A View from the Outside

(Guest post from Sara)

I could never understand why my dad would want to throw himself onto some sort of two-wheeled metal frame and ride around in the woods for hours. He’d come home with bloody scrapes and would wake up the next morning with bruises the color of big juicy grapes…yet there would always be a smile on his face. I’d had my fair share of mountain biking; a couple instances in Marsh Creek, during which I was praying to stay alive, white-knuckled, as my bike crashed down the paths covered in very sharp, very solid, unforgiving rocks.

Part of me understands where this source of madness comes from; I’m a Cross Country runner, so I too understand the rush, and later the satisfaction, of completely destroying your body in a good workout. Even though I bump my head on one of Dad’s bikes each time I walk through the garage, I know this is something that makes him happy (and smelling like he’d camped out in a high school locker room for a week) when he comes home from a long ride. He disappears for hours until I find him outside, covered in grease, with what seems like hundreds of bike parts scattered on the ground. Because apparently it’s normal to just go outside and rebuild a bike.

But I have picked up some useful trivia. I have been well educated in the ways of Dime stack welds, 21-tooth cogs, and front and rear suspension forks. See how many other seventeen-year-old girls know that. I know how to fix a chain that’s fallen off and patch up a popped tire. All of which Dad talks about with the same amount of excitement that someone would have after winning the lottery. But I’ve got to give him credit; he’s found something that he loves, and he’s made time to do it, which is a lesson that he’s instilled in me. So although my bike will continue to gather dust up in the shed, (I haven’t been granted Garage Status with Dad’s bikes yet) I’ve learned a lot from his mountain biking adventures. Looks like there’s hope for me after all.

Sara

“You live longer once you realize that any time spent being unhappy is wasted.”
     – Ruth E. Renkl

Rinse Cycle

Every picture and video I
took yesterday was
too soon or too late.
Need to do better

The forecast said stop but the email chatter said go. So five of us met in Delaware and rolled out under partly cloudy skies in defiance of all meteorological prognostications. We treated ourselves to almost two hours of singletrack bliss before mother nature put her foot down. In that time we did most of the northern half of the park in spite of:

• A mechanical less than one minute into the ride (Cinco's streak of SS breakdowns continues)
• A spill off a six foot high platform in the skills park (we checked with KT and yes it hurts now)
• A Tumble in the Chunnel (CR got pretty wet but it wouldn't matter in about 10 minutes anyway)
• Getting lost, off the trail, in the best marked trail system north of the Vernadsky Research Base in Antarctica (CD "never been down that one before, let's try it")

About 2 hours into the ride the heavens opened up with a deluge of of biblical proportions. The rainwater was refreshing but quickly turned the trails into a slurry of mud. Within a few seconds we were beyond caring about being wet and the mud was kind of fun, so we debated taking run at the Corkscrew and the Goat Trail. A well timed crack of thunder shut that idea down and we sprinted for the safety of the cars, and McGlynn's pub.

Grab the women and children,
there is some scary s$*t going
down in the DD parking lot.

Back at the parking lot the rain was coming down so hard we didn't dare open the car doors. So we did the only thing that was left to do. We stood there laughing, letting the cool rain cleanse us, watching  muddy rivulets run down our legs. By now 2 inches of it was running across the parking lot so I took off my shoes and rinsed my socks in the runoff. You know it's bad when your socks make the parking lot runoff dirtier than when it started.

Then rain finally stopped as quickly as it had started, but no the show wasn't over. Not yet. The next act was the Dunkin' Donuts parking lot wardrobe change. The full boat, including underwear. It wasn't in the cars because we were too wet. It was done standing in the parking lot and we have information that it raised a few eyebrows in the yoga class that rents the space above DD.

We wrapped up at McGlynn's with a lot of laughing and beers, a trip to the smoked sausage bar, and a very tolerant waitress.

I got home just after dark and promptly drove into the garage with the bike still on top - both bike and house are showing a little (cosmetic) wear as a result. Then whatever modicum of self assurance I had left was dashed when my daughter gave me a hug and then told me "you smell." So I took my third shower of the day.

As expected it was a great day...but ironically what made it memorable was the un-expected.

