Paris France, July 30 (Fat Cyclist Fake News Service) – In a press conference following the ejection of Tour favorites Jan Ullrich, Francisco Mancebo and Ivan Basso from the Tour de France, race director Christian Prudhomme announced that the 2006 TdF had been officially declared “The Year of the Asterisk.”

“I am pleased to announce that the asterisk (*) will play an exceptionally prominent role in this year’s tour,” said Prudhomme. “Of course, it already had a starring role, due to Mr. Armstrong’s absence and the universal certainty that the only reason he wasn’t going to win this year is because he isn’t racing.”

“Now, however, with Basso and Ullrich gone, combined with efforts to remove other racers like Vinokourov, we feel certain that any victories won in this year’s tour will be very nearly meaningless.”

“We are taking measures to really make the asterisk play a special role this year,” continued Prudhomme. “Instead of a stuffed lion, stage winners will be handed a stuffed asterisk. Instead of excited discussion about who raced how in a given stage, Phil and Paul have been instructed to talk about who would have raced better, had they been present.”

“Most importantly,” concluded the race director, “the leaders’ jerseys have been specially modified. The yellow jersey will be a much paler, washed-out yellow; in fact, it will be hard to tell it’s yellow at all. The white jersey will be more off-white than white, and may prominently feature a coffee stain if we don’t get around to washing it soon. The polka dot jersey will have red asterisks instead of dots, and the green jersey will have a camoflauge pattern. And of course, all jerseys will have a big asterisk over the right breast.”

Racers React

“I’m so glad all of these dirty racers have been caught,” said one professional cyclist, who on the advice of his lawyer asked to remain anonymous. “You see, all the rest of us are absolutely clean.”

“Yes,” agreed another cyclist, who also asked not to have his name printed, “With all of the leading names in cycling gone from this race, viewers—if there are any—can have high confidence that the person who wins has never taken drugs. You have my word on it.”

“Isn’t it amazing,” asked a third unidentified racer, “that there are so many of us who are dirty, but none of us were able to beat Lance? It just goes to show: clean living pays in the end.”

Fans React

Elden Nelson, an avid cycling fan who was so excited about the Tour de France he recently purchased a Slingbox so he could watch it wherever and whenever he wanted, looked despondent upon hearing the news. “This thing cost me close to $200.00,” said Nelson, close to tears. “And now I don’t know if I’ll even bother watching at all.”

“That’s not all I’m upset about,” said Nelson, who appears to be approximately twenty pounds overweight. “I was more excited for this TdF than I have been for three years. I mean, finally: a tour where there could be honest debate about who would win.”

“Now,” said Nelson, glumly, while idly scratching his paunch, “I guess people could still debate who’s going to win, but it’s not easy to get worked up about it. I guess I’ll cheer for Floyd, but that’s just kind of a fallback position.”

Nelson then wandered away, evidently looking for something to eat.

Race Predictions

With Ullrich, Basso, and Mancebo out of the tour, other racers suddenly have newfound opportunities to shine. Expert cyclist analysts say that faces to watch include:

• David Millar: Oh, the irony. It is rich, is it not?
• Floyd Landis: Dollars to doughnuts, Floyd will win the whole thing. And he might have won the whole thing even if Basso and Ullrich were racing. But now we’ll never know, and it’s suddenly tough to care.
• David Zabriskie: OK, I’ll admit: if Zabriskie shines, I’ll get excited. Really excited.
• Others: There are likely other candidates for a strong showing in this year’s tour, but—unfortunately—the expert analysts got bored of listing them, mumbled something about “doesn’t matter anyway” and walked off.

OLN Fails to React

OLN, the network broadcasting the Tour de France, was unavailable for comment on this development, because everyone involved in the broadcast (with the sole exception of Al Trautwig, who had no idea what had just happened) had committed suicide.

Yesterday, Dug, Rick and I went on a nice little early morning ride. Starting from our respective homes (me in Alpine, Dug in Draper, Rick in Pleasant Grove), we met at the mouth of American Fork Canyon and rode to the top of the Alpine loop.

That’s 3000 feet of climbing.

We then zoomed down (I was last, by a lot), where I eventually caught up with Dug (Rick had to get home) near my house. We then continued up to the top of Suncrest (where Dug lives). That’s another 1500 feet of climbing. Then I turned around and went home.

In short: an early morning ride out my front door had 4500 feet of climbing in it.

That’s Utah for you.

A six-stage tour in this area might be downright difficult. Furthermore, it would be called the Tour of Utah—America’s Toughest Tour.

It’s going to be cooler than it has any right to be.

