The Foam Roleur

Happy 2010!

2010-01-05T21:42:00.000-08:00

New Year's Day: Pig Farm with JK. Looks like Santa had a rough night and passed out in the driveway.

January 2: Easy ride up Spruce. Then met La Roleurette for brunch at the Can't Fail Cafe.

January 3: Tour de Refinery, AKA first half of the Grizzly Peak Century. Good lord, it was cold out. I thought the snipers were going to take me down as I shot this photo.

New Year's Eve Miscellania

2009-12-30T22:40:00.000-08:00

I stopped by the video store after spinning to pick up a movie, and noticed this in the Comedy aisle:

Berto?

Also, as I was packing my board this evening, I noticed that the skiier hitman tore the beejeebus out of the tail. Ouch. That's going to cost me. DAMN YOU, SKIIERS!!

Man Down

2009-12-29T16:55:00.001-08:00

I'm Hit! Today I was a casualty in the Great Skiier vs. Snowboarder Holy War. Last run of the day, and the guy plows into me from nowhere. Never saw him coming. Thank god for the helmet, because I went down hard. Whiplash is already creeping in. In retaliation, I plan on tripping a skiier as we get off the lift tomorrow.

Seriously, I'm done with snow and ready for road. With idle time on my hands, I've been spending way too much time trolling through the interwebs for all things bikely, and can't wait to get back in the saddle. Check this site out for really well produced mini-docs on the Cervelo Team over the 2009 season. Witness: scary driving/sandwich eating by their DS, the biggest watches you've ever seen, racy shots of Heinrich Hausler on the massage table, and the narrator's cute Canadian accent. I really liked the Flanders episode.

Tomorrow I can look foward to another extended spin session at the rec center. So sweaty.

Routine. When I snowboard alone I sometimes get in my own head. Today, I began to notice the little chair lift routine that I repeat on every run:

Hockey stop.
Unstrap back leg.
Loosen front buckles.
Get on lift.
Pull down footrest/safety bar.
Pull up gaiter to cover mouth and nose.
Pull hood over helmet.
Draw fingers out of mitts and clench thumbs for warmth.
Sit and plan my next run.
Re-insert fingers in mitt.
Push off hood.
Push up safety bar.
Get off lift.
Pull down gaiter.
Strap in back foot
Tighten front buckles.
Rip shreds to the extreme!!!!

This pattern somehow made me feel all warm inside - literally and figuratively. I am a self-admitted creature of habit, and take odd satisfaction from learning and internalizing a system that works efficiently and consistently. I have routines for getting out the door to go snowboarding, taking a shower in the gym after spin class, and prepping for a bike ride. Oddly, the Rain Man routine of prepping the bottles and food, laying out the clothes, getting out the bag, and packing the gear is part of what I enjoy about riding bikes.

I'm not alone in this. See Joe Parkin's description of pre-race prep in Belgium. I love that post.

Books...

2009-12-27T23:11:00.000-08:00

Since arriving in Whistler, I've been on the slopes three times, and done two indoor cycling sessions at the local rec center, which is more decked out than most high-end gyms. They even have legit spin bikes with SPD pedals. Given the mediocre snow conditions, I'll probably put in another 90 minute spin tomorrow.

I don't mind too much. I've got a ton of podcasts to keep me company, and started Born to Run by Christopher McDougall on audiobook. I'm only 20 minutes in, but give it a big thumbs up so far. For me, running was never more than an efficient workout, a means to an end, even before my foot problems started. But I can still appreciate the stories of athletic achievement, and sympathize with the author's struggle with injuries over the years.

Another book review: Ten Points, Bill Strickland. My sister sent it to me for Christmas. The book draws parallels between Strickland's relationship with his wife and daughter, his desperate bid to win points at the local crit, and the gut-wrenching abuse suffered at the hands of his father.

Strickland is the editor-at-large for Bicycling magazine, so it's no surprise that he successfully evokes the rush of the pack at 30 miles an hour - better than any other book I've read, actually. His feelings for his wife and daughter are also nicely drawn, if a bit mawkish.

I wonder, though, can a memoir be too personal? Strickland lays bare his soul in this book, and at times I felt like I had to turn away. Rape, physical abuse, animal cruelty, Russian Roulette (!) - it's all there. While writing about these events in unflinching detail requires real courage, at times the pieces seemed gratuitous (do we really need half a page on what it's like to literally eat shit?).

My biggest issue with the book, though, is that the links between Strickland's childhood, his family, and bike racing are often ham-fisted. The best writing appears seamless; in this book the nails and glue are just a bit too apparent. Strickland regularly uses images from his current life to trigger flashbacks to some terrible experience with his dad. This device begins to feel like a literary crutch after a few times.

So in the style of Bicyling's product reviews....

Buy it if: You crave the thrill of the pack - from the safety of your armchair.

Don't buy it if: Oversharing makes you squirm.

Day of Rest

2009-12-25T19:53:00.000-08:00

Relaxing day with La Roleurette and my parents. We had brunch at the Westin (nice pancakes), walked around Whistler Village, checked out the Olympic merchandise, and watched Up in the Air (two thumbs up). Leftover turkey et al tonight...

Merry Christmas!

p.s. The 2010 Olympic merch is super cool. The Meomi stuff is almost unbearably cute.

All I Want for Christmas is Snow

2009-12-24T17:57:00.001-08:00

Sadly, despite the solid base, Whistler/Blackcomb is hurting for some fresh snow. Is it possible for 8,100 acres to be skied out? Apparently. It's ok, though - with the big board, I'm happy to just go fast on the groomers. All 172 cm are super stable at speed, and make for super fun carving.

SFO to YVR

2009-12-23T18:06:00.000-08:00

As seen from the plane and newly widened Sea to Sky Highway...

Ghost of Christmas Future

2009-12-21T13:06:00.000-08:00

A chilling glimpse into the future this weekend. Dave and Liz, two friends with a 16-month old girl, stayed with us on Friday and Saturday nights. I was woken at 4:45am one morning (explosive baby diarrhea), 6:30am the other (just the regular early wake-up call).

I did no riding, but did win $10 from Dave in a ping pong match, cooked all the fresh food in the fridge, and installed a wireless audio system, which is super cool. Now I can move the half-busted iPod dock into the Mancave.

For his part, Dave was similarly productive, and spent 30 minutes assembling the paper elf cutout from the SF Chronicle Datebook section. His daughter crushed it in 3 seconds. RIP, little big head paper elf. We hardly knew you.

Also, we tried out one of the East Bay's schmancy new coffee spots. Local 123 in Berkeley. Nice, but I was a little too bleary at the time to appreciate it. I had a macchiato and a chocolate People's Donut. Thumbs up, coffee, thumbs down vegan donut.

Tomorrow I fly up to Whistler for a family holiday, trading one kind of riding for the other (I know, I know - life is tough). But I'll bring my shoes and shorts to spin in the gym on off days.

And More Rain

2009-12-16T14:36:00.000-08:00

Boo, rain. Boo, dark. Still, I sucked it up and took the Cross-Check up The Arlington and South Park before work. My wool cap was dripping right into my eyes on the descent. Rain....blinding...me! Must...keep...eyes...open!

Also, boo cats. One of the neighborhood cats has decided to make the doorway to the Mancave its very own litterbox. I didn't get around to picking it up, and now the poo is melting in the rain. A part of me dies every time I see it.

For the last couple of weeks, the rear brake on the CC has been making a terrible ruckus. I've been too lazy to deal with it, particularly since my commute is flat as a pancake. But the noise was just too unnerving this morning, coming down Grizzly Peak and Spruce. A quick check found that I had actually worn through most of the pads. I guess they went through many thousands of miles on the Atlantis. In fact, I don't remember ever replacing them.

Normally, I would have just spun this evening, but we're seeing the W's play the Spurs. I fear the holy hellfire Tim Duncan is going to unleash on the Warrior's front line. Good luck with that, Miki Moore.

How to Make Nice with the Other

2009-12-15T16:30:00.000-08:00

On Sunday, we rode with Ken's friend, Brendan. He'd never been on a snowboard before, but is an expert kite surfer, so we expected him to manage all right. Still, Ken and I were blown away when, on the first run down, he started linking turns consistently. It never even occurred to him to just stay on his heel side and plow down the mountain, the standard newbie approach.

Making "boarderoy." Skiers love it when you do this.

Anyway, Ken and I would end up waiting a couple of minutes at the bottom of the run for him. He'd show up, and without fuss we'd just get in the line and ride up. No whining, apologies, or excuses. Even when he was getting his ass kicked on harder runs, he never once complained, and seemed willing to try out anything. At one point, he told us we should just do some runs without him, and so we did. No big deal. He was, in fact, the ideal newbie.

This made me think about how to ride bikes with people who are significantly slower or faster than you. Being the most mediocre cyclist I know, I can speak to both.

On Riding with Faster Riders

1. Don't make excuses or offer apologies. Nobody cares that you were sick all week or lost a leg in a bus accident. Really, it doesn't matter. Nothing worse than having to constantly affirm the slow rider. To this day, I am impressed by my friend Jasper, who, SEVERELY hungover, got up early the morning after my wedding to help set up the BBQ tent and play bride vs. groom ultimate with us. He just went to a corner of the field, threw up, and kept going. Not a peep out of the guy.

2. Offer the fast guys the option of taking off. Do this once, and only once. If they say "no," don't make them keep reassuring you it's ok if they wait.

3. Accept the pull. Let the strong guys do the work. No shame in this. Make a little effort here and there, and that will be appreciated.

4. Stay within your limits and take care of yourself. As the most crampy person around, I know that if I cramp up, it's all over. You thought I was slow before? Watch this, motherfucker. So I eat, drink, take my salt pills, and go at a brisk, but sustainable pace.

5. Have fun. In most cases, the fast guys are prepared to wait. What they're not prepared to do is play emotional babysitter. Waiting is fine if the waitee is having a good time.

On Riding with Slower Riders

1. Don't make a big deal of it. In fact, don't mention it even once. The slower rider doesn't want to feel like you're doing them a favor.

2. Wait for a second at the regroup. It's kind of demoralizing to stagger to the top of a climb, see everyone else happily hanging out, then scatter when you roll up. "That was the funniest story ever! Oh, look who's here! Wow, look at the time! I gotta go."

3. Pull more. Just take it easy, Hercules.

4. Avoid the urge to jump on faster groups when they go by. Your ego will heal. If you want, you can immediately start launching into a long involved story at the top of your lungs, so it's clear you're on a recovery ride with your newbie friend.

5. You are allowed to offer one brief piece of advice to a newbie, so choose wisely. However, if the slow rider is your spouse, don't even bother. You might as well be speaking Esperanto. Also, I know the pros do it, but NEVER push, unless asked, especially if the slow person is of the opposite sex. I was on the AIDS Ride in 2001, and someone told me that a total stranger just reached over and started pushing her up the hill. She was so pissed that she turned around and rode the hill again. If you're a woman and start pushing a guy up the hill, he will be either turned on or totally emasculated. Unless these are your goals, it's probably a bad move. Plus, men are sweaty. Yuck.

First Day of the Other Riding Season

2009-12-14T12:25:00.000-08:00

A great first day on the slopes! There was plenty of powder to go around, though a bit on the heavy side. Plus, the drive was traffic and pain free - at least for me. Ken did the heavy lifting; I sat in the back eating pretzels, peeling oranges, and drinking tea.

First day of the season is always a struggle, and yesterday was no different. My legs never quite felt the rhythm, but I was happy to get the cobwebs off before heading up to Whistler next week. We rode from 9am to 2pm and were cooked. I'm sore today.

On the way home, we stopped at In 'N' Out in Auburn, and Ken had a 4x4. It's four patties with cheese, plus the usual trimmings, wedged uncomfortably in a little bun. Sadly, I forgot my camera in the car, because this thing looked like a medical journal photo. I mean, I like meat and cheese as much as the next guy, but good god.

I got home by 6pm, in time for second dinner. La Roleurette had cooked up a storm all weekend, and busted out containers of mac n cheese, pork and persimmon stew, chili, polenta, brussel sprouts, and chocolate chip cookies. Fortunately, EZ and the Ladies were spending the night, in town for work, so they assisted with the eating. There's still plenty leftovers for the week, though.

Yes, We are Big Babies

2009-12-11T16:36:00.001-08:00

It's been cold here. And by "cold" I mean "cold for Northern California softies like me." Right around now, people in truly wintry parts of the country are burning their furniture for warmth, while we're whining about 40 degree days and making panicked purchases of space heaters.

