Fehcking A!

Where the hell are my legs?!? Criiiminy. Ride the roads all spring and summer, hit the massive hills of Maine for a week, my legs are hydraulic pistons! PISTONS, I tell you. Until today, a little mountain bike spin at an urban trail system near home, and all I had was damned Creamette noodles!!

-The PO'd OB

Yeehaw!

or
...so THIS is Mountain Biking

Baiku ...that's bicycle haiku (like this guy only different)



wheeled barrel pony
gleaming, spotless, too shiny
restless for dirt paths

autumn day arrives
crisp, bright, exhilarating
anticipation

hesitant first moves
apprehension morphs to skill
fixed concentration

streaming through clearing
busting into woods hauling
through tight singletrack

races down cleared trail
dances over jumps, bumps, rocks
pushes corners wide

celebration of
speed, focus, intensity
‘round the next barrel

cables pinged and twanged
finished! heading home to rest
sweetly exhausted

- TOB

Breathe Grateful

A true Minnesotan, she said, "Could be worse.” She’s happy to be alive and is glad to be able to join us for the weekend, even if she’s not on the bike. These days she's marathoning…at least that's what her body thinks each day by 2:00.

Her lung capacity is down to 30% due to scarring from Scleroderma…at its most basic, sclero=hard and derma=skin. It's a chronic connective tissue disease that falls under the same category of autoimmune diseases as lupus and rheumatoid arthritis. Due to the scarring on her lungs, oxygen just doesn't get transferred from her lungs to her red blood cells.

I was amazed by her cheerful weekend attitude. She laughs heartily and has dancing eyes. She misses riding terribly, but with her husband's support is able to do other things to still enjoy life. She works at the Courage Center helping others find ways to live with their abilities.

- The Old Bag

Ashes

For over a week I put-off heading to the vet's to pick up Barney's ashes. I figured I'd be walking out sobbing over a cat-sized, cat-weighted box in my hands. Wasn't ready for that. I'd almost wished I hadn't opted for his ashes back -- maybe it would have been easier if he was just gone. But dammit, I paid a ton for it and the cheapskate that I am I wasn't going to let good money sit on the back shelf in some office. I needed a ride after work anyway so I threw on the backpack and headed to the vet's on the way out. If I was a wreck I'd just pick him/it/them up and head home.

That's IT? She handed me a small white box about 3" wide, 3" deep and an inch and a half tall. Big enough to fit a superball, but lighter in weight. Huh. I hadn't expected a curiosity.

So, we went for a ride, Barney and I. He finally got to see the urban greenway and lakes near home from the back of my shoulders.

- TOB

Endorphins until Tuesday

We dribbled in to Lake Owen Resort throughout the day last Friday. It’s a great place for a crowd -- log rooms that can fit four, a couple apartments, rooms with kitchenettes - rustic…all rustic. The doors open onto a boardwalk which leads in one direction to Lake Owen (an awesome sight in the early morning) and in the other direction to a common building with a screened-in porch, a hot tub and a gathering room with fireplace, pool table, dining tables, couches, fridge, and fish mounted on the walls. We watered and beered that evening, then sang to the fish in preparation for a 50-mile weekend.

We rode Rock Lake and headed over to Patsy Lake trails, both off the Namakagon Town Hall Trail Head. Sunday we hit the Ojibwe Trail outside Telemark Resort. The Cable, Wisconsin, area is known for epic cross-country skiing in the winter, but I had no idea the mountain biking was this good. Our timing was perfect: fall colors were at their peak. Temps were in the high 50s. It was exhilarating. Sensory overload.

The leaves on the ground hid the trail, but if you looked closely enough, you could see the depression where others had ridden and could find your way. And the rocks? I hate rocks! But, rocks covered by leaves are a piece of cake. Can’t see ‘em, don’t know they’re there. I rocked. Damn, I was good.

Except on big rocks. Damn I sucked.

