Here’s a little glimpse into how distorted my priorities are. For the past few months, I’ve been working in a new job, getting a house ready to sell, selling that house, packing and moving out of the old house, finding a new house, driving from Washington to Utah, and—yesterday—closing on the new house.

That’s not the “distortion of priorities” part. This is: throughout all of this, the main thing I’ve been getting excited about is my new bike commute. Twenty miles each way. I start the ride to work from my house in Alpine (which I move into tomorrow) by climbing a mountain pass (I’m guessing about 1500 feet of climbing), then descending into Draper and riding another ten miles or so to my office in Midvale. On the way home, I reverse the route, ending the ride with a big climb back up that mountain and down the other side to Alpine.

To conclude: forty miles each day, with about 3,000 feet of climbing. If it weren’t for my complete lack of self-discipline foodwise, I wouldn’t be able to help but get into extraordinary shape. Presuming I could climb them at all.

So yesterday afternoon, I just couldn’t wait any longer. I had to see what those climbs were like. So I drove out to the base of the mountain and started riding up.

 

27 Is a Wonderful Number

Here’s something that’s different between Washington and Utah. In Washington, I only rarely went into my granny gear. Most of the climbs are brief enough around where I lived that I could power up in second, third, or fourth gear—hey, I powered up 12% grades on my 16x48 fixie, knowing that the climb would only last half a mile or so.

Here, though, the climbs just go on and on and on. And on.

As I spun up Traverse Ridge Road, I didn’t take too long to shift into my lowest gear. And not too long after that, I started thinking: I’m really glad I have a 27-tooth cog on my cassette. You wouldn’t think those extra two teeth would make a big difference in perceived effort, but on a long, sustained climb, they definitely do.

 

Thinking Ahead

I rolled along, noting that because of the way the road curved oh-so-gently to the right—eventually nearly completing a giant “U,” I could see what looked a mile of climbing ahead of me. “This,” I thought, “is going to be an incredibly fun descent.” I put my head down and spun, zoning out for a big chunk of the climb.

From the base of Traverse Ridge Road to the apex is about three miles. A good climb, but not something I couldn’t do on a daily basis. I hope.

I felt good enough that I decided to drop down the other side of the mountain, planning to climb back up. I expected I’d get massive speed going down the four mile descent, but it didn’t work out that way. The headwind was strong enough that I actually found myself pedaling most of the way down; I don’t think I went any faster than 35mph.

I’m not complaining about a downhill headwind, though; downhill headwind = uphill tailwind, which is definitely where I need the help.

 

Two Words

I zoned out during the climb back up. Which made me wonder: Do I zone out because of the hypnotic effect of a sustained hard effort? Is the “zone out” thing something my brain’s doing to shut off the pain? And do I slow down when I’m zoned out, or go faster? 

My reverie ended as the wind got stronger. I’m pretty sure it’s always windy up there. I wondered if the residents of the Suncrest subdivision tell each other, “But it’s a good wind.”

And then it was time to descend.

I was looking forward to the giant sweeping downhill on Traverse Ridge, and I was not disappointed. A tailwind pushed me along, I got into a tuck and went into the middle of the road—I figure that when I’m going faster than the speed limit, I don’t need to ride on the shoulder anymore.

My nose was about an inch from my bike’s speedometer, so I remember very clearly how fast I was going when the tailwind turned into a crosswind: 48mph.

That is a somewhat scary speed to suddenly have a strong force trying to push your bike sideways.

By the way, the previous paragraph is an example of understatement intended to intensify my point. My point, by the way, was that I was terrified.

In practical terms, I was trying to keep my bike on this left-sweeping arc, while the wind was much more interested in pushing me hard to the right. The front wheel shuddered a little bit as I tried to cope with these competing forces.

Meanwhile, two words went through my head: “Joseba Beloki.” Thanks to endless replays of his horrific crash during the 2003 Tour de France, I have a crystal-clear video of what a high-speed high-side crash looks like etched in my brain.

You know what? That shuddering-wheel effect goes away when you get down below 30mph. Which is the speed I took the rest of the downhill, and will continue to be the speed I take downhills coming down from this mountain.

 

Pre-Commute Post-Mortem

So after my twenty mile ride—ten climbing miles, ten descending miles—I still felt great. For some unknown reason, the change in altitude doesn’t seem to affect me. So Friday—the day after I move in to my new house—my new commute / training program begins.

It’s going to be the best commute ever.

I live in Draper, UT, at Suncrest, to be specific, which sits atop the ridge that divides Utah County from Salt Lake County. I have been riding in and around these two counties for close to two decades. It’s usually a pretty nice place to be, although I’ve seen some weird stuff in that time.  

Once, on Hog Hollow, Dennis Dierken and I came around a corner and startled a young couple who had parked their 4 wheeler, spread a blanket, and were doing their darndest to be fruitful, multiply, and replenish the Earth.

Sometimes I’m the weird one. Tom Burch and I took my dog Maisey on Hog Hollow, which sports a beautiful natural spring, replete with an upper pool and a 20-foot, 45-degree natural water slide into another pool. We didn’t like the idea of riding in soaked bike shorts the several miles remaining to the car, so we hiked Maisey to the top of the slide, and all three of us slid down au natural. In full view of a local youth group, turns out. We didn’t see that coming.

 

Normally, American Fork Canyon Is Very Pleasant

But last Summer I most definitely wasn’t the weird one. I ride a lot from my house at Suncrest down to Alpine, and up American Fork Canyon to the summit, and back. It’s my favorite road ride, just over 40 miles, over 4,500 feet of climbing, and some of the nicest scenery this side of the Matterhorn. During the Summer, I try to do this ride once a week.

One day, late last Summer, I was very much enjoying this ride. The conditions were perfect, I was feeling strong, I was alone with my iPod. The AF Canyon descent has some very fast but tight switchbacks up high, and also lower down, some bigger switchbacks and some flat out sections where you can get over 50mph.

About halfway down I passed the Pine Hollow trailhead, rounded the wide switchback below it, and opened it up again. Just below Pine Hollow is a straightaway for just under a mile, then another wide long switchback before the road straightens out again in front of the Mutual Dell campground.

