Bike riding has been a huge part of my life for about ten years now. You'd think that by now, I'd have at least tried everything I want to try.

To my shame, this is not the case. It's not even close. There are all kinds of things I still haven't tried, all kinds of skills I have not acquired.

These are the ones I can remember right this second. Some I expect to try, a few I expect to master. Some I will neither try nor master.

• Trackstand: This one comes first, because it was while I was failing to do a trackstand at a light this morning that the idea for this list came to me. You know, with as much time as I spend on a bike, by now I should be able to balance on it when it's not moving. But I wobble, jerk back and forth, and within a few seconds have to put a foot down. Someday, I'm just going to spend an afternoon doing nothing but practicing my trackstand. I don't know if it'll do any good, but I'm going to do it anyway.
• Nose wheelie: My friend Rick does the coolest stop on his mountain bike: he grabs his front brake, his rear wheel goes high into the air, and he comes to a stop, balanced in a nose wheelie. He's like a cute little trained seal doing that. I wish I looked like a cute little trained seal. I've got more of a walrus body type, alas.
• Race in a velodrome: I put this in the list because I've got the bike on order and I know for sure I'll race in a velodrome next season. But it is something I've wanted to try now for more than five years. It's nice to have something on the list I'm pretty sure I'll be able to check off. Of course, racing well is a whole 'nuther kettle of fish.
• Solo a 24 hour event: I've done the 24 Hours of Moab as part of a 5-person team, and as part of a 2-person team. I've signed up to do it solo, but then bailed out at the last moment. One thing that bugs me about people racing 24 hour events "solo," though, is nobody ever really seems to do it solo. They've got all kinds of people taking care of them and their bikes between laps. If I were to race a 24 hour race solo, I'd want to do it truly solo. I ride myself, I feed myself, I take care of my bike myself. When I finished, I would thump my chest and thumb my nose at the sissy-boys with crews.
• Finish Leadville in under 9 hours: I've gone on about this endlessly already; I'm not going start in about it today. Still, it belongs on the list.
• Ride a unicycle: Let's be clear: unicycles are ridiculous. But I know for sure my kids would be more impressed with some guy juggling and riding a unicycle than they are with anything I can currently do on the bike. Maybe if I could ride a unicycle I could also do a trackstand.
• Ride a BMX course: I see kids cornering, jumping, and sprinting like nobody's business on BMX courses and I can't help but wish I had ridden BMX when I was a kid. I'd be twice the bike handler I am right now. Too late for that now, but I'd still like to get out on a BMX course and see what it's like.
• Do a wheelie drop: All of my friends can wheelie off ledges. I, on the other hand, go down nose-first. It's not the right way.
• Ride a wheelie: Sure, I can pop a wheelie. But I can't ride it down the street. I don't know whether my kids would think this or riding the unicycle would be cooler.
• Ride down a flight of stairs: I've seen outdoor flights of stairs and thought to myself, "I think I could ride down that." But I never do. Chicken.
• Develop a smooth pedaling cadence: This is my biggest shame. If I think about it, my cadence is pretty smooth; my upstroke is strong, my dead spot is small (I think). But when I'm just riding along, I'll often find myself pedaling triangles (nobody pedals squares; don't believe those who say they do).

So much time on a bike, so little accomplished.

 

Today's Weight: 166.0

At the end of last week, Matt pulled the trigger and bought himself a Specialized Allez Sport Triple.

 

You can't tell in the photo, but it's a powder-coated black that gives the bike a very cool stealth bomber look. Tres chic.

I should — I guess — point out that I had a nice little moment of well-deserved embarrassment when the bike shop guy (Scott, co-owner of Pacific Cycles) was going through the Care and Feeding of Your New Bike spiel for Matt. When Scott got to the "Keeping Your Bike Clean" part, he paused and looked meaningfully at me, then said: "If you clean your bike as often as Fatty, you should be punished. Everyone here hates working on Fatty's bike because it's always so filthy."

And yeah, he was talking about my road bike — not my mountain bike.

And yeah, it's always filthy.

And no, I still haven't cleaned my bike.

Matt and I had a good ride Saturday, though — we rode out to work (Matt's not just a friend, he's my manager … at least for two more weeks) and back to see how he'd handle commuting. That's a 20 mile round trip with big climbs at miles 9 and 18. And Matt rode the whole thing like a champ.

At least, that's my story until two weeks from now.

 

New Bikes Are Contagious

About the time Matt and I started looking for a bike for him, I started getting the new bike bug, too. A couple weeks ago I was thinking about cyclocross, but it turns out almost all the races are on Sundays, which don't work for me. And since I have the attention span of a gnat, I was easily able to turn my new bike itch toward the track.

So...today, after work, I'm heading down to Sammamish Valley Cycles to order a Bianchi Pista. That's about the entry-levelest track bike there is, but then again, I'm about as entry level as a track cyclist can be.

Shiny!

In a couple weeks, my bike will arrive. Then I'll be out at the Velodrome at the loneliest possible times, learning how to pedal without coasting. I'm so excited, I can't think straight.

