The mountain bike is a rolling irony. It is built to be strong and durable, able to handle your weight, jumps, crashes, and tough obstacles like rocks, roots, and ledges. And yet, the part of the bike that actually touches the mountain — the business end of your bike — is invariably a thin, soft, and permeable slice of rubber.

At least, I think it’s ironic. Maybe it’s just unfortunate. That Alanis Morisette song screwed up my understanding of irony for pretty much ever, by going through a list of things that were clearly merely unfortunate and calling each of them ironic. Now I second-guess myself any time I call something ironic, for fear of pulling a “Morissette.”

No, I’m pretty sure I was right. A bike built to handle anything a mountain can dish out that ultimately relies on air and a flimsy patch of rubber is a reasonable example of irony.

OK, let’s move on.

Today, I have several random things to say about flat tires.

 

How to Make People Think You Are MacGyver’s Dumb Cousin

One of the first times I ever went mountain biking, Dug and I encountered a guy who was stuffing tall grass into one of his bike tires. “I read in a magazine that you can do this as a way to get your bike home,” the guy said. Dug and I agreed with him that this was a very clever way for him to repair his bike.

Then, as we rode away, leaving the young man to stuff his bike tire full of grass in peace, Dug looked me in the eye and said in a very serious voice: “Don’t ever do that.”

“Why, doesn’t it work?” I asked.

“I have no idea whether it works,” said Dug. “It doesn’t matter. It looks completely retarded.”

True enough.

 

I Take Steps Toward Avoiding Flats

For years, I used one particular technique to avoid flats: I ran my tires at high pressure. While this didn’t do much for avoiding punctures, it did reduce the number of pinch flats I got (a pinch flat is when you hit something hard enough that your tube is pinched between your tire and rim, puncturing the tube with what looks like a snakebite).

Then I discovered Stan’s Notubes. Basically, this setup lets you convert a traditional wheel and tire into a tubeless wheel. A special rimstrip seals to your tire, and a small amount of liquid latex seals off punctures before the tire even goes flat. In theory, you’re protected from both pinch and puncture flats.

I remember the first time I got a puncture with my Stan’s setup. There was a brief “fizzt” as air escaped, a little liquid latex squirted onto my legs, and that was the end of it. The puncture was defeated. I never even had to get off my bike.

I was in love.

Or rather, I was in love until I raced the Tour of Canyonlands that year. On the first downhill, I hit a square rock, good and hard. The seal broke and all the air instantly burst out. I tried getting the latex to seal up again, but no luck. I had to remove the rimstrip, drain out the latex, and put in a new tube before I could continue.

By the time I was ready to ride, I was both in dead last place, and covered in liquid latex goop.

 

I Am a Slow Learner

Of course, a freak accident like this can happen once to anyone, right? So of course, I didn’t abandon the Stan’s setup.

Or rather, I didn’t abandon it until the exact same thing happened to me when I was racing the Brian Head Epic 100 later that summer. I’m not sure why Stan’s always chose to fail on me during races, but it did.

Stan and I are no longer on speaking terms.

 

Additional Observations on Getting Flats While Racing

I have never timed myself, but I’d guess that on an average day, I change a mountain bike tube in about seven minutes. I’m not particularly fast.

When I get a flat while racing, however, I work much faster, and therefore take approximately twice as long to fix the flat. My fingers shake with anger and adrenaline as I try to undo the zipper to the seatbag. I fumble trying to pull the tire off the rim. I forget to check the tire for thorns. I put the wrong tube — the one that I just pulled out — back on the rim. I put the wheel back on the bike backwards.

All while telling myself (out loud), “Be cool. Calm down. Take it easy. Clumsy oaf.”

As hard as I am on myself, though, I’m much harder on others. About 90 miles into the Leadville 100 one year, I came across a guy with his wheel off his bike, working on a flat. “Everything OK?” I called out, assuming it was.

“No, I need help,” he replied.

Well.

I stopped, asking him what was up. He had a flat and his pump was broken. I loaned him mine, then anxiously fidgeted for what was probably 15 seconds while he pumped. Then I jumped on my bike and said impatiently, “The pump’s a gift. I’ve got to finish this race,” and took off.

I can be a real jerk.

 

Road Flats: Not an Issue

I used to get flats on my road bike all the time. Since I’ve started riding on Specialized Armadillos, I have not had any more flats. At all (the flats I got on my fixie were with the tires it came with; the fixie now has Armadillos).

That said, Armadillos do have their problems: They’re heavy, they have poor road feel, and they’re difficult to get on and off the rim. I happily live with all those flaws, though, because I can confidently ride through broken glass, in fields of molten lava, and over tire shredders.

 

The Perfect MTB Tire Setup?

As Racer set me up with a loaner bike for the Leadville 100 last year, he told me he was extremely confident that I would not flat. The sweet spot setup, he said, is a tubeless rim and wheel (ie, a rim and wheel that are designed to be tubeless, not an aftermarket tubeless add-on), with a little Stan’s Notube goop rolling around inside, just to catch little punctures. And sure enough, I didn’t get a flat.

Which means, of course, absolutely nothing.

I would be willing, though, to spend hundreds and hundreds of dollars on an MTB wheel/tire combo that was light, had great traction, and practically never flatted. If such a thing exists.

Bob and I started last weekend in the best of all possible ways: a mountain bike ride.

I picked Bob up and we made our way to a trail I’ve been on only once before: Crop Circles. It’s an interesting trail — it’s as if a group of people got together and said, “OK, we’ve only got a few acres of land here. Let’s do what we can to put as much trail as humanly possible into it.”

The trail starts by spiraling inward (thanks for the link to the satellite photo, NobbyNick), up and down very short hills, over roots and rocks, with constant quick turns and careful navigation around trees. You’re never going fast, but you’re having a great time just maneuvering. Amazingly, the trail was not a boggy mess, in spite of a month of near-continuous rain.

Once you get to the center, the trail doubles back on itself and spirals back out — though you’re riding a parallel trail, not the same one you used to ride in. Ingenious.

Bob and I were having a great time. It felt great to be back on mountain bikes; this was the first MTB ride either of us had been on since Fall Moab.

 

Flo is Go

This was the also the first time I’d had a chance to ride the Dahon Flo offroad, and so far I’m very impressed. I had hoped it would be a good bike to lug around for when I’m out of town. It turns out that this is a good bike, period. The saddle is far enough back over the rear tire that I was climbing without slipping. The steel frame felt just right — not harsh, not flexy. The components were top-notch: Rock Shox Reba fork, Avid disc brakes (especially nice when it’s wet outside), SRAM shifters.

Before long, I stopped thinking about the fact that the rear triangle can disconnect from the front on this bike. I’m no longer going to think of this as a travel bike. Instead, I’m going to think of it as a great mountain bike that travels.

 

Blackberries = Evil

As we got toward the center of the Crop Circles trail, Bob and I came across a section where some people had been doing some trail maintenance, cutting back blackberry bushes. Part of me was grateful to whoever had done this, because blackberry bushes have to be cut back frequently — they’re an incredibly aggressive weed (blackberry bushes are not weeds for only one month per year, when they’re loaded up with delicious free fruit) and would otherwise choke off the trail in short order.

This grateful part of me was overruled, however, by the part of me that noticed that the trail was now littered with blackberry branches, which are thick and thorny.

In hindsight, Bob and I should have got off our bikes and portaged. But we didn’t.

Within a couple hundred yards, Bob got a flat. Within another ten yards, he got another. At about that time, I had a flat, too. Within a couple minutes, my front tire joined the club.

We were done.

 

I Accept Fate Philosophically

We didn’t have stuff to repair four flats — not on a ride like this. We started walking our bikes back, tempted to call the ride a dud. After all, we had only been riding for half an hour or so. We were just getting started.

Sometimes, though, you take what you can get. This time of year, any mountain biking at all seems like feels like a windfall. And now, at least, we know that the trail’s in good shape, even this time of year. So yeah, we’ll be back, later this week.

And next time, we’ll know to carry our bikes through the bed of blackberry branches.

I was sixty miles into the Brian Head Epic 100, and I was blind. Or, more specifically, there was so much dust in the air that I may as well have been blind — all I could see was a light brown fog.

I was riding a downhill stretch on (yes, dusty) doubletrack, taking it as fast as I could, which was not particularly fast, since I could not see more than fifteen feet ahead of me. I was squinting, blinking fast, trying (and failing) to keep the dirt out of my eyes. I could feel the grit caked on and between my teeth. For the millionth time that day, I cleared my throat and spat over my right shoulder.

And hit the guy passing me on right on the neck.

“Dude!” He shouted.

“Oh, dude. Sorry,” I replied. I had not seen him.

“It’s OK, dude,” he said, generously, and continued on ahead. I was dumbfounded at his kindness, for by all rights he should have punched me in the face. Dust clouds or no, I had broken the First Law of Spitting: know what/who’s behind you.

 

Why Do We Spit?

When biking — mountain or road — you’re going to need to spit, and often. The reasons are myriad. To clear the sports drink taste out of your mouth. To get the fly out. To clear your windpipe. To get rid of the gunk that’s constantly draining from your nose into your mouth when you’re biking. (Note to whatever gland it is that makes mucus: I don’t really want or need that stuff in such great quantities. Please feel free to cut production by about 90%. Thank you.)

