"Bike Humor" via BikeBlogCollection in Google Reader

Shooting the Messenger: Another Day, Another Documentary

2012-05-17T12:52:00Z

It's a hot day, and you are walking down a stretch of lonely road. All of a sudden you hear from behind you the shrill scream of turbines--it's as though you're being strafed by a fighter plane. You hardly have time to turn around before you see a streak of yellow in your peripheral vision and feel a blast of heat that singes off your arm hairs:

And then, as suddenly as he appeared, he is gone.

So who is this rider? Well, he is ~~the time-traveling t-shirt-wearing retro-Fred from the planet Tridork~~ Bret. And where is he? Well, he transcends both time and space, so really he's wherever you want him to be. That's why he's featured in nearly every cycling-themed advertisement in the world. For example, in this particular ad, which was forwarded to me by a reader,

~~the time-traveling t-shirt-wearing retro-Fred from the planet Tridork~~ Bret just happens to be in Scotland:

Interestingly, ~~the time-traveling t-shirt-wearing retro-Fred from the planet Tridork~~ Bret looks slightly different in each incarnation. For example, since this ad invites you to "explore Scotland at your leisure for the day," and ~~the time-traveling t-shirt-wearing retro-Fred from the planet Tridork~~ Bret's riding style is anything but leisurely, they've removed the "speed blur" to create the illusion of placidity.

It's a shame they didn't also put him in a kilt.

Speaking of icons, few cyclists are more iconic than bike messengers, which is why there are so many documentaries about them. In fact, messenger documentaries and actual messengers have officially reached a ratio of three-to-one, which is why it's perfectly normal to see a working bike messenger being followed by three separate film crews at one time. Recently, I received an email from a filmmaker informing me of his own documentary project, which he believed would be "right in your wheelhouse." It's called...I don't know, but it's called something I'm sure. Here's the description:

"The bicycle messenger has been a fixture of the Washington DC landscape for decades. This mini-documentary explores a handful of the present day road warriors as they battle traffic and technology in pursuit of a fair wage and a freewheeling style of life."

And here's the video:

The film opens by inviting us to ponder a series of questions, these being:

"What is the meaning of life? What is success measured by? What makes people happy? Yes, it's the American dream to own a house, but do we need to own a house? How much money do we need to live and be comfortable? Are the messengers any more or less happy than the person in a McMansion in Potomac?"

Obviously, the answers to these questions are easy, and here they are:

1) 42;
2) Centimeters;
3) Bubble baths, cute ducklings, comfortable pants, stuff like that;
4) Depends;
5) Exactly $642,918;
6) They're more happy, because when they get sick of being messengers they just move back in to their parents' McMansions in Potomac.

Done, and done.

Nevertheless, the film insists on continuing, and by way of answering the same questions we just dispensed with so easily, one bike messenger offers this bit of insight instead:

"[Unintelligible unintelligible untinelligible] Wheee!!!"

Then he gives us the finger:

Well said.

It's at this point that the film establishes the irreverent, non-conformist spirit of bicycle messengers, a group of people who are not afraid to sneak a puff of the "Wednesday Weed:"

Do that sneaky "I'm giving you the finger while pretending to scratch my temple" thing;

Or even give you two fingers at one time:

In other words, lots of things that you used to consider edgy in the 9th grade.

This doesn't mean the film doesn't contain any surprises, and I was amazed to see a cameo from Fred Armisen:

If you like him in "Portlandia" you're going to love him in this messenger documentary, because he's totally hysterical.

Next, the film explores the nature of freedom:

"Stressful up there. You can see it in some of those attorneys' faces. I couldn't imagine being one. I mean, they're all business, compared to me and my friends we're a lot more laid back. I mean, we're always on the street, so..."

You're no doubt shocked to learn that the bike messenger who looks like he misread the directions on his My First Dreadlocks™ Home Kit can't imagine being a high-powered Washington, DC attorney, but hard-hitting revelations like this are exactly the reason why we can never have enough bike messenger documentaries.

Then he expresses his enthusiasm for "cigarettes and Mountain Dew"

Nothing says "anti-establishment" like giving what little money you have to Big Tobacco and PepsiCo.

Of course, being older and more experienced, Fred Armisen has a far more pragmatic approach to life. Nevertheless, all is not well in his world:

"The main thing for couriers that want to be couriers and love the lifestyle and love being a courier is that they're struggling to make enough money to continue living that way. So it's causing a lot of stress that we aren't earning money anymore. A lot of that has to do with computers, and that's just really killing the courier income. The worst enemy of a bike messenger is the computer, because it takes away our work."

Sure, you may fire up your Dell without even thinking about it, but every time you do another person loses his or her inalienable right to ride a bike all day long. Sure, thousands if not millions of people are employed because of computers, and scores of Nigerian spammers have been able to rescue themselves and their families from the jaws of poverty, but we really should go back to paper so that a handful of people can retain their untenable lifestyle. Either that, or we should take an ailing urban area such as Detroit and turn it into a national park where all these endangered bike messengers can run free.

It's at this point in any messenger documentary where we learn about the "golden age," when email didn't exist and mighty herds of messengers roamed free like buffalo:

"The was the time before the computer, before the use of the fax machine. There was no such thing as email at that time. And so messengers were the way that lawyers were able to get documents around town...there were hundreds, maybe a thousand messengers."

Incidentally, messengers are still really angry about fax machines, even though the fax machine is probably the one piece of office equipment that's actually more obsolete than bike messengers.

Anyway, thanks to computers and email and carrier pigeons and smoke signals and all the rest of it, the messengers' numbers are dwindling. Indeed, they've fallen upon hard times, and many now can only afford to drink two beers at once instead of the once-typical four:

This is a great tragedy, for no messenger should be forced to go thirsty. Beerlessness is an even greater threat to the messenger than the computer, and in extreme cases of prolonged sobriety some messengers have even gone so far as to stop messengering and get actual jobs.

Unfortunately, it isn't long after this that the filmmakers begin running out of material, and they soon become so desperate that they give us a detailed look at Fred Armisen's phone:

"I put plastic over this so it doesn't scratch the glass, and a string so I don't leave it in a building."