 

Today's weight: 166.4

 

Bonus: I've got a new article in Cyclingnews: My latest fake news piece, "OLN to Broadcast Vuelta a España to US Audience…With a Few Small Changes." I swear, every time they accept a piece from me, I can't help but wonder: "How long 'til they realize what a complete and utter dork I am?"

About a month ago, I wrote a little something called "An Open Letter to the Passenger in the Green SUV Who Screamed as He Went By Yesterday." Basically, it was my reaction to some guy who — as a prank — screamed at me from his car as he went by. This post clicked with a lot of riders, and it still gets comments from time to time, most of them from people sharing similar experiences, as well as outrage that someone would do something so dangerous.

Yesterday, though, I got a different kind of comment on that post:

I live in Colorado and every weekend (when the weather is nice) there are cyclists EVERYWHERE!!!! The area I live in has only two-lane roads and NONE of the cyclists are going anywhere near the speed limit much less the speed of traffic. They do not follow the traffic laws, they do not ride near the side of the road, and they do not even move over to the side of the road when there is a line of cars behind them. However, they do weave in and out of cars waiting at stop signals, they do impede the flow of traffic, they do cause drivers to tale unnecessary and sometimes dangerous 'evasive action' just to get past them, in short they're RUDE... I don't condone any violence or retaliatory action... but please, please FIND A F$%*@ING trail or a bike path and get the hell out of my way.   -- Becky, August 25, 9:53 AM

My initial reaction was to completely tear Becky apart, line by line. It would be easy; Becky leaves herself wide open. I mean, calling cyclists "RUDE" right before you say "FIND A F$%*@ING trail or a bike path and get the hell out of my way" is one of the most beautiful examples of irony I have ever seen.

OK, I guess I still intend to bust Becky's chops a little. But that's not all I'm going to do. I'm also going to acknowledge that she has some valid points, and try to see both sides of the story. I'm going to do my best to look through both sides of the windshield.

 

What Becky (and Other People in Cars) Needs to Understand About Cyclists

Becky might not be such a strong candidate for anger management counseling if she considered the following:

• You'll see things differently if you try riding a bike. Most cyclists have a pretty good idea of what's going on in drivers' heads, because most cyclists are drivers sometimes. The reverse isn't true, however. Becky, your perspective might change a little bit if you got out of your car and onto a bike. You might notice different things about the road. You might perceive speed differently. You might even find that cars break laws and endanger cyclists as often as (or maybe more often than) cyclists break laws and endanger cars.
• Some people act stupidly, whether in a car or on a bike. The people who do stupid things on bikes — and yes, Becky, I know they're out there, because I've seen them too — also do stupid things when they're in cars. Or when they're at work. Or whatever. Some people are just stupid. Don't go applying the specific to the general, OK, Becky? Saying no cyclist obeys traffic laws because some idiot nearly got himself killed by shooting out in front of you is like me saying all SUVs are populated by teenage homicidal idiots because one tried to startle me into the guardrail. Or like me saying all pickups are populated by homicidal cowboys because a few have tried to swipe me with their side mirrors. Or like me saying that all cars are populated by homicidal drunk idiots because a couple have thrown beer bottles in front of my bike as they go by.
• Sometimes we have a good reason for being out in the road instead of hugging the side. It's possible — make that probable — there's glass or scattered nails on the edge of the road. You can't see all the crud from your car, but it's there.
• Cyclists have a right to be on the road. We have a legal right to be there, and moreover, it's the right place for us to be from a common sense point of view. If a road cyclist gets on a bike path, he's a danger to pedestrians and cyclists on cruiser bikes — we're just going too fast for foot and slow bike traffic. Try to stop thinking of cyclists as being on "your" road. We're all paying taxes.
• We are afraid you aren't looking for us, and that you'll kill us. My friend dug has been hit twice by people in cars who weren't looking. I've known two cyclists who have been killed by people in cars who weren't looking. So, some cyclists have adopted the tactic of riding right in the middle of the road, where you can't miss them. You may be inconvenienced, but you won't sideswipe and kill someone. Isn't that nice?
• We're not causing you to take "unnecessary and sometimes dangerous evasive action." If it's unnecessary, it's optional. You're doing it because you want to. Guess what: your unnecessary evasive action you're blaming on the cyclist is really just you being a poor driver. Sorry about that.

What Cyclists Need to Understand about Becky (and Other People in Cars)

I believe every cyclist already knows the following, so this is mostly just a reminder. And I should be clear: I don't think the below list is true of every driver. In fact, it's not true of most drivers. But you've got to assume it's true of every driver anyway, because you never know which car is being driven by Becky.