I freely admit that we're intolerant of weather extremes here. Hell, I revel in it, and pity the fools who have to deal with hot, humid summers and icy winters. I will not apologize for living in the land of milk and honey.

In keeping with my general wussiness, I opted to cycle indoors exclusively this week, with the exception of two uncomfortably chilly rides to work. Looks like I'm in good company, since both classes were packed. On Wednesday, in fact, all the bikes had been spoken for, even though I arrived 10 minutes early. Wendy was kind enough to give up her bike for me (Lisa was teaching). She had apparently taught the morning spin class, so was ok with going home to watch TV and eat popcorn. I take back all the mean things I said about her. She can play her God rock all she wants.

Also due to weather, my ride with Jake and Ed was called off. Too bad! I think I'm actually in decent shape right now, having ridden 4x a week for the last couple of months, mixing it up between intervals, tempo rides, and easy cruises.

So, instead, La Roleurette and I were up at oh-dark thirty for the 7-9am spin class. Wendy likes to start the class with the lights off. I found it strangely relaxing. Like being in a warm, sweaty womb. Despite brunch, sushi, mac and cheese, and cookies, I found myself behind the calorie count all day, and constantly hungry. The pollo asado tostada at Picante set me up for a nice finish, though.

Tomorrow, up at the crack of darkness once more for a Tahoe day trip...

Soooooo cooold....

2009-12-08T21:33:00.001-08:00

Seen on freezing ride home...

The Cold and Wet...

2009-12-06T21:59:00.000-08:00

I got up on Friday morning, wanting to get in a decent hour before work, but found it completely socked in. The thought of freezing my ass off on the ridge was unappealing, so instead I did hill intervals in the El Cerrito cemetery. I made the poor choice to wear my light gloves, my hands froze up on every descent. Arg, it burns when they warm up in the shower!

With a holiday party to cook and clean for last night, all I could manage was 35 miles with JK. Coldest day of the year - I wore a long-sleeved jersey and windbreaker even while climbing. We took it easy through Lamorinda, Happy Valley, Papa Bear, and Wildcat.

Today, I was literally at my doorstep, about to head out for an after lunch ride, when the heavens opened. I didn't want to subject the IF to the storm, so I bagged my plan to ride up El Toyonal for the first time, and took the Cross Check onto the Tilden trails. Super fun, very green, almost nobody up there. The incoming storm made for some great clouds, too. That's Mt. Diablo in the distance below. I stayed warm and cozy in a sleeveless baselayer, Ibex wool undershirt, and long sleeve jersey. I need to get me another long sleeve jersey, though. I wore it three times in a row this weekend without washing.

To cap the weekend off, La Roleurette and I went over to my boss' house for the company holiday party. It's a potluck, so I had cooked again. The grilled shirt steak went over well last night, so it made an encore appearance this evening.

I have mixed feelings about this company tradition. On one hand, it's very homey and nice to have everyone contribute to the party. We're a small shop, so it seems fitting. On the other hand, it's a pain in the ass to dedicate an afternoon to cooking and a Sunday evening to the event. I mean, it's mildly fun, but Sunday night! At least we live 2 minutes away, unlike the poor bastards who drive an hour down from Davis.

The forecast calls for major storms throughout the week, so it'll be spinning for me. All this rain is really whetting my appetite for the snowboard...

P.S. Two Johns - what the what? After their supposed last podcast, another one appeared last week. I was just getting used to the idea of a Two Johns-free world, and had finally hit the acceptance stage of grief. I can't keep up with this emotional rollercoaster!

R.I.P.

2009-12-02T22:20:00.000-08:00

These guys were the best cycling podcasters out there. A nice good cop/bad cop duo that stuck to their roots. They will be sorely missed. *sigh*

Thanks for Old Friends

2009-11-30T21:30:00.000-08:00

On Valentine's Day, 8th grade, I sent a girl roses with the lyrics to "I Got My Mind Set on You" by Ringo Starr on the card. Yes, I was a dork. No, I did not get the girl. Why do I bring this up? Wendy played the song at spin today. Sob!

Speaking of back in the day, for the last 15 years, three high school buddies and I - all with our families overseas - have gotten together every Thanksgiving. The early days were more hungover than holiday, and our dinners were, um, gross. "So that's where the giblets were!"

We've since slowed down, thank god. No more drunken 3am trips for Korean soup, no more passing out on the floor with a barbell plate as a pillow, and no more cross-state drives for Legs and Eggs.

Yeah, things change. This year, John had dinner at his sister's in Burlingame. K-Dawg is (justifiably) hassling Steve about abandoning her in Seattle on Thanksgiving, since she works on Friday. Eric has moved to Hong Kong. We're all married, and two of us have kids. I don't know how much longer we'll be able to keep the tradition alive. But for now I'm thankful for one more year with the guys.

La Roleurette and I hosted Thanksgiving at our place, and had some friends over. Steve had gotten some sort of stomach bug, so spent the night curled up in a ball upstairs. At the time, we thought he was still hungover from drinking the night before (we were home by the responsible hour of 1:30am), but he never improved over the weekend. Too bad! He missed a great dinner. We had the usual turkey, mashies, gravy, and stuffing. But it was the honey cornbread, homemade mac and cheese, corn-edamame salad, and cranberry-persimmon relish - all brought by our guests - that really took it over the top. I continue to plug away at the leftovers.

Thanks for Time to Ride

2009-11-29T21:22:00.000-08:00

On Wednesday I snuck in a ride up Shasta before work. A nice pre-Thanksgiving treat. Then, despite the holiday festivities and having some friends staying with us over the weekend, I managed to squeeze in Friday and Saturday quickies.

Friday morning, I didn't have much time, so I packed in both Centennial and South Park, two more in the Berkeley Hills Death Ride series. Centennial starts in earnest at the Strawberry Canyon pool, then hits 11% at the Botanical Garden. Ouch. South Park isn't all that bad in comparison, but my lungs were still inside out by the time I reached the summit. No newts sighted.

On Saturday, my buddy's wife, K-Dawg, and I rode the Secret Ranches. K-Dawg lives in Seattle, so I wanted to show off the East Bay hills. The weather obliged with a clear and cold morning, with views out to the Farralones. As for the hills, Grizzly Peak, north of Claremont, forced her into the granny, apparently a rare event back home. In keeping with her triathlete rep, we gunned it up Tunnel, but she was skittish on the descents. I'll give her a break; La Roleurette's Jamis was a bit big for her.

3 Spin Classes, 2 Weekend Rides, 2 Product Reviews

2009-11-19T08:30:00.000-08:00

Last Monday, Mistress Wendy Rick Rolled us, then hit us with another round of God pop. The class appeared bemused; JK admitted to liking it. Then on Wednesday, Lisa led us through four 10-minute intervals at 80-85% of max HR. Twas fine.

No outside riding all week, and I was jonesing by Saturday. Redwood Pine Happy Bearcat made for 55 miles on another gorgeous fall day, cold enough for a long sleeve jersey and toe covers. My legs felt great! It apparently makes a big difference when I take Thursday and Friday off and don't eat a pound of oatmeal for breakfast.

At mile 45, I was feeling like a superhero (tailwind,woot!), when my rear tire went flat with an emphatic hiss. Not surprising considering the Friday rains had washed all kinds of crud into the gutter on San Pablo Dam Road. I failed to find the offending object, which always makes me nervous. But I put in the spare, inflated it with a CO2 cartridge, and was off.

At the base of Wildcat, I had warmed up again and was ready to make a good push back home. But just as I started up the climb, the front tire went all squishy. Balls. I spent a bunch of my second CO2 cartridge just trying to locate the hole to patch it, and by the time I got it all together, the tire was only 1/3 full.

Head low, I limped into Inspiration Point and borrowed a pump from another cyclist. This lack of self-sufficiency threatened to enact my shame spiral.

But look at this shiny little pump! Oooh - smooth action and the hose stows away in a neat package! Even with my vestigial arms I was able to pump 85 psi into the tube. I was impressed enough with the Lezyne Pressure Drive to order one that afternoon from REI. My old frame pump doesn't fit on the IF, so I've been in the market for a replacement. For most rides the CO2 setup works great, but I appreciate the extra insurance of a hand pump after a rain.

I was starving by the time I got home, so stopped by Cactus Taqueria for a chicken burrito, then went out with La Roleurette to Noodle Theory a couple of hours later. They make a really nice bowl of catfish katsu with curry noodles. I wish we had one of these on Solano. Great Asian comfort food at a good price.

Sunday, I met JK to do the Zoo Loop, a 55-miler around Lake Chabot. This isn't my favorite route, but the stretch on Skyline offers some great views of the East Bay hills, and as you descend towards the Oakland Zoo, you zip through a tight grove of eucalyptus trees, which make me feel like I'm on Endor. The fog never cleared, and I got back soaked. I gave the bike a long overdue wash, and hung it up to dry.

Speaking of which, bike washing is a "snap" with the Wipperman Connex link! Just unhook the link, take off the chain, and no more dragging grease all over the frame! Get at tight spots on the chainstays and bottom bracket! Unlike the SRAM Master Link, which is near impossible to undo, the Wipperman pops off effortlessly!

"I've put 500 miles on the Connex and a Shimano Ultegra chain and have had zero problems. In fact, it runs smoother than the regular Shimano pin!"

Seriously, though, the thing works perfectly. Online reviews suggest the Wipperman chains are prone to breakage, but the link mates well with my Ultegra chain, so no worries.

And, to bring this long rambling post full circle, tonight I had the usual Monday session with the Mistress. She opened with this song, which KICKS ASS!!! I would love to DJ a spin class composed entirely of 80's hair rock.

Gift List

2009-11-15T23:09:00.000-08:00

The holiday season has officially begun! Today, I got the annual email from my dad with his Christmas wish list.

See, our family has long abandoned the romantic notion that Christmas gifts should be a surprise, because (a) we're picky, (b) we usually just buy stuff we want for ourselves, and (c) we're too lazy to come up with something awesome every year.

Still, we are materialistic bastards. The year my sister made charitable donations in our names, we were somewhat less than enthusiastic. So, now we just send each other wish lists.

Unfortunately, not every family is as practical and cold-hearted as mine. So, in the holiday spirit of helpfulness, I've put together a list of gifts the cyclist in your life might appreciate. Plus, I've included some items NOT to get him or her. If you stick to these suggestions, you can rest assured that the excitement your cyclist shows on Christmas morning will be sincere.

Now if someone I know were to see this list, and decide to get me a couple of these items, I wouldn't be opposed to it. But, again, this is about giving to others. Just want to make that clear.

Starting with the naughty, do NOT get your cyclist any of the following:

A jersey with a cartoon character. Now, your cyclist may actually want that Spongebob Squarepants jersey, having circled it in the Performance catalog left slyly on the kitchen table. But you are doing him a huge disservice by enabling this fashion disaster. Just don't.

A team jersey. Also a faux pas. Retro team jerseys are acceptable, but the team must be at least 15 years old, and the more obscure the better. Lance's Postie jersey does not qualify as retro. Speaking of which, yellow jerseys, especially replicas of THE Yellow Jersey, are best avoided, unless your cyclist actually happens to have been a GC leader in the Tour de France.

A squeaky toy for the handlebars. I have a bin of these things from my office Secret Santas. Your poor cyclist will feel compelled to install it, only to come back from a ride with some story about getting mugged and handing over the toy.

Any technical doohickey. Unless responding to a specific request, it's best to stay away from this stuff. And by "this stuff" I mean almost everything. You may think it's a non-technical piece of gear, but cyclists will spend hours querying online forums about what inner tubes they should buy.

With all these "don'ts" what CAN you actually give your beloved cyclist that he doesn't already have?

Road ID. This company dropped some serious coin on marketing this year, with ads all over the Tour coverage and Bicycling magazine. Levi shills for them, along with the Tour de France announcers on Versus. Just in case Phil Liggett is run over by a camera dolly, his emergency contact info will be right there on his wrist. Shell out for the Elite version, and go with basic black. Also, don't fool around with that online info service. Just get the emergency numbers on there. You don't want the EMTs to have any question about what to do.

Madonna del Ghisallo medallion. Nothing like having the patron saint of cyclists on a gold chain, nestled in your chest hair on a hot summer day. Actually, unless your cyclist is committed to the Eurotrash look, it's probably best to just sew this into his saddlebag or hang it from his keychain. Keep it small and light. Obviously, not the best choice for your Muslim or Jewish cyclists.