I’m So Excited I May Wet Myself

I’m not exactly sure how this happened, but I somehow have become the officious blogger of the Tour of Utah. What that means is that leading up to the race I’ll be interviewing some of the racers, riding some of the stages, and just generally making a nuisance of myself.

That’s pretty cool. For me. Here’s the cool part for you, though, which I will make very large and bold, so that you can see how ridiculously excited I am about this:

I get to give away a trip for two people to come see the tour.

On days like this, it’s a lot of fun being the Fat Cyclist.

What the Winners Get

Here’s what the contest winner will get:

• Airfare for 2 (from anywhere in the US) to Utah.
• Two nights at the Tour’s Official Hotel.
• Weeklong VIP passes: access to the VIP tent and catering, press conferences, autograph alley, the whole nine yards.
• Ride in an official’s car in the race caravan on one of the stages.

This is not a half-bad thing to win. Man, I wish I could win this.

How to Win

Start thinking of a 300 (maximum) word answer to the question:

What will go through the racers’ minds during the final climb of Stage 6 of the Tour of Utah?

Early next week, I’ll post a URL with information on how to enter.

Start writing!

We’re only a few short days from the Tour de France. To commemorate this exciting upcoming event, I have sampled every performance-enhancing drug known to man.

Wait. That’s not true. I’ve put that behind me.

Let me begin again.

What I meant to say is that to get ready for the Tour de France, I have purchased a gadget of such extraordinary geekitude that taped black-rimmed glasses have spontaneously appeared on my nose. At an awkward angle.

Also, my voice has started cracking again.

What can this superlatively geeky thing be? And how can a geeky gadget enhance one’s Tour de France experience? These are the questions you have, and I will answer them. Just as soon as I adjust these glasses a little further on my nose, and pull my pants up to a painfully high position.

There. Now I’m ready.

I bought myself a Slingbox.

What’s a Slingbox?

Two of you immediately understood what I’m doing. The rest of you are rapidly losing interest and hoping that I’ll get to the point, or at least explain what a Slingbox is.

Fine.

A Slingbox is a clever little device that you route your home TV signal through, as well as connect to your home broadband Internet connection. Then, after installing the corresponding software on any computer, anywhere (as long as it’s got a high-speed internet connection), you can make the Slingbox stream whatever TV channel—or whatever’s on the TiVo (if you don’t know what a TiVo is, that’s your own problem. Look it up on the Wikipedia. Oh, you don’t know what the Wikipedia is? Forget it. Just forget it.) onto your computer.

Which means, dear reader, that I am now set up to watch the Tour de France on my computer during my lunch break. Or other break. Or when I just can’t wait a single second longer.

I shall now chortle. And adjust my pants a little higher. Eep!

The Problem

There’s just one problem, now that I’ve got the Slingbox working (and believe me, it was not a pleasant experience to get the Slingbox to work outside my home firewall, which is evidently very labyrinthine and stymied even the Slingbox customer support people for a little while).

It shows whatever channel is currently on the home TV. Now, that’s not a problem if nobody’s home, or if the TV’s off. But if the twins are watching Dora the Explorer, well, that’s what’s on the Slingbox, too. Of course, I have the capability of changing the channel. But they have the capability of changing it back. And thus ensues a war of channel changing, in spite of the fact that my twins and I are not even in the same county.

The Solution

The twins, however, can be bribed. It turns out, in fact, they can be bribed rather cheaply. A colored pencil does the job nicely. As does a popsicle. As does practically anything that costs less than a dollar.

We’ll be knee-deep in cheap toys and popsicle sticks by mid-July. But it’s worth it. I’ve got a tour to watch. On my computer. At work.

I shall conclude today’s blog by giggling nasally, punctuated occasionally with a grating snort.

For years and years and years I have scorned and sniffed at people who listen to iPods. By “iPod,” I of course mean any audio device—I’ve never had any problem at all with the iPod device itself. IPod is now a generic term for any portable audio player, right? Like Xerox has become a generic term for photocopier? Am I digressing a lot? Yes, yes I am. As long as I’m digressing so much, I have an additional question: when you begin a sentence with the word “iPod,” should I capitalize the “I” like I did earlier in this paragraph? I’m sorry. My mind wanders sometimes.

Anyway.