Also, you spit to look tough and to mark your territory.

 

How to Spit

Unfortunately, just because everyone needs to spit while biking doesn’t mean everyone’s good at it. I am an excellent spitter, however, and can offer some advice.

1. Assess the spit. High viscosity or low? Is it going to hold together or is it frothy? These are ugly questions, but you must consider them in order to spit properly.
2. Assess your surroundings. Are you alone or riding in a group? If in a group, are you in front of anyone?
3. Aim. How you aim depends on what you learned in steps 1 and 2. If you’ve got a high viscosity payload and nobody’s near, you’re clear for a high-arc spit. Low viscosity and / or people nearby? Point it at the ground, buster.
4. Fire. You spit with a “Too!” mouth motion, meaning you do not start the spit with your mouth closed. If you are spitting with a “Poo!” mouth motion, you are in serious danger of dribbling on yourself, sounding ridiculous, and — worst of all — breaking the spit up into a fine mist. And that’s just gross.

 

Spitting Etiquette

As important as knowing how to spit is knowing when to spit. As you spit, please keep the following in mind

• Move Over: If you’re in a paceline,  you are required to move out of the line.
• Mind the Headwind: If there’s someone behind you and you spit to the side, you stand a good chance of hitting the person to the side. Bonus Tip: No wind is the same as a headwind, if you happen to be riding your bike forward.
• Careful of Shrapnel: As all experienced spitters know, even the most cohesive payload may have some incidental spray. So even if you have high confidence in your spit, don’t go for distance unless you are alone.

 

Clearing the Nose

Dust and mucus conspire and congeal, clogging your nose as you ride. This is unfortunate, because consensus among cyclists is that it’s better to be able to breathe than not.

The solution is simple. Use a finger to close off one nostril, then blow out through the other with all your might.

When doing this, however please observe all the above rules, plus this important additional one: For the love of all that is good in the world, please do not do it anywhere near me. I have ridden with people (by which I mean “a certain person”) who think they are far enough in front that they are OK to clear their noses. They are not. That nose-clearing blast creates a mucus cloud, which is only slightly heavier than air. It drifts and hovers, right in the way of the following riders. The result? Everyone (by which I mean “me”) behind the nose-blower gets treated to a mucus mist in the face, after which they go into paroxysms of revulsion.

Personal note: I, unfortunately, am completely unable to clear my nose in this manner, for I have teeny-tiny nasal passages. Any time I have tried to do the nose-blow, my eyeballs pop out. This is inconvenient.

 

Bonus: Banjo Brothers Bike Bag Winner

Congratulations to Jill, whose question made me laugh out loud — and I am not a laugh-out-loud-while-reading kind of guy.

If I picked up every bolt I saw strewn along the road, how big of a collection could I amass? Wait ... did that 18-wheeler going by just throw another one? How many bolts would an 18-wheeler have to throw before the whole rig just came down on itself? What if that happened as it was passing me? What if the entire fleet of trucks barreling down American highways are just one thrown bolt away from taking me and everything else in their path to that big boltless road in the sky? Oh, look, free bungee!

Email me with your address and which bag you want, Jill. And good luck on the Susitna 100 — sounds like a killer race.Technorati Profile

As I’m biking along, idle questions often pop into my head. Usually, the question is just interesting enough that I’ll consider it for about ten seconds before moving on, distracted by the next shiny object.

For example, I’ve often looked down at the shoulder of the road I’m riding on and noticed a lone rivet-ish looking object punched into the pavement. That is, it’s a doughnut-shaped metal disc that’s been pressed into the asphalt, with a nail driven through the center. What is that “road rivet” (as I call them) for? It’s not securing anything down, is it? It’s way too small to be structural, right? Maybe it’s a marker for something?

And then I lose interest and forget about it.

Yesterday, though, I actually found out what those road rivets are for. As I rode along, there were a couple of surveyors at the side of the road — one holding a pole, another several yards down the roadlooking through the eyepiece and taking measurements. I looked at the base of the pole, and — sure enough — it was seated in one of those road rivets, minus the nail that’s usually driven there.

 

Important Questions

This made me think: there are many other questions that frequently occur to me while I’m riding. Sometimes I have a pretty good idea of the answer, but still like to ask because I’m a rhetorical blowhard. Other times, I genuinely don’t have an answer.

Such as:

• Why do people toss their cigarette butts on the road? My working theory is that smokers think that the cigarette butts are so small that they don’t count. This is, of course, stupid. Perhaps they think the cigarette butts are biodegradable? Maybe, but I think it takes a while, as in a decade or so.
• Who’s tossing trash these days? I don’t know anyone who throws their bottles or McDonalds bags out on the side of the road, yet the trash is still there. Didn’t those guys see that “Crying Indian” commercial back in the 70’s?
• What are all those bungie cords doing on the ground? It’s a scientific fact: you can’t ride a bike more than 15 miles without seeing at least one bungie cord on the side of the road. My working theory is that these bungie cords disembungified en route. This isn’t a particularly innovative theory, but it is worrying, because I use bungie cords all the time. When will it be my turn to disembungify?
• If someone passes me and says “How’s it going?” as they blow by, what is the likelihood they really want to know how it’s going? Am I within my rights, if I manage to catch her wheel, hang on for a minute, and successfully attack and drop her, to answer as I go by, “I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”
• Which is better, road biking or mountain biking? Any time I’m on the road, I’m pretty sure it’s my favorite. Any time I’m on the dirt, I’m pretty sure it’s my favorite.
• How fat do I look? As people drive by in their cars, do they say to themselves, “Wow, that cyclist certainly has a paunch?” Or are my bib shorts doing their job (ie, compressing and containing said paunch)? From time to time, I look down, trying to see what my gut looks like, but it’s hard to tell. I know for sure it doesn’t look as bad to me as when I see photos of me on my bike. Yeeuch.
• How far I can ride between breaths? Occasionally I take a deep breath and then see how far I can ride before I have to inhale again. I have no reason for doing this other than curiosity. When riding this way, I always go fast, but I wonder: could I go farther by exerting very little effort and trying to not burn oxygen so fast?
• What percentage of people in cars are envious? Whenever I’m driving and see someone on a bike, I get a twinge of envy. I’ve got to assume other cyclists are the same way. So, for every 100 cars that pass me (or, during rush hour, that I pass), how many wish they were riding their bike instead?

The Banjo Brothers Bike Bag Giveaway Question

This week, you’ve got a choice. Either ask a question that’s occurred to you on your bike, or answer one of the questions I’ve asked.

What can you win? A cool seat bag.

As I chose today’s topic, I had to ask myself: “Is there any possible way this won’t come across as the most random collection of advice, observations and anecdotes I have ever written?”

That is because I have chosen “knees” as today’s topic. Which explains why I’ve titled today’s post “Knees.”

I’m already losing focus, I can tell. Sorry. I’ll try to stay on point going forward. Although, before I do, I would like to point out that the word “knees” looks like you’ve spelled it wrong, even when you’ve spelled it right.

And you can’t say the word “knee” without sounding like you’re in a Monty Python sketch.

 

How to Look Like a Better Cyclist Than You Actually Are

Try this experiment. Go out and ride your road bike for two hours. From time to time, take note of the lateral distance between your knees and your top tube. Here’s what this distance means:

• Less than 2 inches: You look like a pro
• 2 – 4 inches: You look like a recreational enthusiast
• 4 – 8 inches: You look like a circus bear on a bike
• 8 inches or greater: You look like you’re convinced your bike is actually a horse

It’s true. Watch any serious expert racer or pro on a bike. They keep their knees tight in to the top tube. Why do they do this? In truth, I have no idea. Maybe because it’s more aerodynamic? Maybe because you get better power transfer? Maybe it’s better for your knees? Maybe it’s modesty? Maybe they all do it because everyone else does it?

Regardless of why, the fact remains: you’ll look more like you know what you’re doing if you keep your knees close in.

Bonus Tip: This is much easier to do, I’ve noticed, if you don’t have a big ol’ gut getting in the way of your knees on the upstroke.

 

What to Do If You Are Experiencing Knee Pain on Your Bike

If during a long ride, you begin to experience pain in your knees, it means your saddle is not at the right height, or is positioned too far forward or back. Here’s how to correct this problem:

1. Move the seatpost down a little bit
2. If the pain gets worse, move it up
3. If that still doesn’t work, move the seat forward on its rails a little bit
4. If that doesn’t work, move the seat back on its rails just a smidgen
5. Repeat steps  1- 4 until you have just about lost your mind, without experiencing even the tiniest bit of relief from your pain.
6. Go to a bike shop and have someone who knows what he’s doing fit you for your bike and adjust your bike to that fit.

Bonus Tip: If, while adjusting your seatpost height, the seatpost comes out of the bike, you have adjusted the height too high.