Socks. Cyclists love good socks, and the fashionistas have declared that white tall socks are in. Even more bold, you can go with argyle. It's a risky move, akin to getting someone a pair of giant aviator shades - not everyone can pull off this look. It's a bit much for me. I like these diamond ones, but probably wouldn't wear them on the bike. Also tough to go wrong with Smartwool.

Cycling cap. I like 'em. I do. Pace makes the best ones.

Loaded coffee card. Find out where he stops with the other roadies.

Cycling books.

Touring/adventure:

Odysseus' Last Stand, Stamboulis (globe trekking hijinks)
Catfish and Mandala, Pham (Vietnamese American searching for his roots on a bike - love this book)
Miles from Nowhere, Savage (a classic in the bike touring genre)

Racing:

The Rider, Krabbe (a classic in cycling literature)
A Dog in a Hat, Parkin (the gritty side)
Rough Ride, Kimmage (a polarizing figure in the doping wars; Armstrong hates him)

I haven't read the next two, but have heard good things (ahem):

Ten Points, Strickland
Off to the Races, Abt

Cycling magazines. There's the usual newstand fare, like Bicycling or Velonews. Cycle Sport is by far the best of the bunch, and only available online as a subscription or perhaps at your local bike shop. If he has all of the above, you can pick up an issue of Embrocation or Roleur. Whether you want to spend $20-$25 on a fancy-pants magazine is your call, but it's the kind of ridiculous purchase your cyclist might not make for himself.

Mad Alchemy Embrocation. Your cyclist will love a little pre-ride rubdown with this stuff. Smells real purty.

The Stick. Sure, it's overpriced and plastic, but if it even saves you one trip to the masseuse you'll come out ahead. I haven't had to see poor Doug all summer, thanks to some regular Stick love on my IT band.

A puppy. Cyclists LOVE puppies. God, who doesn't?

Journey Back to the Planet of the Apes

2009-11-15T17:48:00.000-08:00

Friday night, we had dinner with some friends at Cafe Biere, a new spot in Emeryville with dozens of imported European ales and a nice lamb burger. Recommended.

The next morning, JK and I met up at the civilized hour of 9:30. It was a sunny, crisp fall day; hot going up Tunnel, freezing on Pinehurst. We parted ways somewhere in the suburban limbo of Lamorinda, and I headed north towards Martinez and the "Planet of the Apes" route. I'd only been there twice before, and never on my own, so I spent a lot of time by the side of the road, fiddling with the iPhone map.

Here's a shot of the entrance to the Planet of the Apes section of Carquinez Scenic Drive, closed to cars due to erosion. It's a popular walking spot, with sweeping views of the Carquinez Strait. Way back in the day I brought La Roleurette here to get her comfy with the drop bars, integrated shifters, and clipless pedals on her Jamis.

I climbed McEwen, Pig Farm, the Three Bears, and Wildcat on the way back, and got home tired and hungry. Despite a big bowl of spinach and cheese ravioli at 4pm and a 12-course Chinese banquet at dinner, my stomach was growling when I woke up this morning.

Fortunately, we had plans to meet up with Coach at the Pacific East Mall for dim sum. I highly recommend this place over any other dim sum joints in Oakland Chinatown. The dumplings are fresh from the steamer, and even the fried stuff isn't too greasy. But get there by 10:15 or you will suffer an epic wait on weekends.

After dropping La Roleurette off at her pickup ultimate game, I successfully battled the food coma, and headed out for a mid-day ride. Feeling frisky, I went hard up Tunnel and Grizzly Peak, then took Secret Ranches to Wildcat for another good effort.

On the way home, I swung by La Farine for a coffee and walnut scone, and hung out in the sun for a while, basking iguana-like in a caffeine/endorphin buzz. On crisp sunny days like this, I love the gentle burn of embrocation under my shorts and knee warmers. Try the Mad Alchemy mellow mix, which is plenty hot for Bay Area temps, and smells like victory.

Tonight, we had some friends over to christen the ping pong table. La Roleurette cooked up a pot of lentil soup, and I made a pasta with sausage, kale, pine nuts, and parmesan. Chocolate chip cookies and tea for dessert. An all around excellent eating/riding weekend.

To keep me company on the bike, I downloaded a couple of Escape the Peloton episodes from Bike Radio. A solid meh. If I'm desperate for yet another source of bike media, it'll do.

Friday At the Gym

2009-11-15T17:41:00.000-08:00

The gym. So moody.

Style vs. Practicality

2009-11-13T17:04:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday, as I watched the parade of cyclists going up and down Diablo, I started working on a theory.

Cyclists make dozens of decisions about their bike, components, set-up, accessories, and clothing that are represented by the dots on the graph above. And for any one item, there tends to be an inverse relationship between practicality and style. The more stylish an item (i.e., the more "PRO"), the less practical it is for the middling recreational rider (i.e., 99% of all cyclists).

Exhibit A - the Saddle Bag. The larger the bag, the less cool. In fact, the most styley thing is to roll with no bag at all, and carry the essentials in your jersey pockets. However, having ridden with a trunk rack - once I carried a thermos of tea - I can honestly say it's nice to have room for a layer, a multi-tool, a bag of energy drink powder, an extra Clif Bar, whatever.

Exhibit B - Gearing. Here in hill country, most of us would be better off with a triple, or at least a larger cogset. But chicks dig dudes with a racing double and corncob cogset.

Exhibit C - Handlebar Height. Long and low may be the business, but you will pay for this look with brutal neck and shoulder pain.

Exhibit D - Mirrors. The pinnacle of uncool. But, aside from style, why not?

Exhibit E - Road Cycling Shoes. Why should you have to walk like a cripple, just to have an official "road" shoe? I'm a sensible shoes girl myself.

There are a few items which break the trend. These are on the upper right and lower left corners of the graph.

Uncool AND Impractical - Recumbents. Like a guy lying on the ground and trying to fight off an attacking eagle with his feet.

Uncool AND Impractical - Shocks on Hybrids. Shocks make the bike heavier, require more maintenance, and are totally unnecessary on the road.

Cool AND Practical - Full-Size Frame Pumps. A relatively recent old school backlash to the ineffectual mini-pumps.

Cool AND Practical - Cycling Caps. Keep my head warm and my eyes shaded.

As for me, I find myself smack in the middle of the chart. I won't sacrifice form for function. I actually appreciate the odd little rules that govern the cycling aesthetic, and like knowing them. So, no mirror for me, my saddle bag is modest, and the IF sports a compact double, not a triple. Still, I love me my mountain bike shoes and 27-tooth cog.

Week in Review

2009-11-12T22:00:00.000-08:00

Argh - too much work, another overdue post.

Saturday. JK was out for the weekend, so with nobody to meet, I lazed around all morning, eating a gigantic bowl of steel cut oats, toast, and a fried egg over easy for breakfast. I like my oats with a banana, peanut butter, toasted pecans, and jam. This billion calorie breakfast had me in a deep food coma by the time I headed out at 10:30 for a long spin out to Mt. Diablo.

For a change, I took North Gate up - much tougher than South Gate as it turns out. It had been years since I last took that route, and the steep pitches wore me out. By the time I got to Juniper, about 2/3 of the way up the mountain, I was cold and hungry, and I realized I'd be pushing darkness. So I rolled back down and booked it to the Walnut Creek Starbucks, where I had a snack while watching the luxury sport cars and overdressed shoppers cruise by. Ladies - a word to the wise - nothing says "Lady Douchebag" like Ugg boots.

And nothing says "Lord Douchebag" like going to this attorney for your divorce. I would love to see that waiting room, though. ESPN in HD, swimsuit magazines, beer on tap, and a bunch of bitter dudes. "Bitches, man. All bitches."

As a Bay Area food snob, I'm little ashamed to admit that I love Starbucks as a mid- or post-ride stop. Their turkey bacon and egg sandwich was just the right amount of hot salty goodness, and a mocha gave me the sugar and caffeine needed to make it through Lafayette and back to Berkeley via half-Happy and Wildcat Canyon. A gorgeous fall day on the bike. Here's the view from Juniper Campground.

Sunday. The usual loop up Tunnel and back. In the afternoon, La Roleurette and I set up our new ping pong table which we picked up off Craigslist for $40.

Monday. No spin. Work.

Wednesday. Pre-work Arlie Cat Golf ride. Check out my anti-gravity Specialized gloves. Told you they were cool.

Thursday. Up Shasta at a frantic pace before work.

I learned that Jake - friend of a friend - will be in town in early December, and wants to go on a ride. Ed, another buddy, will probably come along. These guys were collegiate rowers. They love Pain. Pain is like their BFF. If they were sorority girls, Pain would be holding their hair up while they puked in the toilet.

Sadly for me, neither has let themselves go. Jake is a hardcore Colorado cyclist (altitude advantage), and Ed finished an Ironman this summer. They will tear my legs off, grind them into mincemeat, bake them into a Shepherd's pie (Ed is British), then feed the pie to their dog. Then they will make the dog chase a ball for hours till it collapses in a puddle of its own vomit. And they will not hold its hair up. Jerks. So I'm a little motivated to get in better shape.

Warriors Game 1

2009-11-06T23:31:00.000-08:00

Tonight was the first of four games we bought to see the Warriors this season. A crushing loss to the Clippers. When we left in the fourth quarter they were down by 30 points. Totally dominated by the Kaman-Camby Twin Towers. And our Great Rookie Hope Stephen Curry fouled out with 4 points.

But at least it was Filipino American Heritage Night, so there's that. Arnel Pineda was in attendance.

Scary Week

2009-11-05T17:45:00.000-08:00

I've been getting hammered at work, so this post comes in late.

Saturday. JK and I headed out to the Junction Cafe, south of Livermore. This fell in line with the Halloween spirit, since the Junction Cafe is probably the scariest cycling destination around. Scary because of the rednecks with pickups, and, this time of year, giant tarantulas. Honestly, the spiders creep me out more than the rednecks, who are used to bike fags descending on them every weekend. A detente has been established wherein we don't block the road and they don't hit us. Seems fair to me. As for the spiders, they're supposed to be harmless, but those things will take you DOWN if you turn your back on them. They will swarm all over your struggling body, then eat you. I seen it on the YouTube, I swear.

I like the Junction because:

1. The roads are almost car free, and riding two abreast is seldom a problem.

2. It's a nice 50 miles with a good mix of small climbs, false flats, and a wide open descent to the finish.

3. Leather clad motorbikers and lycra wearing cyclists are two kinds of sexy. Truth be told, neither are that sexy at the Junction. The bikers are lawyers in disguise, and the cyclists are all soccer dads on high-end bikes.

4. It feels more remote than any other cycling spot in the Bay Area. The first time I went out there was a shit show where I forgot my cycling shoes, drove home to get them, rushed to try and catch up with the group, took a wrong turn and ended up lost far out in the middle of nowhere. I bumped into some off-roaders on quads; it was like Mad Max. But they were nice enough to give me a ride back into town.

5. The fries at the Junction. Ok, they're the frozen kind, but they hit the spot mid-ride. One order is enough for two people. Resist the urge to stuff your face. The road back starts with a pretty long, hot climb, and your body will reject that greasy burger like a bad kidney.

At the Junction, JK and I shared a bag of Corn Nuts with a grizzly old biker at our picnic table. We had the usual Lance Armstrong conversation with him, and learned that he'd actually driven out to watch the Tour of California one year, and was blown away by the sound of the peloton going by. Interesting to hear the regular man's view on bike racing. Made me wonder how Armstrong can be a top-10 athlete in terms of name recognition, despite cycling being a bottom-10 sport.

We continue to enjoy the Bay Area Summer (aka October); I was comfy in shorts and a short-sleeve jersey all day.

Sunday. Seen today while on my easy Sunday ride: a bloody operating table on the front lawn. Bleaugh. Were they re-enacting the birth scene from Rosemary's Baby while the kids came up?

The cyclists were out in force, and I hung around some high-end racers on a recovery ride up Tunnel. Sadly, I had to put in some work just to stay within spitting distance. Meanwhile, they could have been passing tea and crumpets back and forth.

Monday. Spinning with Mistress Wendy. Solid workout as usual, but.....Frampton Comes Alive? Seriously? Talking guitar does not fire me up.

Thursday. I finally threw in the towel and brought the IF in to Solano Cyclery. They sorted out the front end creak (loose headset - duh) and rebuilt the rear hub, which had been slipping consistently. I took it out for a pre-work spin this morning up Shasta. Super smooth. I love that buttery greasy rear hub feel. And no squeaking at all when I stood up. Ahhhh. Quiet.