I have a threefold problem with iPods while biking:

1. They close you off to the people you’re riding with. When you’re with a group, putting on headphones just seems rude. And I include races in that blanket statement. And especially endurance races. One of the things I like best about the Leadville 100 is talking with people, learning their stories. Headphones isolate you from what makes endurance racing great.
2. They reduce your awareness of the environment. If you’re listening to your iPod on a road bike, you can’t hear the car behind you or the guy on his bike saying, “on your left” as he goes by. I have startled iPodding cyclists into near-wrecks seventeen times in my life. How do I know it’s seventeen? Because I carve a little notch into my top tube whenever this happens.
3. They don’t allow you to hear the music of your bike. I love the sound of the chain and the wheels and my breathing and—on a big ol’ climb—my heart.

So of course, I got an iPod for my birthday, and the first thing I did was take it out riding. Here are my thoughts, now that I’ve been on both sides of the audio fence.

Road Riding

I’ve been enjoying Neil Gaiman’s books lately, so the first thing I bought on iTunes was the audio version of Anansi Boys. I started listening while commuting, and I have to say: I love it. Having someone tell you a story—and the narrator for the audio version of this book has a great storytelling voice—while you’re riding really takes the edge off the pain of a long climb on the road.

But what about my objections to riding with an iPod? Well, I only put an earbud in one ear, leaving my left ear (the one closest to traffic) open to hear traffic and the environment. That probably sucks for listening to music, but I haven’t tried using my iPod for that while biking (yes, I am a middle-aged goober). I think the “one ear” defense may be a lame rationale anyway, because I tend to get pretty deeply absorbed in stories. Yesterday, for example, I rode the four mile/1500-foot climb that usually kills me without really noticing the ride, because I was at a good part in the story.

I would still never bring my iPod on a group ride, though. That’s just lame.

Oh yeah: One other big problem with listening to audiobooks while biking: wind noise. On the flats it’s not a problem and on the climbs it’s certainly not a problem, but on a descent where you’re going 45mph, you can’t hear anything but wind no matter how loud your iPod is playing. I’ve lost entire chapters that way. Or entire parts of chapters. Whatever.

Mountain Biking

Saturday, I wanted to get out on the mountain bike. I was on my own—and was really enjoying the audiobook—so decided I’d climb Grove while listening to a book on the iPod.

That was a singularly weird experience.

Instead of being totally absorbed in the ride like I usually am when mountain biking, I was only peripherally aware of the climb, in spite of the fact that Grove is mind-bendingly steep. I didn’t really think about it while riding, but afterward realized that my main memory of the ride was of the story, not the trail or the moves.

More than that, though, was the worry that one good fall would kill my $300 gizmo. So I rode tentatively. I mean, even more tentatively than usual.

I’m thinking: No more iPod on the mountain bike.

Let’s Do Something Good For a Change

OK. Quick change of pace here. Jim sends me email from time to time, feeding me terrific satire ideas (the “Lance Armstrong Comes Out of Retirement” piece was his brainchild). He’s a good guy, and he’s working on raising money to fight cancer by riding the Pan-Mass Challenge.

I think we should help him out.

Here’s a big snip from his blog on what he’s proposing:

I'm calling out the Fat Cyclist. I'm shamelessly attempting to use his miniscule celebrity as a lever for my microscopic celebrity, all in the name of cancer fundraising.

So, here's what I propose:

1.      I will match dollar-for-dollar, up to $1000, any donation from a Fat Cyclist blog reader or FC himself. Just put "Fatty Rules" in the comments when you donate.

2.      If FC readers give me up to $1500 in donations, I'll have the folks at Voler make me up a custom "Fatty Rules" jersey to wear on the second day. We are, ahem, encouraged to wear the official PMC jersey on the first day. In turn, I encourage anyone with embarrasing vector art or extremely high resoluton photos of FC to email me. One caveat here: I will need three weeks or so to get the jersey done, so don't wait.

3.      If FC readers shoot the moon and donate $2000 or more, I'll do the whole route - 192 miles - on my fixed gear. While wearing the jersey.

4.      Since this is, of course, all about the Fat Cyclist: If Fatty makes his goal weight for the Leadville 100 by the time I go to the start on the evening of August 4th, I'll throw in another $500. Of course I will require suitable documentation of this achievement. And if he doesn't make his goal, maybe I'll do the ride on his fixie.

Nice.

I’ll tell you what. I will also match, dollar-for-dollar, up to $1000, any donation from Fat Cyclist readers. It’ll be Jim’s job to let me know how much that winds up being. I figure this’ll help us get to that $1500 “Fatty Rules” jersey and the $2000 that will make him do the whole ride on his fixie quite a bit faster.

All I demand in return is that he write up the story of riding this thing on a fixie for my blog, and give me the “Fatty Rules” jersey after the race—which I will give away to a random donater.