Chris

"It's fun to have fun, but you have to know how." 
     -- Dr. Seuss

Something Different

WARNING: This blog post has nothing to do with mountain biking but it does feature a human powered two-wheel vehicle and it's my blog anyway so there.

Five hours before showtime

My vision blurred momentarily as the low frequency sound wave rippled through the fluid in my eyeball. I saw the hair on Sara's head move with each beat of the bass drum. We were in a decrepit parking lot in a rundown industrial section of Philadelphia, hanging on the front of an outdoor stage. I was with Sara and her friend Kristina watching the second of four bands – Young Guns – who would be followed by Halestorm and … get ready … Bullet for my Valentine. I was there as chaperon but it turned out my eyes would not just be jiggled but would be opened in some unexpected ways.

The performance on the stage was not particularly musical, but it was loud and it was honest and it was stirring in an intensely primal way. I was captivated in spite of my old-school music snobbery. The lead guitar was thrashing his instrument and the front man pouring out his soul. It didn’t take long for the crowd to warm up and soon we had the first crowd surfer riding over the crowd in a sea of hands, totally trusting of the thousands of strangers who were lifting him, carrying him toward the stage.

Gus working the crowd

The crowd roared their approval and before long there were more surfers up, riding the wave in the crowd. When they reached the edge of the stage, the crowd would heave them over the barricade into the arms of the (very large) security guards. The guards would put them on their feet and send them to the side of the stage to rejoin the crowd and do it again. At times there were half a dozen surfers floating toward the stage at once. We saw a guy in a wheelchair surf the crowd. Within seconds he was out of the wheelchair, floating, riding the wave. Once the surfer and his wheelchair were over the barricade, security him back in his chair, and wheeled him back into the crowd. Twenty minutes later he was back up, surfing to the stage to be put back into his wheelchair again.

The crowd was churning pretty good when Gus (Young Guns front man) called for a mosh pit. Immediately the pit formed in the middle of the crowd. People were throwing themselves into the mosh, bouncing off each other, getting knocked around and occasionally knocked down. It was rough and you could definitely get a little banged up in there, but it wasn’t angry and it wasn’t hurtful. It was a tribal expression of total abandon, surrendering to the energy pulsating from the stage and the crowd.

With the steady flow of crowd surfers, the churning mosh pit, and the band nearly self destructing on the stage it was hard to tell where the show actually was because it was everywhere...it was one huge seething mass of humanity and music and vibration, on and off the stage, feeding off each other, emotionally charged and physically bonded. It wasn’t a stage performance, it was a full immersion primordial soup experience.

Now let's get back to my beloved teenage daughter Sara and her friend Kristina, the two sixteen year-olds who got me here. Remember how important music was to you as a teenager? How the sound and the lyrics spoke to you in profound ways? Now put yourself in Sara’s shoes, at this show. This is her band and her music, the music that speaks to her very soul. This music is shaking her to the core and she is immersed in a sea of thousands who also relate intensely to this music. They get it. And they are all out of their minds, the mosh pit is churning, she is in the front row, hanging over the barricade, and Gus (front man and heart throb) is singing. To her. He is looking at her and he is pointing at her and he is singing those words she knows by heart to her! I can only imagine what that felt like for her, but I can tell you that being her father and seeing her in this moment almost brought me to tears it was so beautiful.

After the show, the girls spent way too much money on t-shirts at the "merch" tables, and we tracked down a couple of the performers including Gus. This would be the next surprise. I expected a frazzled raw nerve, a suicidal wild man. What we got instead was a gentleman who was very gracious and attentive to my 16 year old and her friend. He engaged them, listened to them, spend time with them and he gave them the experience of a lifetime.

The girls were pretty clear as the show wound down that their lives had just peaked, right there. This night was the very pinnacle of their young lives. I know there will be more to come for them, but really at that moment they were at the pinnacle and I was too, thanks to them. I think I had forgotten what a breathtaking view it can be from up there. Thank you girls…

Herman

Sara did two, I did one

I love circles. With each turn of the wheel I move 7.6 feed forward and the next turn begins. The turns are continuous, impossible to tell where one turn ends and the other turn begins. The wheels spin and the miles roll by. Downhills are powered entirely by gravity. For uphills the circular motion of my feet turns circles which turn other circles and those turning circles move the bike forward over the ground. Spinning circles. Continuous and fluid, floating.