Fall Back

2009-10-28T21:43:00.001-07:00

Taking the weekend off the bike does amazing things for my legs. Monday spin class was brutal as usual, but I was able to hang on with a high heart rate throughout. The class was full, a sign of winter. The competitive racers are starting to show up again, too, including a huge guy with a full Clif Bar kit and calves like cantaloupes.

Today was the last after-work ride before the clocks fall back on Saturday night. Although I started off in full sunlight, I had to click on the lights before the top of Tunnel.

There's nothing like an after-work ride to blow the stress out of my brain. I left the office with deadlines dancing in my head, and by the time I was on the ridge, everything was better.

Another plug for Specialized stuff - I love the BG gel gloves. Just like the Specialized knee warmers, they're cut perfectly. I've tried a bunch of gloves over the years, but none of them fit as well as these. Also, there's just enough padding on the palms to dull the buzz, but not so much that it creates pressure points. And while they're not cheap, they're not over the top spendy, either.

It was cold out, and all through the ride I was looking forward to a hot shower and dinner. I fried up some chicken breasts with panko breadcrumbs, and tossed them into a salad with greens, figs, peppers, carrots, and red onion. They I stole some of La Roleurette's strawberry-banana smoothie while watching the Warriors lose to Houston in the season opener.

Golden State - why do you tease me with incredible plays, then torture me with the predictable flurry of missed three-pointers and poor decisions? I'm like a battered wife, I swear.

Got my first comment on the blog today. Alert the press!

Ta-HOE!

2009-10-24T20:39:00.000-07:00

We made great time on Friday night, pulling into South Lake only 3 hours after we left Berkeley - a nice change from the usual 5-hour wintertime slog up I-80.

The Paradice Motel had been rated the #1 hotel in South Lake Tahoe by Trip Advisor, and it earned the rep with the most friendly staff ever. Jason and Perrine, a young couple, have decked out each room of an otherwise unimpressive motel with enough Ikea to merit the "boutique motel" status. They also plied us with piles of complementary crap, including bottled Perrier, fruit, candy, chocolates on the bed, and - this is the highlight - a Nature Valley Outdoor Adventure gift pack containing two granola bars, Advil, and....a package of tampons. Because nothing says "outdoor adventure" like being unprepared for your period.

We got back on Saturday evening to find an elephant on our bed, sculpted from hand towels. It's the little touches, really. In case you're wondering, "paradice" refers to the South Lake gambling theme. It took me a while to catch on, too.

On Saturday, we took JK's suggestion, and opted for a hike in the El Dorado Forest off Highway 88. TONS of flaming red and yellow aspen along the way. Leaf peepers, ourselves included, swerved wildly off the road with no warning to stop and take photos. I enjoyed the drive up Carson Pass, in particular, since it reminded me of the Death Ride a few years ago. What had seemed like an interminable climb was over in all of 10 minutes in the hermetic warmth of the Honda Avocado. I was surprised that it looked at all familiar, considering my hypoxic haze the last time I was up there.

The hike - a gradual climb to Round Top Lake - exceeded all expectations. It had stormed two weeks ago, and enough snow remained above 8,000 feet to make for spectacular views and a little route finding hijinks. We had lunch at the lake, then kicked steps up a drainage to summit Round Top itself. Well, not really summit, which would have required some death-defying scrambling, but we poked our heads above 10,000 feet. At the top, I was reminded how much I love the mountains. They make me feel peaceful and exhilarated all at once, in a way, admittedly, that cycling never does. Man, I need to get out there more. Backcountry snowboarding this winter?

In terms of food, South Lake isn't exactly a hotbed of good eats, but we managed to track down three nice spots, and one dud:

Freshies. I have no idea how this place survives, tucked deep in a dumpy strip mall on an anonymous stretch of Lake Tahoe Drive. Across the hall are a pirate-themed store and an insurance agent. I guess incredibly friendly service, a great selection of beer, fresh (but f-ing weird) food, and over-the-top Hawaiian kitsch goes a long way. The menu can only be described as Cali-fusion vegan stoner. Our dinner:

- Potato-quinoa cakes with maple-coconut dipping sauce

- BBQ tempeh taco

- Grilled chicken salad with Italian herb dressing

- Indian spinach salad with curried tofu cubes

- Basil tomato soup

Really, all those things on the same menu is an affront to God, but somehow it works. The place has over 100 reviewers on Yelp and and a 4-star average.

Sprouts. Take Coyote Ugly, turn it into a vegan-friendly sandwich and juice bar, and you have Sprouts. Great organic sandwiches, soups, and salads, served up by cute 20-something girls (and one guy). For lunch I had an excellent egg salad sandwich with yogurt, instead of mayo. Sounds gross, tastes good. Especially with the carrots and red cabbage in there. Also fresh-squeezed carrot and ginger juice. Delicious and virtuous.

Ernie's Coffee Shop. The local's spot. Solid brunch food, with pretty good coffee. My walnut waffle was super light and crisp.

Red Hut Soda Fountain. La Roleurette had a sundae craving, so we stopped here for dessert on Saturday night. We were disappointed to find cheap ice cream served in gut-busting quantities, with SYSCO-brand "chocolate" syrup pumped on top. Nasty stuff. But, hey, the waiters wear those 1950's -style paper hats, so there's that.

Anyway, I highly recommend Tahoe as a fall getaway spot. No crowds, nice weather, easy drive, and actual red and yellow leaves.

P.S. I owe a shout out to Beth over at beth bikes! for her feature of my saddle sore post. Also, she called me "polite" which I'm a sucker for. Beth is Bay Area track racer with a passion for cultivating her bazookas. By "bazookas" I mean enormous powerful thighs. More importantly, she's the first hit when you Google "Michael Ball stalker," a claim to fame we can all aspire to. Thanks, again, Beth!

Foliage?

2009-10-23T10:08:00.001-07:00

Oh-dark-thirty. Up early this morning for a pre-work spin. Did the Arlington, Wildcat Canyon, Shasta, Golf Course, Grizzly Peak, Spruce Loop. The "Arlie-Cat Golf" Loop.

Although it was pitch black when I headed out at 6:30, the sun had risen when I got back an hour later. I dressed well, with arm and knee warmers, heavier base layer, and a vest in my pocket. I didn't overheat on the way up, and put on the vest for a nice and toasty descent.

Speaking of which, I heart my Specialized knee warmers. Unlike many knee warmers which are straight uninspired tubes, the panels on these are cut perfectly to contour to my calves, sag-free. The close fit, plus a band of silicone, means they grip really well under the shorts, with zero slippage. Like La Roleurette, the Therminal material is tough, but supple. If I had to draft bike gear, these may be my number one pick. Definitely in the lottery.

The Quest for Foliage. I'm headed up to South Lake Tahoe for the weekend with La Roleurette for some hiking and maybe a leaf peep or two. Really, we'll be lucky to catch even two leaves to be peeped, much to La Roleurette's frustration. I fear it's the lack of seasons in Northern CA that eventually drives her to move back to New England. Although we discovered two years ago that global warming has shortened the foliage season there as well.

So no weekend ride, unless we get back in time on Sunday for a little runaround. It's good. I'll be that much more energized to get on the bike next week.

In the Soup

2009-10-20T21:20:00.000-07:00

Pea soup fog on Grizzly Peak today. The kind where water collects on my eyelashes and my bike is sopping wet when I get back home. A number of cyclists, including myself, weren't prepared for the low visibility and had totally inadequate lights or no lights at all. I think the days of after-work rides with just a small blinkie are over. Time to charge the big gun. I'm still thinking of getting a new light for the winter, but good lord they are expensive.

Medical Advice

2009-10-19T19:49:00.000-07:00

The warm nights have left me tossing and turning in bed all week. That, coupled with a bad habit of going to bed late, has left me totally knackered. I was so tired today that I actually slurred my words while on the phone with a client.

So I decided to listed to my body for a change and go home instead of spin class. I'll ride tomorrow.

It's probably for the best, since I developed a saddle sore over the weekend, and lanced it last night. If you're the squeamish type, you can stop reading now. If you like reading about lancing sores, then you can continue, after which you should seek professional help.

Perhaps due to an unfortunately hairy backside (Still here?) I seem to get saddle sores about two or three times a year. It used to be worse with the higher-bar Atlantis, since more of my weight rested on the saddle. I think this particular sore developed on Friday when I was doing errands on the Cross-Check after work. Cotton shorts and boxers + warm weather = rain forest in my pants.

I used to try and wait out the saddle sore, applying diaper rash ointment every evening to calm its hotheaded fury. "There there, little one," I cooed. That kind of diplomacy only proved slow and ineffective. Nowadays, I take the shock and awe approach. Steps below:

1. Clean your hands thoroughly with Purel or a similar antibiotic.

2. Apply isopropyl alcohol liberally to the "affected area." Fortunately, we now have 150 alcohol prep pads from our Go Bag shopping, so no shortage there. You can also use cotton balls or shop rags. Whatever you have lying around. Ok, not shop rags.

3. Take a clean needle and clean it again with more with alcohol. Last night I used a safety pin. I don't recommend this particular tool, but it's all I had handy.

4. Using a mirror to view the sore, gently lance the living hell out of it. It will hurt. Hurt so good.

5. If it starts to bleed or emit any sort of liquid, you've done well. Encourage the bloodletting with a little squeeze. The idea is to get the crap out of there, and get it to dry up and turn into pain free scar tissue.

6. Clean the area again with alcohol.

7. Give it another poke (clean needle!) to get even more liquid to release. The more the better. This is weakness leaving the body.

8. Give the area a final alcohol wipe down, then apply antibiotic cream liberally. Really, you can't get enough in there.

9. I like to leave the area uncovered to get it to dry out. The last thing I want is to cover it up with a bandage, only to create another moist environment for bacterial orges.

10. Go to bed. I like to do this all at night, so the cowering sore has time to retreat into submission.

I performed this little surgery yesterday, and I'm happy to report that things are much better this evening. I probably could have even gone to spin class without a problem.

Anyway, take this route at your own risk. Certainly, doing Civil War-style surgery that close to an open sewer pipe is risky at best. But it works for me every time. So until my ass cheek swells to Serena-like proportions due to an infection (and I now have a healthy respect for infections) I'm a gonna stick to this method.

Napa in the Fall

2009-10-18T22:32:00.001-07:00

The Professor was up from LA this weekend, so he, JK, and I loaded up the Honda Avocado on Saturday morning and made our annual fall pilgrimage to Napa. Our route started on the Silverado Trail, headed up to Lake Berryesa, contoured the western shore, then took Pope Canyon Road towards the Ink Grade (shown on left).

Napa is actually not one of the most best areas to ride only because it inevitably involves a stretch on the Silverado Trail, a noisy and heavily trafficked road on the east side of the Valley. This particular route, though, limited our Silverado exposure to only two miles, leaving us 50 miles of back roads, which are particularly empty this time of year.

Soon after our 10am start, we took off our arm warmers and were sweating in the humidity. The leaves and gentle breeze made for a great fall day. Grapes hung low on the vines, and the air reeked of rotting fruit.

With a 4-month old and a terrible workload, the Prof doesn't get out on his bike much, and suffered mightily. Even midway through the ride, the rollers along Berryesa had turned his legs to pudding. Ink Grade pretty much did him in. Nonetheless, riding with the Prof is always a pleasure. He never makes excuses or talks about how slow he's going. Best of all, he doesn't apologize for making us wait. He knows we really don't care, and are happy just to spend some time on the bike with an old friend.

The Professor is also the most non-gear head cyclist I know. He rides a 9-year old KHS that cost $600 back then. I don't think he's changed anything besides the cables and chain on that thing, and the Shimano Sora 8-speed gruppo refuses to die. He doesn't put that many miles on it now, but when he lived up here he did a decent amount of riding every week. Whenever a new cyclist asks me for advice on how much to spend, I think of that bike and how it's stayed solid all these years.

This is Napa's peak season, and while our route saw little traffic, Highway 39 and the Silverado Trail were packed with tourists. We stopped at the Oakville Grocery for a post-ride snack, and watched the wine tasters spill out of limos in their $300 jeans, striped shirts, and high heels. We gaped in horror/fascination as one particular woman exposed the thong on her somewhat meaty backside as she ate her sandwich outside the store. Always a good time.

Today, I took it easy, spinning up Tunnel, along Skyline for a while, then back down Claremont. No big thing.

This afternoon, La Roleurette and I, inspired by all the Loma Prieta anniversary coverage, finally put together our earthquake Go Bags. I only hope that many years from now we will open that thing unused and celebrate with the petrified Clif Bars. She also convinced me to throw in a bag of chocolate covered pretzels. Hey - if you're going to be fleeing your house as it collapses around you, you might as well have some nice snacks.