Fascinating stuff. And it doesn't stop there:

"And the reason the string is this long is because I can't focus on it here, my eyes are so bad I have to hold it out here to read it:"

If you've ever listened to an elderly person describe how difficult it can be to operate a modern remote control or open a bag of potato chips, this is marginally more interesting than learning about how Fred Armisen protects his phone and copes with his farsightedness.

Still, you've got to feel for Fred, for as they say, "Youth is wasted on the young." Mountain Dew guy is a perfect example of this, for he clearly takes his body for granted:

"You don't need to be in that great shape as long as you can ride a bike."

Right. You're never going to beat the computers with that attitude.

He's also complacent, and despite the fact that messengers are now an endangered species he's making no plans for the future:

"I think they're always going to need couriers because we can do stuff faster than the mail can:"

Right. If the US Postal Service isn't going away then clearly messengers aren't either. Of course, this reasoning fails to take into account the fact that the US Postal Service is going away:

Bragging that you're faster than the Postal Service is like bragging that your pulse-dial telephone is faster than a rotary.

Still, he's probably right that they'll be around much longer than the Postal Service, because whatever happens messengers will always have much more elaborate tattoos than postal workers:

That's a whole armful of job security.

How About A Dream BIKE to Go Along With Your Dream TRIP?

2012-05-17T02:14:12Z

In yesterday’s post, I told you about the contest I’m starting to raise money for LiveStrong: a trip to Utah, where I’d take you on some awesome riding. Road or mountain biking, your choice.

I also told you that before going on this riding binge, I’d have you professionally fitted by the good folks at SLC Bicycle for the bike you’d be riding.

What I didn’t tell you, however, was that the bike you’d be getting fitted for would be your bike. And I don’t mean that you are going to have to fly your old and busted bike out here to ride.

No.

I mean that when you get here, you’re going to be riding on a brand newIbis bike of your choosing, outfitted to the nines and beyond with ultra high-zoot Shimano components: Dura-Ace (if you pick a road bike) or XTR (if you pick a mountain bike).

Yeah, really.

And here’s the thing. There are a ton of different kinds of riders, with a ton of different riding styles. And the rides you choose to go on when you are out here — road, mountain, or something with a bit of both — should have the right kind of bike.

So you get to choose what bike you want from Ibis.

And when you get here, it’ll be built and ready to go by the gurus at SLC Bicycle, who will make it fit you so great that you’ll wonder whether this bike was made with dark magicks.

So let’s recap in brief what you win, because I suspect that you may have a short attention span:

An awesome couple days (with me) of riding in an awesome place in Utah…
On your brand new Ibis bike…
With super high-end Shimano components…
All built and professionally fitted for you at SLC Bicycle.

In other words, I am giving away the Cyclist Fantasy Vacation. Of course, to win it, you’ve got to help me raise money for the fight against cancer by donating to my LiveStrong Challenge page (or getting others to donate to your own Team Fatty LiveStrong Challenge page).

So that’s the short version. Now let’s get specific.

What You Can Win

Check Part I of this contest description for information about how we’ll choose places to ride, how we’ll get you on a plane, stuff you to the gills with bratwurst, and so forth and so on.

Today, we’re talking about the hardware you can win.

Here are the choices you have, bike-wise:

Silk SL

The Ibis Silk SL is the Ibis go-fast, weigh-nearly-nothing, drop-dead-sexy road machine. Just look at it:

Oh mercy. That looks as elegant as it does fast as it does sexy.

You have lots of color choices, too, which should give you something to consider when you make your choice.

You should know: I have one of these, built up as my single-speed road bike. It weighs less than thirteen pounds. I have to tether it to the bike rack to keep it from wafting about in ambient air currents in the garage.

Mojo SL

I remember the dark days. When the first iteration of Ibis disappeared, and I thought I’d never see another brand-new Ibis bike again.

Those were bad times.

And then I heard Chuck Ibis was back, and there was going to be a new Mojo.

And then I saw that new Mojo. And it was good. And then came the Mojo SL, and it wasn’t good. It was spectrafantacular:

Ibis was back. No, it was more than back. It was backity-back, with a side order of back. With extra fry sauce and a hint of lime.

This is about as close to being a perfect mountain bike as you can get without having other bike companies complain that you cheated on the exam.

Plus it’s made of carbon, making it freaky-light. So if money’s tight, you could make a diamond out of your Mojo SL [Note: I do not think this would actually work and do not recommend you try].

Tranny

Full suspension not your thing? Maybe you travel around and want to bring your bike with you? Or maybe you want to set up a mountain bike singlespeed?

Then the Ibis Tranny is the bike for you:

Thanks to its “slot machine” adjustable length chain stay, the Tranny breaks down small for packing, or tensions up easy for single speeding. Or just rides awesome if you want a light, strong carbon hard tail for mountain biking.

Hakkalugi

Pronounced “Hock a loogey,” the name of this bike is reason enough to own one, just so you can say “Ibis Hakkalugi” whenever you feel like it.

But that’s not the only reason you might want this bike. No, far from it. Race it in cyclocross. Or ride it on single track and gravel roads and the pavement. Turn your commute into an adventure with this bike.

What’s Going On That Bike of Yours

So you’ve got yourself an almost unendurably beautiful Ibis frame. Now what? Well, you outfit it with the sweetest components on planet earth, that’s what.

If you’re setting up a road (Silk SL) or cross (Hakkalugi) machine, Shimano is going to hook you up with Dura-Ace 7900 components, across the board. Along with PRO carbon stem and bars.

You are going to be luxuriating in the smoothest, most wonderful drivetrain you could ever imagine, my friend.

As for wheels, you’ll have your choice of Dura-Ace wheel sets: WH-7900-C24-CL, WH-7900-C50-CL, or WH-7900-C35-CL.

And if you choose a bike that’s more at home on the dirt, Shimano will set you up with XTR M980 components. You want to know something about XTR, simple and direct? There’s nothing better. It’s wonderful.

What’s awesome about Ibis, Shimano, and SLC Bicycle

I’m a lucky person. I get to meet a lot of very cool, interesting people. And sometimes, I get to meet cool, interesting people who are also just genuinely great people.