Without the circles, I am Herman Munster. Herman throws himself forward violently to pile-drive his leg into the pavement with maximum force. Then he does the same thing with the other leg. Again and again he does this, over and over. Pile driving each leg into the ground. Downhills are no different but increase in the crushing force of each impact. There are no circles. There is no fluidity. No floating.

Today I went without circles, helping Sara out with a 5K relay. She was scheduled to run one of three legs, but her team unraveled and so she recruited her creaky old Dad to race with her, without the benefit of circles.

There will be a lot of Advil tomorrow, but we had a blast as father and daughter team. And I have a renewed appreciation for circles. And for my daughter who propels herself for miles almost very day, without the benefit of circles.

Chris


"Life Begins At The End Of Your Comfort Zone"

     -- Unknown

AT Shakedown with The Girls

WARNING: This is technically not a bike related post but it is the reason I missed the Friday-Happy-Hour-and-Micro-Brew-Taste-Test ride and it does include a back woods rope swing so hoping nobody will be too offended...


The girls are amazing.


On this weekend we opened a new chapter in our long-running father-daughter adventure series.  We've done a decade of of car and cabin camping since they were five years old. We've sailed the Chesapeake in our own bareboat flotilla, and we even did a weekend canoe camping trip down the Delaware. But this would be a Father's Day version featuring backpacking, our most primitive adventure yet.  We chose the Appalachian Trail north of Reading for our trip. We were told this was some of the rockiest and difficult terrain on the entire 1,200 mile AT. How would the girls handle the hiking with 15-20 lbs of gear on their backs? Drinking water would have to be filtered from mountain springs. Digging their own latrines when they were kids would have been a novelty, how how would four teenage girls take to it?


Well in short they tore it up.  There should never have been any doubt, they have always risen to the challenge. And the challenge started before we had even strapped on the backpacks. We were at the trail head, cutting walking sticks and scoping out the trail entrance when the sole of Emily's hiking boot delaminated. Completely. A tube of 5 minute epoxy, a roll of duct take, and 30 minutes later we were on our way with fingers crossed.


At the first trail junction, we handed the girls a compass put them in charge. They never looked back and led the way, Dads sweeping, for the entire two days of hiking.

Sara showing how it is done. That
water is wicked cold (spring fed).

Dinner time

A few hours later we trundled into the Hertlein campsite. We settled on one of the two tent platforms (the other was already taken) and started setting up camp. The girls, to their credit, immediately got to figuring out the rules of engagement.  "Can we take off our boots?"  "Can we go to the stream?" "Can I sleep outside?" (as if sleeping in a tent isn't outside enough) "Can we put on our bathing suits go down that path to the swimming hole?"  And of course the answers to all those questions was YES but we did insist on the buddy system as they trucked off to the swimming hole and we finished setting up camp. Within minutes we could hear screams and laughter, confirming they had found the legendary spring fed (very very cold) swimming hole and rope swing. We (Sebastian, Jim, and I) eventually worked our way down there and discovered the shangri-la of camp sites. Picnic table, fire pit, plenty of room for the tents, next to the swimming hole and water fall,  After a quick glance (no words were necessary) we hurried back up to the original campsite, and hauled our gear down to the place we would call home for the next 16 hours.

PJs around the campfire, it doesn't
get any better than this!

We quickly fell into the familiar and comfortable rhythm of camp life. Dinner was a smorgasbord of freeze dried backpacker meals - lasagna, spaghetti with meat balls, chicken and potatoes, tacos, and freeze dried ice cream. Yum (seriously). We gathered wood and soon had a crackling campfire. Games ensued and the Dads used the rope swing to set up the bear bag, and we eventually settled in around the campfire for the traditional Dad-Daughter jocularity and ghost stories.

The Tribe before breaking camp

We turned in around 10:00pm and Sara, true to her word, found a small clearing for her sleeping bag (no tent) and crawled in for the night. Around 3:30am I checked in with her and she asked me if there were "any wolf packs in the area." I assured her there were not, but obviously her imagination was working on her and I was not surprised when 10 minutes later she showed up at the tent asking if she could curl up with me. That was a no brainer, and with her snuggled up next to me I was finally able to fall into a deep relaxed sleep.