Most riders brake through the Mutual Dell switchback, because either they are cowards, or they just don’t realize that you don’t have to. In fact, you can accelerate all the way through this switchback. I hear a voice in my head every time: “Stay on target! Stay on TARGET!” I’m a product of the media.

Anyway. This day, I rounded the Pine Hollow switchback (which does, in fact, require a bit of braking), and then opened it up again, anticipating the X-Wing corner ahead. About halfway down the straight section I saw the most startling thing I’ve ever seen. Normally, I would say “second most startling,” out of respect for the idea that surely SOMETHING must rank higher. Not this day.

 

I Am Not Making This Up

Just before a stand of trees, from the scree-covered slope to my right that dropped off at a precipitous angle, up popped a very tall, very lean, but well-groomed man. He gained the edge of the road, straightened up, and began walking briskly directly at me (me, who was traveling at about 40mph at the time).

Now I understand that this is not that weird. What was weird was that he was wearing a very short, very tight, spaghetti strapped, brown linen dress, densely populated with ginormous fake (I assume) breasts. He had a neatly trimmed beard, short hair, very hairy legs, and was wearing high heels that had those goofy (or sexy, depending on your preference) lace up strap things that wind all the way up to the knee.

As I rode by, very nearly crashing directly into him, all I could manage was a nervously polite nod of my helmet. In turn, he smiled a smile as big as all outdoors, and walked right past me. I snuck a look back just before the switchback, and saw that he had continued walking up the road at the same brisk pace, clearly very comfortable walking in high heels.

 

Two for the Price of One

You would think that would be weird enough for one day. Hell, weird enough for the whole year. But no. After I rounded the switchback, wondering if I did, in fact, see a puddy tat, I again wound up the speed as I passed Mutual Dell, which is usually an irresistible 55mph area.

As I zoomed past the gate to Mutual Dell, I startled a gigantic, but clearly juvenile moose, who, in response to my presence, took off running (as only a moose can run, all skiwampus) alongside me. At about 30mph. For about half a mile.

I can hardly type this without getting a big goofy grin on my face. I was still totally freaked out by the sasquatch in the spaghetti strap dress, and here I was about to be killed by a freaky fast baby moose putting a hoof in my spokes. The moose eventually must have realized I was not his mother, and peeled off and stopped.

Wierdest 90 seconds of my life. What if life were that wierd all the time? I swear the two events are related in some way, I don’t know how. Moose suit? Hazing incident? Humans and moose (meese?) mating in the wild? I would normally suspect Elden or Rick Maddox, but this guy was tall.

I vaguely remember the rest of the ride home. I mean, how do you top that? I still had to descend the rest of AF Canyon, cross Alpine, and climb the 4 miles and 1500 feet to my house, but who cares? And you know what’s crazier? A guy in my neighborhood, when he heard about my story, came and found me, and told me he had seen that same guy in roughly the same spot, about a week earlier. This guy should have his own hunting season.

No word on if he was wearing the same outfit, or if the moose was still in the neighborhood.

You know, it’s a shame I’m moving next week, because on yesterday’s ride, I had an idea for the best bike race ever, in the history of…ever.

And as far as I know, right here in the Redmond, WA area may be the only place where it would actually work.

Here’s what I’m thinking.

 

Stage 1: Track

The race starts at the Marymoor Velodrome with sixteen laps around the track. A test of pure power.

 

Stage 2: Cyclocross

Staying at Marymoor park, the next stage is Cyclocross. Your transition counts as part of your total time, so you won’t want to dilly-dally. Luckily (unlike Tri), all this means is changing your equipment: your bike and (probably) your shoes. And yes, Marymoor Park really does host Cyclocross events, so this isn’t just a theoretical, convenient placement. You really could make the immediate, direct transfer from track to cyclocross. Do three laps of the course.

 

Stage 3: Road

Jumping off the ‘cross bike (and switching back to your road shoes) and onto your road bike, take the rolling highway 202 up to Snoqualmie Falls—the road has an excellent shoulder the whole way, so you wouldn’t even have to shut down traffic altogether. After the quick climb to Snoqualmie Falls, hang a right and climb up to the Tiger Mountain parking lot. I’m not exactly sure, but I think this is only 15 miles altogether, which will feel like plenty, considering the big climb up to Tiger Mountain (and the fact that you’ve just done a track and ‘cross race).

 

Stage 4: Mountain Bike

At the Tiger Mountain parking lot, swap out to your mountain bike (and do one more shoe change), then ride the graded three-mile dirt road climb (a perfect single speed climb, I’d think, if you’ve still got the legs for it), and then take the twisty, technical, excellent singletrack down to the bottom, demonstrating that there’s more to your riding ability than just a good set of legs.

 

There. One big bike race. Four bike disciplines. No driving between stages. It would leave you cooked in whole new ways, and demonstrate how well-rounded of a cyclist you are.

I don’t know if such a race could be managed anywhere else in the world. Maybe that's part of why I love the idea of it.

Hey, race-promoter types: please, do this. Please. You can name it after me. Call it "Fatty's Gauntlet."

 

Today’s Weight: 163.8. That’s a net loss of 6.8 pounds since Monday. The Stunt Diet™ rules.

 

PS: Next week, I’ll be moving. During this time, Dug will be guest blogging. I admit I have two fears related to Dug blogging:

• He will mess up the place. I worry that he will offend everyone and nobody will ever come back.
• He will clean up the place. I worry that he will be much funnier and more interesting than I, and nobody will want me to ever come back.

PPS: Since I’m going to be gone and unable to look at comments next week, I’m going to wait ‘til I’m back the following week to do my MSN Free Stuff-Palooza. Thank you for your patience.

The ol’ Ibis Ti Road just hasn’t been doing it for me anymore. I’ve been riding it all through the winter and have been bothered by how heavy and slow it feels. So I’ve been thinking about a new road bike. Something fast. Something nimble. Something light.

There’s just the small issue of paying for it. And the surprisingly-less-small issue of justifying it. After all, my bike stable has grown a lot lately; I now have two mountain bikes, a road bike, and the fixie.

So, hoping to eek one more season out of my nine-year-old road bike, last night I de-winterized it, meaning I took off the fenders (hey, I’m moving to Utah anyway), removed the lights, and swapped out the Armadillos for some nice svelte road tires. The bike probably lost two pounds in zip tie weight alone. Probably.