 

The Most Obnoxious Thing I Have Ever Heard In Response to a Compliment

Bob, Dug, and I were picking up our race sweatshirts — the ones with our finishing times screened on — after the Leadville 100 one year. As someone we had never met came and picked up his sweatshirt, one of us (I forget who) politely asked how he did. He told us his time (I don’t remember what it was), and then said, “And I did it on a singlespeed!”

Clearly, we were supposed to be impressed.

Obligingly, Dug said (Pay attention, now: this is where the tie-in to today’s “knee” theme comes in), “You must have knees of steel.”

“You mean balls of steel!” the guy said, triumphantly.

I remember very clearly the awkward silence that ensued.

 

Something I’m Reluctant to Admit That I Really Enjoy

Occasionally, as I ride, I’ll start to feel a grinding sensation in my left knee. It will go on for about fifteen or twenty revolutions of the crank, after which there will be an audible “pop” in my knee, and then the grinding sensation will go away.

I love that pop — both the sound and the feel of it.

Mallorca, January 22 (Fat Cyclist Fake News Service) - Cycling enthusiasts around the globe reacted extremely positively to the January 22 T-Mobile team presentation, wherein the 29 members of the men’s’ team and 10 members of the women’s’ team were announced.

More importantly, however, T-Mobile also took this opportunity to reveal Jan Ullrich’s new hairdo.

Image from Cyclingnews.com

“This hairdo represents the significant investment we have made in Ullrich,” said team manager Mario Kummer. “These curls have been scientifically designed to be loose enough to blow elegantly in the wind as he attacks on mountain climbs, but not so loose that they unravel under the intense pressure of a grueling time trial. They are long enough to look cool, but not so long that they will poke out of his helmet and look clownish. They have been demonstrated in wind-tunnel tests to be the most aerodynamic curls known to man.”

Continued Kummer, with evident pride: “His curly, highly moussed locks clearly state, ‘I am the team captain. You must ride in support of me, and in support of my hair.’  I only wish that we had thought of this hair before last year’s Tour de France; perhaps we could have kept Vinokourov in check. You will note,” the manager pointedly concluded, that this year Andreas Kloeden does not have such a hairdo.”

 

Team Discovery Channel Reacts

Johan Bruyneel, directeur sportif of Team Discovery Channel, lost no time in preparing his team’s response to the new threat Ullrich poses. “Acknowledging the brilliance of Ullrich’s new haircut,” said Bruyneel from the Team Discovery Solvang camp, “I have tasked one of my most seasoned riders, Viatcheslav Ekimov, to counterattack with a new hairstyle which I myself have designed.”

Image from ThePaceLine.com

“As you can see,” said Bruyneel at a hastily-arranged press conference this past week, “Eki’s hairstyle is still short up top and on the sides, so as to not interfere with his riding. In the back, however, his hair is considerably longer, and now nearly touches his shoulders. I firmly believe this haircut will effectively neutralize Ullrich.”

Others, however, are not so optimistic.

“It’s a mullet,” said Lance Armstrong, who remains actively involved with Team Discovery Channel operations. “Bruyneel has sent Eki to chase down Jan with a freakin’ mullet. No way is that going to be enough.”

“I’m just glad that I’m retired,” said a concerned-looking Armstrong, pensively running a hand through his (rather pedestrian) close-cropped hair. “I mean, I’ve always said that Ullrich was my greatest opponent. With that new hairstyle, well, I don’t know.” Armstrong paused for a moment, weighing his words. “To tell the truth, I don’t think I could compete with that.”

Thursday’s usually the day I post the winner to the weekly Banjo Brothers Bike Bag Giveaway. You may have noticed, though, that yesterday I did not post anything at all.

That’s because I was staring at all the entries, wringing my hands, biting my fingernails, and in general failing to make a choice.

There are just too many stories I like too much. Evidently, a lot of us have done some pretty dang cool stuff on our bikes.

 

Help Me. I’m Begging You.

I did manage to winnow the list down to a group of finalists (although even that was not easy), which I’m publishing below. Please vote for the one you like best: either with a comment, or (if it’s inconvenient for you to leave a comment) with an e-mail (I will occasionally group and post the e-mail entries myself). You don’t have to give a reason why you voted for a particular person, but why don’t you anyway?

 

Upping the Ante

Originally, this contest was going to be for a seat bag, but the fact is, these are some of the very best entries I’ve ever seen for the weekly contest, so I’m upgrading the prize to a messenger bag / pannier set / gear bag. Winner’s choice.

I’ll announce the winner in Monday’s post.

And hey, there’s no shame in voting for yourself. Well, not much shame, anyway.

And now, on with the stories.

 

Kelly (Mocha Momma)

Who doesn’t love a “Triumphant Underdog” story? And Kelly’s is a good one, with victory to the just and pain and humiliation to the villains.

 

There's an epic hill in every cycling story of mine, and this one from my childhood is no different. It took me exactly one month to attack the hill and go down it on my bike, but I had just gotten braces and my mother was worried I'd take a softball to the mouth or get my mouth stuck to the climbing rope in P.E. class and she became overprotective.

All the boys in the neighborhood taunted us little girls and dared us to speed down The Hill. Since I felt the need to tempt death and my mother in the same task, I waited till everybody had cleared out and went down The Hill. No problem.

The next day, when all the guys were there taunting and teasing and generally being He-Man of the Hill, I dared a guy to race down the hill. WHAT? Not only was I going to go down The Hill, I was gonna go fast. He snorted and decided to take me on. I beat him and when we got to the bottom he was really pissed and being laughed at by the other guys. He proceeded to punch me in the arm really hard. Instead of waiting for any of the other biking boys to protect me, I then kicked his ass.

Yeah, this was my proudest moment. I did it all while still attached to the bike. My teeth are perfect to this day.

 

Big Guy

Last year, I did the MS 150 for the first time, and with the very generous help of folks who read this blog, raised around $1600.00. I was very proud of that. So I can sorta-kinda imagine why Big Guy is proud of raising $12,000 for an incredibly worthy cause.

 

I rode for Team-in-Training (Leukemia and Lymphoma Society) fundraising events not once but three times (so far). I've personally been able to raise around $12,000 to date just by riding my bike (and, of course, asking folks to sponsor me for doing it). $12,000. It's sometimes hard to get my mind around that number (=~$40/mile) just for doing something I enjoy (except the asking folks for money part).

 

Moishe

Moishe’s story is just a great romp, and is really well told. If you’ve ever dropped your friends on a tough climb, you’ll be able to relate.

 

When I lived down in Olympia, my friend Scott and I rode our butts off down in Capitol Forest. We rode all the time; we planned our class schedules around getting out to ride during the week, we rode every weekend, and so on. Since it was Olympia, we rode through lots of mud and water and other bicycle-destroying crud. We decided, in the interest of saving money on parts and time on maintenance, to join the burgeoning singlespeed scene, and both built ourselves up some pretty sweet singlespeeds. We tooled around town on them, took them on some easier rides through the Forest, then, one February weekend, rolled out on their maiden "big" voyage: a 25-mile loop, whose appetizer was a 7-mile climb.

So we rolled out, this chilly and (of course) rainy March morning, in full singlespeed glory. We were riding with a couple of other friends of ours, who weren't riding as much as we were, and we rolled ahead of them on the beginning of the climb. As we left them further and further behind, and ascended through the mist and mud and standing water, our pride at our single-speed badassedness grew. We muscled up short little ascents, kept our momentum along the steady grades; in short, we both felt fan-freakin'-tastic.

After roughly an hour of climbing, we reached the sign at the trail intersection at the top of the climb, got off our bikes, and leaned them (o glorious singlespeeds! let all the world revel in the simplicity of your drivetrains!) on the sign. We sauntered over to a convenient log where we sat down, unwrapped our clif bars, and waited for our riding compatriots to come and praise us.

So allow me to digress, briefly, and tell you about the trail we were about to go down: it's rocky, rooty, steep, and (yes) muddy. It's slippery and treacherous. Not the sort of thing you need a downhill bike for, by any means, but a tricky trail on the way down and a genuine pain in the ass on the way up.

Scott and I are sitting down, chillin' out, and we hear a couple of guys riding up said nasty trail. "Cool," we thought, "people to brag to about our singlespeeds!" (well, Scott probably didn't think that, and I certainly wouldn't admit it in any context other than the relative anonymity of the internet) Sure enough, two guys rolled up, we got to talking, and they did admire our singlespeed bicycles and our prowess at muscling them up the hill. And around this time our riding buddies showed up (who I should mention were, to add sting to the you-must-think-by-now-inevitable putting-in-place that's about to happen, attractive young women) and also exclaimed at our brilliance and we basked in the glow of our fantastic hill climbing ability with -- yes -- ONE gear!

So we're all sittin' around, talkin' bikes, and one of the two guys says, "gee, I wonder where Brett is, he shouldn't be too far behind." And but a few seconds later there came the sound of breathing and gear shifting and up comes Brett, cleaning a nasty little technical move, indeed cleaning an entire climb that I'd never succesfully ridden on any bike, rolling up like it ain't no thing. And Brett - yep, Brett Wolfe - has only one goddamned LEG. He rolled up the trail, did a trackstand (well, maybe I'm making that part up), said hi, and kept going, like some ego-destroying ghost.

