with myself with a diaglogue. E.g. - That second buoy looks like it's about 2/3 of the way around the course. I'm 1/2 way to it, so 1/3 of the way around the course. It's a two-lapper, so 1/6 of the way done. Crap. 1/6 of 1900 is about 325. I've only been 325 meters? Crap. I'd better site again. It doesn't look like I'm any closer. Crap. Is this ever going to end? Roll. Site. . . . ." A recurring theme I have while I'm repeating the above process includes wondering why I signed up for that stupid race anyway. I can only imagine what 1:20 of that is going to be like, and that's if I'm lucky. That could easily drag itself into 1:30 or even 1:40. Then there's the bike. That doesn't really concern me. In fact, this would be a great reason to start a collection of bib and non-bib style Assos shorts. I'll let you know how those work out for me. No number of new shoes or training equipment can get me excited about running a marathon. And let's face it, I don't actually plan on running a marathon, I plan on running until I hit the proverbial wall and then walking. Hopefully, I don't end up doing that leg of the triathlon Andy Bernard style. All of these things were distant enough, until I thought of something realistic. I love to eat. I need to lose weight. That has to start now, which means I need to up my motivation to lose weight now. Once I start training for Hawai'i, weight loss will slow to a crawl. I've got three months to lose weight. Which means I need to start now. I really felt like steak tonight, may with a pepper-cream sauce. I guess it'll be grilled chicken and veggies instead. What have I gotten myself into? Another concern has popped up. Can I still say that I do triathlons, I'm not a triathlete if I've taken on the whole meal deal? I sure hope so.

Knives

For some reason, cyclocross just didn't have the appeal for me this year that is has in years past. Even a G-Whiz new cyclocross bike couldn't get me excited for my traditional late-fall suffer fest. DR and I got out several times on the mountain bike for extra-innings rides, which were fun. But then it got wet and I didn't get around to trading my MTBs for my CX bikes. Instead, I have turned to knives. Kitchen cutlery, actually. My perseverations have focused on everything to do with razor sharp edges. From Forschner to Shun to Wusthof to Henckels to Global and back to Shun. The round trip also picked up some sharpening implements along the way. I finally settled on primarily Henckels for my wife and general use because they take a reasonably sharp edge and hold the edge reasonably well. I also settled on Shun for me because, well, because AB said so. That's not the only reason - it's just that his advertising was most compelling. Much like his scientific approach to cooking makes sense to me, his geometry/Rockwell hardness argument also made sense. So, Shun Classics it is. Now to move on to another perseveration. Hopefully this one will take me back to something fitness related. Knives are good for cooking. Cooking is good for eating. Eating is good for gaining weight.

How Old Am I?

In high school, I took things too seriously. I can admit that. I thought the entire trajectory of my life depended on the smallest things. Because of that, my classmates frequently did things to me for their amusement. A favorite was to call me "The Fat Hawaiian." It bothered me. One of the main reasons people did it was because it bothered me and they took joy in watching me get worked up. Calling out taunts during sporting events was another group's favorite pastime. All of those people knew how to push my buttons and did so at my expense for their amusement. Why wouldn't they? We were in high school and that's what juveniles do. That was then. At my 10 year high school reunion, several people mentioned to me how mellow I was compared to when I was in high school. I realize now it was because in large part I am more selective about who I choose to spend my time with. My philosophy about what it means to be a friend can be illustrated nicely with the analogy of a group ride. You have competitive group rides and friendly group rides. Both have their places and the competitive group rides are more like the business world. Everyone is in it for they and theirs and all strategems are employed to 'win.' And then there's the friendly group rides. The rides we choose to go on. These are rides where we all have fun together on a ride. We all move faster by working together. When I'm feeling good, I take a turn. When I'm not, I sit in. And so it goes. My friends are the people I choose to spend time and effort to maintain relationships. So with friends, I'll take my pull when it's my turn. I'll take long pulls and will pull as often as needed. But I expect that my friends will take their turn when the time comes. I don't have the patience to take pulls for people only sit in or for whom I am merely a source of amusement. This is now.