 

Here Comes the Sun

I had to get up extra early this morning to take out a bunch of furniture for the Salvation Army to come pick up (I’m sure you’re interested, so the furniture included two couches, two toddler beds and mattresses, two desks, a bunkbed, a chest of drawers, a bookcase, a nightstand, a coffee table, and two barstools). By the time I finished putting all this in front of my house at 6:30am, I noticed something wonderful: the day was already sunny and warm.

Warm enough for shorts and short sleeves.

Time to go for a ride.

 

How to Fall in Love with Your Bike All Over Again

Today’s ride was a perfect storm of nice changes. I’ve lost a bunch of weight in two days using the Stunt Diet™ (and due to Pasta Day the day before, I was carbo-loaded to the gills), I wasn’t bundled up with tights and a long-sleeved jersey, and my bike was about four pounds lighter than it’s been in several months.

I flew.

Suddenly, I love the Ibis again. When not saddled with the winter/rain gear, it’s a smooth, fast, light bike (I know eighteen pounds may sound like a heavy road bike nowadays, but it still seems light to me). It’s nimble; it’s comfortable all day. My right arm doesn’t go to sleep when I’m riding the Ibis, which is a good clue that I need to do some fit adjusting on my fixie and mountain bikes.

My advice to you if you’re considering a new road bike? Before you do, try this:

1. Weigh it down with a bunch of stuff: fenders, a burly light setup, and bombproof tires.
2. Ride the bike around for long enough that you forget that it didn’t used to be that heavy and awkward. Three months, at least.
3. Go back to your old setup.
4. Ta-Da! Your old bike feels new! Look at all the money you’ve saved! Send some of it to me!

Stunt Diet™: Day 1 Winner

So, how’d the first two days of the Stunt Diet™ go, you ask? They went exquisitely well, thank you for asking. Yesterday, I weighed in at 166.6 pounds, a one-day loss of 3.8 pounds. Frankly, that’s a little bit unexpected, so I’m not at all surprised that most of you didn’t even come close. One person, though, nailed it, exactly:

You omitted one key fact that is necessary to generate an accurate answer.  Therefore my weight estimate comes with some maths involved.  I'l give you 2.8 pounds plus an extra 0.4 pounds for each hour of riding.

—Big Mike in Oz

Well, on Monday, I rode 2.5 hours, so Mike’s math brought him to an exact match. Which means I get to send a 64Mb USB Flash Memory Drive to Australia. I’d complain about postage if it were anyone else, but Mike once spent a fair chunk of his own change to send me a package of peanut butter Oreos. Email me your address, Mike, OK?

 

Stunt Diet™: Day 2 Results, Day 3 Progress

Yesterday was Pasta Day in the Stunt Diet™. There was considerable speculation that I would gain back everything I had lost in the first day.

But I didn’t.

I lost another 1.2 pounds—I weighed in at 165.4 pounds this morning. I didn’t cheat the whole day, because there are few things in the world I’d rather eat than penne pasta with a spicy tomato sauce and lots of onions. I could do another Pasta Day tomorrow.

Today is Nothing but Fruit Day in the Stunt Diet™. My wife has been incredibly nice about helping me on this day by cutting up a couple cantaloupe and dozens of strawberries. Between that and several bananas and four grapefruit (so far) today, this episode of the Stunt Diet has been downright delicious.

But I am still so hungry.

 

The Incredible Shrinking Man Lends a Hand to UltraRob

I don’t know if he found out about Rob’s need for crew by reading my blog, but Tom Stormcrowe (The Incredible Shrinking Man) is going to crew for Rob Lucas as he races the RAAM. What a great adventure.

Tom’s already got a pretty sweet deal going with the Banjo Brothers, so I don’t know if he’d want a messenger bag, but I definitely want to send him a USB Flash Drive. Email me your address, Tom.

 

Why Do I Suddenly Have a Bunch of Flash Memory Drives to Give Away?

Yesterday, I went over and visited in person with some of the MSN Spaces people. They’re always interested in learning about the people who read and write these things, so they gave me several 64Mb USB Flash Memory Drives to give away, along with an MSN-branded polo shirt and three copies of the book Share Your Story: Blogging with MSN Spaces. All you’ve got to do to win something is have an interesting answer to one of the questions I’ll be asking tomorrow.

I’m in an excellent mood today. Why? Well, I have a couple of reasons. First off, the Stunt Diet™ is off to an excellent start. Here are observations and highlights from Yogurt Day:

• I am less likely to cheat when the diet is totally binary: With just about any other diet, I am able to rationalize whatever I’m eating. With the Stunt Diet™, that’s not possible. You’re either eating the one thing you’re allowed to eat, or you’re cheating.
• I am less likely to take a step forward when I’m standing next to a cliff. As the day went on, I desperately wanted something with a different texture and taste than yogurt. I knew, though, that once I started cheating, I wouldn’t stop until I had made a spectacle of myself.
• I did not get an upset stomach. I thought that this much yogurt would make me ill, but it didn’t.
• I have my limits: I had targeted 30 yogurts for the day, but I just couldn’t do it. Fifteen was all I could manage, which comes out to about 900 calories. After that, the thought of more yogurt simply repelled me.
• I experienced a new sensation. For the first time in my life, I was extremely hungry, but unwilling to eat.
• The cravings one gets when eating yogurt all day make for a healthy “cheat.” Around 8:00pm I knew I could not eat another yogurt, no matter what. What sounded really, really good was a sandwich. So I mashed up four hardboiled eggs (only one yolk, though) with (fat free) mayo, mustard, and relish, and served it on a couple pieces of wheat bread. It was the most delicious sandwich I have ever eaten.
• I do not know whether I will be able to do another Yogurt Day in the near future. I no longer get the heebie-jeebies when I think about yogurt, but it’s not like I’m craving it.
• I am startled by how much weight I lost. Yesterday, I weighed in at 170.4. Guess how much (to the tenth of a pound) I weighed this morning? The closest guess gets a MSN 64Mb USB Flash Memory Drive. I’ll explain why I have this to give away tomorrow-ish. For now, Leave your guess by email or comment.