I'm still proud of my ride that day. But I'm truly thankful that it had such an inspiring coda.

 

Matt Mayer

Matt is doing a great job of passing his love of biking on to the next generation. His story reminds me I need to take my kids out biking more often.

 

There are quite a few moments that stand out but I guess right now this one is the biggest:

Last spring, perhaps April or May, I decided to go for a bike ride one Saturday morning. Decided to take my boys with me (they were 3 and 1). So I hooked up the bike trailer, threw in some drinks, blankets and a couple of rugrats. Hitched it up and pulled away.

The plan: To go for a bike ride and enjoy some time together.

What happened? A lot more.

I remember the ride was pretty uneventful as we ventured down the side streets of our neighborhood making our way to our normal trail entrance for the city wide trail system. The trails kind of run along the Cedar River here.

We stopped at the park so we could play. I mostly rested and then we saddled up again and ventued further. We came across the lake downtown with all the ducks and geese that live there. We rested there and feed bread to the animals for a long time. Finally saddled back up and ventured on.

We stopped at a donut shop and had a little snack. Well, I had two snacks. Ventured on further down the trail system until we eventually came across another park. Stopped for more play time. By now we were going on about an hour and half away from home and probably only 12 miles or so of actually movement. (Hey, we move slow) We eventually came to the end of the trail system, turned around and started for home. (The first time I had actually gotten to this end of the trail) This time we didn’t stop at all. All said, we spent about 3 hours together riding the trials, covered about 25 miles, had 4 donuts, handled out about a loaf of bread to birds, played on two different playsets and by the time I got home I had two sleeping rugrats.

I’d say it was a good day. I had a good nap that day too.

I was really proud of spending that time together, showing them a very interesting world along the river, pulling that much weight behind my bike, and knowing enough not to hurry what we were doing.

 

StormcrowePrime

StormcrowePrime isn't actually in the running for the bag, since he's already got the Banjo Brothers to set him up with gear. But his story's still worth hearing.

 

My greatest cycling moment happened last summer. It was my first ride in recent history where I made any miles at all.

Those of you that have followed my blog know that in March last year, I was in a wheelchair due to a heart problem and morbid obesity brought on by a pituitary disorder as well as being on oxygen. This ride was out to a park called Fairfield Lakes County park. This was a 7.2 mile ride and at the time, I was having to take frequent breaks, but I did make it out there. Believe me, riding with a 15 pound oxygen tank strapped on your back ain't easy.

I know that a bit over 7 miles doesn't really sound like much, but at that time it felt to me like I had just aced Lance Armstrong in the Tour de France! I've learned to appreciate every ride I make, good, bad or indifferent!

 

bikepbp

Anyone who has ever planned on quitting a race, but kept going because you didn’t want to disappoint a loved one will understand why Bikepbp’s entry is a finalist.

 

I entered Paris-Brest-Paris in '03 after training from January of that year til August. (PBP is an ultramarathon ((1200 km)) road ride held once every 4 years and is older than the Tour.) I thought I was in good shape having trained between 4 and 5 thousand miles in preparation but I'd never done a ride like this straight through with little sleep.

At the end of one of the four qualifying rides I found a small stuffed dog that I brought home for my young daughter. She gave it back to me before I left for France for good luck--good thing she did. I zip-tied it on the back of my saddlebag and started the ride with some friends from NYC.

On Thursday night, sometime after midnight, so I guess it was really Friday morning, I couldn't go on because of back pain and sleep deprivation (1.5 hours on Tuesday and Wednesday night). I told my friends to go on without me or they wouldn't make the cut off time of 90 hours for the 750 miles. I just laid down on the side of the road and tried to rest my back and sleep.

As I was laying under my space blanket, I saw the stuffed dog on my bike and thought about how disappointed my daughter would be if I didn't finish this thing so I got back on the bike and rode to the next check point. They told me I was just within the time limit so I took a short nap and rode on.

I was so inspired that at the finish I had caught up to my friends and we all finished about the same time well within the time limit and I was able to call my daughter back in the states and tell her that I finished--in French; which was our code for telling her that I finished under the time limit.

I'll never forget that ride or the dog or the inspiration the dog (from my daughter) gave me.

 

NathanV

Nathan’s sneaky. He entered two of his favorites. The thing is, they’re both great favorites. A five day self-supported bike outing as an early teen. Your first big paceline ride. Who wouldn’t keep those as favorite memories?

 

1. First completely independent bike trip - my brother and I (11 & 13) left on a Wednesday with nothing but tarps, sleeping bags, some changes of underwear (this was pre biking shorts for us) and $50 bucks apiece. We were gone for four nights and 5 days riding around the San Juan islands, humping it up Mt. Constitution, sleeping in farmers fields and generally having a complete blast ('80s reference since that was the era). We called from about 20 miles out on Sunday and my dad drove back up our route home to take some pictures. He caught a shot of us that to this day is about the happiest I have ever seen myself on a bike.

 

2. Fast forward 5 years. Now I’m 18 and starting to race seriously. So as training I entered the Seattle to Portland, opting for the double century since I couldn't get off work for two days. I will never forget sliding into my first real paceline (more then 5 people). The absolute rush of watching the lead person swing off and drop back and then me being the very tip of this 50 person snake of energy. I try to keep it smooth, marvel that maintaining 27 mph for 5 seconds is easy, drift over to the leeward side, wait for (interminably) that tap on the rear that signals the second to last rider then slide in and hunker down in the biggest draft of my life. I remember that day because riding was still effortless and new and I did 200 miles at a crack in under 10 hours.

 

My Sister Kellene

I’ve told my sister Kellene’s amazing crash story before, but it’s her story to tell, and she’s justly proud of the fact that even after that she still rides.

 

So…I am sure I could win the bag if I tell my story of my most memorable day on the bike! Actually the most memorable for my husband since he had to do the rescuing .I am not proud of my ridiculous fall, but very proud of my super hero husband that came to the rescue of his broken wife!

I took the most amazing fall! Fell 20+ feet right on my face on a pile of boulders. No rolling, just straight free fall! Many injuries to sport around and be proud of:

broken jaw, 14 broken teeth, broken wrist and arm, sheered off kneecap, stitches in arm, chin, and lip and beautiful black eyes..

After lots of dental work, braces, new teeth, and plastic surgery I am better than ever! You can check out my $30,000 smile on Rocky's blog!!!

I guess the proud part for me is that I still ride! Thanks to my Rockheaded husband! He got me back on the bike while I still had a cast on! Just around the neighborhood. Then for my first ride he patiently went with me to the place of impact and coached me through it.

I love riding, and hate being a "girl" on the bike. For that I am proud!

 

Dug

Dug has done what I could never do.

 

Once I sat through the entire 6 hour BBC version of pride and prejudice. I didn't ask my wife to pause it when I had to pee, but I think it still counts.

 

DPCowboy

DPCowboy describes what most of us can only wonder about: what would it be like to ride with the big boys?

 

I had an experience back in 1978 that I will never (ever) forget. It was the highlight of an incongruous number of years when I thought I was a good roadie (but wasn't) and was struggling (although I didn't know it at the time) to find a niche in cycling that worked for my particular set of skills.

I was racing in the Tour of Bisbee, a short stage race in Southeastern Arizona that had a kind of "down home" feel to it with a lot of civic involvement. It was a team stage race primarily, and a lot of the then current hot roadies were there (Boyer, Howard, Cook, etc.). It was the first or second stage, a 100 mi. (or so) road race where I found myself in the front of the group, knowing that two teammates ( and three or four others) had slipped away at the start of the race, and were smokin' it 7 or 8 minutes clear of the field.

The hotshots didn't know, and the surprise they showed when they got a "time check" (you know, that little guy on the motorcycle with the chalkboard?) about 70 miles into the race, and, well, it was an interesting reaction.

This was the first, real experience I have had with the "hammer going down", and it went down hard, believe me. I sat on, for dear life, for about 20 miles, as the field dwindled to just a few, and the last climb (a long one...six or seven miles) started. I have never been so absolutely shelled and wasted, but I hung on as long as I could, and Cook, Boyer and Howard, especially, rolled up that climb so fast, it was mindboggling....like 53 x17 fast.

I couldn't help wondering, and have been thinking about it ever since...what if I could have stayed on? Logically, there was no way...the nuclear blast that shattered me was irrevocable. They (I think just Bob Cook (RIP) and John Howard) eventually caught the break, and Cook won the stage, but my teammate beat Howard in a two up sprint for second. I crawled in and died a thousand agonizing deaths, and started the very next day, and most days after that, with new expectations.

 

Most rides I do don’t really stand out from each other. I enjoy what I’m doing while I’m doing it, maybe have a few highlights I’ll tell friends about later, and then let the recollection of that ride drift off into this big, warm, fuzzy collective memory I have of biking.

There are, however, certain exceptions.

Occasionally, something big enough happens that the memory of the ride — or part of the ride — remains clear in my mind forever. My crash at Gold Bar Rim, resulting in a terrific photo. My crash on a local trail, resulting in facial scarring. My crash at Brian Head, forcing me to ride without a seat. Yeah, crashes are easy to remember.