Cancer’s now common enough that it’s going to affect practically everyone at some point, so how about donating a little to help fight this rotten disease? Thanks.

Andy Hampsten rules. Consider:

• He’s won the Giro d’Italia.
• He’s won the Alpe d’Huez stage in the Tour de France.
• He’s currently got a sweet business leading bicycle tours of Italy (for the three people in the world [mom, dad, wife] who happen to remember, back when I wrote books for a living I almost always used a fictional bike touring company for my example documents).

So when the chance to ask interview him via email came up, of course I jumped at it.

Now, though, I’ve got to figure out what to ask him. And I’d like some help. So, what would you ask Andy? I’ll pick the best questions, combine them with a few that I want to ask, and send them his way. Then, of course, I’ll post the interview in this blog.

Why Would a Giro d’Italia Winner Do an Interview with Fat Cyclist?

“How,” you may fairly ask, “is it possible that Andy Hampsten reads the Fat Cyclist blog and has agreed to answer questions for it?”

The answer is simple: He hasn’t read my blog. He'd never heard of me 'til I contacted him via email. He doesn’t have great internet access in rural Italy, and so has agreed—blog unseen—to the interview because I happen to work with a friend of his.

I suspect, just between you and me, that if he had read my blog, he may not have agreed to the interview. So yay for poor internet access in rural Italy!

Last Saturday was my 40^th birthday ride, held—as is traditional—on Tibble Fork: Up Tibble, down South Fork to Deer Creek (Joy), up to the Ridge trail, Down Mud Springs back to Tibble, and then back down Tibble to the reservoir. Dug, Kenny, Brad, Sunderlage and Botched joined me for this ride. The weather was perfect, and the trail was in good condition.

Sadly (for them), Kenny and Dug were both injured. Kenny had broken his back on the mountain two days earlier (Botched and I puzzled over the right “broke back mountain” joke for the occasion, but neither of us ever really nailed it); Dug couldn’t lift his right arm higher than elbow level, due to a high-speed downhill endo earlier in the week.

And yet, I was the slowest guy of the group.

By a lot.

Fortunately, I kept my wits about me and therefore avoided the embarrassing mistakes usually made by the slowest guy in a riding group, and emerged at the end of the ride with my dignity intact—or at least kept my dignity as intact as a fat, balding, middle-aged guy wearing a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup jersey is likely to.

How did I do this? By remembering and observing the Three Rules of The Slow Rider.

Rule 1: Stay Back.

You would think that because you are the slow guy, you would automatically always be sorted to the back of the group.

You would think that, but you would be wrong.

Fast riders want to take pity on slow ones. Riding with the slow guy shows that they’re nice, for one thing. And it gives them a reason to rest for a minute. And, perhaps most importantly, it gives them a chance to look casual and comfortable—and maybe even just a little bit bored—while riding at the slow riders absolute redline.

As a slow rider, it is critical you deny them this opportunity. Decline all invitations to “go on ahead.” Remember, to consciously go ahead of someone who is faster than you is to accrue all of the following deleterious circumstances:

• You have taken a position you have not earned.
• You are now officially being baby-sat.
• The guy behind you will have plenty of wind, and will want to use the extra wind for light-hearted banter. You, on the other hand, will have no such oxygen surplus.
• Know that you will have someone right on your rear wheel, which means that if you have to put a foot down you make the other guy stop, too. Further, having someone right on your rear wheel isn’t exactly pleasant on its own merits, either.
• Set yourself up to be the stumblebum in the story your good buddy will tell at the end of the ride about how easy this ride is when you don’t really push it, and how it’s sometimes nice to go out and ride easy, and that this is the first real recovery ride he’s had in ages.

So how do you decline the “after you” invitation? Simple. Use these words: “No, you go on. I’m riding sweep today.”

Do you see the beauty of that statement? By saying this, you are taking charge. You are accepting a mantle of responsibility—ensuring the safety of all other riders. And you are not admitting that you are slow just because you are fat and slow.

99.4% of the time, that’s all it takes. The other 0.6% of the time, you’ll be riding with some former (or—worse—current scoutmaster) who has some deep-seated, twisted need to take care of the group. This person will assert that he wants to ride sweep.

In this instance, it is within your rights—nay, it is your duty—to push the other rider into a ravine. Or, if that’s not your style, you can always trick them into going on ahead. You do this by stopping immediately after getting on your bike to pretend to twist a barrel adjuster on your rear derailleur. If they slow, just say, “go on. I’ll catch up.” Even though you won’t. Can’t.

Rule 2: Shut Up.