We rode through stands of mature red maples and screaming yellow oaks, transitioned into pines with brown needles as groundcover, then into a crowd of young saplings -- white trunks 2” in diameter. The trails were serpentine and technical. I almost get what a testosterone rush is.

And in the midst of the beauty was the trash talk, the occasional breakdown, and 5 guys doing the “statue” pee 20 feet off in the woods every damned time we stopped (what’s up with men and their bladders?). That doesn’t happen in a road cycling crowd.

The road is different. There’s a flow and a oneness, a common purpose, a quiet determination, a smooth balance. Riding the trails is like being on a barrel pony. There’s focus and jaw-clenching and control on the edge of control while every part of bike and rider grabs onto the next challenge.

…an awesome weekend.

- The Waaa-HOOOO Bag

81% is More than a Chance

Rain rain chance of rain thunderstorms a large area of showers and thunderstorms motorists should curb their speed with ponding of water on area roadways.

- Old Bag's Gotta Get Out

So She Says to Me....

Oh you're the one! You're the one who's fast. I've heard about you. I want to learn from you. Teach me how to be fast. Help me be fast.

I joke. I CAN help you be fast.

We're all clipping along and she, like the majority of others, swirls around in the chaos of bicycles going down the road. Obviously she's a strong rider. She's just not a smart rider yet. Truthfully, I'd be toast if I were hanging out in the wind like she is. Now and again she shows up beside me.

So you're in the small chainring are you always in the small chainring this time of year after a season of getting into shape how come you're in the small chainring insteadofthebigchainring?

She's observing the observable. She's looking but not seeing. She's grabbing on to something familiar. The subtlety escapes.

First rule. Learn to draft and do it well. Find a good draft and stick. It saves your legs for those times you need it.

Yeah well, I hear you raced what types how long what cat howlonghave youbeenout???

I answered. She swirled off to somewhere else.

At the rest stop I caught her and gave her the old bank account analogy ending with save it for when you need it.

Oh, I always draft.

No, you don't.

She looked at me.

Oh, I just have a bigger fun quotient than you do I'm not going to get allserious over it I love talkingtopeople it's notworthitifIdon't.

You asked, I'm telling. Use what you've got when you need it, and don't use it when you don't need to. Shoot the shit with people, but do it while you're drafting someone. You asked, and I'm just tellin' you.

You're right. I asked.

She told me about her cycling background and how she chooses drafts -- there are few people she'll ride behind. Smart. She stays away from the woman in the yellow. Double smart. She can see some things.

She put her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.

And, I like to make men feel this big every now and again while on the bike.

My eyes narrowed. We're on common ground here.

She turned to my friend Dave.

I like her she's not afraid to put me inmyplace wegotta rideagainsoon!

- The Oldfastbag

Not a Fred

...our moves mirrored each other's, increasing in intensity and slowing now and again, but always steady. He knew his lines and how to find the sweet spot, and we cut through the chaos easily. It was effortless.

A girl appreciates a guy who can give her a great draft.

It's the thing I miss most about road racing and training: riding with someone (anyone!) who knows how to be part of a whole, have a common purpose, be better together than we are alone.

I haven't quite adjusted to the haphazard way of recreational cyclists. I have learned to have no expectations, however, and have discovered that instead of sticking to a wheel for the sake of sticking, it's best to maintain my line and pace regardless of what's going on around -- the fred ahead will create a gap because he'll decide to jump out front for no discernable reason, and always there will be another fred to unknowingly slide right in. Fred doesn't get that he's doing a helluvalot of work and is saving MY legs for the hills meaning he gets toasted by a girl. Neither does fred understand connection and common purpose. It's chaos. Riders surging and slowing. Bicycles zagging side to side.

Some sort of zen brought the two of us together...yah, that or plain observation. He was fluid, sure, aware. I tucked into the pocket behind him and knew his moves. And I stuck.

What a ride...oh baby.

- TOB needs a cigarette