Cleaned, greased, and tightened stem face plate. Still creaking.

My First Lunchtime Ride Ever

2009-10-15T14:46:00.000-07:00

I set the alarm for 6:30 with the full intention of getting in a pre-work ride. At 6:15 I decided to head out at lunch, instead, and stay in bed for a little while longer. I'm a very good negotiator like that. And it's amazing how my enthusiasm can evaporate overnight.

So I worked from home in the morning, finished a project, and headed out at 11:30 for a one hour quickie. The air was still warm and heavy from Tuesday's storm, and I quickly shed the arm warmers. My route went up The Arlington, climbed sharply to the reservoir on top of Spruce, then followed Wildcat to the Brazil Building. A little huffing up Shasta and Golf Course, then coasting home. I don't know if it was the lack of food or what, but my legs felt dead and weak. I remedied that by lunching on some lentil soup and an open face pesto, mozzarella, and tomato sandwich on crusty walnut bread. Yum. Lunch at home on a workday feels incredibly indulgent and illicit.

Oh, after all that messing with the bike, the creak persists.

Every Boy Needs a Hobby and a Better Raincoat

2009-10-13T16:19:00.000-07:00

On Passions
Today, BSNYC reminded me how lucky I am to have cycling. I look forward to every weekend ride the same way people live for their vacations. By Wednesday evening, I'm plotting the route, tweaking the bike, exchanging plans with JK, and generally getting excited. Come Thursday I might tone down the workout to leave me fresh. On Friday night I love the ritual of packing my bag, laying the bottles, bar, and gel on the counter, and setting up the steel cut oats in the slow cooker. Then, on Saturday morning, I like to get up early and have a hot breakfast with tea, while brewing a mug of coffee for the road. In fact, I love this routine so much that I can go for long stretches without a proper vacation only because it means I get to ride more. (Obviously, though, vacation + La Roleurette + bike is the best, so I had a great time in Portland this summer.)

This is why when my feet were troubling me a year ago, I dove into a mini spiral of despair. Riding was a fulcrum to leverage so many other good things in life. One little arthritic joint took away my entertainment, exercise, therapy, connection to the seasons, chance to be outside, opportunity to eat a lot, confidence, and, frankly, identity. For a while, I was no longer a cyclist, and wondered if I would ever be one again. I grudgingly attempted to swim. I put my bike magazines into an old suitcase, stopped wearing my bike t-shirts, and generally avoided looking at anything bike-related. I went to the gym on Saturday mornings. I had brunch. Brunch! (La Roleurette did like the brunch part.) The fact that I had a brand new unbuilt Indy Fab frame only added insult to injury. I wrapped it in a blanket and stuck it behind the couch - out of sight, out of mind.

Thankfully, new orthotics (and quitting all ultimate) put me back in the saddle this year with an even greater appreciation for riding.

So what of the people without cycling, knitting, running, cooking, or Something You Love to Do? Are their lives a soulless vacuum? Everyone needs a passion they can point to. Otherwise, what do you read about on the internet?

On Being a Piss Poor Mechanic
Speaking of hobbies, I generally like to do my own wrenching, particularly with the Mancave fully operational. But, god, I suck at it. On Sunday night, I cleaned the bike and disassembled the crank to clear up a persistent creaking. In the process, I managed to strip the crank arm bolts and screw up the new chain. Yesterday, after running around to get replacement bolts and asking dumb questions at the shop (Performance Bikes!!! I'm so humiliated.), I fixed it all up, then almost overtightened my seatpost clamp. Sometimes I'm just not in synch with my torque wrench. Was that the click? Was that it? Shouldn't it have clicked by now? Better start again. Um, hello? Click? What's going on in there? Not clicking, that's what.

In Cycling News
Last night saw the usual Monday Tempo Ride of Terror with Mistress Wendy. Despite some unusually friendly pre-class banter - perhaps to make the newbies feel welcome - she ended the class by yelling at us NOT TO TAKE OUR HANDS OFF THE BARS while cooling down. In retrospect, that may have been to save the newbies from being bucked off by their wildly spinning pedals. Still, classic Wendy.

Truth be told, I'm really feeling spin class. I find myself consistently entering a blissed out endorphin state at some point during the hour - usually right after my heart rate reaches AT1, and before the extended forays into AT2. In that brief window, the legs feel strong, the circles are smooth, my breathing is controlled, and the music has me psyched.

For extra entertainment, spin class also offers up wacky hijinks. Last night, Courtney (Triathlete? I'm thinking yes. You can just tell sometimes.) dismounted mid-class, pulled a Clif bar out of her bag, stuck it IN her shoe, remounted, and resumed pedaling. Edible orthotic? Warming up dinner? I asked no questions.

After class, I showered, walked out of the gym, and felt a wonderful sense of well-being, enjoying the smell of rain on the pavement, and the breeze announcing the arrival of the season's first storm.

Speaking of which, I got soaked this morning. The old Marmot Precip just isn't shedding water like it used to, despite retreatments. The plastic bags over the socks also did little to stop the water running down my ankles. On the plus side, I felt nice and cozy when I changed at work and settled into a cup of tea and a spreadsheet. On the minus side, putting on wet socks for the ride home sucks.

Marin again?

2009-10-11T13:08:00.001-07:00

Saturday. JK had recovered enough from her head cold to ride on Saturday, but wouldn't be up for an assault on Hamilton. So, once again, I found myself crashing a Saturday club ride, this time with a slightly larger group of Marin Cyclists.

Fairfax was buzzing, with Biketoberfest descending on downtown. But the festivities hadn't started when we headed out to do a 47-mile loop through Nicasio, Pt. Reyes Station, and Bolinas-Fairfax Rd. The group had some stronger riders, and we made great time through the Nicasio Reservoir wind tunnel. "Too slow for you?" a woman asked. Not at all! I was stupidly saving myself for a much longer and harder ride, confusing Bo-Fax Rd with the Marshall Wall to the north. It wasn't till our bakery stop at Pt. Reyes Station that I realized my confusion, and that the ride was a lot shorter than I'd thought.

Still, the rollers on Highway 1 between Olema and Bo-Fax did a number on my legs, particularly since I was caught between two groups, and fought like hell to latch onto the back of the front trio. We regrouped at the base of the climb, and I shed my vest. Although the coast was solidly socked in, I anticipated some friskiness on the climb, and would warm up quickly.

The ascent started all civilized. We chatted comfortably about the closure of Market Street in SF, tan lines, and other bikely subjects. A guy explained that squirrels are "basically tree wolverines" when I said I saw one eating a checken leg last week. "Now this is nice, " I thought. "Tree wolverines?" Then, a fast skinny guy on a lugged steel Bianchi decided to "attack" about halfway up the climb. I responded, but the effort put me well into the red zone. I wondered if I could keep pace till the summit. Another fellow in a Seaco jersey bridged up and hung on.

We stuck together, and I kept the cramps at bay by getting out of the saddle and keeping the circles smooth. Despite my whingeing, I enjoyed the challenge, and reveled in the work. We were rewarded with a gorgeous break in the fog up top, and a sunny return via Alpine Dam Rd into Fairfax.

Biketoberfest was in full swing. I got a brat and potato salad and ogled the gorgeous bikes from Rivendell, Sycip, Soulcraft, and other local builders. I admit my bike obsession is a source of some embarrassment. Much like people who are afraid to profess their love of Felicity, US Weekly, or Twilight, I consider bike shows a guilty pleasure best kept in check. Maybe I should just yell out at the top of my lungs, "YES!! I LOVE BIKES AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO SAY IT!!"

Check out the cauldron of paella. It's so eye of newt.

Sunday. Recovery ride. Freezing cold on the ridge. Fog blowing across the road. Opted to descend Claremont and go home on the flats, instead of frigid suffering on Grizzly Peak. Listened to the Two Johns Podcast, where they discussed this clip.

Berkeley Hills Death Ride 1

2009-10-08T21:56:00.000-07:00

I left work this evening with every intention of taking it easy, since I'm thinking of riding up the backside of Mt. Hamilton this weekend. So I cruised down the Berkeley marina for a change, then back through the flat part of Marin Avenue, planning on coming home early.

Instead of turning towards home, though, I just kept going up Marin, and before I knew it I was gasping for air on the steepest road in Berkeley, my heart rate pinned to 100%. (Ironically, I was wearing the monitor to keep my effort low.)

Marin Avenue is the toughest of the Berkeley Hills Death Ride series. So tough, in fact, that I never thought to give it a go. The "easy" bits are around 14%, but it hits 30% towards the top. About 624 feet of elevation gain over one very narrow mile. I would never start a ride, planning on tackling Marin. Apparently, the only way to get up this thing was to fool myself into it.

The lower parts of Marin aren't actually that steep. I could maintain a comfortable standing pace. Each section lured me up a bit more, till I found myself halfway up the climb. At that point I wasn't going to stop, still feeling pretty strong.

About a third of the way up, though, my legs hit the anaerobic wall, and I had to unclip, lest I find myself staring at the bumper of an oncoming Prius while pinned under my bike. I walked up to the next cross street and let my heartrate come down. Looking up the road, I thought I could just gun it to the next resting point, then decide whether to go any further. So I got a little momentum and bumrushed the hill. Upon reaching the next cross street, I keeled over the bars, gasping, till the nausea subsided. Then I looked up and thought, "I can do that one more time." And so it went till the top.

I enjoyed the descent on Grizzly Peak, spinning lightly to keep from tightening up. Then, a nice hot shower, stretch, self-flagellation with The Stick, and dinner with my old friend, Costco Ravioli.

I'd actually try this again, next time stopping to gather myself at each cross street without getting off the bike. Definitely a great anaerobic workout. My legs still feel wobbly, though.

More Silicon Valley Dullness

2009-10-06T16:23:00.000-07:00

I find myself in yet another Silicon Valley Starbucks (chocolate banana smoothie), using their wi-fi connection while waiting for a meeting to start. I am simultaneously appalled by how often this is happening to me, and thrilled by my ability to access my work desktop remotely.

Given this state of affairs, it's probably not good for my mental health to be listening to a new travel audiobook in the car. Travel memoirs tend to spark my dissatisfaction with the banal work life, and often leave me feeling that I'm living a "life of quiet desperation."

Fortunately, The Sex Lives of Cannibals by J. Maarten Troost is about a place so bleak, so inhospitable, so ridden with giant cockroaches, that I'm actually happy to be in an air-conditioned mega coffee house, instead. The book reminds me (with dry British wit) how boring, uncomfortable, and lonely some exotic places can be. And I just have to evoke memories of miserable guest houses across two continents on my extended honeymoon with La Roleurette to show me how nice it is to be home.

Sweet Buzz

2009-10-05T22:08:00.000-07:00

Mistress Wendy laid down her unique brand of tempo riding torture tonight, and hit us with the most bizarre soundtrack ever. I was psyched for Glory Days, surprised, but pumped by Walking on Memphis by Marc Cohn, amused by the Crash Test Dummies (I turned to the girl next to me and said, "This is the kind of album you can buy at a gas station), and appalled by the God pop during cool down. I actually looked up to see if anyone else thought it was weird. Could Wendy be a gay ultra-marathoning Bible-thumper? I inspected the chains around her neck and thought I saw a cross in there somewhere. Marty, a regular, piped up. "Having some fun with the music, eh?" In the locker room, Lawrence speculated that Wendy was finding religion.

The legs felt great tonight. My heart rate went up effortlessly, the sweat rolled off me, and the endorphins made for an amazing buzz. Sometimes spinning is fun.

Incidentally, I got DIRECTV to cough up two months of Premium channels (including soccer coverage) and a WHOLE SEASON of NBA League Pass. Not bad!

The New Guy

2009-10-04T22:33:00.000-07:00

Friday night, La Roleurette, some friends, and I checked out the Oakland arts walk in Old Town and Uptown, two neighborhoods the City has been trying to jump start for years. Momentum is growing, with a middling artist presence and nicer restaurants starting to gain a foothold. But the local market is awash with empty condominiums, so things will be slow for a while. A decent number of hipster fixies and other cyclists cruising around.

On Saturday morning I hitched on the Mission Cycling club ride, which started at the south end of the Golden Gate Bridge, and sheared off into three separate routes in Marin. Around 25 people showed up, and folks described it as a medium-sized group. Apparently, several regulars had headed north for Levi's Gran Fondo.