That’s how it is with the friends I have at Shimano, Ibis, and SLC Bike.

None of these companies have any particular affiliation with LiveStrong. None of the companies have any evidence that their helping me out raises their profile or sells more stuff.

But these companies have helped me. Time after time. Willingly. Cheerfully. They don’t make me beg.

They just do the right thing. No, let’s be more specific: they both do the kind thing.

Plus, they make (or build, sell, and maintain) top-notch bike stuff.

Keep that in mind when you go shopping, OK?

Here’s Whatcha Gotta Do

Let’s wrap this up now with a quick recap (i.e., a copy-paste) of the instructions on how you enter this contest to win this mind-boggling clutch of prizes:

For every $5.00 you donate at my LiveStrong Davis Challenge page, you’ll get a row on my magically deluxe spreadsheet.

The more you donate, the more rows you get on the spreadsheet.

Once the contest ends (on June 22 at midnight, MST), I’ll randomly (using random.org, natch) choose a row on that spreadsheet. Then I’ll contact you.

[A note for my international friends: I only have so much money. If you win the contest, it's your responsibility to get to the U.S., and I'll fly you the rest of the way, OK?]

And what if you’re already a member of Team Fatty and are raising money for your own LiveStrong Challenge? Well, just keep on raising money — and maybe donate some more into your own account — because the money you’ve raised as part of Team Fatty counts toward your entry in this contest, too.

So, please donate. You might just win an awesome trip, and an awesome bike — custom-fitted to you — to ride during that trip.

PS: See, I told you this would be a prize worth waiting for!

2012 Amgen Tour of California Stage 3 ON DIABLO!

2012-05-16T12:35:00Z

This Post Delayed Due to Unanticipated Additional Awesomeness

2012-05-16T17:53:06Z

Dear Reader,

Due to some extra unanticipated additional awesomeness, I am having to do some rewriting of today’s post describing the secret second part of the contest I described yesterday.

I’ll get that post up late this afternoon, or quite possibly this evening.

It will be worth checking back for.

In the meantime, please feel free to speculate on what the second part of this awesome prize will be. Better yet, please feel free to go ahead and enter the contest, so you have a chance of winning something I absolutely guarantee any bike lover would enjoy.

XOXO,

Fatty

Share and Share Alike: The Pox is Spreading

2012-05-16T13:17:00Z

Even though I write this blog, I'm not really sure what it's about. In my more pretentious moments I like to say it's stream-of-consciousness humor that chronicles and lampoons the idiosyncrasies and contradictions inherent in 21st century urban life, but mostly I think it's just an excuse for me to post pictures like this:

I do seem to recall though that back when I started this blog it was ostensibly about bikes. I also seem to remember that riding bicycles was an enjoyable activity that I used to partake in before I spent most of my free time on airplanes. Given this, even now I don't think it's entirely inappropriate for me to write about bikes, inasmuch at least some of you may still find the subject interesting. In particular, I'd like to write about this one:

The above bicycle is my detachable travel chariot. It happens to be a Surly Travelers Check, but the make and model is not nearly as relevant as the fact that it has those S&S coupler thingies in the frame:

These allow you to take the bike apart and carefully pack it in a case that is small enough to be checked as regular baggage at airports--or, if you're me, to haphazardly cram it into a case that is small enough to be checked as regular baggage at airports.

If you're a bicycle cycling enthusiast you've no doubt run up against the issue of flying with your bicycle at one point another, and have been confounded and vexed by deterrents such as exorbitant airline fees and unwieldy travel cases. Simply put, many of us long to travel with a full-size bicycle as conveniently and inexpensively as possible. So, having undertaken approximately 15 flights in the past couple of months, I'd like to say that I've found this system to be an excellent solution. By my count, I've avoided something like $1,500 in bicycle fees during that time (I never paid a single bicycle fee), and was also able to fit to easily fit the packed case into airport shuttles, taxis, and even the overhead compartment of an Acela train. Plus, while I have yet to remove the bicycle from its case since my last journey, assuming it comes out okay this time it will have accompanied me without sustaining any damage beyond superficial scratches--all despite my almost total disgregard for its well-being.

I should emphasize that this commentary is totally unsolicited; rather, as a bike geek, I just feel compelled to share my success with the system with those of you who want to travel with bicycles.

I also realize that there are people who "tweet" with the hashtag "#airportninja" and boast about how they manage to avoid bicycle fees even with non-coupled bicycles by disguising them as massage tables or sex dolls or whatever they do, but for the rest of us who don't have the time and energy for such subterfuge I think couplers are a good way to go.

Finally, I'm sure someone will point out yet again my gross excess of head tube spacers, but I remain proud of them. After all, what is the appeal of the "slammed" stem anyway?

It's like cramming your feet into Sidis that are three sizes too small and then bragging about how your shoes are "slammed." That's why I'm embracing my unslammed pride. Indeed, "slam" spelled backwards is "mals," and from now on I will fly my "malsed" stem for all the world to see, like a pink-and-green Flag of Kludginess:

Best of all, there's always room for a spare cockpit:

Sheldon Brown was the Walt Whitman of cockpit curation.

In any case, now that I'm back I'm trying to catch up on the local bike-related goings-on, and one development has been this provisional station map of the New York City bike share system:

The blue dots represent the stations, and if it helps you can think of the ones in Brooklyn and Queens as "hipster pox," since they indicate areas of extreme gentrification. I'm unsurprised to learn that the neighborhood in which I live is totally unaffected, since around here "bike share" means that they'll give your mangled bike back to you after they run you down with their minivans. I was, however, surprised to learn that the system will be pretty expensive, and indeed much more so than London's:

This is a bit of a shame, and $10 for half an hour of riding is a lot of money. Years ago, before New York City was afflicted with "hipster pox," you used to be able to ride all day for $10--though the "bike" was actually a "woman" named Frank in the Meatpacking District.

Speaking of bike share bikes, the ones in London are called "Boris Bikes" after the Mayor of London, who was recently profiled in "Vanity Fair" magazine:

Apparently, his "favorite journey" is "Through the sun-dappled streets of central London by bicycle at the beginning of April:"

I too enjoyed riding in London, though my time there I've never seen the sun dapple anything at any time of year. I also wonder if he continues to enjoy cycling in London when he gets to the Elephant & Castle roundabout, because Jack Thurston of "The Bike Show" took me through there, and it totally sucked.