• People in cars remember every stupid thing they have ever seen a cyclist do, then assume every cyclist does that all the time. Becky here has clearly seen some cyclists do some stupid, illegal things, and now -- right or wrong -- she's got it in her head that all cyclists do illegal things all the time. So, those of you doing stupid, illegal things: cut it out. You're building up road rage in people like Becky, and they aren't really careful about who they vent their anger at. And I'll take it one step further: those of us who have friends who take stupid, illegal risks while riding need to tell them to cut it out; they're souring the automotive world on bikes (That's big talk for me; I have a couple riding friends who I'd need to lecture; so far I never have).
• People in cars are bugged when cyclists ride right on the line of the shoulder. And rightly so. I see this all the time when I'm driving — cyclists have a nice wide shoulder, but they ride right on the line. If you can get over, do.
• People in cars think you're much wider than you actually are. They think they can't pass you, even if they can. Signal them forward to let them know they have room.
• People in cars expect you to adhere to laws much more closely than they do themselves. Cars roll stop signs all the time, but they resent bikes doing it. And they hate seeing bikes worm their way through traffic — it reminds them that they're just sitting there, and that the $45 they just spent on gasoline is just floating up into the atmosphere, not actually moving them anywhere.
• People in cars look where they're used to looking for things they're used to looking at. Cyclists aren't where they expect, aren't what they expect, and aren't going at a rate they expect. If you haven't made eye contact, assume you have not been seen. Seriously.
• People in cars aren't enjoying the ride like you are. They're in a hurry. They resent being delayed even for a few seconds. If you can get out of the way and let them pass, do.
• People in cars convert their worry about being in an accident into anger. Lots of people in cars have had near misses with cyclists. That scares them — most of them don't want to kill us, after all — and then that fright turns into anger.

OK, I see my attempt to be even-handed about Becky's post wound up a little bit lopsided. Maybe I should have just said, "Hey, we've all got to do our best to get along. You chill out, and I'll do my best to be safe and legal."

Maybe you'd like to try your hand at replying to Becky yourself.

And Becky: by all means, please join in the conversation.

 

Today's Weight: 165.0

It's easy for me to focus on the scale and use that as the metric for how I'm progressing — or failing to progress. The thing is, though, losing weight is only part of the equation. I also need to train better.

I've known for a long time that the best way for me to accomplish both these things is for me to hire a trainer. Someone who will give me a regimented diet. Someone who will plan out my training — how far to ride on which days, what kind of rides to go on, what kind of effort to expend, and so forth.

I know all this, and yet I never hire a trainer.

Wait, I should restate that: I know all this, and that's why I never hire a trainer.

 

I Embrace My Inner-Randomness

The truth is, I love the haphazard nature of my training. When I go out riding, I like to go out on the ride that sounds like the most fun at the moment. Some days that's a flat ride, some days it's full of hills. Some days I go at my "all-day" pace, some days I go as hard as I can until I completely blow up.

Some days I ride on a road bike, some days I'm on a mountain bike. Whatever I feel like. I have never burned out on biking in more than ten years, because I'm always doing what I want to do.

It's haphazard, but cumulatively, it at least sorta-kinda works. I get in a lot of miles. I push myself. I get better at cycling, and I burn a lot of calories.

I love the loose nature of my diet, too. The "avoid bad habits" diet (copyright Fat Cyclist Enterprises, all rights reserved) diet lets me go to restaurants, it lets me eat carbs, it lets me eat whatever I want. I just don't eat stupid amounts of it, I don't eat late at night, and I make sure I eat a lot of raw fruit (mostly apples) during the day.

 

Are What I Want and What I Like Mutually Exclusive?

While I like the "Do Whatever Sounds Good" approach to training, I also really want to get under the nine-hour mark at the Leadville 100 next year. It will be my tenth try and I've never finished under nine hours before, so I've got to admit to myself that when I train my way, I come up short.

I expect a trainer would change everything about my training. I'd need to ride certain amounts, at a certain level. I'd need to do intervals. I'd need to do "rest day rides," where I wouldn't be allowed to chase after the guy up the road. And I'd probably have a completely different diet.

I'd probably really improve with a trainer. Maybe I'd even hit my race goals. I think, though, that in the middle of all this routine I'd stop having fun.

So this year, I'll try to be smarter about my training. I'll do more hills, I'll keep doing the long flat rides, I'll let my muscles recover. I'll be light. But I plan on doing it haphazardly.

Maybe there are trainers out there who specialize in flibbertigibbets like me. Trainers who can show me how to keep doing the rides I want to do, but just do them better. In which case, Ms. I-like-to-train-completely-random-people, by all means contact me.

But I'm not willing to give up the fun. I'm just not.

 

Today's Weight: 165.0 lbs.

 

 

Recently, my friend Rick put up an ad on a local online marketplace to sell his Bianchi EV2 — The "Pantani Special," we all call it. Evidently, Rick's thinking about an Orbea. As you might expect, the jokers who want to "buy" expensive merchandise using a phony cashier's check or money order came out of the woodwork.

They shouldn't have.

Rick's got a wicked sense of humor. He's played practical jokes that people involved still talk about ten years later; the dopes sending their form letters never stood a chance.