Even more occasionally, though, I’ll do something I’m really proud of, and that memory sticks with me, too.

Today, I’m going to push the crashes out of my mind, and talk about some of my favorite mountain biking accomplishments.

 

Practice Run

I give Dug lots of grief about being churlish, but the reality is he’s about the best biking ambassador I’ve ever known. I am just one of probably more than twenty people he has brought into the sport. He introduced me to a jeep trail I could get to from my house. The first time we rode it, I was hooked.

In reality, it wasn’t an especially technical trail, nor a long trail, nor a steep trail. But for a beginner, it was all of those things. The steep pitches were too much for my legs. The gravel and embedded rocks would throw me off my line. I’d be tired and out of breath before I got to the final, long climb.

It was, in short, a perfect challenge for a beginning cyclist.

I started riding that trail every day, trying to string the whole thing together without putting a foot down. If I spun out toward the beginning, I’d turn around and go back to the bottom to try again. Once I spun out at the very end, in the final pitch, and rode back down the entire 2.5 mile course to do the whole thing over.

Toward the end of the season, I finally did it. I rode the entirety of my practice run without ever taking my feet off my pedals. I had built this up into such a huge deal that actually completing it seemed really remarkable. I told all of my friends about this huge achievement, who seemed a little confused. “You mean, you sometimes do put a foot down on that road?” Bob asked. “I can’t think of anywhere you’d need to do that.”

Sure enough, a couple years later — just for nostalgia — I rode what our group now called “Elden’s Practice Run,” and found that there’s nothing noteworthy, difficult, or otherwise impressive about this little trail.

But it was still my first big triumph, and it still feels like a big deal.

 

Finishing the Cascade Creampuff

I had heard the Cascade Creampuff was difficult, but I’d done the Leadville 100 several times and figured that it couldn’t be much harder. They were both 100 mile mountain bike races, and the Creampuff is in Oregon at a nice low altitude, so I expected it to be about the same effort.

I was a fool.

The Creampuff has you do three laps of a 33 mile course. You climb about 6000 feet — mostly on graded dirt road — for eighteen miles or so, then descend on tight singletrack for about fifteen miles. So by the end of the day, you’ve done 18,000 feet of climbing, as opposed to the 12,000 or so you’ve done at Leadville. That’s 50% more climbing, for those keeping track.

The climb of the first lap of the Creampuff seemed easy. I was having so much fun. I was passing people, goofing off, and rolling a nice, high tempo. I expected to place very well in the race.

The descent on that first lap was incredible. I had never ridden such great singletrack, nor seen such incredible trees. This was going to be the best day ever, I could tell.

As I finished the first lap, I told my wife (crewing for me) that I was having a banner day, that I loved this course, and that I’d see her in another 3.5 hours.

Then the climb for the second lap began, and I bonked hard. I was soft-pedaling in my granny, unable to give it any more than that. I could not see any possible way I would finish this race. But even as I contemplated how I was going to quit, I kept pedaling. I’d quit at the next aid station.

It took forever, but I did get to the aid station. I decided to eat and drink for half an hour, and then I’d quit. By the time I had rested that long, though, I decided that I could make it to the next aid station, and would quit there.

I played that game the whole rest of the lap. I would quit, but I’d do it at the next checkpoint. Finally, when I met my wife, I said it out loud: “I quit.”

“No, you can’t,” she said.

“I’m done. Seriously,” I said.

“You will hate yourself forever,” she said.

I knew it was true. I would.

Sullenly, I got on the bike, and started the third lap. It was only a little bit harder than the second one.

I don’t remember my finish time for the Cascade Creampuff — something close to 14 hours, I think — but I do remember crying with relief when the finish line came into view at the end of the third lap. I quit dozens (hundreds) of times that day, but finished the race anyway.

I owe my wife big time on this one.

 

24 Hours of Moab, Duo Team

Racing the 24 Hours of Moab in the Duo Pro/Expert division (two guys taking turns racing a technically demanding 15.7 mile course for 24 hours) with my friend Brad was probably the most intense race I have ever done.

Brad and I agreed to do sets of two laps, giving each other more opportunity to rest between turns. That meant I wouldn't have anything to do for at least the first couple hours of the race, except wish that I had worked harder at staying in shape.

Brad and I turned in very consistent times, though we stopped doing two-lap turns fairly quickly. As the day turned to night, we slowed down, going from 1:20 laps to 1:50 laps.

Between laps I had a pretty effective regimen going. Go back to the camp, give my bike to Jeremy (our mechanic), go back to my car, start the engine and turn on the heater, make a sandwich (Great Harvest bread, smoked turkey, lots of mayo) while the car warms up, climb into the back seat and change into the clothes for my next lap, eat the sandwich and drink about a quart of water, refill my Camelbak, rest for about 20 minutes, go to the restroom, then back to the staging area and wait for Brad.

Toward the end of his seventh lap, Brad bonked. And when Brad bonks, he really bonks. As he handed me the baton, he said that he had done the math and figured that I would finish my next lap (my seventh) by about 11:40 — twenty minutes before the race was over. He was completely fried, he said, and there was no way he was going to do another lap.

"You have to!" I yelled.

"No way," he said.

"You have to!" I reiterated, just in case I had been unclear the first time.

"No way," he said, just in case I hadn't caught the subtle nuances of his previous statement.

For emphasis, I yelled "You have to!" one more time, climbed on my bike and took off.

For the bulk of that lap, I was preoccupied with what we would do when I finished my lap. At first I figured that Brad would see that he had a moral obligation to do that lap and would be at the staging area ready to go when I pulled in. Then I thought about it a little harder and decided that if Brad said he was cooked, he was really cooked. I didn't want to hold back, though, and intentionally turn in a slow lap for my final effort. I had treated this event like a serious race for 23 hours; I was going to finish it like a serious race. I decided that if Brad wasn't able to do the final lap, I'd do it.

Around 11:25 I pulled into Jeremy's pit stop and asked if Brad had suited up for another lap. The people sitting around (Jeremy was crewing for more than ten people) said he hadn't and that I should just sit down and chill out until noon. Instead, I handed Jeremy my bike and asked him to lube the chain while I filled up my Camelbak. I don't know if there were really wild cheers all around, but it seemed like it at the time and drove my morale right through the roof. I took off for lap number 8.

Stuff I had been blowing through in my middle ring now required a granny gear. I walked things that I would never walk. I felt like I was out there forever, but the actual time wasn't much different than my other times for the day: 1:49. Good enough for a fourth-place finish.

 

The Banjo Brothers Bike Bag Giveaway: Your Turn

What have you done on a bike — something you’ll always remember — that you’re really proud of?

If I have a gift in cycling, it’s in the ability to keep turning the cranks. Which is to say, I certainly don’t have any special talent in the technical mountain biking arena.

And yet, if you were to compare my technical biking skill, it would be very nearly above average. I can ride up and down minor ledges. I can go over moderate-size logs. I can navigate hairpin turns, as long as they are not terribly tight. I can, if the situation requires, ride up short stretches of loose shale.

How is it I can perform all these magnificent feats of derring-do? I think I can narrow it down to one particular thing.

The Three Try Rule.

 

How the Three Try Rule Works

I started riding with The Core Team (Bob, Dug, Rick, Brad, Kenny) after the Rule had been established, so I’m afraid I can’t offer any insight into its history. However, the premise of the Rule is elegant both in its simplicity and usefulness.

 

Any rider can try any move three times.

 

This means that if, as you’re riding on a trail, you dab (put a foot down), crab (hit a rock with your pedal, throwing you off your line or off your bike), or just plain fall down, you get to go back and try it another two times.

By itself, that doesn’t seem like much of a Rule. The Three Try Rule, however, has an extensive set of supporting corollaries that give it its true power.

• A Move is What You Think it Is: If, either on-trail or off-trail, you find a series of logs, rocks, ledges, roots, or any other interesting challenge, you can call it a move and commence to try to clean (successfully ride over) it three times.
• Exception 1: If you’ve been declaring move after move after move, to the point that the group hasn’t moved 50 yards in the past four hours, people will start to find you annoying.
• Exception 2: If everyone’s tired from a whole day of riding and just wanting to get back to the trailhead (except you), there are no moves. Just shut up, will you?
• Stick Together: Once a move has been declared, all shall gather around the move to analyze, admire, pick lines, and give advice.
• Peer Pressure: When at the move, nobody is required to do the move. However, you are a chicken if you don’t. You’re not a chicken, are you? C’mon. Just try it once. Everyone’s doing it.
• Turns: After trying the move, you shall return to the back of the line to wait your turn for the next try.
• Exception 1: If you actually cleaned the move, you get to remain at the top.
• Exception 2: If you missed the move but had an epiphany that will almost certainly get you a “clean,” you can ask for (and usually receive) cuts in line and an immediate extra turn. If, during your extra turn, you fail, you are a dork.
• Advice from the Successful: If you clean the move, you may remain at the top of the move and offer advice, encouragement, and commentary, though not to the point of being distracting while the next person is attempting the move.
• Addendum 1: Encouragement, advice, and commentary may be useful or useless in nature, but must be at least moderately entertaining. If you aren’t funny, shut up.
• Addendum 2: If you clean the move on your first try, but nobody else does, you are The Champ.
• Addendum 3: If you are the Champ, your advice must be taken seriously. The move is your throne.
• Addendum 4: The Champ gets to make a short speech, usually thanking all the little people, and concluding that this is something they can’t take away from you.
• Additional Tries Available by Request: If you were Soooooo close on your third try, you may make an emotional appeal for another try, and another. And another.
• Ennui Override: At some point, you need to let it go. You’ll get it next time. Let’s move on. Seriously. It’s getting dark.
• Mulligan: If you make a boneheaded mistake in the approach to the move — can’t get clipped in, slide out in gravel, feel a certain bad juju in the air — you may call “Mulligan,” and try again. One Mulligan per person per move, please.
• Acceptable Use: The Three Try Rule may be used alone or in groups, but is much more fun in groups. 