Another thing that sucks is my photography, and I was reminded of this when I received the professional photos of my visit to the Brooks factory in Birmingham. I'm not sure why the Brooks people saw it fit to engage a photographer to chronicle some feckless wisesass from New York as he stumbled around their facilities in a state of extreme jetlag, but I suspect it was something of a hedge, since otherwise the only photographic record of the event would be my own crappy photos. Yes, with a professional photographer you capture the interaction of man and machine:

And the spirit and pride of the workers:

And their strong yet nimble fingers with their sinewy dexterity:

Whereas with the wiseass bike blogger all you get is lousy pictures of the vending machine:

Which contained a mysterious and disgusting-sounding "beef drink:"

Which I didn't get:

Because obviously I opted for the haggis thick shake instead.

I really enjoyed my visit to the factory, though as I suspected I felt pretty self-conscious about the fact that I was traipsing around while everybody was working:

(This photo was taken by the professional, obviously.)

Indeed, one look at my soft hands and softer middle told them all they needed to know, which was why they made me use the ladies' room:

(Guess who took this photo.)

By the way, every time I went to the bathroom (haggis thick shakes go right through you) I expected a bunch of people to burst out of them singing "Every Sperm is Sacred:"

Though I didn't worry about catching an STD from the toilet seat because I had read this fact sheet:

(Yeah, that's another one of mine.)

At this point I should warn you that I'm about to violate one of this blog's few style guidelines, which is never to include a picture of the author. However, in this case I'm going to make an exception, because I found this series particularly compelling in the way that it revealed the ineptitude of its subject.

Here's an idiot looking at a saddle top:

Here's an idiot looking at a document:

And here's an idiot just looking, and also drooling imperceptibly:

It's fascinating to me how fine the line is between idiocy and transcendence. For example, the above photo evokes the cover of John Coltrane's "A Love Supreme:"

Only Coltrane looks deeply contemplative, and I look deeply stupid.

I'd like to think it's the use of black and white:

Though a lot of it probably has to do with the fact that the tag of my sweater is sticking out in every single photo:

Really, between being unable to dress myself and asking questions like "So where does this thing go again?," it's a wonder the great Eric "The Chamferer" Murray didn't cut me right then and there:

("So, like, how does it attach to the bike?")

Frankly, I'm lucky they didn't laugh me out of there entirely. Instead, they just told me to get the hell out, at which point I repaired to my "executive suite:"

(Photo credit: Wildcat Rock Machine)

Then I grabbed a beef drink to go and took the Reliant back to London.

(And if you're wondering, the answer is "Yes, you can dock them at a bike share station.")

OVCX 2012 Schedule: Ohio Valley to Worlds

2012-05-16T09:43:00Z

Fight Cancer, Win a “Dream” Trip . . . And Something Else I Will Reveal Tomorrow

2012-05-15T17:31:09Z

A Note from Fatty: If you’ve already read (or are not currently in the mood to read) all the hoopla around this contest and are now in the mood to just get on with the entering of said contest already, click here to donate (in multiples of $5, please) to my LiveStrong Challenge page. Thanks!

I am a deliberate and thoughtful person. For example, it is no accident that I live where I live — I picked this place because it is an unbelievably wonderful spot to go bike riding — whether you like road or mountain biking.

Furthermore — and your mind may reel at this — it is no coincidence that I ride bicycles a lot. I do this because I like riding bicycles. And, believe it or not, I write a blog about biking because I like sharing stories and talking with people about bikes!

Your head is spinning right now, I know. But I’ve got one more for you. I spend quite a bit of time and effort putting together contests to raise money for the fight against cancer because I hate cancer.

Whoah.

And today I’m excited to tell you about a new contest. One that takes all these very subtle and complex nuances of my very deliberate, thoughtful self, and combines them into something so spectacularly awesome that it’s going to take a couple days to describe.

That’s right, this contest has two grand prizes, but I’m only going to tell you about one of them today.

Fight Cancer, Ride in Utah With Fatty

Hey, I’m not interested in starting any fights here, but I think I could make a pretty good case for Utah being the most awesome place in the world for cycling.

And if you win this contest, I’ll do my level best to prove it to you.

We’ll get on the phone and talk. I’ll find out what kind of riding you like to do — road or mountain biking. We’ll talk about what level of riding you like to do. And how long you like to ride.

And then I’ll start telling you about some ideas for rides you might enjoy.

For example, maybe you’d want to ride The Alpine Loop:

Or maybe you’d want to go mountain biking at what I’ve called the best place in the world, Tibble Fork, which includes the unbelievable Joy Descent:

Or if you’re feeling like doing an epic all-day road ride, we could head out and ride Mt. Nebo.

Or maybe you would rather go see a different part of Utah than my hometown. In that case, we could go to Moab.

Or we could go to Saint George and ride Gooseberry and / or Little Creek:

Or the Guacamole Trail:

Or we could go to Moab. I hear there’s some good biking there.

But Wait, That’s Not All

Once we’ve figured out where and what you want to ride, we’ll figure out a time that will work for both of us (frankly, this will probably be the most difficult part of the whole shebang, but we’re smart people and will find a way, somehow).

Then I’ll fly you down / up here, and take you to SLC Bicycle Company, where you’ll get professionally fitted on the bike you’ll be using for this trip.

Yep, a professional fitting, on a top-flight bike. So the bike you’ll be riding on this trip will be the most awesome-fitting ride you’ve ever had.

Which also means you won’t need to bother bringing a bike with you.

Then we’ll head out riding. I’ll bring The Hammer along if you’re a woman, so it won’t feel like you’re on some weird creepy date with a married guy.

And if you’re a guy, I’ll see if some of the Core Team can come along for the ride, because they’re a lot more interesting than I am in person.

And then, after we ride, we’ll have brats. Unless you’re a vegetarian or something, in which case I’ll make my vegetarian burritos, which are almost as good as brats.

And I’ll put you up in a hotel so you don’t have to sleep on my couch.