Here are a few of the e-mail exchanges:

 

Buyer #1: Doroth Blake Is So Interested in Rick's Goods

Here's Doroth Blake's obviously non-form (ha) letter. You can tell she spent a lot of time making sure Rick believed she was speaking directly to him:

hi,
    am so interested in your goods hope there are in goods condition, please kindly reply me if you are willing to sell for me and my mode of payment is money order .
name..........
address.........
country.................
zipcode/postcode..................
phone number ....................
fax number...........
willing to here from you to conclude the transaction

I for one don't see a problem. Do you? I have no idea why Rick sent the following reply:

Hi,

Doroth Blake. Are you sure your name not good Blake Doroth? That making more good cents to me. You are so interested in my goods. This is good. It is good when you are interested in my goods. I can sell my goods to you for a good price of $1,400 and save you good $50--this is equally good. I am so happy to receive good cash from you when you can send me and I can send my goods. Please put a nice wrapper around my good pile of cash and label them "Good Cash for a Good Boy for His Good Bike," and send them to me. 

I am so happy to wait for it,

Good buy

Buyer #2: Mr. Paul Wants a {Bike}

You know, if you're not even willing to delete the placeholder brackets, your heart's not really in the scam, is it? Here's Mr. Paul Crane's purchase offer:

Greetings to you, My name is Mr Paul, i saw your {Bianchi EV2 Aluminum 2001, 53cm, Record $1450} placed on advert, and it suits what i have been looking for since a very long time,based on the description i have decided to  buy it from you, i'll also like to know your last asking price and to see the pics also. I am presently not in the country, i am in UK on a business trip,So i will like to ask you if you accept to be payed with  via us Certifier Money Order? If that is accepted by you, kindly mail me back with details:
FULL NAME....
ADDRESS......
PHONE NUMBER#.....
COUNTRY.....
ZIPCODE.....
Best Regard
Mr Paul Crane 

I think we can all take a lesson from the courtesy and poetry Rick shows in his reply.

Great Mr. Crane--we have a deal. I know you have been looking for this bike for a very long time. I know this will be your best bike. In fact, I will reduce the price to $1,350. I will accept payment in cash ($100 dollar bills). I know you will come back to the US from a business trip to the UK. When you come back, you can bring me the cash and I will give you super Bianchi, which is the greatest bike in all the land. I shall be proud Mr. Paul Crane. By the way, I have a friend named Paul and a friend named Crane but neither of these friends has a Bianchi. Therefore, neither of these two will enjoy the sensations of riding the best. You will. The water is cool and warm. It is refreshing and sometimes delicious. A Bianchi can ride and when it will be paid in cash it will fly without boundaries or limitations.

Mr. Woody P. Ecker 

Buyers #3 - 20: What are the Odds?

The world's a funny place. Almost anything can happen. Rick has received, so far, about 20 of these very similar offers. I, for one, believe they're all genuine. Rick does, too. But that leaves him with a real stickler. Which of these fabulous offers should he go with? With the wisdom of Solomon, Rick sent the following e-mail to everyone:

Hello Bernard, James, Lyone, Mary, Micky, Mr Crane, and ninos,

You will not believe this. I am surprised because you all have very similar offers for my goods. Below are the emails I received from all of you with the same offer--like I said, I can't believe my eyes! I can't believe that you are geographically separated but your emails are so similar! How can this be? I remain surprised! So surprised that you all use Yahoo too. Yahoo is a very good email program and you know it.

As a solution, I have set the price for my goods at $7,432. I am very excited because this amount will enable me to purchase an even better replacement bike and also purchase a five-year supply of tubes, handlebar tape, high-end lubrication, and a neon bike flag. I am surprised and excited. The first person to deliver cash - US Dolla Dolla bills y'all may claim the goods. Cashier Cheque will not claim the goods because I do not have access to a bank that will cash your cashier cheque. So figure out a way to get me $7,432 in US Dollars.

Please work together as a team to determine who will receive my goods. I am surprised and excited to learn which of you will claim my goods.

As a side note, I like all of your signatures very much. I especially like the kind words included by your email providers. My favorite one is from Mary. Mary's says, Tired of Spam? I know this is a joke because Spam is super delicious and nutritious. I have many friends who eat much Spam. Hey, have you seen the Spam website: www.spam.com. Thanks Mary--perhaps you will get my goods for your clever signature! Perhaps you can bookmark www.spam.com.

Regards,

Rick 

Ladies and gentlemen, I hereby declare: Rick rules.

 

Today's weight: 166.0 lbs.

 

Bonus Claim of Fat Cyclist Fraud: Eric Gunnerson, whose name I sometimes drop when I want people to think I'm smart, has a Fat Cyclist consipacy theory.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

About fifteen years ago, Stuart convinced me to buy a mountain bike. He described the rush of speed, the incredible trails close by, and the challenge of climbing. I was getting tired of rollerblading (yes, really) to stay fit, and so bought a Bridgestone MB5. It cost $350 — which seemed excessive at the time — and called Stuart to take me on a ride.

I should have known better.