The only other time I'd joined a club ride was a couple of weeks ago with the Marin Cyclists. That was a much smaller group, and having JK as a wingman greased the social gears. This time it felt a bit awkward being the solo stranger, standing around waiting for the ride to get going as everyone chatted up their buddies and tourists swarmed around taking photos in front of the bridge.

When you show up on at an ultimate pick-up game, you HAVE to interact with other people on the field, making for a good entree. Although the culture (and sometimes rules) of the game occasionally vary, you catch on within seconds, as long as you have any basic experience in organized ultimate.

In contrast, the normal new guy vibe, coupled with the unspoken rules of group cycling (how fast, do you stop and wait, where do you stop and wait, do you sprint for town lines, etc.) makes for a more tricky situation.

I rode with the A-group at first. After weaving through a charity walk (pink cheerleaders! disco music! fanny packs!) and climbing and descending Camino Alto, they broke off for Paradise Loop, a flat 35-miler. I got some satisfaction from not being the slowest climber, and even passed one guy with impressive legs, and a high-end carbon rig with a Powertap. I wanted to see if I could hang, but also hoped for a longer ride, so I dropped back onto the B-ride to Nicasio.

These guys moved slowly through town, pissing off three drivers on the way (at least pretend to come to a stop?). We hung around Fairfax Coffee Roasters for a bit, refilling bottles and using the bathroom, then most people just turned right around and went back to SF. Very weird to navigate 20 miles of flat suburban bike path riding, just to do a 180.

Five of us kept going north to Nicasio. The crew went slow on the climbs, but kept up a decent pace on the flats, which was a huge help with the insane wind. At one point, I went hands-free to put on my vest, and almost got blown over. I eventually had to stop, then had a bitch of a time clawing my way back onto the paceline. On the return leg, we took the bike path through Samuel Taylor State Park. Slow, but gorgeous. You can almost hear the leaves about explode into fall colors.

By the time I got back home I'd done a solid 80 miles, with some good efforts on the flats and mini-hills.

This experience confirmed that living in SF is a drag for cyclists. The GG Bridge and Sausalito, are ok as novelties, but quickly become a hassle on every single ride. Still, I liked the group - younger and hipper than the standard club riders. Also, their kit rocks. It would be more appealing if I didn't have to deal with BART just to get to the start. For city riders, I can see the allure of just showing up and making a plan on the spot.

Today I took it easy like Sunday morning. Great fall weather. Instead of the usual routes, I just wandered straight up the steeper Berkeley hills at a casual standing climb, never letting the heart rate get up. Lots of cool houses and one-lane roads up there. I carried the bike up one of the narrow staircases that crisscross the hills, and saw Bambi.

Mid-Week Miscellany

2009-10-01T09:54:00.000-07:00

On Competition II

After my post about why I don't compete, Embrocation made a good case in favor of stepping up to the line, also in the context of cyclocross. I have to admit, it's a pretty compelling argument.

Pillow Talk

Instead of the usual spin class, I got up early to ride before work. Somehow, I have no problem setting the alarm on weekends to have fun outside. Gravity must be stronger during the week, because the battle was epic this morning. I try to prep everything the night before, and get out the door without breakfast. Otherwise, any excuse to slow down just drags out the hard part. Once I'm on the bike, it's fine.

Cable Sadness

Apparently the Universal Sports promo was just for a month on DIRECTV. I now find myself with no cycling coverage at all. Damn, that was an awesome channel. The Vuelta, one day classics, World Championships, small stage races, cyclocross champies, curling. Curling!!! So good! I'm actually considering making the switch to Comcast. DIRECTV would have to woo me with a pretty sweet package involving Premier League soccer and premium channels to convince me to stick with them. Ironically, if they hadn't given me the free taste, I wouldn't be jonesing for it now. Um, guys - bad decision to give me a free sample of a channel you don't carry.

Problem is I have a deal with AT&T because of the DIRECTV service, and AT&T is super handy when I'm on the road and want access to wi-fi at St*rbucks. St*rbuks everywhere = wi-fi everywhere. Plus, I have the damn dish, and it's a hassle to return the DVR. Inertia, like gravity on weekdays, is a force to be reckoned with.

DIRECTV. I wish I knew how to quit you.

It's Official

2009-09-29T21:24:00.000-07:00

After summer's last gasp over the weekend, autumn has finally set in. I felt it for sure on the ride home today. The leaves rustling along the road, pumpkins on doorsteps. The light is more yellow, but the wind still a little warm. I'm looking forward to putting on the arm and knee warmers, and going out for a nice long rides.

I went up Claremont today and saw The Intimidator:

Scary! But who exactly is being intimidated? Dead bushes?

The legs felt pretty good. I never got to that gasping state that usually hits on the first switchback. After turning onto Grizzly Peak, I bombed down South Park, then up Shasta and Golf Course Drive for a little more climbing.

Descending South Park at top speed is a supreme act of faith - and stupidity. The sight lines are long enough that you can spot cars well in advance. Still, I hit 49 mph today, and at that speed, there's no room for sudden adjustments. When I'm going that fast, I just relax and try not to imagine the carnage if a deer bolted across at just the wrong moment. Ironically, South Park is actually more dangerous over the winter, when it's closed to allow the newts across the road (yes, seriously). Besides the threat of getting newt smoothie all over your bike, the off leash dogs will kill you, literally.

On Competition

2009-09-28T21:13:00.000-07:00

So with the fall comes love for all things cyclocross. It's fun to ride skinny tires on dirt. Plus, you get a chance to suffer with your buddies for an hour, engage in friendly competition, then drink beer. I get it. That's why I played Ultimate for so long.

But, honestly, I'd rather do all of the above, and just skip the racing part.

Over the course of 10 or 15 years of playing Ultimate at the college and club level, I came to realize that what I disliked about Ultimate was the tourneys. I hated the early morning jitters, the nerves on the line, and reliving blown plays before going to sleep at night (it was never the great plays that stayed with me). But mostly I got tired of doing brutal track workouts and plyometrics, then getting my hat handed to me by better teams (and there were many better teams).

In the athletic food chain, I was a herbivore. Not bad, but not good. Fast, but not fast enough. Solid, but unimpressive skills. And a lack of the assassin gene that makes for good competitors.

Each tournament served as a brutal reminder of my adequateness, and I grew weary of my place in that hierarchy. Unfortunately, winning (or at least not losing so much) had become my sole measure of happiness. Eventually, injuries spared me from even more frustration with the game, and I quit cold turkey for a year.

Then, one gorgeous Sunday, I went out to play pick-up and rediscovered how much fun the game was when I wasn't so fixated on the win/loss column.

Having gone through this cycle with Ultimate, I don't want to risk my love of the bike because I'm bummed about mediocre results in a local cyclocross race. Sadly, I don't think I can suppress my ego enough to relax and have fun.

So what I look for in sport now is camaraderie, a chance to be outside, and the satisfaction of being fit. I will always want to be one of the faster people in the group, but mostly I get happiness from the leaves swirling around as fall creeps in, the sun off the Bay, the spookiness of a night ride, the reassuring grip of the drops at 50 mph.

Back in the Saddle

2009-09-27T21:31:00.000-07:00

A heat wave hit the Bay Area this weekend, leaving people reeling in 90 degree temperatures!!! Panicked runs on gourmet ice creameries were reported. Yes, we are soft as Care Bears here in the land of milk and honey.

Sure enough, the "heat," a reasonably tough ride, post-infection weakness, not enough food/water/salt pills, and surging with racers on Skyline left me cramping by the end of the 50 miler. The route - I call it Redwood Pine Happy Bearcat - strings together several East Bay favorites for a decent bit of climbing. Despite the indignity of leaning over my handlebars in pain as an old man toodled by, it felt absolutely spectacular to be back on the bike. I love the sun on the back of my hands, the warm tailwind, and the mocha Freddos from Peet's, which I tried for the first time.

Today, rather than battle the midday heat, I spent the morning doing household chores, including wrapping two cushy layers of handlebar tape on La Roleurette's road bike.* In the words of Spinal Tap's David St. Hubbins:

The bigger the cushion, the sweeter the pushin'.

That's what I said.

(also

The looser the waistband. The deeper the quicksand

Or so I have read.)

La Roleurette wanted to re-christen her long-abandoned bike, so we headed out at 3:45pm to ride up Tunnel together, then I sheared off to do Redwood Pinehurst. Yesterday's effort left my legs a bit wobbly this evening. A gorgeous sunset ride; at the top of Grizzly Peak I found myself in a dreamy snowstorm of floating thistle seeds. I stood there for 10 minutes, trying to catch one in my hand so I could take a photo.

I hadn't eaten since lunch, and didn't take any food on the ride, so I was frantic with hunger by the time I got home. La Roleurette made a brilliant suggestion of a banana milkshake with cocoa powder. But I was still crazy enough by the time we got to the Pacific East Mall Korean restaurant that I ordered an enormous plate of scallion pancakes along with my hot bowl bibimbap. I only got through half of them, but have lunch for tomorrow.

All in all, an excellent weekend back in the saddle.

* Per her request, J-Lou will now be known as "La Roleurette."

Remember cycling? Yeah, that was the best.

2009-09-23T15:33:00.000-07:00

After a visit to the ER on Saturday night (due to threat of blood clot), and another dose of antibiotics, my calf has almost de-Hulked back to Bruce Banner size. And with all that fluid, the fitness is draining from my legs. I've been off the bike - commute or otherwise - since last Friday.

Sadly, this work week is a bear, with non-stop early/late meetings, leaving little time for the bike. Last night I was at the Mountain View City Hall till 10pm, waiting for the Council to get to my item. Tomorrow I need to be in San Jose at 8am. Ugh. Probably just as well to keep me off the leg until it's back to normal.

At least on Sunday I managed to get the ceiling hooks installed, hang up the bikes, and get most of the way through retrofitting J-Lou's Jamis. Now witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational Mancave!!!

I Need Compression Tights!

2009-09-19T14:19:00.000-07:00

After two benadryl tabs had no effect overnight, I went to the doc. He's concerned it may be a blood clot, even though my risk factor is incredibly low. Gah! I'm just hoping the antibiotic shot kicks in, signaling that it's just an infection. Bloodtests this morning, ultrasound on Monday.

So instead of riding on a gorgeous Saturday, I'm laid up at home watching the last stages of the Vuelta. Le sigh.

It took forever at the doc's. At least they had some sports magazines in the waiting room.

Note the cassette on the left, and the VHS tapes to the right. It's a little olde fashioned here.

Finally, muscular calves. Well, calf.

2009-09-18T16:44:00.000-07:00

A spider (I'm guessing) bit me while I was in the yard last night. My right calf is now about 33% larger than the left. Also, it feels like burning.

Should I be worried? I mean, if it was going to kill me it would have happened by now, right?

I know, I know. Just after giving people a hard time for posting pics of their legs online.

Thursday, the Best Day?

2009-09-17T22:29:00.001-07:00

That's what my co-worker believes. She likes that the weekend, with all its potential and promise, is right around the corner, but still far enough to look forward to.

My Thursday long-way-home ride wasn't the Best, but I'll take it. I'd been jonesing to get on the bike, since my last proper ride was on Saturday. Took it relatively easy on Tunnel. It was hot out, and the legs felt heavy.

I passed a gang of hipsters going up the road on old 10-speeds, and we all stopped briefly to watch an enormous buck eating the flowers off someone's yard. (I read this morning that these deer can spend their whole lives within 5 square miles.) What's with the messenger bags, hipsters? They're so much less comfortable than a backpack.

Decsending Grizzly Peak, I usually push hard to make it up the little dip where Shasta comes in. Tonight, I felt the bike go all squishy as I stood and mashed the pedals. Sure enough, a rear flat. WTF? That makes 3 flats in two weeks. Two front, one back. Or is it two back, one front? Anyway, I've found the debris every time, and the tape looks straight, so it's not a problem with the rim. Still, when I get this trend - and I feel like flats do come in sets - I get paranoid, and compulsively check the tire pressure every hour. Is that why I felt so slow on Tunnel?

All these flats are starting to cost real money, though. I don't like patching the tubes on the road - it takes too long and I"m never sure the patch will hold. And I don't like having a patched tube as my spare. So I guiltily end up tossing the punctured tube when I get home, and buy a new one. Plus, I use CO2, instead of a pump, so that's $ as well. At least the canisters are recyclable.

The Honda Avocado battery was dead - I left the dome light on last week while looking for my missing glove. So J-Lou and I jumped it, then used it as an excuse to drive to Larkspur for fancy soft serve cones from Picco Pizzeria. Worth the trip, and the battery seems good to go.