And then, the next day, we’ll ride some more.

And afterward, you and I will agree that this has been the single most awesome vacation, ever.

There are a lot of cycling meccas in the world, OK? But Utah is my cycling mecca. And if you win this contest, it will be your mecca too.

Seriously, That’s Not All. In Fact, It’s Not Even Close To All.

I believe I mentioned at the beginning of this post that I was only describing the first half of the prize for this contest today.

Tomorrow, I will describe the second half. And I believe that at that point you will like this contest even more, and the idea of winning it will make you lose sleep at night.

I apologize in advance for your upcoming sleepless nights.

Why This Is Important

I believe very strongly in the good work LiveStrong does. I’ve said — many times before — that I received help and inspiration from them, firsthand, when Susan was starting her second big fight with cancer.

And more recently, I got to see up close — during the LiveStrong Assembly — some of the great ways LiveStrong puts our fundraising dollars to use.

People who are fighting cancer need help, in a variety of ways. And LiveStrong does an amazing job of providing that help.

So for this contest, I wanted to show that I am not just an observer and facilitator in my support of LiveStrong. I wanted to show that I’m willing to spend my own money and time to help LiveStrong in its mission.

So yeah, this contest is gonna cost me. Airfare, hotel, etc. won’t be cheap. But it’s totally worth it.

And not just because we’re going to get some awesome riding in, either.

How the Contest Works, And to How to Enter

For every $5.00 you donate at my LiveStrong Davis Challenge page, you’ll get a row on my magically deluxe spreadsheet, which I have affectionately and cleverly named FriendsOfFatty.XLS.

The more you donate, the more rows you get

Once the contest ends (on June 22 at midnight, MST), I’ll randomly (using random.org, natch) choose a row on that spreadsheet. Then I’ll contact you, and you’ll start yelling and stuff (which will be totally OK, because I’ll be contacting you by email) and we’ll get this ball rolling.

[A note for my international friends: I only have so much money. If you win the contest, it's your responsibility to get to the U.S., and I'll fly you the rest of the way, OK?]

Yep, that’s right, you can join Team Fatty and get other people to donate on your challenge page, and you might win this prize. In other words, keep up the good work you’ve already started.

So, please donate. You might just win an awesome trip to ride with . . . me.

Not to mention the second half of the prize, which will make it really spectacular.

BSNYC Field Trip: Full Bike Day!

2012-05-15T12:50:00Z

Wikipedia defines "Stockholm syndrome" as "an apparently paradoxical psychological phenomenon in which hostages express empathy and have positive feelings towards their captors, sometimes to the point of defending them." I can certainly see how this can happen under circumstances of extreme duress. For example, on Thursday night I was here:

And then a few hours later I woke up on an airplane to see this:

After which the plane landed and I found myself in a van looking at this:

This was Mesagne, in the Italian region of Puglia, and my captor was a man named Vincenzo of the Associazone Culturale Aeneis 2000, who had "invited" me to speak at their "Full Bike Day" festival. And no sooner had I wrapped my head around my whereabouts then I was escorted back into the van and taken to Brindisi:

Where I was marched up a drab staircase:

And ushered into the offices of Gazzetta del Mezzogiorno. Here, they took my photograph, which ultimately appeared in the paper the following day. Also in that same paper was the happy news that authorities had finally arrested Fancesco "Lalla" Margherito:

I don't read Italian, but I'm guessing he was probably the head of another "associazone culturale," and that they had run afoul of the authorities by organizing some kind of "Full Drugs Day."

Then, after the photograph, I was forced to look at olive tree porn:

Apparently the Puglia region produces much of Italy's olive oil, though most of it is consumed by Mario Cipollini, who uses it to lubricate his hair, face, and body:

Then came a tour of a nature preserve:

I might have enjoyed the tour more if I hadn't been operating on something like nine minutes of sleep, and it didn't help that the already exhaustive tour effectively took twice as long as it normally would since everything had to be translated into English for me. Still, it was a beautiful place, and here are the long early evening shadows that fell as the tour guide, the interpreter, and I walked towards the seashore:

And here's the van, in which Vincenzo followed us at a distance that hovered somewhere between "polite" and "menacing:"

(Few things are more disconcerting than being followed by a van.)

Here's the Torre Guaceto, for which the nature preserve is named, and from which the townspeople used to watch the coast for invading Turks many centuries ago:

We kept walking and walking towards it, but it never seemed to get any closer, sort of like that scene in "The Holy Grail." Finally, though, we were upon it:

And then in it:

Scanning the horizon for approaching marauders:

Between my profound exhaustion and the solemn march backwards into time, I began to enter into what you might call a "weird headspace," and by the time we got back into the van and started through the gnarled and twisted olive trees again I sat there in a state of hallucinatory half-sleep as their trunks took the shape of demons and skulls. It was like I had been sucked into the cover of some old death metal album:

(Mmm, death olives.)

By this point you'd think my captor would take mercy on me and put me to bed, but instead he took me to a really busy bike shop in San Vito dei Normanni for reasons I could not discern. Here's the apprentice mechanic diagnosing a minor shifting problem on an impressive crabon Fred chariot in the fading evening light:

And here's the shop's third-generation owner working on a Cinelli something-or-other:

When I say the shop was busy, I mean it, and scores of people stood inside and outside where they had been waiting for hours for their turn with the maestro. Here's a shot of the work area, which should be sufficient to put any tidy mechanics among you into cardiac arrest:

Here's a classic mountain bike which I guessed had been waiting for service since way back when it was cutting-edge technology:

A suspicion which was confirmed when I spotted the owner still waiting nearby:

And here's a gentleman in a sweatsuit doing what appears to be the equivalent of the Crabon Bike Parking Lot Test Ride:

Presumably he'll buy the bike, come back a month later for that first service, wait 20 years, and end up as another skeleton. And so goeth the cycle of Italian bicycle retail.