Stuart took me to the top of Squaw Peak, an incredibly steep, rutted, dusty, loose, downhill, primarily used by ATVs. Then he took off down it.

I stood there for a moment, looking into the abyss. Then I sobbed a bit, took a deep breath, and headed downhill.

I made it down the first ledge. Made it past the first switchback. Made it over the first jump.

It was the second jump that got me.

I am told that I hit the jump, flew over the handlebars and landed square on my noggin. I am told that horseback riders found me lying in the trail. I am told that eventually Stuart came back up the trail and took me to the hospital, while I jabbered on about how I couldn't remember my own name, didn't know how I got where I was, and had a very bad headache. I have to believe what I am told, for I have no recollection of the next six hours.

I didn't get back on that bike ever again. Eventually it was stolen, and I've never been so glad to have something stolen in my life.

 

Try, Try, Again

Five years later, another friend, Dug, convinced me to buy another mountain bike – this time a Specialized Stumpjumper, for $800 — which seemed excessive at the time. When he took me out on my first ride, we went to a dirt road. It was steep in spots, forcing me to get off and walk, but I was able to ride about 75% of it on the first try. There was no downhill on that first ride — nothing that posed a crash-and-burn risk.

I was instantly hooked. I remember talking with my wife all the rest of the day about how I had found what I wanted to do, that I was never going to ride my rollerblades again (yes, I was still rollerblading five years later).

Every day for the next month I went out to the trail Dug had showed me, until I could ride the whole thing without putting a foot down.

Is it much of a surprise that climbing became the most important part of bike riding to me, or that it still is, ten years later?

I don't know anyone who has turned more people into cyclists than Dug. In fact, a few years ago, we started calling him "Shepherd," because he had built up such a big flock of cycling followers. Which is not to say that Dug's a wonderful person. Depending on his whether he needs something from you he is one of the following:

• Snide, mean-spirited, impatient and irritable
• Cloying, saccharine, and sycophantic

But he's a remarkable bike evangelist.

 

My Turn

A couple years ago, Jeff told me that he wanted to try mountain biking. We talked through dozens of different bike options until he settled on a bike he liked — a full-suspension Trek Fuel.

Conscious that this was my chance to give him a great first impression of mountain biking, I picked out one of my favorite easy trails. Not too much of a climb, no frightening descents, nothing very technical, lots of places where you can bail out.

Jeff had a miserable time.

The trail was too narrow, it twisted and turned with numerous blind corners, and there was a nasty, deep, rocky ravine on the left — which he tumbled into.

To his credit, Jeff wasn't a baby about having a bad wreck on his first ride, like I was. He's caught the bug, and is riding more and more. He's even shaved his legs and bought a road bike.

 

What Have We Learned?

I write all this as a reminder to myself, because this weekend I'm taking a friend to look for bikes. Once he's found a bike and is ready to take it out for a spin, I will remember the following:

• What I consider an easy ride is not an easy ride.
• What I consider slow is not slow.
• What I consider an easy climb is a hard climb.
• What I consider a fun downhill is terrifying.
• What I consider a short ride is a long ride.
• If I give him more than 2 or 3 tips on how to ride, I'm a dork.
• If I take off to show how fast I am, I've completely blown it.

I don't know any cyclist who doesn't get excited at the prospect of bringing a convert into the fold. The trick is remembering to share it on the new guy's terms.

 

Today's Weight: 167.6 lbs. The Sweepstakes jackpot goes up to $50!

 

 

 

 

 

Today's weight: 169.2. So I was pretty much spot-on with my guess yesterday. Time for me to get back on track. I'm re-instituting the Fat Cyclist Sweepstakes. Your first chance to win is Friday.

This morning,I got all ready to do my daily weigh-in. I got naked, took off my watch and wedding ring, spat in the sink three times, and made sure I had no lint in my belly button.

But then I didn't weigh myself.

I just couldn't. I know that with the pre-race taper, as well as (much more importantly) the post-race hogfest, I'm bound to have gained some weight. I know my body well enough to make a guess: I bet I weigh 170 pounds. But I just couldn't stand the thought of looking at the numbers and knowing for sure.

With the Leadville 100 over 'til next year and no important riding events/races on the horizon, my "carrot" – an important reason, fixed in time, for me to lose weight – is gone. And without the carrot, setting up the "sticks" (negative consequences for my failing to meet my goals) like the daily weigh-in and the Fat Cyclist Sweepstakes have lost their appeal.

In short, I need a new carrot. Maybe a 24 hour MTB race. Maybe an epic road ride or race that I've never heard of before – one with lots of climbing. Something I can look forward to, and have a reason to train for.

I'm open to suggestions. And since I've blown my biking travel budget for the foreseeable future, having it be located in the NorthWest is a must.

This raises the larger issue: Do I have a prayer of ever reaching a point where I don't have to combat my eating inclinations in order to ride the way I want to be able to? I mean, suppose I manage to get back to 150 pounds – yay for me! – and then also manage to finish under nine hours at Leadville next year. What happens next? Well, unless I find something new and exciting to give me a reason to stay skinny, I wager that I'd gain about 7 pounds the next month, 5 the following, and be back into the 180s by Thanksgiving.