Is it vain for me to sometimes go back and read some of my favorite Fat Cyclist posts? It is? OK, just checking.

I ask because this past weekend I was engaged in just such a bout of vanity. Among other things, I re-read what is my favorite Fat Cyclist post of all time: An Open Letter to Assos. I continued on to read the comments that have trickled in on it during the past few months.

And that’s when Dr. Michael Lämmler kicked me in the head.

Judging from his comment — which he posted twice, as if to underscore his point — Dr. Michael Lämmler is not amused by my post about Assos. Nor, indeed, is he amused by my blog at all.

The wisdom of Dr. Michael Lämmler is simply too good to leave buried in the comments section of a months-old post. The whole world needs to read what the good doctor prescribes for me and my blog. Here, then, is what Dr. Lämmler had to say, along with my comments in green, like this.

 

hello fatguy,

I want to make it very clear that I do not follow your little pathetic, full time job website but happened (go figure) to end up on it.

Actually, my little pathetic website is not quite full time. The guy who pays fat biking bloggers to write pathetic websites keeps my hours to a strict 25 per week. That way, he gets around having to pay medical benefits. Anyway, I’m curious: how did you end up on my site? And more importantly, who forced you to stay once you had discovered you didn’t like it here?

 

I write to you because the content of your page simply upsets me and all the people I have shown it to.

So, how upset, exactly? Like, do your eyes bug out? Do you begin foaming at the mouth? Do veins pulse visibly on your forehead? Do you write foaming-at-the-mouth comments? And how many people have you shown it to? Could I ask you to please show it to more? Word-of-mouth is by far the most effective form of advertising, after all.

 

I am just a little european (although I have an american mother) ex - elite rider who has been riding the bike before I could actually walk.

Seriously? That's terrible. Why did it take you so long to learn to walk? And when you say you're a "little" European, do you mean that you're really little? Like Tom Thumb? I'll bet your bike is just adorable.

 

My english is not perfect but I hope your comedian mastermind this time around might actually get the point. 

I’ll check with my comedian mastermind the next time he drops by. As for myself, nope, I haven't yet got the point. Are you planning on making one?

 

My bike was my playground and evolved into my tool of making a living. This lasted 3 years until I realized I will never win a tour de france and that there actually is an easier way of making a living then racing my bike.

Well, I’m sure that will come as quite a shock to all the pro racers I know, who have each stated clearly, “I race for a living because it’s so easy.” Also, I’ve got to admit that I spent some time Googling your name, Dr. Lämmler. It turns out that a search on “Dr. Michael Lämmler” yields exactly one result, and it’s not for your pro racing career. If I broaden the search out a little bit, I do find one recent race result. Triathlons, Doctor? For shame.

 

Now and for the last 16 years I ride the bike for quality of life reasons, because I love the bike, because the sport continues to fascinate me, because I enjoy suffering, because it keeps my mind and body in shape, because the technology and evolution fascinates me, because it lets me get away from my “business day” and last but not least cardio reasons.

You know what, Doctor? I take everything I said earlier back. You and I actually have a lot in common. Let’s make up and be friends, okay?

 

Why I take the time to write to you is because the way you are talking about people and companies is completely out of line. Your sarcasm is not funny but instead embarrassing to the US cycling community that a so called "cyclist" can actually act the way you act.

Hey. I thought we were friends now.

 

Why do you ride the bike???? Take a piece of paper and write it down!

Is it OK if I just continue writing the reasons in my blog, instead? You know, the way I do pretty much five times a week?

 

I bet you started a few years ago because somebody told you that cycling is the best way to loose your fat?

Actually, I started because I heard there was big money in pathetic full-time job blog writing. I expect the cash to start rolling in any day now….

 

You have a complete lack of cycling cultural background, never raced in your life (except maybe on some children, mother, pension event), knows nothing about the history of cycling, how it evolved, the industry, who were the actors?

You mean I've got to know all that?!? Hey, nobody told me there was going to be an entrance exam! And don’t you go dissing my children / mother / pension races. I beat that octagenerian and 4-year-old girl fair and square.

 

The maximum level of suffer you have experienced on the bike equals having to skip a nice juicy dinner, isn’t it? 

Mmmmm. Foooooood.

 

The disrespect you have shown in regards to Mr. Armstrong leaves me speechless.

You mean apart from the big ol' speech you’re making here, right?

 

You are asking the guy "what have you done in your life?", "It's not easy to be fired?" etc. etc. ARE YOU FOR REAL or a comedian?

(Note to confused readers: Dr. Lammler is now talking about the career advice I offered Lance Armstrong when he retired last year.) Um, is that a trick question? ‘Cuz I thought it was really obvious that offering career advice to the ultra-successful, ultra-rich, ultra-busy Lance Armstrong as if he were a hard-luck case who had just lost his job at the assembly line would have put me in the “outrageously absurd comedy” category.

 

I am not an Armstrong fan and probably you don’t find many Armstrong fans in europe, o.k. but regardless of his personality the physical achievements (clean or not clean does not matter anymore at that level) [Oh, you're just saying that to sound world-weary, right Doctor?] is simply worth admiration and is earned respect. Why? Well either you are a cyclist and you get it or you simply don’t get it.

I get it. I think everyone gets it. I'm losing interest, Doctor. Pick up the pace a little, would you?

 

But if you don’t get it, [Hey, I just said I get it!] then a little "fat nothing" should keep his mouth shut and instead of trying to be a comedian you should educate yourself in the matter.

So, a minute ago, when you asked me whether I’m for real or a comedian, you had already made up your mind that I’m a comedian? OK, that’s fine. But if we both agree that I’m a comedian, then don’t we also agree that saying that Armstrong needs career advice is comic? I don’t get it. Maybe I need some education in the matter.

 

ASSOS? Luxury Body? Either you get it, or you don’t.

I don’t get it. At all. I’m very excited right now, though, because nobody else seems to get it either. By all means, please explain it!

 

Do you realize that it is this little Swiss company who made it possible in the first place (although I am pretty sure this was not the company's objective), for fat people like yourself to be able to stay on a bike for more then 2 hours by "inventing" total comfort cycling apparel over half a century ago and has revolutionized an entire industry??

Really? Assos invented cycling clothes? That’s actually really interesting. They should put that in an ad.

 

The way you analyzed their ad simply shows that you are deeply perplexed.

True enough. But be fair: the way they created their ad is deeply perplexing. And I still don’t know what a Luxury Body is. I am beginning to suspect, however, that you're the guy who wrote the copy for that ad.

 

Deep in your mind you would love to have a luxury body (this is the reason why YOU are riding the bicycle), but when you look in the mirror all you see is the exact opposite (regardless of how many kilos you loose) of a luxury body.

I refuse to commit to wanting a luxury body until someone explains to me what a luxury body is. Although, by inference, I’m now beginning to think you at least feel a luxury body is the opposite of a fat cyclist’s body. Which is a fair enough point, but I can’t for the life of me make the connection between one’s body and the type of cycling clothes one should own.

 

Then you would like to buy some Assos luxury body gear but you can't afford it because you are sitting in front of your computer all day long trying to be a comedian.

What can I say? pathetic, full time job websites don’t pay what they should.

 

Then you had a little money left and were able to buy an ASSOS chamois creme, get a little glamour in your life; but not being cycling educated, you spalmed it on your balls instead of your butt and this created even more, additional turbulence in your little “genius mind”.

Turbulence, indeed. Wow! Though I must admit, the glamour of Assos Chamois Crème was worth every moment of the searing pain I experienced on my spalmed balls.

 

I understand that writing might be a valve, a strategy to let go the frustration and complex (others ride the bike) you are facing in your life, but please, next time before you are using your webpage to do so - THINK! People do actually read your crap.

And it’s a very upsetting experience for each and every one of them.

 

Don’t bather answering, I am not visiting your little paradise again.

Not even if I ask pretty-please?

 

sincerely yours,

 

Dr. Michael Lämmler

 

PS    I apologize for my euro english but writing my message to you in german would be pointless, wouldn't?

Thank you for your unreserved and heartfelt apology for your Euro English. I accept your apology unconditionally. Let us not speak of it again.

 

Oh by the way, now I feel so much better, yes writing helps doesn’t it?

If you say so, Doc. Though I’ve gotta say, when I need to work out some rage, I find a nice long bike ride works better.