On the second day I awoke rejuvenated by sleep and blissfully free from hallucinations, and my captor took me to visit the Longo Bikes factory. Here's Signore Longo himself:

The frames are made right there in the factory (as the name "factory" would imply) though of course the crabon frames are made elsewhere. In any case, you have to feel sorry for him, because while he could have had a visit from a media professional like James Huang he instead got some wiseass bike blogger with a smartphone. I did my best though, and here's a somewhat Huangian disembodied-hand-displaying-a-crabon-wheel shot:

By the way, that's my abductor Vincenzo in the background with the camera. I realize he looks a bit sinister, but that's only because he is.

Longo Bikes is located in the city of Ostuni, which hosted the World Championships in 1976:

Here's some more amateur smartphone bike porn, complete with bottom bracket crotch shot:

And here's a crabon frame and, of course, my ever-present abductor:

This is pretty much exactly what I saw any time I turned my head, opened a door, or pulled back the shower curtain.

In addition to making race bikes, Longo also supplies folding bikes which are being presented to local university students in a program to promote cycling in the region, and here is Signore Longo and my abductor posing awkwardly with my book:

By the way, here's Longo back in his racing days:

This photo harkens back to a simpler time when bike racers wore yarmulkes, and when middle-aged men could still wear paisley and get away with it.

After we visited the Longo factory my captor then took me to a high school in San Vito dei Normanni, where apparently I was to address the students. Like most of what happened during the course of the visit, my captor sort of just sprung this on me, and I would have pulled the fire alarm and escaped were there evidence of any fire safety equipment whatsoever besides the tiny lone fire extinguisher:

To my horror, the students circled me and I desperately pleaded for my life lest they devour me:

Amazingly I survived, and was then returned to my gilded prison:

Poor me.

Though with the aid of my interpreter I did manage to slip away to Ostuni for some shopping:

As well as a little sunset porn:

The next morning, the sun rose again, and it shone brightly upon Full Bike Day:

I was genuinely moved to see the families of San Vito dei Normanni all gather for a ride to the nature preserve:

Where we admired student driftwood art:

And where the headmaster from the high school, still resplendent in his purple sweater, regarded me with unbridled nonplussitude:

Then we rode back to the piazza:

Where we were greeted warmly by the townspeople:

And coldly by this guy:

Though it won't do to express any sort of exuberance when you're the Coolest Guy in San Vito dei Normanno:

Of course, it wouldn't be a Full Bike Day without a bike-themed photo exibit:

And this one was my favorite:

Then came the ribbon-cutting ceremony:

After which we assembled in an ancient room:

And watched that stupendously awful Jared Leto "Kings and Queens" video:

Followed by a live interview with a semi-professional New York City bike blogger:

I don't want to speak for everybody, but I can safely say the headmaster was nonplussed:

It was a strange journey, but it was also a heartwarming one, and I don't think I've met a warmer and more welcoming group of people anywhere--though that may just be the Stockholm syndrome talking.

Decisions, Decisions

2012-05-14T17:08:19Z

Update from the Winner: I just heard from ClydeInKS, and here’s what he had to say:

Elden – I am letting you know the results of my decision and will be much less dramatic that televised nonsense of a particular basketball player. I must proclaim THANK YOU for creating the motivation and inspiring myself (and my wife Mighty Athena) for losing some excess, it was badly needed! A second THANK YOU goes for not getting the waffles out after the week 1 announcement – I would have surely been thrown off course shortly after their arrival. And finally a third, and largest THANK YOU for enabling me to become the proud recipient of a used pair of shoes!! I have a signed copy of your book and seeing the signatures of many fabulous current (and favorite) racers made the choice a challenge but I must go with Lance’s shoes, and congratulate Kukui on winning the book and autographs.

I returned to the bicycle approximately 2005 when I decided to fundraise for LiveSTRONG and ride in Austin Challenge. The decision came following my father’s diagnosis of chronic myelogenous leukemia. I understand that Team In Training raises funds specifically for leukemia and lymphoma, but didn’t see LiveSTRONG as being discriminatory toward types of cancers. I have worn a LiveSTRONG bracelet on my wrist since the day I learned of Dad’s diagnosis and stands as a reminder and inspiration still to this day. Dad has recovered remarkably and remains in remission. His courage and willpower was remarkable to witness (he was in the process of a major home remodel and continued working as his body allowed following his diagnosis and treatments) and still amazes me today.

I continue to ride when able and aim to participate in fundraising rides. The Tour de BBQ, here in Kansas City is a fabulous ride and LiveSTRONG fundraiser that you should put on your calendar, the BBQ alone would be worth the trip! I have a bare place on the wall at my work place ( an outpatient therapy clinic) dedicated toward housing a pair of Lance Armstrong’s shoes and can’t wait to see them there! LiveSTRONG, for some uncomprehended reason, occasionally brings about negative comments and feedback, but their mission is one stand by and will continue supporting in your many avenues, as well as other areas, and am looking forward to riding Nowhere to support Camp Kesem!

Congrats, ClydeInKS! And hopefully I’ll be able to get those shoes off to you sometime within the next 5-6 years.

Decisions, Decisions

Suppose you were offered a near-impossible decision. But you had to choose. For example, suppose you had to choose between never eating peanut butter again, or eating nothing but peanut butter for the rest of your life (I’d go with the latter).

Or suppose you were given the choice of having to choose only one kind of bike riding — mountain bike or road — for the rest of your life (I know, that would be really easy for some of you, but it would be a very difficult decision for me, and in fact am sweating profusely at even the thought of having to make such a horrific decision).

Or — get this — suppose you were offered the choice of having to either get a copy of my book, complete with signatures from everyone in Team RadioShack:

Or you could choose a pair of Lance Armstrong’s worn out running shoes:

“But wait!” I imagine you saying, dramatically (by which I mean that you sound dramatic in my imagination, not that my imagination is dramatic, though it may well be). “How do we know that those are really Lance Armstrong’s shoes? They could be anyone’s shoes!”

“Ah, you are an astute one,” I reply. “So perhaps this will assuage your concerns.” At which point I — with a certain practiced showmanship — pull out the insole of the left shoe:

And indeed, this is verifiably Lance’s signature.

“But just in case that is not enough,” I then say, “Perhaps this video will be enough to put your fears to rest!”

Yes, that is Lance. And yes, those are the selfsame shoes, which are now in my possession.

And yes, those shoes really do smell terrible.