Day 2: Too Easy, So Far

Stunt Diet™, Day 2 was supposed to be Clif Bar day, but I only have three Clif Bars. So I’m doing Pasta Day today. This morning I made a big batch of penne marinara, with lots and lots and lots of onions. I could eat this all day for a week straight.

And you know, maybe next week I will.

 

Help Out Rob

UltraRob is less than a month from doing the Race Across America, and some of his crew has bailed. Sheesh. Rob needs help. Here’s what he says:

Basically the setup will be 2 crews of 3. If I manage to get more than 6 people we'll be able to have a couple people run errands or have a chance to take turns getting extra rest. The problem right now is I'm basically down to 5 with one more pretty sure that he's not going to be allowed to take off work. My goal will be to ride about 20 hours a day, so the crew needs to be getting more sleep than me so they can function as my brain and also not run over me when directly following.

During a shift there's 3 main responsibilities: the driver, the navigator, and the food, supplement, and medication person. There will be other tasks such as changing music, getting jackets, spraying water to cool me off, fixing mechanical issues, etc.

I have a couple people driving a van to the start from Colorado and the rest I'm flying. I'm having the crew arrive in Oceanside on June 9th.

I'm flying pretty much everyone home on June 24th. During the race I'm paying for food and lodging so the crew really shouldn't have to pay for much of anything.

I’ll tell you what. If you can somehow find the time to volunteer and help UltraRob out, I’ll beg the Banjo Brothers to outfit you with one of their messenger bags. And I’ll give you one of these handy MSN USB Flash Memory Drives I’ve got. ‘Cuz if someone’s going to do the RAAM, he shouldn’t have to do it with a skeleton crew.

Over the weekend, while resting between taking loads of stuff to the hazardous waste transfer station (about 25-years-worth of paint and pesticides have accumulated in the garage; I’ve decided to be the guy that leaves the next owner with a clean garage) I found some time to catch up on friends’ blogs. One of them was Al Maviva’s recap of the weight loss competition he and Rocky did (Congrats to both, by the way, and especially to Al).

It got me thinking.

I’ve had a tough time sticking to a diet lately. While I have motivation a-plenty (two major races and the likelihood of giving up a bike if I don’t get started), I’m not losing weight. And it’s not like I don’t know how to lose weight. I know exactly what to do to get results. I’m just not doing it.

Dieting has become too…ordinary. Too dull. Reduce the fat, keep the calories down, eat a lot of fruits, vegetables and whole grains, drink lots of water, blah blah blah blah blah.

Even my main schtick—the threat of public exposure and personal penalty—has become old. Yeah yeah, I have to tell everyone how much I weigh. Yeah yeah, I have to give someone something.

Pfff.

I need something different to motivate me. Something exciting. Something different. Something dramatic.

Something, if it comes down to it, completely harebrained and ridiculous.

I need a stunt diet.

 

My New Diet

As I was reading blogs and thinking about my dietary funk, I was eating a Dannon Light ‘n Fit yogurt (which I have mentioned before). I took a look at the nutritional information: 60 calories. I did some quick math (which I did not need a calculator for): I’d have to eat 30 of these things in a day to get even 1800 calories. Idly, I wondered if that would even be possible.

And then my wonder turned into something not-so-idle.

Two minutes later, I had figured out my new diet.

• Monday (today): Nothing but Light ‘n Fit yogurt. As many as I want / can stand. There are currently twenty in the fridge—my wife is not happy about this—but I’ll go out for more later if I need to.
• Tuesday: Nothing but Clif Bars. Limit of 2400 calories. I give myself this limit because I can easily imagine eating eighteen Clif Bars in a day.
• Wednesday: Nothing but raw fruit. Emphasis on bananas and grapefruit.
• Thursday: Nothing but pasta with marinara sauce.
• Friday: Nothing but chicken.
• Weekends: Eat like a normal person.

Caveats

Of course, the stunt diet has several caveats:

• Breakfast: I still get to start the morning with a bowl of Fiber One. Hey, I’m turning forty in a month, and besides, I’m not exactly doing my stomach a favor here.
• Diet Coke with Lime: I plan to drink it endlessly.
• Water: I will drink a half gallon of water each day, in addition to any water I drink while on the bike.
• On-Bike Food: I get to pack and eat a Clif Bar on any ride longer than 35 miles.

My Expectation

I think I’m going to lose four pounds this week, and will be so excited I’ll do it again next week. This diet is going to work so well for me, in fact, that I’ll hit my goal of 155 well before the Leadville 100. Soon, you’ll all be secretly considering this diet yourselves, based on the unbelievable results I have achieved. Eventually, it will become a craze, I’ll write a popular diet book, and will become fabulously wealthy. I will still write this blog, but will charge $19.99 / month for a subscription.

The Stunt Diet™—for I now choose to capitalize it and put a trademark symbol after it—is going to be huge. Just you wait and see.

 

Today’s Weight: 170.4

Technically, I should never have ridden with Bob (no, not this Bob). I wasn’t even going in the same direction as he. We should have never crossed paths, much less ridden together.

Here’s what happened.

I was riding along 202 on my fixie—oh, how I love the Pista—planning to ride up to Snoqualmie Falls, then maybe continue on. Just see where the road takes me.

Then, as I went by Ames Lake Road, I looked to my left and saw another cyclist heading away.

“I know,” I thought to myself as I went by, “I’ll use him as a rabbit. It’ll be fun to catch someone while on my fixie.”

So I turned turned around, turned on to Ames Lake Road, and started cranking hard. It’s a twisty road, so I could no longer see him. I pushed hard, though, and before long could catch glimpses on the straightaway.

There was just one problem. Even though I was close to redline, I still wasn’t catching him. He was successfully holding me off, without even knowing I was there.

And then, fortune smiled on me. He pulled over to the side of the road.

“A flat,” I thought, and figured I’d offer him a tube or whatever he needed to get rolling again.

But no. As I got closer, I could see: he was just taking a call. So I nodded as I went by, trying to look casual. Then, as soon as I got past, I cranked it up again. Now I was the rabbit. I figured, though, that just as he had held me off, I should be able to hold him off.

I was not able to hold him off.

 

Conversational Tactics

“Is that a fixed gear bike?” Bob asked.