Clif Shot Roks Review

2009-09-15T22:22:00.000-07:00

JK and I always try to time our fall Napa rides to coincide with the annual Clif Bar Epiphany Ride, their all-employee bike "retreat." Erickson has a place on the Ink Grade, and we used to fantasize about getting invited to the post-ride party. I imagined exotic dancers in a tub filled with Margarita Shot Bloks.

I like Clif food in all its textures, from the chewy bars to the semi-solid shots. I even liked Gary Erickson's book about the company. Really, I'm into everything about the brand, from products to practices.

So it was with great excitement that I bought a pack of Chocolate Clif Roks at the gym last night. The idea behind the new Rok line is to provide a bunch of protein, along with the usual carbs, to assist with recovery. They must be trying to get on the Endurox, Muscle Milk protein bandwagon. Anyway, I thought I'd give them a go.

To put it simply, they were...bleaugh. I can't speak for the other flavors, but Chocolate tastes like rancid fruit in an artificially-flavored choco shell. I think all the protein messed with my stomach a bit, too. A little hard to digest after a workout. Definitely take these with a lot of water.

On the Clif hardness scale, I'll go from gel to bars, but won't venture into Rok territory again.

Romance and Style

2009-09-14T16:45:00.000-07:00

Romance

Baseball and road cycling, more than any other sports, drape themselves in their past, and are seen through a romantic soft focus by their fans.

Baseball evokes nostalgia for an older, purer America, where dads and sons have a catch on warm summer evenings. The crack of the bat speaks of honest, blue-collar work, punctuated with moments of glory. Think The Natural, where Roy Hobbs' homer shatters the lights like Fourth of July fireworks, or Crash Davis's signature speech in Bull Durham.

Cycling, in turn, celebrates the purity of athletic suffering, digging deep to surpass soul-crushing conditions and vast landscapes. The tifosi point to these elements when describing the "beauty" of their sport. They talk of Andy Hampsten's mythic ride over The Gavia, swoon over Hamilton's second place in the Giro with a busted shoulder.

It's not surprising, then, that it's these two sports where performance-enhancing drugs spark the most resentment among fans. It's not just about unfairly beating your rivals. PEDs spit in the face of the romance.

Style

One area where cycling differs vastly from baseball, however, is the sport's obsession with aesthetics. The height and color of one's socks, the whiteness of the bar tape, glasses over helmet straps, the sag of your pockets, even the shaved legs. All speak to an unspoken code of do's and don'ts.

And nobody does cycling style like Rapha. The company elicits both passion for their brand, and hatred for their over-the-top, and arguably pretentious ad copy. The word "epic" is tossed around maybe a little too casually, and "suffering" is fetishized to the point of obnoxiousness. It is, after all, just a sport.

That being said, Rapha deftly weaves together the romance of the ride, the nod to tradition, and the detail-oriented, technically-sound, fashion-forward style that cyclists crave. The fact that every item is unapologetically (over)priced only makes it that much more attractive. $207 jersey? Drool. $70 silk scarf? Yes, please. $400 jacket? A must have.

Rapha may speak to dandies with more money than sense, but god, they do it well. I must be right in their marketing bullseye, because their website sucks me in like a Sportwool-lined black hole. More than any other cycling or fashion brand, they successfully tell a story and cultivate an identity through photos, copy, events, and features. Instead of pro riders, they feature a "team" of everyday riders who are fast, but don't feel the need to talk about it. The "Rapha Continental" crew documents a series of "epic" rides across the US with photos, film, and soundtracks. This road journal perfectly captures my love of the bike, and, incredibly, inspires me to seek out tougher rides and try to look good doing it.

Interestingly, Rapha has established itself as the evil twin of Rivendell, my first entry into cycling as an identity beyond the bike. Like Rapha, Rivendell has an equal share of cultists and haters. But Rivendell is all about accessible, friendly, and practical cycling. Kickstands are king, baskets are beloved, and your bars must be level - no ABOVE - the saddle. Sloppy, beat up machines are celebrated! While Rapha is neo-retro, Rivendell is simply retro, evidenced by their love of leather and lugs, seersucker, not Sportwool. The only common thread between the two brands is the pricing scheme, though Rivendell goes out of its way to over-explain why they charge so much for their goods. With Rapha, if you have to ask, it's too much.

Funny that these contrasting brands each speak to me, bookending my attitude towards the bike and riding. It's a testament to the marketing genius behind both companies, and their ability to craft an identity beyond the goods themselves.

Spinning

This evening I submitted myself to Mistress Wendy, my cycling dominatrix. Spin classes at Berkeley Ironworks are taught by cyclists for cyclists. Intervals, tempo rides, cadence, single-leg drills, LT sets - it's all there. This is not aerobics on a bike.

Still, there's nothing romantic nor stylish about pedaling a stationary bike to nowhere, while an angry ultra-marathoner yells at you. But it is an express lane to the pain cave. And sometimes that's all you want.

p.s. Sold the Atlantis today. But I still have a soft spot for Rivendell.

Fall Classic

2009-09-13T10:24:00.000-07:00

On Saturday JK and I made the 7am drive out to Fairfax for a rolling 40-miles through West Marin with the local club. Sometimes we like a friendly paceline, and our attempts to roust the Berkeley Ironworks guys were unsuccessful.

The crew was nice enough, albeit with the usual bike club oddballs. The ride leader, an older British gent, was perhaps a bit too focused on keeping us together, and kept harping on this 20-something kid for surging on the hills and ditching the group. If he wants to ride hard, let the guy for god's sake. He's not your draft horse.

This was the wettest ride I've done in ages. Very fun. I eat up that Roubaix romance of mud on the shins, grit on the glasses, rain on the cycling cap. It was a warm rain, and the legs felt fine.

Washing the bike was more epic than the ride itself. After a hose and scrub, I slid out the seatpost and turned the frame over to drain it. I'd never done this before, and I swear like half a cup of water came out of that thing. Gah! This is the stuff that keeps steel frame owners up at night.

On Sunday, J-Lou and I did a gastro-architecture tour of San Francisco via bike, stopping at several homes on the American Institute for Architecture home tour and some eateries we've been meaning to try for a while.

Tartine - Goddamn. Delicious. Pastries. The ham and cheese criossant is worth waiting in that line. Suck it up, and do not settle for Craig's Place across the street. To the left is my foot at the threshold of a brunch flavor explosion.

Blue Bottle Coffee at the Mint Plaza - Brewed and served in a space age siphon pot. See the photo below. To operate this machine, you need to have taken AP chemistry. Hells yeah, the coffee was good.

Flour + Water - Perfectly adequate thin-crust pizza and pasta, but not worth a special trip to the Mission. The couple next to us debated whether to get the pasta with goat for like 15 minutes, then each whipped out camera phones when the food arrived and flashed away. The diners next to them looked as if they just got a whiff of something awful.

Humphrey Slocombe - This place has taken the bizarro ice cream craze to the furthest reaches of taste. See if you can identify the fake flavor from the following list:

(a) Cornflakes and bourbon

(b) Salt and pepper

(d) Foie gras

(e) Government cheese

Trick question. They are all real flavors at Humphrey Slocombe. I fear this trend's natural conclusion is Lobster and Butter-flavored ice cream. It's not good when they have to put up a sign clarifying, "Ancho chocolate has no anchovies." Because, you know, it's possible.

Thoughts on the Bike Racing

2009-09-10T12:03:00.000-07:00

This month DirectTV lost Versus, but picked up Universal Sports. While I'm more than happy to exchange deer hunting for cycling coverage (including the Vuelta now), I hope something gets sorted out for the Tour next year.

Until fairly recently, I really didn't give a crap about bike racing, mostly because (1) I didn't know any of the riders and (2) it was impossible to watch a Grand Tour while holding down a job, relationship, or life.

With the new DVR, the Tour was suddenly watchable at my leisure. Plus I didn't have to slog through hours of tempo riding just to watch Cavendish win another bunch sprint. DVR technology, plus a little more reading on the various players, gave me a newfound appreciation for bike racing.

Not a racer myself, what is it that I enjoy about seeing it on TV or magazines? In ascending order:

3. Bike Porn. My stuff is far from bleeding-edge. I ride a custom steel frame with Ultegra SL (the Honda Accord of gruppos), and hand-built Open Pro wheels laced to Chris King hubs. It's all like really good, albeit unexciting, vanilla ice cream. In fact, the frame color is Vanilla. But I also appreciate the nano-weenie pro gear. Shimano Di-2 is, to me, like a really hot stripper. You don't want to take her home, but you can't help but look, and you wonder what it would be like to touch. Just a little.

2. Drama. This year's Tour read like Days of Our Lives. Every stage saw some snippy comment between teams, or - in the case of Lord Voldemort and El Pistolero - within the same team. Speaking of which, Armstrong may have lost the race, but he just destroyed poor 'Berto in the PR battle. Shit, Armstrong even had the French cheering for him! Contador was isolated on what was supposed to be his team, with Bruyneel turning on him, and still, he comes off as the petulant brat, while Armstrong looks like the savvy, warm, conquering hero.

1. Suffering. Like the French, I appreciate suffering more than victory. The physical feats the leaders accomplish are so far removed from my ability and experience, that I can't connect to the thrill of the podium. I do, however, recognize Wiggins' steady IV drip of pain to hang onto 4th on the Ventoux. Watching the Vuelta recap tonight, I saw Taarmae lunging desperately up the final 20% grade, head hanging over his bars, eyes losing focus, and I thought, "Yes - that feeling I know."

Today's ride: I opted for the climb up Shasta to Grizzly Peak. I've never seen another rider ascending that road, which is surprising given how nice it is. One lane, lined with mature trees and quirky Berkeley-style homes. It has steep pitches, but with a couple of easier bits to catch your breath. After hitting Grizzly Peak, I kept a fast pace up the ridge to South Park, then turned around and followed Wildcat back to Spruce.

Lunch at Rotten City Pizza, the East Bay's best kept pizza secret. Their NY-style pies rival Gioia's, though are admittedly kind of expensive. Like $7.50 for two slices.

Give My Regards to Summer

2009-09-09T22:25:00.000-07:00

Over the last few evenings, I've noticed it getting dark well before 8 pm. I'm trying to squeeze the last few after-work rides out of the year before being banished to the spin bike and darktime rides.

And with the shorter days, thoughts turn to bike lights. The Planet Bike Superflash has got my back, but over the last couple of winters, I've been less keen on ye ol' Turbocat. It was (and is) a lot of light for the buck, and more than enough for rides home on the flats. But I definitely felt sketched out on Grizzly Peak descents, more harrowing now given the state of the road up there. The need for an overnight charge, the weight of the pack, limited burn time, and the lack of any battery life indicator has also worn on me. Plus, LED technology has really made serious leaps and bounds in recent years. So...I'm considering an upgrade this winter. I try to get at least one night-time long-way-home ride a week, so a good light is nice.

Suggestions?

No ride tonight. Another night meeting in the South Bay. Fortunately, I had The Places In Between to keep me company on the drive. I like it so much that I may actually get another audiobook when this one is done.

Tomorrow, though, I'll take the long way home.

By the way, Andrew and Andrew - your Craigslist flakiness kills me. I'm reposting the Atlantis for sale.

Tribal Markings

2009-09-08T21:03:00.000-07:00

Lately I've seen way too many pictures of cyclists' legs on their blogs. Yes, I know you check your legs out in the mirror. We all do. But nobody wants to see them online, really. All flexed like your knees are about to explode.

That being said, early September is when one's tan line is at its most extreme, and the best for showing off. Last week I walked into a meeting and noticed that the woman across me had the worst farmer tan, and shamelessly showed it off with a sleeveless shirt. When asked if she was a cyclist, she happily went off about a recent ride in Livermore. The guy next to me perked up, said he too was a cyclist, and proceeded to show me his glove tan line. (His son apparently just competed in Nationals.) I was tempted to roll up my pants and show my own tri-colore band around my (lean and powerful) thighs.

The same way a tattoo reminds you of that one time in Cabo or how to write your name in Chinese (useful in case you're in a horrible accident in China and don't have ID), the tan line brings back long, sun-drenched climbs, and the satisfying grit on your calves after a long day in the saddle. The tan line, more than a $8000 bike, is the mark of a serious rider. (Ergo, triathletes, with their sleeveless jerseys and speedos, do NOT count as serious riders.)

Yes, you will be laughed at by whatever non-cyclist is lucky enough to see you naked. The spray-on arm and leg-warmer look is actually not sexy. But I guess the romance of road riding is not for everyone.