Wow, I've just succeeded in totally bumming myself out.

 

Today's weight: OK, I promise. Tomorrow I'll weigh myself, and I kick off the Fat Cyclist Sweepstakes again. I'll find a new carrot soon.

 

Nine times. I have raced the Leadville 100 Mountain Bike Race nine times. Why do I keep going back?

Well, this time the main reason was to have fun and show that I can do better than my 2004 time (10:57, I think). Here's what my day was like.

 

Look Down, Stupid.

I love seeing how bundled up some racers get for the start of this race. Shorts, tights, shoe covers, jersey, second long sleeve jersey, jacket, ear warmers. I, on the other hand, wore shorts, my Racers Cycle Service short sleeve jersey (which, alas, fits about fifteen pounds too snugly. Nothing says, "I won't be killing anyone in the climbs today" like a red, white, and orange bullseye stretched across your belly, showing exactly what you've got, spare-tire-wise), and arm warmers. I was plenty warm. Fat has its uses, I guess.

From what I hear, there were at least two nasty crashes within the first two miles of the race – on downhill pavement, yet. One of those crashes was from a pair of riders tangling handlebars, another was from someone dropping his glasses and stopping to retrieve them, unaware that this might pose a problem to the 200 racers immediately behind him. 

The first climb is up St. Kevins, a moderate hill compared to what we had in front of us. Initially I felt good, and was easily staying with the group around me. Then my legs started hurting. I tried shifting to my granny gear. No good, I was already there. I was suffering on the first climb. How could that be?

By the time I was two-thirds of the way I was up the hill, I knew I was in big trouble for the race: redlined in my granny on the first climb. How could I possibly finish this race if I was already blown?

Then I looked down. I was in my middle ring.

Oops.

A shift to my little ring up front and about halfway down the cassette in back brought immediate relief – as much mental as physical. I've said it before, but it bears repeating: the Fat Cyclist has plenty of fat on his body and in his head.

 

I Do Not Interview Everyone

While riding, I was talking with people for a Cyclingnews article. I'm not going to talk much about these chats – that's a different story. I will say, though, that people were very cool about talking to me, slowing down a bit with me so we'd have enough breath to talk for a minute. There were a few people, however, I intentionally did not interview, for various reasons.

• "Cowbell Guy:" Riding up St. Kevins, I started talking with a guy on a bike when I heard an obnoxious cowbell close by. It turns out he had a cowbell hanging from his saddle. That's when I remembered him – he and I rode within hearing distance more often than not last year. I promise you, "More cowbell" holds up as a comedy concept for a short time only. I turned off the recorder (the only time I intentionally cut off an interview), shifted up a gear, stood up and rode away. I am happy to announce that I was not troubled by the persistent clanking of cowbell again.
• "Impressive Stunt Guy:" As I was riding down Sugarloaf – a rutted, sandy descent about 3.5 miles long, I heard a guy yell "On your right!" I yelled back acknowledgment. He passed, immediately hit a woop-de-doo, and got a good amount of air. I could see even before he landed though that it wasn't going to work out well. He was way forward, and his front wheel landed first. It twisted sideways and he flipped over the front. I grabbed brake with both hands, swerved, and managed to miss him. "You OK?" I asked. "Yeah," he replied," and I continued. Ten seconds later it occurred to me I should stop and talk to him about his crash. Then I thought about how much I would like it if someone stuck a recorder in my face after one of my numerous crashes and decided to leave him alone. Besides, I would have had to walk uphill to get back to him, and that was not going to happen.
• Guy who was changing a tube: Actually, I came across 5 or 6 people during the day who were changing tubes, and I thought each time I should stop and talk to them about the frustration of having a mechanical during a race. But since I know that frustration firsthand and didn't really want to be sworn at or smacked with a pump, I just kept on going. I'm a pansy.

I Make an Empty Offer of Assistance

A couple of years ago, I got nasty chainsuck on this race, when I shifted under torque because I had come across an unexpected, steep uphill. It took me five minutes to get the chain worked free, and the whole time I was wishing somebody who was better with fixing bikes than I am (practically anybody) would help me.

In last Saturday's race, I came across a guy in the exact same spot, with the exact same problem. So I asked if he needed help, fully knowing that I was setting myself up to demonstrate how inept I am with fixing bikes. He said "No, I've just got to work it free," and thus saved me from embarrassment. Thanks, anonymous "I can fix it myself" guy.

 

I am Strong in the Flats, Weak in Forecasting

As I rode the relatively flat 15 mile stretch between the first and second aid station, I noticed something: I was passing people. This has never happened to me. I guess all the road bike riding on the rolling roads of King County was good for something.

As I rode by people, looking for a group to form a train with, people would engage in the standard Leadville conversation:

Them: "You done this race before?"

Me: "Yup. Ninth time."