Boulder field. About a mile of this
ankle busting terrain on day two...

...but yet they keep laughing, smiling,
and hiking. They are amazing.

We slept in until 7:30am (obviously very tired). Coffee got things going for me and I learned (the hard way) why setting a round roll of toilet paper on a hillside while you are "indisposed" is a very bad idea. We topped off our water supply, loaded our packs, groaned a little as we put them back on (funny how they push on all the wrong sore spots from yesterday), and broke camp, continuing west toward Rt 501 (this was a point-to-point hike). Today's hike would be about twice the distance of day one and would include traversing of a massive boulder field but would also include many more scenic overlooks than day one. The Angelina Jolie game, twenty-one questions, and hours of Seinfeld trivia questions made the 4.5 hour hike go by quickly. The sun was out, but temps were cool, and it was absolutely perfect hiking conditions.

Rt 501 and Success!

Sara working on her free
climbing skills

I can't say how proud I am of the girls. This was a physically demanding trip that asked a lot of the girls, but they were all about embracing the adventure every step of the way. When they had to suck it up and soldier on they did. And when they had a chance to relax, they provided and endless supply of giggles and smiles. Emily had even climbed aboard this adventure while nursing a nasty summer cold (in addition to her disintegrating boots).  It was the kind of weekend that brings tears (of joy) to a Dad's eyes and produces memories for a lifetime. Thank you girls!

The Luckiest Dad on the Planet,
Chris

"I Have a Plan"

On Friday I got this enigmatic text from my daughter: "Wat time r u going to b home? I have a plan."

I have a plan...

...I figured what possibly could be better than starting the weekend than with a 15 year old that has a plan? And I was right. Her plan was to produce a music video and she told me that she would need the following:

1. Three video cameras and a couple of tripods
2. Direct access to some of my biking buddies
3. A few hours with me in my biking clothes
4. My unwavering trust and commitment to her vision

It was fascinating being a bit player in this mysterious master plan - watching her interview my friends, direct me to "bike up that hill", and setup and take down cameras and tripods. She even convinced my wife to drive the car around the neighborhood car while she took time lapse pictures from the passenger seat.

Sunday afternoon she hunkered down in front of her computer - clicking like mad and occasionally laughing out loud. That evening she proudly shared her rough cut edit with me, and what had been a whirlwind of seemingly disjoint activities suddenly came into sharp focus. It's really quite remarkable when you throw yourself at the mercy of your kid and they reward you with something so creative.

Chris

"It's fun to have fun, but you have to know how."
     --Dr. Seuss

To Saumur and Beyond! (France Trip Series)

Our bikes were waiting patiently in a small stone courtyard 237 kilometers south of Paris, and our stay on Risico was coming to an end. The next week we would embrace the nomadic lifestyle in the French countryside. Our goal was full immersion in local culture, so we had made all our own arrangements (route, motels, bikes, meals, luggage, etc) rather than relying on a tour operator. What better way to make contact with the locals than getting hopelessly lost on your bike on a country road in rural France with no bailout options?

We used Detours for our bike rentals and to provide luggage transfer between hotels. The bikes were great quality and well maintained, and the luggage transfer was flawless. We left our bags in the hotel lobby each morning and - voilà - they were waiting for us upon arrival at our next destination. Panniers gave us ample capacity for carrying water, wine, baguettes, and gear each day.

We hopped our train from Paris to Chenenceaux to pick up our bikes and unwind before our morning departure. If all went as planned, the ride would finish six days later in Saumur, with overnights in Azay-le-Rideau and Chinon. The train dropped us on the outskirts of Chenenceaux, about a 100m walk past an ancient stone church to the Hostel du Roy. After the hustle and bustle of Paris, the solitude of this tiny town welcome...and the full size bathroom was a real luxury.