 

PS: My "Universal Signs" article -- which I excerpted in this blog last week -- is now published on Cyclingnews. Click here to read it.

Right now, I am learning what I have learned many times before: the first week of a diet is incredibly difficult. First, it’s tough because I’m constantly having to override my grazing instinct. Several times each evening (and during the whole day during the weekend), both before and after dinner, I find myself standing in front of the pantry or fridge. I’ve got the door open and am automatically scanning for something to throw in my mouth.

Second, it’s tough because I have to get used to not always feeling full, and that includes at bedtime. And while I get used to that feeling, I have a hard time sleeping. And I get grouchy. I’ve got to watch what I say, to coworkers, to my wife, and to my kids. Keep the brain-to-mouth filter turned up to 11, and maybe install a backup filter, just in case the first one fails.

I do know one thing: my diet does work for me, when I follow it. I lose weight, at a reasonable rate, without losing power on the bike. Here are the essentials:

 

Strictness

Ordinarily, I am incredible at rationalizing. I’m good at coming up with a reason why it’s OK for me to go out to eat because I haven’t seen this friend in at least a couple weeks. Or that it’s OK for me to eat a handful of pretzels because they’ve got no fat in them. If I want to lose weight, though, I need to have a couple absolutes:

• No grazing. At all. I know that once I start, I don’t stop. I eat during my mealtimes (of which there are 5 daily)
• Weigh myself every morning. Especially the mornings following a day when I screwed up. I say to myself, “Oh, it’ll just depress me; I’ll skip today so I don’t have to see what the spike in weight was.” Well, now it’s important to see what kind of damage I’ve done, so I don’t go doing it again.

Food

I base my diet primarily on a few principles:

• I will continue to eat lots of carbohydrates; they’re what I like best and they keep me strong on the bike.
• If I eat five servings of raw fruits and vegetables daily, everything else pretty much takes care of itself.
• I don’t measure out quantities; I know how much is reasonable.
• Pasta is my friend. Just don’t use rich sauces.
• In fact, don’t eat anything rich. It’s not so much calories that are the enemy as the concentration of calories.

I don’t have lots of foods that are crossed off my list of things that are OK to eat. But I do keep the fridge and pantry stocked with a few things that I like:

• Dannon Light ‘n Fit Yogurt: I’ve eaten this kind of yogurt for more than a year: no fat, only 90 calories. Last week, Dannon mailed (yes, mailed) me some samples of their new version of this kind of yogurt: now it has only 60 calories, and it tastes even better. I’m a big fan of the vanilla, peach, and blueberry flavors. This new version isn’t available in stores yet (it will be later this month), so I’m hoarding my stash.
• Whole grain breads: One of my favorite foods in the world is Great Harvest’s white bread. Whole grain’s better for you, though; I’m off the white, and onto the wheat.
• Grapefruit: I don’t understand why, but I’ve discovered that if I eat a grapefruit at night, I’m not as hungry the rest of the night and don’t have the graze instinct quite as bad. Also, grapefruit is one of my very favorite foods in the world.
• Pasta + cottage cheese + lots and lots and lots of ground pepper: I could eat this every day, and when I’m dieting, often do. Carbs, protein, calcium, not much fat. Lots of bulk without much penalty.
• Fiber 1: For breakfast. It does its job.
• Water, water, water: Half a gallon of it, every day. Every diet I’ve ever seen includes lots of water as part of the program, and cyclists need to train their bodies to be good at drinking lots of water to stay hydrated.
• Apples: Golden Delicious and Jonagolds are my favorite. I can and do eat two or three apples per day. The weird thing is, apples seem to make me hungrier. I still like them, though.
• Bananas: Nature’s Twinkies. Genius bike builder and noted vegan Matt Chester eats around twenty of these per day. And he sleeps on a bed of leaves.
• Carrots: Every time you eat a carrot, you lose an ounce. It’s a well known fact, which I just made up.
• Mushrooms: Wash the manure off first, though.
• Peppers: Yellow peppers taste more like a fruit than a vegetable.
• Tuna: Add fat-free mayo, mustard, and pickle relish, put on a rice cake, and completely blacken it with ground pepper and you’ve got a meal that’s very nearly tolerable.

I Will Never Gain This Weight Again

As I go through this first week of dieting (last week was also the first week, but it didn’t work out so well), I keep finding myself saying, “When I finally get to my target weight, I’m never going to put this weight on again.”

This, I know, is a lie. I fully expect this year to hit my target weight — 150 — but will almost certainly hit 170 again within 18 months. Or within six months, if I’m going to be honest with myself (which I am not). I am a human yoyo.

But it is my intention to be one hell of a fast yoyo this summer.

 

Grace Period

I used to post my weight daily on this site, and beginning February 1, I will do so again. I’m giving myself the month of January to lose weight in private, as an extra incentive. Basically, knowing that I’ve got to go public with whatever weight I’m at in February is a huge motivator to get back down to something a little less embarrassing.

 

Banjo Brothers Bike Bag Contest Winner

There were lots of good confessions in this week’s contest. The truth is, though, this time it was easy for me to pick one, because it seems like Craig reached right into my head and pulled out a lie I use every year:

OK, so I'm not losing weight as fast as I thought. But, that's OK. Training with this extra 30 pounds later into the spring will only ultimately increase my power. So when I do lose that extra weight and finally look like Rasmussen, I will be “climber extraordinaire.”

Ballooning up like I'm pregnant every fall is part of my power-building training plan. 

Congratulations, Craig. Email me with your address and whether you want the messenger bag or pannier setup.

 

Bonus Awesome Present from Awesome Sister

My sister Lori, who is a well-known artist, and writes an excellent blog of her own, just sent me what is immediately my favorite new jersey. Check this out:

 

Perfect cool-weather long-sleeved jersey (which, for my morning rides, is 9 months out of the year here), with big pockets in the back. Very bright and visible on the road, with a Brooklyn cool factor I don’t even come close to deserving.

I’ve never had sports heroes. I don’t care about watching baseball, football, or basketball. Even when I became interested in cycling, I didn’t idolize anyone. Sure, I was impressed with Armstrong, but he was never my hero.

But when I started reading Tyler Hamilton’s column in Velonews, along with his diary entries in the Tour de France, I became a fan. He’s the toughest, nicest guy in the professional biking world, and there’s nobody in the world I’d rather ride with.

Then, in stage 16 of the 2003 Tour de France, when he pushed through the pain of a busted collarbone to do a solo 200Km mountain stage win, he became my hero.

A few days later, I snapped the saddle off my seatpost in the final quarter of the Brian Head 100 — a 100-mile mountain bike race — with 20 miles of climbing still ahead of me. I kept going — standing, cramping, suffering — chanting to myself in time to my pedalstrokes: “Ty. Ler. Would. Not. Quit.”

 

Today

Today is Tyler Hamilton’s appeal to the Court of Arbitration for Sport, trying to overturn the doping allegation. The logical part of me knows that it’s possible he’s guilty, but — and this is rare in me — my gut says he’s innocent. I just can’t believe that the nicest, toughest guy in pro cycling would cheat.

I know that sounds naïve. Fine, I’m naïve. But I desperately hope Tyler’s successful in his appeal.

I want to watch my hero race again.

[The following is a sneak-peek excerpt of a Cyclingnews.com article I submitted this morning. — Fatty]

 

To the best of my knowledge (and I am a very, very knowledgeable person), there are only two universally recognized hand gestures. The first — the wave — is for “Hi.” The second — the flipoff — is considerably more intimate, as well as considerably less friendly.

As cyclists, we have a few more gestures, most of which are used when riding in a paceline. We can point out obstacles. We can tell a rider to take a turn pulling. We can say we’re turning or stopping.

And that’s about it.

Frankly, we need more. Much more. Hence, to facilitate communication, avoid accidents, and generally increase the opacity of cycling to outside observers, I hereby propose the following as Universal Cycling Hand Gestures:

 

The Magnanimous Flipoff

You know, not every grievance is equally bad. Sometimes, motorists do something that’s just annoying enough that you want that you want to call their attention to it, but not really bad enough to warrant a flipoff. This gesture says, in effect: “You may well deserve to be flipped off, and in fact most people would flip you off. But I am your moral superior, so I instead choose to forgive you.”

To perform the Magnanimous Flipoff, extend one arm so it’s easily visible, hand splayed, then wobble that hand up and down as if to say, “Your mental faculties are only so-so.” My guess is that the condescending nature of this gesture will make it be perceived as more infuriating than the original flipoff.

 

White Flag

You’re on a group ride. You’re not at your best today, though, and have been repeatedly spat out the back. Considerately, the group has slowed down each time, letting you rejoin the paceline, when all you really want to do is lick your wounds in privacy. You need a gesture to let the group know that this time, you’d really prefer they don’t hold back and let you catch up.

The White Flag gesture needs to be visible from a good distance away, for obvious reasons, so it needs to be large. Execute this gesture by repeatedly weaving left to right as you pedal. Let your head loll.

On second thought, scratch that. That gesture may be indistinguishable from how you were riding in the first place.