Not a Hypothetical Question

I pose this near-impossible choice because it is not hypothetical. The winner of last month’s weight challenge — wherein we raised more than $4000 for LiveStrong — is right this minute contemplating this very question, assuming he got the email I sent him a few minutes ago.

That person goes by the handle “ClydeInKS.”

The second place contestant — Kukui — will get whichever is left over.

I will report the results as I get them.

PS: By the way, among the weight loss challenge participants, the shoes would be chosen by 57%, the book by 42%, with 1% undecided.

PPS: I’m sure someone else is going to point it out, so I’ll go ahead and say it first: Lance Armstrong has the tidiest closet I have ever seen in my life.

Homeword Bowned: One More Travel Day

2012-05-14T01:55:00Z

Today is the last of many travel days in a whirlwind BRA tour that has taken me everywhere from Hudson Street to Brindisi, Italy. Very shortly I will scrape myself off of Italy's heel and board the series of planes that will eventually take me home to New York. Then, it's back to the "easy life" in Brooklyn, by which I mean blogging in sweatpants and with slices of cucumber under each armpit to keep me delightfully cool.

You should try it.

Pending a full report, I will say that until I reached Brindisi, I thought I'd seen it all. I'd seen a No Bike Day. I'd seen a Half Bike Day. I'd even seen a Three-Quarter Bike Day. But I'd never seen a Full Bike Day. Indeed, there were those who said a Full Bike Day couldn't be done. They said it was impossible. They said we were crazy to even try a Full Bike Day.

But we showed 'em. We showed 'em good:

Yes, it was a no-holds-barred, tires-in-your-face, silhouetted-mountain-biker-descending-from-the-sky Full Bike Day:

Also, during my visit, I fulfilled many fantasies I didn't even know I had until they were actually coming true. For example, I finally addressed a high school assembly:

I finally made the Gazzetta del Mezzogiorno:

And I finally spied the legendary Crazy Bike of San Vito dei Normanni:

You're probably wondering: "Was the Crazy Bike actually crazy?"

You're goddamn right it was. In fact, it was so crazy they had to name it Crazy twice:

Now that's crazy.

In any case, wish me a pleasant flight, or wish me a miserable one as is your wont. Either way, shortly I will embark, and I look forward to returning home and reoccupying my blogging chair which has been vacant far too often in recent weeks.

Until then, stay crazy.

--Wildcat Rock Machine

Mother’s Day

2012-05-14T04:18:30Z

Casey Patterson Kelley, Ramona D’Viola, JP at world’s first mountain bike camp

I was a bit late to Mill Valley today , so I drafted a youngish woman in Sunshine/Cloudburst kit, until she realized she was being cyclostalked by a 58 yr old

on a battered Breezer with panniers and a box on the rack full of baby tomato plants. She’d blown silently past, and as usual, I clung like a burr to her wheel.

Until she noticed.

A few veers across the (surprisingly un-busy) road and I conceded that some folks need to give permission for a burr to be on their wheel. I’d noticed she was constantly fiddling with her music in the rear right pocket (reminding me of the 2009 Vodka ride, where it was routine to see an arm bend back and do something to the pocket every half hour or so). Her food fell out of the pocket–piece of PB & J sandwich, and a homemade macaroon (I scooped up the baggie without even stopping–it’s one of my skills). Alas she sped off before I could give her back her snack.

ANYWAY she helped me go from a little late to Right On Time to the Russian Chamber Orchestra Mother’s Day Concert.
Carol (Mother-in-love) Cunningham had a seat for me. As I settled in, she smiled “I bet if I told you 30 years ago you’d be doing this (sitting in a church pew, getting ready to be blown away by classical music), you wouldn’t believe me.”
I thought about 30 years. 1982…the year I met Charlie.

No, I met him in 80, on the Appetite Seminar ride… Ok, so 30 years ago I was just getting into the Marin scene.

But two years after that, I was leading a women’s ride/camp in Point Reyes, with the redoubtable Casey Patterson (nee Kelley).

So I had to call her, but she’s peripatetic, so I reached her brother, Michael (also legendary rider/advocate in his own right; google East Bay Bicycle Coalition). He was out, but his wife Wendy filled me in on how to get ahold of my old pal, who has moved several times since her Topanga heyday…

No luck getting her, or Ramona D’Viola, the other trail guide on that incredible day. The very first mountain bike camp ever, in the world.

Fourteen women. Two mom-daughter pairs. My life changed forever. Casey inspired me to create WOMBATS. She and I did the first ever cycle skills camp/girls knobby vaycay ever… Wait til I throw a picture in. Carolyn Donegan sent me a folio…

2012 SMR 17

2012-05-12T18:12:00Z

2012 WNR 06

2012-05-09T23:26:00Z

Free Verse Friday: Impending Panic

2012-05-11T18:34:46Z

A “Hey, Come Eat and then Race With Me” Note from Fatty: Perhaps the funnest race I have ever done was the Rockwell Relay: Moab to St. George. Seriously, it was a blast. Just go read my race report and you’ll see why I loved it so much.

Well, Team Fatty (Kenny, Heather, The Hammer and I) will be racing it again this year (June 8 – 9), defending our Coed team title.

And you should come join us, for the following reasons:

You will have an awesome time. I am not even remotely kidding when I say that this is a fantastic race.
The scenery is incredible. You’ll be doing a combination of riding and driving on surface roads from Moab, UT to St. George, UT. It’s beautiful. Astonishingly so. Of course, part of the time it’s so dark you can’t see anything but the stars, but a starry night with no noise polution is a pretty amazing thing, too.
You get a deal, just because you’re a Friend of Fatty. The Rockwell Relay is now in “late registration” mode; most teams signing up will have to pay an extra $50 fee. But if you email info@rockwellrelay.com and tell them you’re a Friend of Fatty, they’ll give you a special registration link waiving that fee.
I will serve you bratwurst, which I myself will have grilled. OK, I saved the best part for last, and put it in red, just to draw your eye to it. The Rockwell Relay guys recently called me and asked what I would do to make the race even more awesome. Nothing came to mind, so as a joke I said, “Serve my famous brats the night before the race.” To my amazement, they were all over this idea. So I told them that if they did this, I’d come over and take charge of grilling the brats and would serve them up.