“Yes,” I said, proudly.

“You doing that for any reason?” Bob asked. This, of course, was a trick question. If I replied that I was doing it because I wanted to become a stronger rider with a smoother cadence, Bob would know that I was a serious rider, which would make his victory over me that much sweeter (for him, not for me).

“Nah, no reason,” I said. “I bought it because I wanted to try track racing, but it turns out that I just really love riding a fixed-gear bike. So I’m just cruising along.”

“Cool,” said Bob. “I’m doing a recovery ride today after a big sufferfest I did last weekend. Some friends and I did a 300-mile ride. Mind if I tool along with you?”

“Sounds great,” I said, backing my effort off ever-so-slightly, to prevent my heart from exploding.

We were on an empty country road, so we rode side-by-side. This meant conversation, and a chance for me to gain an oxygen advantage, by doing the following:

• Ask short questions that require long answers. “So, tell me about this big ride you did last weekend. Don’t leave out any details.”
• Parry questions back to the questioner. “Sure, I’m following the Giro whenever I get a moment, but I haven’t been able to track it for a few days. What’s been happening?”
• Play deaf. “You know, cars keep passing. Could you repeat everything you’ve said in the past 90 seconds?”

Riding Strategy

Since we had both identified that we were not going hard today, you would think that we wouldn’t have to go hard. However, the statement, “I’m taking it easy today” is really nothing more than a thinly-veiled offer to race. Here’s how I managed to stay with Bob:

• Half-wheel him. Drop behind just a little bit and catch a little draft, even though I’m technically riding beside him.
• Take advantage of quick dips. The nice thing about the ride we were on is that it rolls. Lots of quick ups and downs. A fixed gear bike is perfect for converting a quick downhill into a short blast of uphill power.
• When you’re about to blow, bow out. After about forty minutes of riding at what I would call a brutal pace and what he called a recover ride, I knew I was going to crack. I preferred this to be a private moment. So when we crossed highway 202 and he looked like he was going to go straight up to Issaquah-Fall City road, I turned right. “Good riding with you,” I said, and then really turned the cranks hard for 30 seconds as I went down highway 202.

And then, once I was sure he was out of sight, I felt free to softpedal the whole way home.

 

PS: Clearly, I’m not writing as often as usual right now. With a new job keeping me very busy and a move coming up two weeks from today, my choice is often to ride or write—but not both. Sometimes (OK, pretty often), I’m going to choose riding. I’m sure you understand, because you are a good, understanding, kind person. You’re like Jimmy Stewart. And because you are so kind, I want to assure you: I’m not letting this blog die a slow death; I’m not quitting. I’m just stretched a little thin right now. Metaphorically, alas.

 

PPS: With a move, a new job, a big project in that job, working at home, a conference coming up for my job, a lot of travel in my job and whatnot, I know that there’s no humanly possible way I’m going to lose ten pounds by June 25 (the day of the Cascade Cream Puff). I’m going to concentrate on not gaining a bunch of weight and on being in good enough shape to complete it, and once I’ve settled into my new house, work on losing the fifteen pounds I need to get that sub-9 at Leadville. And here’s my pledge: If I don’t get to 155 pounds by August 12, I will give away my beloved Bianchi Pista.

 

PPPS: Next week, I’m going to have some cool stuff to announce, which will likely mean cool stuff to give away. Unless it falls through, in which case I will pretend I never hinted at anything here.

 

PPPPS: I just now signed up to ride the LOTOJA with Dug and Rick S. That was dumb.

I should be excited about the Giro. I love the drama and (let’s face it) agony of all the climbing in the Giro d’Italia. I love the uncertain nature of who will win — this early in the season, nobody’s a sure thing. I love Gilberto Simoni’s heated claims, followed (usually) by agonized admissions and self-flagellation when he fails to make good.

On paper, the Giro d’Italia is my favorite grand tour.

And that’s the problem. I’m having a hard time drumming up any enthusiasm at all for this race because — here in America — It’s on paper. Or, technically, it’s on the computer screen, but the computer screen is like paper, but harder to fold into an airplane.

 

What I Need

To enjoy a cycling race, I have to choose someone I want to win. When I’m watching, that’s easy: I find a favorite racer or an unknown underdog showing some pluck, and I get emotionally invested in him. Nothing even needs to be happening in the race; I’m happy to just watch everyone trundle along, getting ready for the big sprint. I can content myself with watching them turn their freakishly high cadence. I’m happy to watch them watch each other. I can have fun just imagining what the next move is going to be, based on what I see right now.

But—as good as the live reports are on Cyclingnews—and they’re very good—it’s just not the same to read it. You know what just happened, but you don’t really know why. You get a sense for where the key players are, but not the guy whose name you don’t know but are rooting for anyway.

Really, it comes down to this: a race is a visceral experience. Reading a narrative just isn’t the same (said the blogger, fully aware that he has written several interminable writeups of his own races).

As a result, right now I’m kinda-sorta following the Giro. It looks to me like Paolo Savoldelli will repeat (I know it’s too early to make a prediction like that, but that’s my way), which I suppose would be cool. Though I’m actually rooting for Basso, because I love the idea of someone trying to win two grand tours in a year. I would be rooting for Ullrich, but he doesn’t seem to really have his heart in the race, though it’s hard to tell since I can’t actually see him.

 

A Plea

I have no trouble whatsoever finding videos of a 500-horsepower Neon online (not that I was looking, mind you), but I cannot find video—preferably with English narrative—of the Giro d’Italia. (except OLN, which has streaming video you can watch if you're willing to pay $20 for it and will actually be in front of your computer during the two hours in the early morning during which they broadcast it, after which it's gone and if you missed it, too bad. Guess what, OLN: that's not a particularly compelling offering you've got there. Now, if my $20 meant that I could watch any stage at any time (or even during the next 24 hours), I'd have already signed up and would be blogging right now about how much I love you guys.) 

That just seems wrong.

Please, someone over there in Europe. I know you’ve got TV coverage of the Giro. I know you’ve got computers and Internet connections. So quit pretending you don’t, and start uploading the Giro for those of us starved for coverage here in the US. We won’t mind if it’s a day late. We just want to see it with our own eyes. Then either email me with where you’ve posted it, or comment here, and I’ll link to it daily on my blog.