The next day - our first one on the bikes - was to be our longest at 45 miles. This type of milage was
frickin' insane for the first day of a family touring vacation
probably a little aggressive for our first day (remember this is a family trip) but in six and a half hours in the saddle we saw some incredible countryside and had many excellent interactions with the locals, for example:

• After two laps through the town of Athee sue Cher and a few unplanned miles, Katey leveraged her rudimentary French skills in a local bar (it was 10:30am) and we were promptly back on course.
• Two very nice ladies, one riding a mountain bike on a farm road south of Tours and the other strolling outside of Mont, were very patient with us and probably saved us another 10 miles of needless miles.
• The fellow in the 3rd floor apartment somewhere east of Azay who saw me wandering around the park with 4 empty water bottles in my arms searching unsuccessfully for a spigot. He shouted and waved to me from his 3rd floor balcony, came running down the stairs, and showed me to the spigot in the basement.

Finally on the home stretch 3 miles from Azay we stumbled into a small troglodyte shop that sold ice cream, juice, and local honey. Did I mention it was unbearably HOT and that we had ridden 42 miles at this point? We were ON IT hit it off very well with the very friendly proprietor Sebastien.

In my next post, we'll meet Marité and Philippe at Troglodelice where we will sleep in a cave for two nights!

Prime Location (France Trip Series)

Imagine my surprise as I was furiously pedaling west toward Saumur on Route des Ducs d'Anjou (hey I didn't name it I just rode it) when I stumbled upon this sign. It marks the prime meridian. That's 0° longitude! It's the reference from which all other lines of longitude on the globe are derived. It is also the line that - longitudinally speaking - divides east from west. I only wish I had my GPS with me so I could really geek-out and see all the zeros.

Call Me a Metrosexual (France Trip Series)

We are just back from the family vacation of a lifetime - two weeks in France to celebrate Mom and Dad’s 50th wedding anniversary. France because we spent time there as a family (my sister was born there). Also we are a family of foodies, many of us enjoy cycling, and heck what’s not to like about Paris in the springtime?

This first week was aboard an 80’ houseboat docked in the heart of Paris next to the Jarden des Tuileries. For the second week we (the kids and families) embarked on a cycling tour of four rivers in the western France - Le Cher, L’Indre, Le Vienne, the of course the Loire. Following are highlights of our week in Paris and yes, there is some cycling (albeit roadie) content included.

Risico is one of a couple dozen houseboats (converted river barges actually) on the Right Bank in the shadow of the Eiffel tower and the Musee D’Orsay. The boat is 80’ long with three cabins and is cozy for our party of seven, but you cannot beat the location. We are a five minute walk from the Louvre. We have a front row seat to watch the river traffic on the Seine.

Day two on Risico was June 21st - the summer solstice. This is the day that musicians traditionally come out and play in the streets of Paris for free. Music is everywhere in the city, including three barges down from us at a private party. Once night had fallen we made our way down to the festivities and innocently slipped “into” the party which was spilling onto the quay next to the barge and danced with the lights of the Eiffel Tower shimmering on the Seine as Paris danced and sang it’s way into the morning. The next morning I woke at 6:30, made my bed and some coffee and took them topside to watch the city wake up. Blue sky, a barge (actually 2 rafted) were doing a lazy 180 dgree turn to push slowly upstream. I watched an elevator slowly ascend the Eiffel Tower. And I was sitting here in my pajamas having breakfast. Unbelievable.

Later that morning Jeff and I scored at the Velib (see my post entitled “Making It All Work”) and the city was ours. We spend the day exploring Paris neighborhoods and wrap the evening up with another wonderful meal topside on Risico and a midnight romp with Katey and Jeff around the Grand Palais - notable due to Ruth in her PJs and the gendarmes in riot gear (no connection).

Thursday is spent at the Louvre and around Pompidou Center. Pompidou has some racy stuff on #4 but Sara survives OK. This is slowly becoming our favorite part of town, youngish crowd, vibrant street life, great food. After our traditional mid-afternoon coffee, we split up - the girls continue shopping while Jeff and I grab a couple of Velib bikes and go exploring. Nice dinner that evening near Bastille. Sara is so graceful and confident, and stylish with her silk scarf. She puts her arm in mine as we stroll home. I am the luckiest dad on the planet.

On our last full day in Paris Jeff and I are all over the Velib. We find a foodie heaven market near the Blue Marble. Incredible produce, seafood from the Mediterranean, exotic cheeses, fantastic wines, chocolate, baked goods. Endless cafes and brasseries filled with people sipping espresso or enjoying a cold beer. The streets are all cobblestone, very crooked and narrow, and limited to pedestrians and motorbikes. We stock up on provisions and then feast on the boat for our last night.