Them: "Are we on track for a 9:30?"

Me: "No way. Try 10:30."

Them: "&*%#!"

The thing is, they very well may have been on track for a 9:30. Maybe even better. I just wasn't equipped to tell them, because I tend to race hot at the beginning, then blow up into smithereens for the second half of the race. Yes, I'm aware it's not a winning strategy, and I was actually trying to correct it this time. Still, I wonder how many people I completely demoralized that day. Sorry, demoralized people!

 

I Vow to Make Bob Wrong

Bob, a riding buddy, posted a comment in my blog late last week, predicting I would finish in 10:12. So when I crossed the turnaround point at Columbine Mine -- famous for being a halfway point not just in distance but in actual time -- at 5:06, I was thunderstruck. It looked like Bob might be right, down to the minute. I simply couldn't allow this. I shifted my plan from being "finish whenever" to "finish in under ten hours."

It was time to see if playing it cool for the first half of the race had left me with some power I could use in the second half.

 

Serena and I Have an Argument

Mark and Serena are the proud holders of what I call "The Warner Dynasty" – they have won (including Saturday) the Tandem division of the Leadville 100 four times straight. And coming down the rocky, nasty part of Columbine mine, I was apparently putting the dynasty in jeapordy. They were right on my tail, and I was downhilling too slow; the second-place tandem was hot on their tail. Serena started yelling at me: "Ease up on the brakes, Fatty!" (My friends call me Fatty. No, just kidding. Please don't call me Fatty.) And then: "You're losing the race for us, Fatty!"

But there was no way I could yield – we were on doubletrack, and the other track was chockablock with cyclists hiking up to the top. And, strictly speaking, it wasn't me holding them up. I was behind four other cyclists. Still, I yelled, "Shaddup, Serena!"

Mark, Serena's domestique – I mean husband – sounded dumbfounded. "Did you just tell Serena to shut up?"

"Yes!"

Amazingly, that ended the discussion. As soon as they found an opening, Mark and Serena flew by, protecting their dynasty for another year, and finishing five minutes ahead of me. On a tandem…a fully rigid tandem, that is. On technical downhill. Clearly, downhilling is not my strength.

Telling Serena to shut up, however, may have been the bravest thing I have ever done (she could easily take me in a fight).

 

When is Encouragement Just Mean?

One of the things I love about the Leadville 100 is the encouragement riders shout to each other on Columbine Mine. The people plodding up shout encouragement to those flying down. Racers on their way down cheer to those struggling on their way up: "You're almost there! Looking strong! Looking good!"

So here's an interesting hypothetical question: You've just about completed the descent from Columbine Mine when you see someone just starting to push his bike up the eight miles to the turnaround -- walking, ashen-faced, in what should be a middle-ring part of the climb, at a rate that will surely see him swept from the field before day's end. Do you cheer him on, or do you explain the reality of the situation?

I yelled, "You can make it! Get to the top!" I figured he's done the math. If he's decided to keep going anyway, that's worth cheering for. I know I sure don't want everyone telling me the reality of my racing situation ("Uh, dude? You're fat and middle-aged. Shouldn't you be at home watching Larry King or something?").

 

Best. Breeze. Ever.

On paper, miles 60-75 of the Leadville 100 look pretty tame. It's a rolling section, a nice little break between the massive Columbine Mine climb and the brutally steep Powerline climb. But it's this flat section that I dread every year. There's always a mean headwind. And I'm always out of juice.

Except this year.

This year, there was a healthy tailwind instead of the rain and headwind I had anticipated (although I'm told it did in fact rain and hail on Columbine Mine about a half hour after I got down, soaking and freezing the hundreds of people still up there). And it turns out that by reining myself in for the first half of the race, I felt great for the second half. I met up with a guy named Chris and we talked and worked together almost the entire 15 miles. It went by in what felt like a flash. 

Bugaboo vanquished. At least for now.

 

Big Finish

One of the things that really defines the Leadville 100 is that two of its nastiest climbs are saved for the final 25 miles. The Powerline climb is so steep and loose that you've got to march almost a mile of its 3.3 mile distance (I had measured on the way in, to help ward off the false hope the many false summits bring). And then there's St. Kevins, which is on pavement, but it just feels like the race organizers were being mean-spirited to put such a grind just 12 miles from the finish. And of course, there's the boulevard, a short but evil climb just 2.5 miles from the finish.

I say all this because it serves my vanity. I believe not a single person passed me in that final 25 miles, at least not without me passing them back. I, on the other hand, passed lots. I rode sections people walked. I middle-ringed where people grannied. I, in short, ruled. I thought of the much leaner people looking in consternation at the fat guy passing them in the climbs, and my heart sang.

In fact, for the second half of the race, I did pretty close to a nine-hour pace. I did all this simply to defy Bob. Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Bob entirely failed to care.