You will have done the world (or at least the U.S., which is a notable subset of the world) a tremendous service.

Thank you.

 

PS: Today’s weight: 169.8. You know, this weight loss thing would go faster if I started losing some weight.

 

PPS: Yeah, I know I still need to talk about what kind of contest I’ll do around getting to the right weight for my big races this year. The thing is, I haven’t nailed down an incentive that really works for me yet. Tomorrow, I swear.

This was supposed to be the year I lost the weight. This was supposed to be the year I got back my fitness and fastness.

And yet, here I am, on the cusp of the riding season, neither fit nor fast. This, I assert, is not my fault.

Clearly, I have been sabotaged by my enemies. I will now name them, and list their nefarious deeds.

 

Working from Home

Working from home is my most formidable enemy. In fact, “working from home” isn’t so much an enemy as it is an entire army of enemies, all bent on keeping me fat and comfortable. Consider:

• When you work at home, your bike commute is much shorter. In fact, one could argue that I don’t need to ride my bike from my bed to my home office at all; I could simply walk down the hall. But I am a committed bike commuter, and so have not yet ceded that battle.
• My house and my fondness for snacking while thinking are an excellent combination…for getting fat. My new job isn’t like my old job. In my old job, I ran around from conference room to conference room, having meetings. In my new job, I have very few meetings. Instead, I think a lot. Yes, I have a job that actually requires me to think about stuff. You know what’s great to eat while you’re thinking? M&Ms. Oh, and tortillas with some cheese melted on them and some slices of avocado, maybe with a dab of sour cream and then some of that Tabasco Chipotle Pepper Sauce I like so much. That would help me think.
• My house has conspired to have a kitchen. The kitchen, in its irksome way, has food in it, all of which is already paid for. And since I own it, I may as well eat it. Right now.
• My kitchen is impossible to avoid. You can’t get to the garage without going through the kitchen. You can’t get into the family room without going through the kitchen. And the pantry is right where it’s easy to get to. Just open it up, and there’s a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips just staring at you. You know what would be good right now? Sprinkling some of those chocolate chips on an open-faced peanut butter sandwich. (Open-faced so that I only use one piece of bread—watching calories, you know.)
• I like staying home. I set the alarm nice and early every night before going to bed. Arrogantly, the alarm then wakes me up at a ridiculous time the next morning. That’s when I realize: I could just as easily sleep a little longer and still get an early start on work, then go for a ride during lunch or after work. By lunch, I’m deep into work, though, and it’s not a good time to ride. And then the kids get home from school and I’m anxious to wrap up the day so I can spend some time with them. Abracadabra: the day has elapsed and I have never stepped out of the house, much less gone on a ride.

Working on the Road

When I’m not working at home, I’m traveling, visiting customers and visiting the company headquarters. I feel compelled to point out that the only thing worse for a diet than having a kitchen constantly near is being on the road, traveling with people who have very good taste in food.

Hence, the road is also my enemy. But only in a figurative way. Which is to say, the road as a metaphor for traveling is my enemy. The road as a physical object is actually a pretty good bike enabler. To summarize: Metaphorical road, bad. Actual road, good.

Let’s move on.

 

The Absence of a Handy Scale

I’ve noticed something about weight loss: when you start finding reasons to not weigh yourself, you’re probably not on track. Well, when we put our house up for sale, we hid the bathroom scale (along with about 70% of our other possessions) in the garage, giving our house a clean, big, open look it never has in real life.

As I may have mentioned, our house sold almost instantly—within one day.

And yet, until this morning, I did not have the scale back in the bathroom. “Just too hard to find,” I thought.

So it wasn’t a massive surprise to discover—when I finally dug out the scale, which took all of two minutes to locate—that I am back up to 169.6 pounds.

Calling the absence of a scale my enemy may sound like a stretch, but when you think about it, it’s actually quite terrifying: My enemies are so smart and subtle they are able to wage war against me with the absence of things.

Those bastards.

 

Open War

I absolutely must weigh 160 pounds or less when I do the Cascade Cream Puff on June 25. I am going to start weighing myself (and publishing my weight) again every day, and training for this race. Even though I’m moving later this month. And even though it’s hard to lose weight when working from home.

If I don’t make my goal weight, I will give away a big prize. I don’t know what it is yet, but it will be big, and it will hurt me to give away. Similarly, I will weight 150 pounds by the Leadville 100 in August, or will give away a big prize. Something non-trivial.

Because (cue inspiring, stirring music) while my enemies are strong, I am resolved to not lose this war.

Now I just need to think about what those prizes should be. And you know what would really help me think right now? A peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich, that’s what.

A Note from Fatty: Dug sent his version of the RAWROD '06 to some friends; I think it's good enough that everyone should read it.

 

I never want to ride my bike again. Turns out, after 2.5 hours of riding on White Rim, I realized I had already surpassed the length of my longest ride of the year (which couldn't have totaled more than ten rides anyway), and even though I'd done White Rim many times in one day, and many more over three days, I guess I had forgotten—or blocked out—that each time it had hurt, a lot, and that each time I had barely completed it, and that I'd never done it on a singlespeed before. Is this how women have more than one child, by forgetting the pain?

Elden, Brad, and I started together a bit early, to avoid the crush of enthusiasm, and during the group rock throwing party at Hardscrabble, ditched early again to avoid litigation. With local tri guy Mark Warner, we rode together all the way from Hardscrabble to Murphy's, which was very pleasant, and we kept a solid fast pace all the way to Murphy's. I couldn't ride all of Murphy's, but it turns out that Brad was the only singlespeeder that could, and even most geared folks couldn’t.

I was good to Murphy's. Really good, actually, and even pretty strong all the way to Gooseberry (about 75 miles in). I was riding along with Lee Johnson (yes, the Lee Johnson who was the punter for the Bengals and calls everybody “bro”) for a while on that east side. Elden had already completely self destructed behind me (though, due to his urgency to find a usable restroom, he rode through Mussleman Arch, and got to camp before me), and Mike Young (yes, Steve Young’s brother, who may be a better athlete than Steve Young) was way way off the front, and Brad was somewhere up there with him, having his best day ever.