Soon we will have to say goodbye to Risico, wave Bon Voyage to Mom and Dad, and move on to our next adventure in the vineyards of Western France...

Making It Work (France Trip series)

Just back from two week vacation in France celebrating Mom and Dad's 50th anniversary. I've got weeks worth of blog posts in my head, so I'm going to just start pounding them out in no particular order. Be advised that some posts may include roadie or non-biking content. Hang in there.



Scooters and motorcycles probably out number the cars in Paris. Add in the bicyles and the cars are definitely a minority. At least half of the scooters are driven by women, many in skirts and high heels. I don’t know how they do it, but they all look soooo cool while doing it. Stylish clothing, weaving through traffic, over sidewalks, between cars, and down one-way streets (the wrong way). The scooters and sometimes the small cars (there are virtually NO big ones) are driving down narrow city streets crowded with pedestrians. It’s just like a Borne Ultimatum movie. Really, that is how it is. In the US this would be a hands-down-goat-rodeo with women and children screaming and jumping out of the way in a panic. But here everyone - pedestrians, cyclists, drivers - work together to make it possible. No unpredictable moves, give people just enough space, don’t be a jerk.

And the cyclists are right there in the mix with the motorcycles, scooters, and cars. At the head of the left turn lane waiting for a green light and diving into / out of traffic circles. .And the beautiful thing is that ALL of the other drivers respect the cyclists. Totally. Basically they view you as an equal on the road.. Once you get accustomed to this, you can really tear it up in terms of getting around town efficiently by bike.

It gets better. In Paris they have this service called the “Velib.” For a nominal fee (in our case it was about 10 euros for the week) you get unlimited use of about 20,000 bikes in 30 minute chunks. You access them using any of about 2,000 automated vending stations scattered throughout the city (we consistently found them every couple of blocks). You simply punch in your account number, pick a bike, and off you go. When you have arrived at your destination you just check it into the closest Velib and go about your business. So basically you always have a bike handy wherever you go, but you are never burdened with locking it or remembering where you left it (easy to get disoriented in a medieval city like Paris).

Jeff and I were all over this Velib thing. Once we purchased our one week passes at a local Velib station, we struck out for nowhere in particular, wound up somewhere in the 9th or 10th arrondissement. We dropped the bikes at a nearby Velib station (they can be found every 100 yards or so), and did some exploring on foot. Then we found another Velib station, grabbed a pair of bikes and headed home to Risico.



In an bike-friendly city like Paris, a bicycle is just about the perfect way to get around (weather permitting of course). The freedom of being able to go anywhere in the city without having to worry about locking your bike or finding it again after exploring or walking for a few hours is really really liberating.

Mixed Results

Six of us ripped up White Clay this morning - from the park office to the half pipe and back in under two hours. And that's with quite a few protracted stops as a couple of us geriatrics were suffering off the back. Jim and Neil (new guys) showed us some new trails, including the tunnel and the Goat Trail. Some pretty nifty bikes in our group as well - a SuperFly, brand new Niner SIR, and a Lynskey Helix with a Hammer Schmidt crankset making it a "dingle-speed." I thought my Rig was a light bike until I heft a couple of these bikes. Now I know I am riding a tank.

After lunch I went out with the family for our weekly training ride (gearing up for next month's Europe trip). We entered the park and with about 25' of pavement to go before we would have hit the glorious (and soft) dirt trail, Sara did her first official endo. There are few things that will make your heart sink as quickly as hearing your 13-year old kid hit the pavement at 15mph. Luckily there was no permanent damage and within 20 minutes we were back home recapping the mishap and immortalizing the gore (see photographic damage assessment).

She doesn't want to hear it now, but this is the classic case of "climb back on that horse" because in less than five weeks we are heading to France for a week of biking. Are cobblestones softer than asphalt?

Chris

"Pain is Temporary, Glory is Forever"

-- unknown

A Good Morning

Sara and I finished the Hibernia Duathlon in 1:55. Lap times (run, bike, bike, run) were 0:22, 0:28, 0:30, 0:25. A belly full of pizza and Gatorade, a hot shower, and now the couch is calling out to me and I am powerless to resist.