The most overwhelmingly powerful sensation you will have when you are the slowest rider in the group is shame.

The second most powerful will be a searing of the lungs.

The third most powerful—and the one I choose to talk about right now—is the urge to explain yourself whenever you catch up to the group, as they wait for you.

Picture this.

You ride up to the group. Clearly, they’re just chatting, waiting for you to catch up so they can continue on. Judging from how well-rested they all look, you sense that they’ve been waiting there for a while.

What’s your inclination? Why, to explain yourself, of course. To tell them how hard it is to do this ride when you’re so out of shape, or to apologize for being so slow, or to thank them for waiting up.

Do. Not. Do. Any. Of. Those. Things.

Instead, roll up to the group, smile, put a foot down, and join the conversation already in progress. Convey a sense of well-being. Exude peace and pleasure that you’re on your bike. Your entire being should tell your co-riders that you’re happy to be on the trail.

Hey, it’s not a race, after all.

Rule 3: No Excuses.

This is the most important rule of all: do not explain why you are slow. Everyone already either knows, or doesn’t know you well enough to be interested. Yes, you’re busy at work. Yes, you’ve had an injury. Yes, you’re middle aged, and it’s not as easy to unload the weight as it once was.

No, nobody wants to hear it.

Unless you’ve got a really good self-deprecating joke. In which case, bring it on.

This Sunday (which is, coincidentally, Fathers’ Day), I turn 40.

Unfortunately, I’ll be on a plane to NY that day. Even more unfortunately, the silver lining for being on a plane that day just evaporated (or did whatever silver linings do to disappear).

For anyone who’s interested, though, I’m reintroducing my very favorite tradition in the whole world: riding Tibble Fork on my birthday. It’ll just have to be a day early.

Anyone who’s interested in coming along, email me. I’d love to have company.

It’ll be in the morning, but I haven’t figured out what time. I’m guessing it’ll be early-ish.

PS: Kenny Jones, the fastest, nicest guy in the world, will be doing the ride, too. This will be a good opportunity for you to ride with him and (possibly) even keep up with him. You see, yesterday Kenny fractured his spine while mountain biking. He coaches up-and-coming MTB-ers in Park City, and while doing so yesterday, hit a kicker and turfed it.

Compression fracture.

Kenny can still ride, but it hurts. A lot. I plan to use his pain to my advantage. I recommend you do the same.

An Extra-Super-Special Note from Fatty: As promised, Dug wrote a post for today. Enjoy!

When I first got into biking (we didn’t start calling it “cycling” until much later, we were way too grungy for that), I called road bikes “10 speeds” and thought of them as something kids used. I’d had a Fuji 10 speed as a teenager back in Minnesota, and used it to ride to work bagging groceries at Super Value and for my daily commute to the local park to play basketball.

I started riding for real around 1990, during the beginning of the American golden years, with Ned Overend, Julie Furtado, and Tinker Juarez. Yes, I know those people aren’t dead yet, and even still compete, but at the time they were the only names I knew in the professional cycling world. Lance Armstrong was a name some guys in the shop would mention, but usually only to say what a jackass he was and how he was all talent but no brains. But those dirt riders . . . well, let’s just say I almost named my first child Julie and my next two kids Ned and Tinker. I didn’t, but I thought about it.

You know how some people have lists of “possibles” or “exceptions?” As in, a list of famous people, where if you could, you know, have or do them, no repercussions, you would? My list in the early 90s began and ended with Julie Furtado. And no, I don’t have any Star Wars toys still in the box.

But the thing is, all the riding I did for the first half decade or so was on dirt. One guy in Provo who sometimes hung out at the shop (the shop went through some iterations, from Highlander, to Gourmet, to Franks, but it was the only shop I knew that had a “lunch” crowd, and regular time trials and derbys during the day, out in the aisles.), what was his name? He made pottery. Anyway, I remember once heading out for a ride and asking him if he wanted to come. He said he didn’t ride dirt, just road. He might as well have told me he was a mermaid. He did do pottery, after all.

Russel Wrankle, that was his name. Anyway, he said he hated having to drive to a ride, and on the road, he could just start riding from wherever he was. But to me, that just meant he rode more crap. Starting from home is just that much more crap, if it’s on the road. See, I used to ride any and all dirt. Buff and banked, rough and off camber, washboard, stunts, whatever. I just loved dirt. We would finish a trail that had been nothing but baby head rocks and 6-inch deep dust, and I would whoop and holler and say “that was just super, really, just super.” I actually bought a t-shirt from that store in Moab, that just sold red dirty t-shirts.