Conversion and Reactivation

Last year, I started racing triathlons with an eye toward the Honu Half Ironman on the Big Island in June. I decided to do the California Half in March as a warmup for Hawai'i. I peaked for California and was completely burned out by the time Honu came around. I decided to switch to mountain biking when I got home from Hawai'i, especially since I thought I'd neglected it too much while training for triathlon. My first ride back, I high-sided into a tree on Joy while trying to race down after a sudden down pour. The crash ended my fitness for the year and I still haven't lost the weight I gained last summer or the fitness either. I basically gave up on mountain biking. This spring, my nephew Alika got back from his mission. When my brother was in the market for a bike for Alika's mission, I made sure we got him a bike that he could ride later as a 29er mountain bike. When Alika came up for school a few weeks ago, I set him up with a suspension fork and some knobby tires and we went out to ride. Since he's been back, I've taken him on Tibble Fork, Timpanooke (several times), South Fork, and Lambert Park. Each time I'm drawing him in deeper and deeper. Last night we had dinner together. We talked about how he really felt pressed for time between work and school. Then he asked me what time we were riding Saturday morning. I thought to myself, "It looks like we have a convert." And I realized, in converting him I've been reactivated as a mountain biker. So now it's time to spend some time practicing what we preach. Benny Creek anyone?

Derby, Baby! Derby

One of my favorite things from the Gourmet/Frank Days was derbying. Derbying is a game in which you attempt to force your fellow participants to dab - put a foot down. You could make a person dab by either cutting off their path and forcing them to stop in such a way that they can't pedal out of it or you could simply knock them off their bike. The basic rules were very simple. Hands were to remain on the handle bars and feet were to remain on the pedals. This rule added some measure of order to the chaos by capping the potential for violence to the dull impacts of a head butt or a shoulder shiver. Many a day did the shop employees and the lunch crowd pull a bike to begin the derbying. Everyone had their own style that was bracketed between two extremes. Jerome, JJ, and JonBoy were each masters of the finesse technique. Each of them were able to stop for extended periods of time and to shimmy the bike into position using trials techniques. I was on the far end, with initially only limited bike handling skills. I relied on the bull technique by which I would simply ride the smaller cyclists into barriers or knock them off their bikes. As I recall, Dug was a combination of speed and power with impeccable timing. When pushed into tight spot, Dug would pedal furiously out of it and hope for the hole shot at the corner. He also used this speed to knock one or both riders who were engaged in a pushing match. If you think derby sounds silly, you haven't tried it or else you just don't like riding. Maybe that's going to far. Since I hope this is something of a family forum, if you've derbied, share your best derby story.

Coming Clean

I'm coming clean with an experience which brings shame and self-loathing everytime I tell it, or worse, everytime Ben tells it. And no, it doesn't involve the Internet, a late night trip to a seedy convenience store, or buying a Cannondale. It's all about the Big Wheels. I talked Benson out of buying a 29er when he blew the load (of money) he'd been saving up all summer. He was in Boston doing an internship during law school and had the means to build up a dream bike. What's more, since he was in Boston, he had the rare experience (for us western dwellers) to follow the process of having a hand-built titanium mountain bike frame built by one of the acknowledged leaders in the craft, Independent Fabrication. It also didn't hurt that they're one of the coolest group of people around. So there's the short version, which also serves as a handy intro. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm becoming more of a foody every day. I love to cook and I love to eat good food. I've learned over the years that when you go to a restaurant, one of the best ways to get the most out of the situation is to trust the server, assuming you can determine whether the server is serious. If the server is serious about his job, he'll know the menu inside and out and will have tried everything. I'm not sure how to explain whether you know when you can trust the server, but you just know. It's like when I send people down to Racer. Everybody, from people who didn't know that adult bikes come in more than one size all the way to the guy who just dropped $1,000 or so on wheels to save 75g just seem to sense that Racer knows his stuff and that they should probably follow his advise. I almost always fall into this category as well. Except for when 29ers came out. I assumed I knew it all. I should have known that people who do nothing but build bikes for a living would have known what they were talking about. I'm talking about Matt Bracken, President and frame designer over there at IF. Racer was riding a 29er and said it was the best thing ever. "They roll over everything" he would say. Matty B suggested that Ben get a 29er. I talked Ben out of it. And here's how I did it. I was riding my Serotta custom Ti hard tail that I'd ridden for several years. I figured I didn't have any trouble going down hill, but the extra weight and bigger wheel size would make it that much harder to go up hill. I found myself begging the granny gear with some frequency and figured the last thing I wanted to do is effectively give up a gear on the lower end. I also discussed the likelihood of slow steering. Add to that the argument that the 29er thing was probably just a fad, and Ben was convinced. He went with the 26er. When he came out to ride it, the 26er wasn't ready so Racer let him ride a 29er demo Racer had. As I would later find out, Ben knew immediately that he'd made a huge mistake, but he masked it because he knew how bad I'd feel. Ben's a better man than I am. I admit it. Then he didn't say anything but how sweet his IF was once he got it. If the story ended there, it'd be fine. We'd both be on 26ers. Ben would know better, but I would have remained in blissful ignorance. I continued to tell the growing number of my friends who used 29ers that they were idiots. Until Devin let me ride his 29er Curtlo on the second loop at Lambert Park. I immediately came to the same realization Ben did. I simply had to have a 29er. If I was going to replace the Serotta, which I affectionately refer to as "Bessy", it'd have to be with something as good, but with big wheels. I got the go ahead from Racer and set us up as an IF dealer. I then proceeded to order myself up a 29er Ti Deluxe. It's everything I hoped it'd be. On my first ride with Jon Boy and the rest of the Family, it felt like I'd been riding it for years. There simply was no break in period where I had to build my confidence. It went faster from the get-go. "Point and shoot" I started calling its ride quality. And Ben languished on with his beautiful, but cheerio-wheeled, ti IF. Since he got back, Ben picked up a Felt 29er. While he's not riding his little brother's bike anymore, and while his Felt is a very able bike, it's just not an IF Ti. Until he gets one, my shame will persist. So there it is, in all its ugliness. I ruined Ben's once in a lifetime dream bike experience by talking him out of the 29er and then proceeded to buy exactly the same thing myself. Usually, coming clean makes you feel better. For some reason, the guilt persists. Sorry, Ben.