It was really a blast chasing down a few riders. The distance slowly closes. Eventually they hear you behind them and they pick up the pace...for a while, but then they surrender and you politely say "on your left." Or as was the case in one particularly sketchy downhill, I dove for another line through the rocks and instantly he was behind me. Of course many of these poor souls had already run 2.5 miles and I was still fresh because I had Sara do the dirty work for me. But still, it was fun!

Digression: One guy rode a Surly Pugsley, I think that is a cool bike. My full suspension was definitely too much bike for this race, but I needed gears on the flats. Thinking of trading the FS in for a 29er hard tail, with gears...or a Pugsley.

Chris

It's Game On

I generally race a couple of times a year. I did have one podium experience a few years back, but it seems my only remote shot at the podium comes every 5 years when I tick over into a new age bracket. For example, next year I hit the big five-oh and so am looking forward to kicking some serious AARP butt in 2011.

Digression: I entered by first race when I was 45 years old. I was pumped because I figured the geezers in the "45 and over" class would be pushovers for a youngster like me. Well it turned out that a podium finish in the "35-44" class was barely mid-pack in the "45 and over" class. Apparently old guys who are still racing at this advanced age are pretty tough competitors.

But anyway I just race just for the fun of the run-up to event day, the buzz of the race day activities, and the chance to maybe beat a friend across the finish line. And the spring Hibernia Duathlon is the perfect event because it's low key, it's local, and best of all my 13 year old daughter is the perfect partner to take on the running leg.

Digression: I would rather ram a rusty icepick up my nose than run 5 miles on foot - which is a problem because I have a brother-in-law who is twisting my arm to do a triathlon this summer. But that would be another tangent so I will table it for now.

So anyway, this morning over breakfast I teed-up the duathlon relay idea with my daughter. And she totally bit. Big time. So now we're committed, the run-up has begun, and my riding schedule has taken on a new sense of urgency.

The Cannondale

'Twas brillig, and the slippery slopes

Did gyre and gimble in my wake.

All mimsy were the spandexed legs you know,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

Beware the Cannondale, my Father!

The wheels that rip, the frame that mashes!

Beware the pedestrian, and shun

The frumious motorcycle!

* * * * *

Best birthday card yet, from my 13 year old daughter.

Monty Python and Lewis Caroll fans should be impressed. I was!

Biking With Your Clothes On

So today we did that "other" Philly bike ride. You know, the one where they actually wear clothes. I am still trying to sort that other one out in my head. I mean, I acknowledge that our cultural view on nakedness is a little puritanical and I am all about "letting it all hang out," but I also find that clothing offers some very practical benefits when riding. How those guys survived the potholes and frost heaved streets of Philly is beyond me. But I digress...

Today's ride was well attended, Sara estimates 3000 (3001 if you count Mayor Nutter). The rollout from the Art Museum steps was awesome as always, cruising down the Avenue of the Arts with nary a car to be seen...followed by 10 miles through the neighborhoods of Philly and the Waterfront (hats off to Vince Fumo as we passed the Maritime Museum), then another 10 through Fairmont Park and Boathouse Row before we returned to the Art Museum for pizza, hot dogs, pictures, and music. We were home before noon with a full day of riding under our belts and an entire afternoon to bask in the sun and replenish our electrolytes (Tanqueray is an electrolyte, right?).

I will close with a quote Sara picked up from the "Inspirational Knot" booth at today's ride (it's a booth where you jot your own inspirational message on a ribbon, toss it into a bowl, and then pluck one from the bowl for yourself). Sara's (the one she plucked) reads as follows:

"A strong body makes the mind strong"

-- Thomas Jefferson

Dirty Little Secret

So here it is. My dirty little secret is out of the box, literally.

Now if you read this blog then you know I am prone to an occasional offhand comment at the expense of road riders. Well now I am a part time road rider.

But here's the deal.

If you ever catch me shaving my legs or wearing purple spandex, then you are encouraged to kick your car door open as you pass me on Creek Road and/or chuck your 72oz big gulp at me. No hard feelings.

...and I do reserve the right to continue ribbing road riders. In fact since I am now one of "them" I can do it with a clean(er) conscience. Stay tuned.