Do you see where this is going? You do, right? I now ride 80 or 90 percent of the time on the road, I shave my legs because I like how they look shaved, and I love the idea of just getting on my bike and riding out the driveway. And I don’t really want to ride dirt unless it’s primo dirt. I still ride about once a week on the dirt, but rarely alone, because dirt seems to me to be about riding with buddies. I mean, I like riding with people on the road too, but, well, I’m babbling now, aren’t I? Let’s just move on.

The very first road ride I ever went on was the Alpine Loop in Provo, 40 miles, 4,000 feet of vertical. I was on Jeremy’s light green Bianchi, with Mavic ZAP shifting. I LOVED it. You put your head down and climb hard until blood comes out your ears, and on the downhill, you get over 50 mph, pass cars, and get a rush that just doesn’t come on dirt. I bought a road bike very soon after that, did some local crits, and maybe a century or two here and there.

The transition has been long and slow. In fact, it only really occurred to me this morning that I was a roadie first, a mountain biker second. You know. As in “Letting the days go by . . . This is not my beautiful wife . . . How did I get here?”

But one day you wake up, and you know how to how tall Bettini is, and you’re surprised to find out Michael Rasmussen and Cadel Evans used to race on the dirt. I’m not sure how to feel about all this. Remember when Lance Armstrong was going to race some dirt for Trek? I was all excited, thinking, he’s going to be like one of “us.” Well now I think of him racing on dirt as being like one of “them.”

I will now light myself on fire.

But not until I get back from my lunch ride with Brad. We’re riding from Hogle Zoo, up Emigration Canyon, down to Little Dell, and up East Canyon and back. It’s my favorite ride in Salt Lake. I love the road. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Last Saturday, I simply could not take it anymore. I had been back in Utah for more than a week, but had not yet ridden the Best Trail in The World, even though I now lived only six miles from the trailhead.

That’s just wrong.

So I got up nice and early (8:30am) and told my wife that hanging pictures, unboxing junk that we’ll never use, and mowing the lawn would all have to wait. It was time for me to go riding.

She was cool with that. My wife’s very cool. My wife is the wifely equivalent of Fonzie.

So Excited

I put my bike on the car rack and drove the six miles to the Tibble Fork trailhead. Yes, I drove six miles so I could go mountain biking. I was in a hurry. I suck.

Anyway.

As I paid for my season pass for American Fork Canyon, I was giddy. I’m guessing the Forest Service guy had never before met someone so enthusiastic to be buying a pass, but for me it was a big deal. It meant that I was home. If you’ve ever completely burned out on a favorite trail, stop riding it for a couple years and then come back. The joy of returning is unbelievable.

Let’s Ride!

So I parked my car at the Tibble Fork Reservoir parking lot, strapped on my helmet (more about this in a moment), rode across the dam, and started climbing.

The first thing I noticed was that the trail was a little wet.

The next thing I noticed was that the trail was becoming increasingly wet, and slippery.

The third thing I noticed was that the mud was rapidly collecting on my tires and in my drivetrain. The rain from the previous two days had soaked the trail to the point that even at the base, it was sloppy and unrideable.

What a letdown.

The Main Difference Between Utah and Washington

A quick aside, here: The second-most-noticeable difference between biking in Washington and Utah is what happens to helmet straps between rides. In Washington, the humidity is so high (ie, it’s always raining) that your helmet straps don’t ever really dry out. They stay soft and supple between rides. In Utah, on the other hand, helmet straps dry out instantly, stiffening to the point where they’re just slightly more pliable than fiberglass.

I bring this up because I now want to bring up the biggest difference between riding in Utah and Washington. In Washington, the trails are (almost) always wet, and often have standing water in low spots. You can ride on these muddy trails with impunity; the mud just falls off your tires, leaving no trace. This mud doesn’t gum up your drivetrain; it doesn’t turn your tires into chocolate bagels. It’s the cleanest mud you could ever imagine.

The mud in Utah is not quite so accommodating.

I, sadly, had forgotten this fact.

Which is to say, after climbing Tibble for thirty feet or so, I realized the trail wasn’t in good shape for riding and turned around.

I should have walked my bike down.

But I didn’t. I rode it back down to the trailhead. For thirty feet or so.

Just thirty feet.

Big mistake.

By the time I got to the trailhead, my drivetrain was completely caked in adobe-like mud.  My tires were big ol’ tasty chocolate bagels. The weight of my bike had increased by 72.3%. Approximately.