Dan Nelson

The family tree is growing, at least in my estimation. The last notable addition was Harse. Then for a while Racer employed several people who treated the shop like another job. There's not anything wrong with that necessarily, but that won't get you an invitation to family reunions. Spencer was close, but before we could make it official, he up and moved to California. Which leads us to Dan. From my best estimate, Dan loves to ride. He'll pedal anything with two wheels. He's fast too, consistently doing well in the local races. And he seems to love being at the shop. On more than one occasion, he's stayed really late getting things done without nary a word of complaint. Instead, he remained enthusiastic. Add to that the fact that he's not afraid to show up and eat like he means it at a barbeque, and I've got to give him the nod. So for what it's worth, I'm considering Dan as part of The Family. There's only one thing - Dan needs something more for a shop name than just Dan. I mean seriously.

Hawaii 07

As a word of warning, this post is only nostalgic, not bike-related nostalgic. Follow on at your own risk.

My name often inspires the following dialog, especially at stores where they read my credit card:
Cashier: How do you pronounce that?
Me pronouncing the entire thing
Cashier: Is that Hawaiian?
Me: Yes
Cashier: What island are you from?
Me: I'm actually from Southeastern Utah.
Cashier: Silence accompanied with a confused look.
Me: Thanks (as I'm walking out)

So, as I grow older, I struggle to connect with my Hawaiian roots.

It was too expensive for my parents to take all seven children to Hawai'i with any regularity. We went a couple of times when I was very young and I only have faded memories of those trips. So, what I learned about Hawaiian culture, I learned from my dad. I learned to savor poi, kalua pork, cuttle fish, dried aku, haupia, kulolo, laulau, poke, lomilomi, and the other foods as I grew up. But many of the other aspects of the culture passed me by. My wife and I have been over twice in the last two years and plan to make it a yearly tradition. One of the things that makes the long hours at work worth it is that the job provides the flexibility and means to make the trip on a yearly basis, with my kids and my dad.

When my dad gets back to Hawai'i, it doesn't take him long to settle back in as kama'aina. My kids had a great time, too. So, for posterities sake, here are my favorite memories of Hawai'i.

1) We went to the heau at Honaunau on the Big Island. The heau is a state park where an ancient Hawaiian royal village and an adjoining sanctuary have been restored. As we were watching some sea turtles, I noticed that the rocks seemed to be crawling with black crabs. I know that the locals eat them raw. I've never had black crab, so I asked my dad how they prepared them. He said, "They're raw, but not really raw. What you do is you take them and crack them, and then you put a lot of salt on them. You leave them in the salt until they're . . . . I can't think of the word in English. Until they're miko."

2) The night before the race we were driving back down to the condo on the Queen K highway. The rain was coming down and the wife and kids were sleeping in the back. My dad was sitting in the front seat. I was listening to IZ's (Israel Kamakawiwo'ole) rendition of a traditional favorite, Kuhio Bay. My dad doesn't sing along to music, especially in the car. In fact, the only times I've heard him sing is in formal settings, like choir practice. I noticed him singing along softly to the song, which turns out to be, among other things, about the beauty of rain in Hawai'i.

3) On the way home, the first leg of the flight took us from the Big Island to Oahu. The flight is short and the flight attendants don't really give you a choice on the refreshments, they just run by and throw juice cups at you. The juice was a passion fruit blend. As I was finishing my juice, I heard my oldest daughter say, "This juice tastes like Hawai'i."

4) And finally - this:















If you can't tell, I'm island sick today.