Chris

She's Turned the Corner

She was ambivalent about mountain biking. Over the years she occasionally saw me come home a little banged up and I think it made the wrong impression on her. So I didn't press it until last Saturday when she said she wanted to go geocaching. "Awesome" I said, "and I think bikes will be the perfect way to get around the park." She flashed me that knowing smile and agreed.

So she got her first taste of singletrack, a handful of sloppy mud pits, some rocks, and plenty of roots and came out of it smiling from ear to ear and admitting that "yes Daddy, it was fun." So I am thrilled beyond words.

Chris

The REAL Elite Riders

We got a big dose of elite cycling today, and the 25th Annual TD Bank Philadelphia International Cycling Championship wasn't bad either. Team Columbia Highroad won the men's race and Floyd Landis successfully tested out

his new hip and his clean living (actually I choose to believe he is an innocent victim of an event that ran off the tracks but I have no useful facts either way). Anyway the REAL elite performers were our kids - Sara, Becca, and Luke - who rode their mountain bikes 15 miles to Manayunk to watch the first few laps of this year's race (that's 30 miles round trip). And if that's not enough, we had to drag them out of bed, early on a Sunday morning, to pull this off (ever trying waking up a 12year old at 5:45am on a Sunday to go biking?)

Highlights:

• Riding with the kids up the infamous Manayunk Wall before the race. That's a 17 degree grade, very wall-like.
• Riding with the kids back down the wall, brakes fading, realizing that if your kid relaxes on the brakes they will accelerate from 5mph to about 60mph in like 2 seconds.
• Men's breakaway. We were situated midway through the 1st lap at the turn into "the wall" and for the first lap were treated to a solo breakaway who had a solid 3 minute lead. Based on TV coverage this evening he subsequently blew up, but he looked damn good streaking thru Manayunk on lap #1.
• The women spotted the men 10 minutes at the start and then passed them midway through the men's race. Granted they only had to do 50mi vs the men's 150, but 10 minutes? Good lesson for Sara and Becca, and for Luke too.

On the way home there was some talk of trying some "real" road riding (i.e., with a road bike). We'll see. Five years ago I told myself I had bought my last mountain bike, and 3 bikes later I am having difficulty justifying "just one more" but the Marshman Triathlon is this fall and...

Chris

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a bicycle, must be in want of another one."

-- anonymous

Hibernia Redux

Sunday's duathlon at Hibernia was a big success. Sara bailed me out, again, by assuming the running responsibilities and letting me focus on the bike. We even shaved 10 minutes off last year's time in spite of keeping Sara up way past her bedtime on Saturday (bad parents).

Now on a related note...

A Stanford University report determined that "psychological factors appear to inflame back pain." Now I'm not suggesting that fear, uncertainty, or doubt was a factor in a certain father daughter team not showing up for Sunday's race, because I have seen the daughter play ball and I know SHE is a very tough competitor. But just in case, I did some research and confirmed that the $55 registration fee that was forfeited would have paid for a self-help book on overcoming your fears. Just a thought.

Chris

"It never gets easier, you just go faster."

– Greg LeMond

Heart Rate 41 and Steady

This is the biggest hill I could find within 100 miles of our rental cottage (palace really) on the Outer Banks. As far as I can tell, the entire eastern third of North Carolina is basically one big sandbar, and virtually all of the houses here are one good wave from becoming $3.2M worth of colorful driftwood.

I am wiling away the hours lounging in the hot tub, taking long mid-day naps, and stuffing my pie-hole with a variety of sugar and fat laden treats, washed down with lattes and budweiser. I do take the occasional bike ride to the local  convenience store to grab a newspaper or to restock the pantry, but it is virtually impossible to elevate my heart rate on a SS here (at least I thought to bring a 16T cog). I chose to bring the SS because my gearie is a full suspension with 130mm of travel which seemed like overkill.

Anyway it is clear I that this training "taper" is ill timed given that Sara and I are planning to race as a relay team in a Duathlon in less than two weeks. Whatever. My glycogen stores will be up and I certainly won't be suffering from any over training so who knows?

Signing off now. It's time for another slice of apple strudle and latte refill before my mid-morning nap. 

Chris