No Salvage

The problem with committing to riding Tibble Fork is that it doesn’t leave you with much in the way of plan B options if the trail isn’t rideable. By the time I got out of the canyon, an hour of my ride time had elapsed. If I wanted to do a mountain bike ride, I’d need to first clean my bike. That would take more time. If I wanted to do a road ride, I’d need to go home and get my road bike out. That would take more time, too.

So I went home and changed into my work clothes, and started work on the house. My ride was done.

Saturday’s ride took 80 minutes overall. I rode sixty feet, and jammed my bike up entirely with mud. I think it’s safe to say it was not the most bestest, epic-est ride ever.

Another Big Error

Here’s another interesting characteristic of the mud in Utah: it dries hard. By the time I get home this Saturday (I’m traveling for work through Friday), that mud will have transmogrified into something similar to concrete, albeit marginally stronger. It will have chemically bonded with the bike’s paint. This layer of mud will be strong enough to protect the bike from a nuclear blast, which is comforting, though—sadly—it will also render the bike entirely immobile.

Nothing that six hours with a hose and a toothbrush can’t take care of, though.

Just before I moved back to Utah, the good folks at MSN asked me to put on my favorite jersey and come get videotaped for some MSN Spaces promotion. So I did. I was a nervous, stammering, yammering, chattering, random wreck. It’ll be interesting to see whether the video director is able to salvage anything from it.

For your entertainment, I will post the video, once I get it.

MSN has also asked me to come to a conference next week, where I will sit at a panel with actual experts on blogging and advertising. There, I will do my level best to act like I know what I’m talking about. Sample quote I’m preparing: “Um, well, I write stuff about riding bikes, and make fun of ads, and make up news about bikes and stuff. Then I sit back and watch while the commenters make fun of me.”

That should be educational.

The nice thing is, Nichole at MSN gave me a bunch of cool stuff to give away, if you’ll just answer a few blog-related questions. I have six USB Flash Drives to give away, as well as three copies of Share Your Story: Blogging with MSN Spaces. And an MSN golf shirt.

This drawing is not random. I’m going to give stuff to people who have interesting, useful responses. If you can’t/don’t want to log in with Microsoft Passport, you can email your response to me.

Oh, and don’t feel like you have to answer all the questions. If you’ve got a great answer to one of the questions and don’t answer any of the others, you could still win stuff.

Questions

• What do you like about What’s Your Story (where MSN features different blogs on a weekly basis)? What needs to be changed?
• Yesterday, while looking for a close grocery store (still trying to get to know the area), I noticed a “Trek Store.” Evidently, a bike shop that sells nothing but Trek products. Does this seem incredibly wrong-headed to anyone else? I mean, when I go into a bike shop, it’s to buy the best bike stuff I can find, which may or may not be built by Trek. Does any self-respecting cyclist choose a brand before they choose the bike (or helmet, or whatever)? OK, MSN didn’t ask me to ask this question.
• What do you think of the Volvo sponsorship of What's Your Story? Have you ever clicked on one of the Volvo ads? Did you surf around?
• Wouldn’t it be cool if Volvo gave me a car, and then another one to give away? (OK, MSN didn’t ask me to ask this question either, but I think it’s a really good question to ask.)
• What makes for good advertising on blogs?
• Do you blog? Why? What about?
• Say the word “blogs” aloud, several times in a row. Doesn’t it start to sound stupid?
• Do you jump around a bunch, reading a lot of blogs, or do you read a certain group of blogs?
• How often do you visit your favorite blogs?

I’ll be traveling tomorrow, so you have two days to answer. Have fun, and good luck. Oh, and as long as I'm giving advice: always wear your seatbelt. Even when you're on your bike.

 If you ever met me in person, you would be struck by what a nice person I am. You would be flattered by the way I seem interested in the things you have to say. You would be amused by my interesting anecdotes. You would be impressed by the way I emphasize similarities between our points of view, while politely—yet openly and honestly—discussing our differences fairly and openly. You would tell your friends later what a thoughtful, friendly, intelligent (for I am very, very intelligent), and entertaining person I am. You would look forward to the next time we met.

And yet, I can get cranky.

If I don’t get out on a ride fairly often—three days off my bike is the outer limit—I stop being fun to be around. I stop chuckling at your stupid jokes, I no longer pretend that what you have to say is relevant, interesting, or important. I start saying the cutting things that occur to me. If you met me when I was cranky, you would think less of yourself by the end of our conversation. Much, much less.

By last Saturday, I had been off the bike for four days. Suffice it to say that I was no longer very nice. Further suffice it to say that I am capable of shooting flesh-burning laser beams out of my eyes, and was getting confused about whether it was really morally objectionable to use these lasers.