At the finish line, I raised both hands in triumph, as if I had won, instead of placing 162^nd of 471 finishers (not sure how many starters there were, but 750 were registered to race; I'd guess 600 actually made it to the starting line). This was a bad idea, because I was addle-brained and barely able to balance with my hands on the handlebars. I swerved dangerously, causing an audible gasp from the finish line crowd. I – barely -- managed to grab my handlebars, straighten my bike and cross the finish line – my dignity nearly intact. 9:41. Four minutes faster than my goal. Huzzah.

If I had been in good shape (spent time working on climbing), and if I weighed less, this could have been the year I got that sub-9. The course and weather were perfect for it. Next year, I tell you. Next year the sub-9 is mine. For now, I'll kick myself. Just a little bit.

 

My Stomach Defies Physics

When the race is over, the hunger begins. In the 24 hours following the race, I ate the following:

• Cream cheese-stuffed pretzel
• Lasagna, with two salads
• Half a burrito (a person with a normal appetite could eat only half; I was able to eat half in addition to the lasagna)
• A pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream
• Four more Kudos bars.
• Two omelets
• Two blueberry muffins
• Yogurt and granola
• Untold glasses of orange juice
• Giant cookie
• Chicken burrito with sour cream and guacamole…and a Diet Coke (I'm watching my weight, after all)

And the hunger hasn't subsided yet. Maybe it never will.

 

Today's Weight: I dare not step on a scale. I will begin the daily weigh-in again tomorrow.

 

Bonus Fat Cyclist Food Plan for Endurance Athletes

I've genuinely lost count of how many epic rides and endurance races I've done in the eleven or so years I've been riding. Throughout all that time, I've experimented with different sports drinks, energy bars, powders and pills. All with two simple aims:

• I want to have energy
• I don't want to be sick

This year, I've finally done it. And – ironically, I suppose – the answer is a very simple mix of foods:

• 1 Gu  for every 20 minutes of riding (I've settled on Gu brand because I like the way it tastes and my energy level doesn't spike with it quite as badly as it does with PowerGel, and it doesn't give me gas, the way Clif Shot does), excepting the first two hours, when I'm still powered by the morning meal. For a 10-hour ride, that means 24 Gus. I squeeze them all into a water bottle(which means I have $24 worth of gel in one water bottle), then dilute with water, so I can squirt them into my mouth and swallow easily.
• Water – no sports drink. I know, I know, the sports drinks have minerals and calories and all that. But when I drink sports drink for a couple hours, I get sick to my stomach, and I get sick of so much sweet stuff, after which I stop drinking, after which I get dehydrated, after which I bonk. I can drink water happily all day, and get my salt and calories elsewhere (like from a whole lot of Gu).
• Chicken and Stars soup. This now comes in single-serving, pop-top containers. I drank one each time I stopped at an aid station. It's got lots of salt, it's not sweet, and you can slurp it down in a matter of moments. I have not had a single leg cramp since I've started drinking soup on my big rides.
• Kudos "granola" bars. I put "granola" in quotes because I don't think there's any granola in them. Truth in packaging should require the makers of these to admit these are just little candy bars. My favorite flavor is the chocolate and peanut butter ones. I eat these because they taste great (like Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, essentially), have lots of calories, and they're small enough that I can stuff one in my mouth in two bites. And it's easy to rip the package open, even when you're on the bike.

So, would I encourage you to adopt my eating strategy on endurance rides? No way. Almost certainly, there's something in my plan that wouldn't work for you. But maybe there's something here that will work for you, too. And in any case, now you know how to eat like a Fat Cyclist. Lucky you.

I raced the Leadville 100 today. A few factoids from my day:

 

• Number of Gu's consumed: 24 – representing 2400 calories
• Servings of Campbell's Chicken and Stars Soup consumed: 2
• Amount of water drunk: 1 gallon
• Number of granola bars consumed: 6
• Number of brief interviews conducted for my cyclingnews.com story: 24
• Number of Advil consumed: 3
• Amount of time spent in the rain: none
• Most beneficial surprise: a tailwind – rather than the expected headwind – from mile 60 to mile 75, leaving me feeling good at the end of what is usually the part of the course that totally demoralizes me.
• Fast friends:
• Mark and Serena Warner won the Tandem category for the fourth time in a row
• Chucky Gibson took fourth overall with a time of 7:28. I can't even imagine those kinds of times.
• Kenny Jones finished with a time of 8:08. Kenny and I used to ride together all the time before I moved; now he's at a completely different level.
• Bry Christensen finished with a time of 8:48, getting that sub-9 time I've wanted so bad for so long.
• Most frightening moment of the day: a person passed me on a technical downhill, then immediately hit a little jump, landed too far forward, and stacked himself up spectacularly. I missed crashing into him by inches.
• Goal finish time: 9:45
• Actual finish time: 9:41
• Finish place overall: 162^nd
• Most sore parts of my body:
• My behind
• My shoulders
• My neck
• My legs

 

Today's weight: Right after the race, I probably weighed around 150. After a big ol' dinner, I'm confident I'm back to being the fat cyclist. Considering how much I ate, maybe fatter than ever before.