For My Listening Pleasure

2009-09-06T23:44:00.000-07:00

Most of my rides have been solo for the last few weeks, leaving me plenty of time to listen to podcasts and music.

Favorite podcasts for the bike, in descending order:

1. The BS Report - Bill Simmons's blend of pop culture commentary, meat head humor, everyman voice, and keen sports analysis have made him the most successful sports writer in America today. No bikes, but very funny. Gets a range of guests from Jerry West to his (increasingly famous) college buddy Jack-O, a die hard Yankee fan and foil to Simmons's Boston homer-ism.

2. Two Johns Podcast - They've lost some of the luster from the early days, and John G, in particular, sounds a little tired of the gig. But their camaraderie and love of bike racing comes through nicely. I particularly appreciate John G.'s anal-retentive and style-nazi approach ("detail oriented") to road biking. Apparently, the cycling fashionistas dictate one MUST wear one's glasses arms outside the helmet straps. God knows why. They viciously skewer Discovery-kit wearing, Serotta-riding dentists and all things fred-ly. Production value is, um, limited, but charming in a homegrown way.

3. The VeloCast - A better-produced, somewhat geekier version of the Two Johns, but with excellent Scottish accents. Commentary on bike commuting, racing, tech, news stories, etc.

4. Sound Opinions - A sure sign of aging is that I rely on NPR to tell me about cool new music.

5. This American Life - Ira Glass fires me up.

6. The Cadence Revolution - Serving up mindless workout music at just the right tempo for hard efforts. If zombies did aerobics, this is what they would listen to.

I also check out The Moth, The Score, and The Spokesmen occasionally. Other suggestions?

For music, I've made a huge playlist and just hit "shuffle." A sample:

Song	Artist
6' 1"	Liz Phair
93 'Til Infinity	Souls of Mischief
A Day In The Life	Handsome Boy Modeling School
A Little Respect	Erasure
Any Way You Want It	Journey
Baby When I Saw You	Kylie Minogue
Back 4 You	Jurassic 5
Blue Monday	New Order
Brilliant Disguise	Bruce Springsteen
Classifieds	Bob Mould
Call It Love	Poco
Callin' Out Remix	Lyrics Born Feat. E-40 & Casual
Chains Of Love	Erasure
Champion	Kanye West
Chief Rocka	Lords of the Underground
Crazy	Gnarls Barkley
Debaser	Pixies
Don't Stop	Girl Talk

The ride today was largely uneventful. JK and I bumped into Sanj and Rubes, a couple of ex- Ultimate folks on Tunnel. Great descent down Centennial - 45 mph. Stopped at La Farine for a pastry afterwards. Korean tofu soup for dinner with J-Lou. I think they dumbed it down for us; it wasn't as spicy as usual.

Raise Your Glass to the Labor Movement!

2009-09-06T11:38:00.000-07:00

Did the usual Tunnel-Grizzly Peak route yesterday and this morning. With my parents in town for the weekend, there's not a lot of time for riding.

Saturday saw lots of fog - perfect arm warmers weather. I pushed it on the hills, stopping a couple of times to take some pics. Then, returned home to pancakes, a strawberry-banana smoothie, sausage, and coffee. The best.

This morning was sunny from the get go (picture is from yesterday). I took it easy, though had a super fun 50+ mph descent on South Park. On the bike, I listened to Dream Signals in Full Circles by Tristeza, a San Diego group. It's as mellow as the album title and the band name ("Sadness" en espanish) suggests. Perfect for recovery rides, trying to show your college girlfriend how sensitive you are, and cinematically staring out the window when she breaks up with you for listening to such sad sack music. Fried potatoes, salad, Filipino sardines, and watermelon when I got back. Thanks, Moms!

My farmer tan is fierce.

I accomplished a big chunk of the long-delayed Mancave chores this evening, with some manual assistance from my parents and technical advice from the Home Depot. Finally got those backpacks off the floor and up onto the peg board. I'd still like a proper work bench, but this works for now. Notice the many shoe boxes J-Lou has hoarded over the years getting put to good use. I still need to sort out a music solution, install a shelf for the snowboard, and finish overhauling and hanging up J-Lou's road bike.

Tomorrow, I'll do Redwood-Pinehurst with JK. Haven't ridden with her in a while, but that will make four days in a row for me. I've been feeling pretty fit with all the miles, which, in my experience, is usually when my connective tissue starts to protest. Regular stretching and use of The Stick has been keeping things together thus far, knock on wood.

God, I love long weekends.

I Love the Bay

2009-09-04T22:28:00.000-07:00

Every time I see this view I think about how much I love the Bay, especially the East Bay. It makes me happy to ride here. My most mundane workaday loop is 20 miles, up the hill to this vista, along the ridge (more views), and a casual descent to to nice bakeries, pizzas, and taquerias. One complaint: in the last 12 months, Grizzly Peak from the top to Centennial has become an death trap of unmarked tire-eating potholes and gravelly corners. City of Berkeley - this is a bike vs. auto accident waiting to happen.

Rode up Claremont today for a change. Instead of the slow threshold burn of Tunnel Road, Claremont serves up a concentrated stretch of sweaty, lurching, for-reals climbing. It's one of the Berkeley Death Ride series and consistently beats my ass. I get a third of the way up and think, "Wow - all this riding is paying off! Claremont isn't as hard as I remember." Then the steep bit by the eucalyptus grove kicks in and I start looking down to make sure I don't have another gear left. No? Huh. A couple of seconds later - what the? Still no extra gear? By the time I make it past the second switchback I'm just trying to keep the bike moving in a straight line.

I lowered my bars this week to see how it feels. There's more power transfer to the legs, and I love standing and grabbing the hoods instead of the drops when climbing. This feels particularly nice on the steep hills like Claremont. But the more aero position will take its toll on my shoulder on long flat rides, which thankfully we have none of around here. We'll see. It does make the bike look a lot sportier though. Mmmmmm....sporty.

Dinner with the parents at a tapas place in Oakland's Temescal district. Although the restaurant was meh, the neighborhood is going off! I had to circle for 10 minutes to find a parking space - unheard of in the East Bay. Temescal has become a grittier, cooler version of Berkeley's Gourmet Ghetto. The Ghetto Gourmet Ghetto. Many many hipster fixies.

Grind

2009-09-03T10:22:00.000-07:00

Drove to Mountain View at rush hour for an evening meeting last night. Two soul-crushing hours in the car while eating a burrito, and just managed to get there 2 minutes late. I discovered midway through the meeting that my tie was covering up an enormous salsa stain. Bleaugh.

Tonight, once again, I will drive from SF to SJ at 4pm. I'll listen to The Places In Between, though, which will be good. Definitely recommended. It's my foray into audiobooks, downloaded free thanks to the This American Life partnership with Audible.com

Also hoping to sell the Atlantis frame this morning. Please, "Andrew" - don't be a Craigslist flake. It's such a cliché. I have noticed that buyers' initial eagerness in response to an ad is inversely proportional to their likelihood of actually closing the deal.

I swear I will ride tomorrow morning. There - I said it. You'll all hold me accountable, right? Hello? Wait - is this thing on?

Long Way Home via Secret Ranches

2009-09-01T21:52:00.000-07:00

After work I went up Tunnel and took what I call the "Secret Ranches" path back home. For the locals, it starts at the Steam Train, goes down Lomas Contadas and across to Wildcat. I love how intimate that road feels. It passes by unkempt stables, and even dissolves into a gravel stretch for twenty yards. The sunset over the hills also rocks from there.

I drilled myself on Tunnel, Grizzly Peak, and Wildcat, so was happy to take it easy and take some pictures on the Secret Ranch section. I never used to ride hard on the bike, putting in the work in spin class instead. I didn't want to associate my bike with pain and suffering. The lumbering Atlantis also discouraged hard efforts.

But lately, easy after-work cruises feel boring unless I have someone to ride with. I've actually grown to like the pain cave, especially on the more zippy Indy Fab. Also, if I take too long to get home I end up STARVING, and stuff huge handfuls of potato chips in my mouth while standing in the kitchen in a wet chamois.

Sometimes I wonder why bother with the "training." Training for what? To drop 50-year old ladies on hybrids (for the record, I smoked two tonight)? To be the bestest century rider I can be? I think it comes down to a couple of things:

1. Feeling fit, and the associated confidence to tackle tough rides.

2. Endorphins.

3. Post-ride meals taste even better.

4. If I'm going to shave my legs I'd better make a fucking effort.

5. My shaved legs will look good.

I still refuse to call it "training," though. And though tempted, I haven't committed to the lactate threshold test at the gym. I don't race. What would I do with this data?

For dinner - spinach and cheese ravioli tossed in a sauce of fresh tomatoes, anchovies, and garlic. Grilled green beans on the side. I highly recommend the Costco frozen ravioli. Nothing beats it after a mid-week ride, when I'm too tired to make a proper meal. It's a once-a-week date for me. Not glamorous, but super satisfying.

Oooh - I managed to get the stuck stem out of the frame this morning! I just put a wheel into the fork, which gave me enough leverage to twist it out. Should have thought of this on Sunday.

Monday Bloody Monday

2009-08-31T21:15:00.001-07:00

Today I was reminded that it's only rigorous repetition that gets me out of the house in the morning. I'm apparently incapable of improvising before 9am.

First, my Tier 3 jeans were missing. (Tier 3 jeans are for bike commuting. Tier 2 are for semi-cool social engagements and any event that requires prolonged sitting. Tier 1 are too tight and sexy to sit in for any length of time, but are otherwise styley.) WTF? How does someone lose a pair of pants? I'm pretty sure I was wearing pants every time I came home last week. It was like that time I lost the pillow, only to find it a week later wedged in the top of the dryer like Spider-Man.

The jeans thing was bothering me when, instead of the usual two bowls of cereal, I had leftover oatmeal and a slice of the fancy Freestone Bakery bread. Somehow, it took me forever to make that two-course breakfast happen.

Finally in the garage, I thought to fix the loose bar-end shifter on the Cross-Check before riding to work. It would take a minute! Ten minutes later, I was on my hands and knees looking under the work bench for the friggin screw. I was half optimistic that I'd find something long lost and cool under there (jeans?), half afraid that I'd find another pile of coyote poo. Long story.

Anyway, I made it out to street, started up the road, and the chain fell off the last cog and locked up the pedals. Back in the garage, putting the bike on the stand, and wondering what the hell is going on. Ten minutes later, I gave up and just stuck the thing in friction mode and headed back out the door. Friction works, but for some reason the arrow on the shifter was still pointed at the index setting. This nagged at my soul.

Fortunately, things picked up from there. I walked into work with the UPS lady who was delivering The Stick I ordered from Amazon. "The Stick, you are my new best friend," I thought, as I vigorously rubbed my IT band behind my desk. "Foam roller - you are dead to me." I looked forward to many happy nights massaging my calf in front of the TV.

Riding home from the gym tonight, I stopped by Gioia Pizza for a slice. Fortunately, the Best Pizza in the East Bay is at the foot of Monterey, providing just enough carbs and fat to get me up the hill. I love this stuff. You can hold a slice by the edge and it has NO sag. None! Somehow, this millimeter-thin magic crust is chewy on top, crisp on the bottom. Laterally stiff, yet vertically compliant. Or the other way around.

King Ridge

2009-08-30T20:30:00.000-07:00

King Ridge claims the rep of the best road ride in Northern California. Combined with Coleman Valley, it's 71 miles of steep ups and fast descents. Other than a few tailwind-assisted miles on Highway 1, where obese camper vans sit impatiently on your shoulder, the roads are almost all one-lane no-car. It's the centerpiece of Levi's GranFondo next month (which seems to me like a ridiculously expensive century with timing chips - but for a good cause).

Anyway, yes, it was great. Sun all day except the fast foggy miles on Hwy 1 and the first section of Coleman Valley. Felt strong, though I sandbagged on the Ridge to avoid blowing up early. In fact, I went so slow on the steep bits that these annoying little gnats could keep pace and make tora-tora-tora raids into my eyes. Just when I ran out of water, I came across the Fort Ross School Sunday Market, where I learned delicious tamales from Honduras are wrapped in banana leaves, instead of corn husks.

On the way home, I stopped by Freestone for an orange chocolate scone and a round of great nutty fruity bread with cardamom. Then a strawberry milkshake in Sebastapol. After-ride eating - the best eating.

I failed to sell my Atlantis frame this evening. The damn stem is seized in the head tube, so I'll have to get the shop to knock it out.