My wife (who has a permanent exemption from my crankiness, because I am [very, very] intelligent) understood what was going on, and made the following suggestion, in spite of the fact that we had both been working on unpacking boxes every waking moment since we have moved into our house:

“Why don’t you go on a little ride? It will help you get your balance back.”

In case I have not mentioned this before, my wife has a heart of gold.

One Hour

“Remember, though,” my wife caveated (yes, I just turned “caveat” into a verb). “There’s a neighborhood party at 6:00. It’s 5:30 now, so I don’t expect you to be there for the start. But I’ll have the kids with me and will need some help, so just go riding for an hour, OK?

“No problem,” I tell my wife as I suited up. “I’ll just ride up American Fork Canyon for 30 minutes, then turn around.”

Memory Does Not Serve

My house is a mildly rolling four miles from the mouth of American Fork Canyon, which is part of the Alpine Loop, my favorite road ride in the world. I was a little disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to do the whole loop, because it’s been close to three years since I’ve done this ride. Still, I figured just riding up to Tibble Fork Reservoir would be a nice little ride.

The thing is, though, either I’m in much worse shape than when I last did this ride (probable) or I didn’t remember how much of a climb it is from the mouth of American Fork Canyon to Tibble Fork. Regardless, by the time 30 minutes had elapsed, I hadn’t reached the turnoff to Tibble. “That’s OK,” I told myself. “With this being all uphill, I’ll be able to blast home in twenty minutes or less.”

So then I got to the Tibble Fork turnoff. Time to turn around.

“I don’t feel like turning around,” I said, aloud, to the squirrel roadkill I was passing.

“So keep going,” the squirrel carcass said.

Who am I to argue with a talking dead squirrel? Besides, I’d just go until Pine Hollow, and then turn around. I’d be a little late, but I knew my wife would understand.

I am Not Afraid

Every time I climb the American Fork side of the Alpine Loop, I puzzle over the question: which way is more difficult to ride the Alpine Loop: climbing the American Fork side (which is a more gradual climb, but never lets up), or the Provo Canyon side (which is blood-spurting-out-of-your-ears-steep for the first 2.3 miles, and then has easy intervals in between each steep pitch)? It’s not an easy question, and is, I expect, subjective: do you prefer long, steady climbs or short, steep climbs? For myself, I think the American Fork side is more difficult. Which is not to say I prefer the Provo Canyon side, because I like difficult.

And then, before I knew it, I was at Pine Hollow. Time to turn around.

And that’s when a thought occurred to me: If I turned around now, would it be because I needed to get home, or because I didn’t have the strength to go on? Was I just making an excuse, when the reality was that I simply no longer had the cycling chops to keep climbing?

Defiantly, I kept going. I’d prove to all and sundry that I could keep going. I’d ride at full intensity to the turnoff where you go right to go to Timpooneke campground or go left to continue to the Alpine Loop summit.

After all, my wife knew better than to expect me home in just one hour. Or an hour and fifteen minutes, for that matter.

Scientific Inquiry

I shifted into third gear, stood up on my pedals, and rode as hard as I could to the Timpooneke turnoff. I was interested to discover, upon reaching that turnoff that:

• There were patches of snow on the ground. I was only a few miles from the summit. I wondered if there would be a lot of snow up there, or if the Ridge Trail would be rideable. That would be very useful information for mountain biking next week.
• I still had gas in the tank. In fact, I felt great. Really, it would be a crime to turn around and go downhill when I’m climbing so strong. And turning around when I was so close to the summit? That would just be weak.

And after all, my wife and I have been married for almost eighteen years now. She knows me well enough that she’d understand that I couldn’t turn around, not now. Not this close to the top.

Big Finish

There’s a steep hairpin turn that signals you’re one mile from the summit of the Alpine loop. I always take that final mile at sprint speed, giving it all I’ve got. Through the pain of that effort, I kept thinking one simple thought: “It’s good to be home.” I circled once in the summit parking lot and then rode back home as fast as I dared. And while it had taken me an hour and a half to make it to the top of the Alpine Loop, it took only half an hour to get home.

I showered at top speed and hustled over to the party…where my wife was just leaving—the twins had been a pain, and my wife had had enough.

I was preparing to explain myself, how I just wanted to keep riding so bad, and that I need to train for my upcoming races, and how I’ve been doing nothing but working (knowing full well that my excuses were pretty lame), when my wife asked, “So, good ride?”

“Awesome.”

“Cool. Tell me about it later. Right now, though, let’s get the kids home.”

In case I have not mentioned this before, my wife has a heart of gold.