Anyway, that east side is the roughest of the whole trail, just brutally rocky, with mile-long patches of washboard slickrock, and as I was riding along with Lee, I just imploded, and had to soft pedal all the way to Mussleman Arch, where we waited for the trucks to fill water bottles for the finish. I had a Diet Coke in the cooler in Kenny’s jeep and I wanted it more than anything else in the world. I laid under a juniper bush for 30 minutes recovering and waiting for my Diet Coke, fully expecting to walk from the Shafer outhouse to the top.

The jeeps arrived, and I started digging through the cooler, looking for my long-fantasized-about Diet Coke.

Somebody had taken it.

I will find that someone someday, just like OJ is hunting the real killers. And I will kill that somebody. This I swear to you.

Kenny was like Fantasy Island’s Mr. Roarke: the ultimate host. He rode a little with everyone, and whenever he wanted, passed whomever he wanted. But you probably already figured that.

I actually rode the first mile of Shafer, but I walked the middle mile of switchbacks before getting back on (the upper switchbacks were more singlespeed friendly).

But you know what I hated more than anything all day? Not the washboard slickrock, not the sun on my neck, not the sores on my butt. Nope. The worst part of the day was the pavement back to camp. You think it's rolling? No no no. All uphill except for a few tiny downhills.

I had blackness in my heart and bile in my gut for the entire eight miles. At one point, Lee Johnson and a couple of his peeps came by in a small train. I jumped on, but couldn't hold it for more than a hundred yards, and I dropped off, then pulled over to throw up. At least I had less bile in my gut after that.

I got to camp and said some very mean, very vulgar things before I came out of my dark, dark place. Then, of course, we drove home.

You have six contact points on a bike (two hands, two feet, and two butt cheeks) and all of mine are shot. If Brad hadn’t put my bike on the rack, I would have left it in Moab.

I still might send it back there.

Before I start my story of Ride Around White Rim in One Day (RAWROD) ‘06, I feel compelled to set your expectations appropriately, so you don’t feel let down at the end.

• There is no twist ending at the conclusion to this story. The arc progresses to its natural conclusion.
• I do not emerge triumphant. There is no cheering crowd at the finish line.
• I do not win a moral victory, nor do I have any startling epiphanies.

OK, let’s proceed.

 

The Night Before

It seems that every time I go on an epic ride, someone suggests that we camp the night before. “That way,” they always say, as if there’s some sort of script these people share with one another, “we can just wake up and take off!” Brightly, they continue, “And we’ll save money on hotel rooms!” Then, triumphantly, they conclude: “It’ll be fun!”

In the past, I have always argued that we should stay at a hotel instead. I like sleeping in a bed the night before a long ride. I like coming back to a room with a shower and a bed after a long ride. I like the way the temperature in the room can be controlled. And—without going into detail—I like having a toilet available both before and after a long ride.

This time, though, I didn’t argue. Since I was coming from out of town, I didn’t have my own vehicle, so I didn’t have any leverage, anyway. “Fine, let’s camp,” I said, agreeably.

Next time I go on a long ride, I will know better.

Don’t get me wrong. Right up until the point where you actually go to bed, the camping was great. Kenny had thoughtfully brought along enough bratwurst for all 60 people (!!!) who were doing this ride. I had two, with horseradish on the delicious homemade bread Kenny had baked and brought.

Eventually, though, I had to go to bed. Dug had arranged for a really nice cot for me. He had also arranged for a sleeping bag, though I could see there would be problems when he handed the bag, still in its teeny-tiny stuff sack, to me. Here’s how the conversation went:

Me: “Thanks. Is this the pillow?”

Dug: “No, it’s your sleeping bag.”

Me: “The stuff sack is approximately the size of a sock.”

Dug: “Whatever.”

Me: “So, is there a special ripcord or something I pull to make it suddenly inflate, at which point it will have magically have some high-tech insulating properties?”

Dug: “Whatever.”

Me: “Or maybe you have special information about the weather and how while the temperature seems to be plummeting right now, it will shortly rise back to about 50 degrees and stay there?”

Dug: (Walks away, no longer interested in this conversation.)

So, I did not get much sleep. And the sleep I got was poor. And I was cold. And the wind made the tent flap. And there was very little indoor plumbing the morning before the ride (which is a really really really good time to have indoor plumbing).

Next time I go on a big ride, I’m not going to argue about whether we should camp before. I’m staying at a hotel.

OK, I’m done whining.

No, wait. That’s not true. I’m done whining about camping. I haven’t even started whining about the ride itself, though.

 

Big Wheels

With 60 people starting this ride, there was no way in the world we’d actually get started by the stated start time of 6:30. Brad, Dug and I were the first to roll out at 7:10AM. We rolled down the nicely graded and groomed Horsethief trail, getting passed by Mike Young—who would ride pretty much the whole day by himself, a victim of his own superiority. In fact, the only time anyone would see Mike that day would be at the designated group photo spots.

Here’s Mike, posing heroically.

At first, a lot of people were riding together—after all, there were 60 of us (!!!). And as we rode through several patches of deep sand, I noticed something: Those of us on 29” wheels rode through, no problem. Those on 26” wheels got off and walked. It was pretty much that cut and dried.

After the first group photo at the bottom of Horse Thief, Brad, Dug, Mark Warner and I hooked up and rode together for the first 50 miles, ‘til we got to the top of Murphy’s Hogback, the designated lunch spot.

The weather was warm—not yet hot—and mild, we were chatting, and I felt strong. I was having a great ride. As we got to Murphy’s Hogback—the second longest sustained climb of the day, my knees were starting to hurt, but not bad. I cleaned the climb without particular difficulty, then sat down with Brad and Dug in the only shady area for miles around, and started heckling others as they finished the climb. Most people ignored us, a few people laughed along with us, and a few (foolishly) even followed our advice, a sampling of which follows:

• No, that's not how you do it! Stand up!
• No, that's not how you do it! Sit down!
• No, don’t ride to the right! Ride straight up the center! The center is the only way!
• Oh, you were so close! Go try it again; I’m sure you’ll make it next time.
• What, you’re not going to try it again? You know, your wife cleaned it her first try.