Instead, hold your right hand high in the air, with a big “Thumbs Down” sign to indicate: “I’m cooked. Don’t wait for me. Let me die in peace. Seriously. I mean it.”

 

I Only Seem Slow

Yesterday, you did intervals. Today, you’re supposed to spin along nice and slow, keeping your heart rate below 60. So you’re noodling along when some guy pulls even, gives you “The Look,” and shoots off the front. Of course, you’re tempted to counterattack: show this jerk who’s boss. But you don’t want to spoil your carefully designed regimen just for this guy’s benefit.

To indicate that the cyclist is passing you only because you are letting him, put your hand — the one the other guy can best see — in the air and do a slow “walking” motion with your index and middle finger. This gesture conveys the message, “I’m letting you go right now because it’s my rest day. Believe me, if I wanted to, I could attack and drop you in a hot second. Now be off with you, before I change my mind and teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget.”

 

New Paceline Gestures

Riding with a group in tight formation requires a high degree of trust. By working together, you’re all faster than you would be individually. And while there are already some perfectly good gestures for indicating debris and speed changes, those hardly cover the array of information you might want to convey.

• Whoah, sorry I didn’t call out that pothole / rock  / broken glass we just hit: Sure, you try to call out every little obstacle on the road, but sometimes you just don’t see them ‘til too late. When this happens, give yourself a quick, visible kidney punch, to show that you’re aware you deserve to be smacked. If you just dragged the paceline through a really nasty patch of glass, you may also want to follow up with a quick rap on your helmet three times to underscore the point.
• Hey, you’re surging every time it’s your turn to pull. Cut it out: I’m not sure why some people feel it’s their duty to try to up the pace for the first thirty seconds of each of their pulls, but I do know there’s one in every group. To let this guy know you’ve had enough of this nonsense, when he drifts by you on the way to the back of the line, punch your fist forward quickly, then pull it back slowly. Repeat a couple times. If this person continues to surge at the beginning of each of his pulls, stop punching the air, and instead actually punch the person the next time he drifts back.
• Your complete and utter refusal to take a turn pulling has gone beyond annoying. It’s crossed the threshold of outrageous selfishness and will have permanent implications on your group ride invitation status unless you get your butt to the front now. Make eye contact with the offender and simply point your finger to the front of the line. Don’t do it unless you mean it.

Just the Beginning

Please, let me know how these gestures work out for you. I’ll be interested to know your experiences.

For myself, I intend to just keep flipping people off.

 

PS: Over the weekend, Cyclingnews published my “UCI bans pre-season team building events” piece. Click here to read it now.

There are so many ways to lie. Exaggeration. Omission. Misdirection. Statistics. Intentional-but-cleverly-concealed logical fallacy. An anecdote, presented as a pattern. Misleading metaphors. And I’m just getting started (that’s a lie; I’m actually running out of steam).

I know all about lies. I have to, because I’m a cyclist. Hey, the two go hand in hand. If you’re going to be a cyclist, you’ve got to embrace certain falsehoods.

I have examples.

 

All You Need is a Bike and a Helmet

The Lie: One of the appeals of biking is that it has a very low barrier to entry. I mean, all you really need is a bike — which you can get at your local sporting-goods store or  big box store. Add a helmet for safety, and you’re all set.

The Truth: Well, first of all you’re going to at least need a pump and a patch kit, some lube, and some basic tools, or your bike won’t last very long, will it? Even beyond that, though: sure, you can get yourself a cheap bike, a helmet, and leave it at that. In which case you will never understand why people who love biking love to ride their bikes. No, if you want to really see what your bike-loving friends are all about, you’re going to need a nice bike, some good biking shorts, biking shoes, gloves, and a jersey. That will be enough for you to started. After a while, though, you’ll need to buy more bikes, for different kinds of riding. And you’ll want to upgrade your components. And you’ll want more bike clothes, for different kinds of riding weather. There is no end to bike consumerism. At all. Ever.

 

Biking is a Good Hobby / Way to Exercise

The Lie: Riding a bike is a good way for you to get outside and see the world, all while getting fresh air and exercise.

The Truth: When you start biking, you’ll notice things like the outdoors, and you’ll be glad for the exercise. Soon, though, it won’t seem like enough. You’ll start taking longer rides, because the short ones just don’t seem to work you out the way they used to. And you’ll start paying attention to the road or trail instead of the world around you. Before long, you’ll notice that in order to get any kind of workout at all on your bike, you need to go out for a couple hours. And you’ll ride the entire time looking at the road or trail, not even thinking about what’s off to your side. And you’ll want to start riding more and more often, on more and more extreme terrain. At that point, you’re no longer a biking hobbyist.

You’re a biking junkie.

 

You Can Save Time and Money by Biking to Work

The Lie: You can get to work faster and for cheaper by riding your bike than by taking your car. There’s nothing quite so rewarding as passing hundreds of crawling cars as you head to work. Then, once you get to work, you feel energized the whole day. Plus, there’s the nice side effect that you’ve combined your workout with your commute!

The Truth: OK, all of that’s actually true. But if you bike commute for long enough, you’ll start talking to your coworkers about it, gushing about how great it is, and how they ought to try it. You’ll go on and on an on. Coworkers will cringe when you approach. People will start avoiding you at office parties.

 

Cycling is a Great Way to Lose Weight

The Lie: By riding your bike, you can burn 300-1000 calories per hour at an aerobic level. This can greatly accelerate any weight loss program.

The Truth: This is an especially insidious aspect of biking, because you can be snared by either of two opposing — but equally vicious — traps:

• Cycling begets hunger: If you ride your bike, you’ll get hungry. If you ride your bike more, you’ll get even hungrier. If you ride your bike for several hours, you’ll come home and eat everything in the kitchen. I have never done an epic ride in my life where I am not heavier the day afterward.
• Endless loop: As you ride your bike and lose weight, you discover that you’re faster. So you start trying to lose additional weight in order to be still faster on your bike. As you become very thin, you find that you can climb with incredible ease. You are no longer riding to lose weight. You are losing weight to ride. Why is this dangerous? Consider the logical extreme of this cycle: Michael Rasmusson, winner of the climber’s jersey in the 2005 Tour de France.

 

You Get Used to the Saddle After a While

The Lie: Everyone’s butt hurts when they start riding a bike. After a while, though, you get used to the saddle and it’s no problem. Just use some of that chamois cream to avoid chafing.

The Truth: Everyone’s butt hurts when they start riding a bike. After a while, though, you get used to the saddle and it’s no problem until you get your first saddle sore, which makes the pain you suffered as a new cyclist seem laughable. And that chamois cream feels so creepy most people would rather have the chafing. At least, that’s what they think…until the chafing occurs.

 

Today’s Banjo Brothers Bike Bag Contest

Tell a bike-related lie. Believability is optional.

 

PS: Bonus Chest-Thumping Opportunity

Al Maviva, Rocky, and Big Mike have an interesting competition going on: track how much weight you lose and how much your time trialing improves. They’ve got wacky algorithms and whatnot to make it fair: basically, the person who improves the greatest percentage over their start time wins.

If you’ve been looking for a friendly competition to help you hold your feet to the fire, this seems like a good one. They’re limiting the competition to 25 people, though, so you’ll want to enter soon, if you dare enter at all. Check Al’s blog for details.

[The below is an excerpt from a new piece I sent in to Cyclingnews.com yesterday. I'll post when the whole story is online.] Paris, January 1 (Fat Cyclist Fake News Service) — UCI spokesperson Ririe Anderson today announced that effective immediately, all professional cycling team-building events are banned, pending the establishment of a suitable UCI oversight committee. “These so-called ‘team-building events’ are distracting from the real purpose of professional cycling,” said Anderson. “Sure, it was actually kind of cool when CSC did that ‘Basic Training’ schtick a couple years ago. Then Discovery did their copycat ‘Hey look, we’re hardcore paintball ninjas’ photo op, and we all just rolled our eyes.” “But now, pro cycling teams are going too far.”   Prison Break Anderson is referring, of course, to the expensive, time-consuming, dangerous, and increasingly-flamboyant team-building programs other pro cycling teams have initiated. Team Phonak, for example, has revealed that for its pre-season team-building exercise, the directeur sportif one day told the team they were going to visit a famous landmark in San Francisco, CA, the now-defunct, but famously-inescapable Alcatraz prison. What he did not tell the team, however, was that he would be leaving them there, and that it would be their own responsibility to break out and make their way across the San Francisco bay back to mainland. “I was impressed with the team’s resourcefulness in escaping,” said Phonak spokesperson Brad Keyes. “I was also quite amazed at how fully they utilized the equipment they had at hand. Who would have thought that a multi-tool would be so effective at tunneling through cement? Or that a few bike tubes could be used as a passable raft?” “This exercise also helped us recognize some of our team weaknesses in time to rectify them,” Keyes continued. “For example, there seemed to be some squabbling over who would captain the raft. There was also some concern among teammates as to what kind of message it sends to the world to drop off an entire cycling team at a prison.”   PS: The Banjo Brothers' Bike Bag Giveaway will be tomorrow, 'cuz we just barely finished one (you know, the one that I let run for about five days, due to holiday laziness).