Amos Exploration

I rode Saturday with Brently and his eldest, Dan, and B. Riding with Brent took me back to the days of following a pure descender - Stu. Stu picks as clean a line as any body you'll ever meet and then rides that line with a smoothness that defies description. Those of you who have followed Stu down a rock-strewn single track know what I'm getting at. And to my own personal loss, I haven't ridden with Stu in a long time. That's why this is a particularly nostalgic post. Stu was something of a guiding influence during my early days at the shop. Stu was the first to welcome me in to the intimidating and somewhat closed circle of The Family while he was hanging out at the shop during lunch or on breaks. He always had great advice. One of the most valuable and enduring things I learned from Stu was how to treat people with different perspectives. Another thing about Stu is that when it so strikes him, he can put together a flowing dialog of descriptive adjectives and thoughtful metaphors laced with a surprisingly-fluid (yet definitely liberal) dosing of profanity. I've often heard from those who object to profanity that the use of such language reflects a limited vocabulary. They obviously haven't heard Stu tell a story. I think the Ralphie in A Christmas Story had an idea of what I'm talking about. Stu used to live in Provo. Then he decided his commute simply wasn't long enough and he moved to Elk Ridge. One afternoon, Stu had a great idea. He suggested we go find some trails down his way. We called Brent and the group was set. Stu and I grabbed our bikes at the shop and headed to an outdoor shop to pick up a map. After finding a map with enough topographical detail to be useful, we drove on to pick up Brent and were off. Benny Creek had always been a favorite. But there was a vast system of trails to be explored apart from Benny. In fact, little was known about the "other" side of the road. So there we were, at a parking lot armed with a map and plenty of water we started off. It was a warm day and we had the mountain to ourselves. What we found was a great combination of new (to us) smooth winding single track with the signature Nebo area technical sections. It has to be ridden to be believed. Canopied oak stands transition between open stands of quakies. Descending that we felt like we'd discovered the New World. Like the great explorers of the past, we named the newly found dominion. Actually, we named the ride Amos because the dominant geographic feature that ties several sections of trails together (at least on the map)is called "Amos Backbone." I got a little out of hand following Stu and Brently down and ended up clanking through a downhill rock bed, which taco'd my rear wheel. Brent and I worked out our best caveman mechanic wheel truing by banging the rim on a rock until it'd roll in the frame and we rolled out. Besides that, my memories of that ride are of big excitement, big sweeping turns, deep rollers while wearing a shit-eating grin all bathed in the golden glow of a late summer afternoon. That didn't wear off for days. I'm wearing it now as I think of it. Alright Stu, quit messing around with the motos and join us for a ride.

I Do Triathlons, I'm not a Triathlete . . . Anymore

It's an ugly thing to realize something you've become always held in disdain and that you've drifted from something that brings you joy because of it. Tri-geek was always a dirty word around the shop. The negative side I saw was that people trained at the expense of the ride. Almost always. For example, not mountain biking because the ride profile spent too much time in HR Zones 4-5 on the climbs and then all the way back to below HR Zones 1-2 when I really need that time to be in zones 2-3. If you know what I'm talking about, you may already be headed down the wrong path. Not that some structured training might not help you out, but it was killing my soul. In order to stay in the right HR zones I found myself riding my trainer. A lot. Mind numbing and spirit crushing. I'd become an automaton. My wife and I recently completed the Hawaii Ironman 70.3 together. Our youngest turned 4 mos. old the day of the race. That race was worth it to run down the finishing chute with my wife. But that was when the triathlete that I'd become died and I got back to being me. I finished the swim a couple of minutes ahead of my wife and built a lead of around half an hour after the bike. Foot cramps and shin splints had me hobbling on the first part of the run until I sat down and worked them out. I could have pushed on and finished thirty minutes or so faster than I did. But why? I started racing to spend more time with my wife. Why not finish this thing with her, since she's stated this will be her only 1/2 for quite a while? I did and it was great. Last year my mountain biking season was cut short when I took a flier into a tree on Joy. This year, I'm determined to have a full mountain bike season and to not let training get in the way of enjoying the outdoors. A funny thing has happened since I made that determination. I've enjoyed my time outdoors, which so happens to be while I'm exercising. Runs are enjoyable. Swimming isn't monotonous. The mountain biking is lovely. With the Spudman grudge match pending, I should be doing some very focused training this Saturday. I've decided on a long mountain bike ride to Tibble with some of my very favorite ridding buddies - Dan, Brently Bob, B and we'll see if Ben can make it. I've got high hopes that this will be one of those memorable rides. After all, is there really such a thing as a really great trainer ride?