 

Misery Hates Company

We had a delicious lunch—chicken and stars soup and clif bars for me—followed by cake and singing a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday” to Racer, who had unfortunately chosen not to come. Oh, and let's not forget the group photo:

Then it was time to ride again. This time, Kenny hooked up with Dug, Brad and me and we rode together for almost five minutes before Brad discovered he has the strength and endurance of ten men and shot off the front. Dug, feeling good, followed close behind.

Meanwhile, I wasn’t feeling so hot. My knees were hurting worse, and I just couldn’t work up any energy. Kenny, who is one of the nicest and most decent people I have ever met, stayed with me for at least 15 minutes as person after person passed us. Eventually, though, it became too much and he shot on ahead, playing gracious host to others in the massive party he had coordinated.

The truth is, though, I no longer really wanted any company. I was descending into the eleventh circle of hell (yep, there are eleven now), and was building a list of things I didn’t like at all. The list was extensive and I’m afraid I can’t remember everything in it, but here are the parts that I recall:

• I didn’t like people who rode by without saying anything: Look, we may not know each other because this is such an enormous group ride (60 people!!!), but we’re still riding the White Rim, in the same direction, on the same day. Would it hurt to say “Hi” as you went by?
• I didn’t like people who said encouraging things as they rode by: Don’t tell me I’m looking good. If I were looking good, you wouldn’t be able to pass me. When I’m looking good, I can clean your clock. And don’t tell me it’s a beautiful day for a ride. It’s a beautiful day for not riding, that’s what it’s a beautiful day for.
• I didn’t like people who asked me how I’m doing: I’m going four miles per hour on an easy flat stretch. Isn’t it pretty clear how I’m doing?
• I didn’t like how I was feeling: I was beginning to suffer some distress that only a latrine would cure. And there wasn’t a latrine for miles and miles and miles yet.
• I didn’t like my bike: I thought I had set my bike up to have the saddle like on my other bikes, but I guess I didn’t get it right, because my knees were hurting like crazy. Both of them, right along the top. The main thought in my brain for about five hours was, “Does this pain mean my saddle is too high, too low, too far forward, or too far back?” The accompanying thought was, “And does it really matter, since I plan to never ride a bike again as soon as I finish this thing?”
• I didn’t like the terrain: From mile 65 – 85, you’re riding on a choppy, rocky surface that just batters you constantly. It’s like riding on cobblestones, except the cobblestones are made out of sandstone. And there are giant potholes everywhere. And the cracks between cobblestones are about eight inches wide. And every alteranate cobblestone sticks up about four inches higher than its adjoining cobblestone.
• I didn’t like being called “Fatty.” At all.

Betrayal

I was living with all this, though, because of a memory: there’s a ten-mile rolling section that always has a tailwind. You can cruise that section at 25-30mph. It’s wonderful.

This time, though, there was a headwind.

Yes, a headwind. I’m still outraged at this audacious betrayal.

I rode it at about 10mph.

Sometimes, 5mph.

And internally, things were not getting better.

I arrived at Musselman Arch—the last place everyone was supposed to gather for water before finishing the ride—completely blown. However, I did still have plenty of water—my camelback felt like it was a third full, and I had a full bottle besides. And I really needed to get to a toilet.

So I rolled in—by my estimation, I was one of the last ten people to arrive—and saw Brad, Dug, and Bry taking shelter in what shade they could find.

Dug did not look good.

I’ll let Dug tell his story tomorrow.

Bry and Brad, on the other hand, seemed happy as could be. “Hey, Fatty, where’s your big smile?” Bry—who is, I should point out, an incredibly nice guy who has never said anything mean to me, even when I stupidly caused him to crash a few years ago—asked.

I flipped him off.

To get a sense of how I felt at the time, consider: this is the first time I’ve flipped anyone off in my adult life.

I headed back onto the trail. I knew there was a toilet no more than five miles away.

 

Last Climb

I will not go into the details of my time at the latrine at the bottom of the Shafer climb, but I will say this: I would previously not have expected it to be possible to be overwhelmed with joy at the sight of a toilet.

Then it was time to do the big climb up Shafer.

The best way to not get demoralized by Shafer is this: Never, ever, ever take a good look at it. It’s just a cliff—a big cliff that switches back and forth for pretty much ever. It’s steep; it’s loose. It’s evil.

It’s the only way out.

I knew I wouldn’t be climbing fast, so I intentionally started the climb in my granny gear, and just stayed there. This was not a bad strategy; I managed to ride practically the whole thing. I just ignored the people passing me. Pretended they weren’t there at all.

And then Bill—the only person in the world who may be a nicer, more decent guy than Kenny—caught me.

“Man, I am so slow!” he said, as he easily passed.

I will not repeat what I said to Bill, but you can safely assume that it was out of character, and was very likely nastier than events warranted.

Eventually—oh, so eventually—I got to the top of Shafer. All that was left to do was ride the nice, rolling pavement for about seven miles back to the tent , where—instead of taking a nice shower and laying down on a bed, like I would if we had a hotel room—I’d need to break camp. Grrrr.

Here’s the thing, though: That pavement was endless. And it didn’t roll, either. It just climbed and climbed and climbed. It was the most dispiriting part of the whole ride.

And then, from out of nowhere, Kenny pulled up ahead of me. “Let me pull you for a while,” he said. I got in as close as I could, hunkered down, and drafted my little heart out. I noticed Kenny was frequently looking off to the right where he could see our shadows, then feathering his brakes whenever he saw I was starting to drop back more than a foot or so.

I tell you, Kenny is the nicest, most decent guy in the world.

 

PS: The King and Queen of Shafer

Kenny asked me to choose a King and Queen of Shafer for this edition of RAWROD. I figure I’d still be out on that road if it weren’t for him, so here are my picks.

• The King of Shafer: Linde Smith picked RAWROD 2006 as his first 100-mile MTB ride. And he did it on a singlespeed. And he has MS. Personally, I think it’s a little bit of overkill to contract MS to get the title “King of Shafer,” but that’s just me.
• The Queen of Shafer: Serina Warner did the whole ride on a singlespeed. And she’s really nice. And she did the ride with a big ol’ swollen arm, due to the bee sting she had got the day before. And she didn’t sing opera at all during the whole ride. Which counts for a lot.