So. Come on over. Eat. Race. Hang out with us. You will love it.

Another Note from Fatty: Today, I have a very special edition of Free Verse Friday. Which is not to say that any edition of Free Verse Friday is not special, but this one is very special indeed.

“Why is it so very special?” you might ask.

“It’s special,” I would answer, “Because it has actual information about stuff that’s coming up. Good stuff. Important stuff. Stuff you might actually want to be a part of.

So be sure to read it not only for its artistic merit (which is very great), but for the information contained therein.

Impending Panic: An Epic Free Verse Poem, In Informational Stanzas

Soon I shall travel

A much greater distance

Than I even knew there was

Zambia!

I will give away bikes

And bring back stories

I can hardly wait.

Twixt now and then, alas

I have so much to do

So much to prepare

I wince

Mayhaps I would moan and whimper

If I were not so manly

Guest Writers

While I am gone

In a far-off land

I cannot — will not! — expect to write

With any regularity

Or perhaps at all

So I ask you

Dear reader

To do my work for me

Two themes I give you

Write a story on one

Or the other

Or both if that’s your way

The themes are

“Why I started riding”

and

“How I got someone else to start riding”

Email your stories to fatty@fatcyclist.com

Thank you.

LiveStrong

The Davis LiveStrong Challenge is coming!

I’m working on cool incentives and contests

I shall explain more anon

You’ll want to be a part of it.

Honest, you will.

Thank you.

100 Miles of Nowhere

If you signed up

Your stuff is being packaged even as you read this

Soon, it will be on its way

Furthermore

If you’re local

Plan to do the 100 Miles of Nowhere with me

It will be awesome

I hope

Thank you.

And again, thank you.

Travel Day: Bound for Italy

2012-05-11T00:01:00Z

In a very short while I will be departing London for Italy. Despite the near-impossibility of finding a meal here that doesn't involve some combination of baked beans and pork products, I'm very fond of London, and I will leave with a heavy heart. I'll also leave with a heavy wardrobe, since thanks to all the rain my entire wardrobe is waterlogged.

I'm also very fond of Look Mum No Hands, which is where we had my BRA:

Though the gentleman in the helmet looks less than plussed to see me:

You know, "back in the day," if you wanted a new bicycle tire, a quinoa salad with corriander, a beer, an espresso, and a place to watch the Giro d'Italia, you had to go to five different establishments. Now, all you have to do is go to Look Mum No Hands!

Actually, come to think of it, if you walked into an establishment in most places "back in the day" and asked for four out of five of those things they'd probably tell you to get a haircut, accuse you of being one of those "hummus sexuals," and throw you out.

Yes, these kids today don't know how good they have it, what with their multifaceted bike shops and their normal-length hair and their crazy rock and roll t-shirts:

I don't know who this "Wildcat Rock Machine" is, but I bet he's one of those singers who goes on stage without any pants.

After the ritualistic Stilted Presentation During Which I Perspire Heavily, followed by the Defacement of the Books With a Sharpie (where are Sharpies when you really need them?), I lingered for awhile to enjoy the company, the establishment, and the fine art for which it is famous:

In fact, they even presented me with one of the above posters for myself, which they lashed to my handlebars with rubber bands:

By the way, if you're wondering why I've stopped, I swear it wasn't to steal this person's saddle:

Not only do I already have a very fine saddle of my own, but Eric "The Chamferer" Murray also told me reassuringly that if I ever used another one he'd gut me like a whitefish.

There's a warm, tingly feeling that comes with making lame wisecracks to a roomful of Londoners and then not having them line up to headbutt you in the teeth, and I relished both this feeling and my intact incisors as I rode back to my accommodations. I even caught myself fantasizing about living in London--though if I were to do so I'd have to affect a swashbuckling persona, start wearing a cape, and also purchase a dagger cane:

When the boutique bike shop café forgets to put the corriander in your quinoa salad, nothing conveys your profound dissatisfaction like the gleaming blade of a dagger cane.

I even enjoyed riding in London, though there are certain things that remain mysterious to me. For example, why do they make the cyclists ride with the buses?

In fact, the lit sign that I'm too incompetent to photograph legibly is ordering "cycles, buses, and taxis" to ride together:

Where I come from, buses and taxis are the last vehicles you want to ride with, and taxi drivers and bus drivers seem to have an unspoken agreement to make every collaborative effort to squash cyclists into panini.

Then again, I suppose all you have to do in London is brandish your dagger cane and everybody gives you the space you need.

With that, I am off to Italy for the fullest of bike days, Full Bike Day, where I will speak on Sunday, May 13th:

In case you're wondering, I will not be seeing the Giro, because I believe this weekend the Giro will be somewhere around here:

Whereas I will be somewhere around here:

Fittingly, I'll be the piece of gum stuck to Italy's heel.

Dispatch from the Road: Keeping it Short

2012-05-10T10:46:00Z

One good thing about traveling is that it disabuses you of certain stereotypes and misconceptions. For example, like most people, I always thought England was just a quaint nation of slow-moving, overly polite tea-slurpers whose biggest source of anxiety is gardening and who solve mysteries in their ample leisure time. As it turns out though, this isn't true, and indeed life moves very quickly here. For example, just yesterday at the Brooks factory, Eric "The Chamferer" Murray deftly whipped me up a saddle in a matter of minutes:

Just a few hours later it was on my bike:

And no sooner than this morning I was breaking it in via liberal application of rain, mud, and posterior sweat in the countryside outside of London:

My guide was Jack Thurston of The Bike Show, who was kind enough to indulge my sluggishness. See, some mornings your legs feel like they came from the "Serious Crisps" box, and other mornings they feel like they came from the "Funny Crisps" box:

This was definitely a "Funny Crisps" morning:

Indeed, as they say around these parts, I felt like I was "Up Fuckfield Lane," but that's only because I was:

By the way, if you look closely, you'll notice someone has indeed etched the missing "F" in the grime on the sign:

I can assure you it wasn't me, but I can't assure you I wouldn't have embellished it had I remembered to carry a Sharpie.

Despite the heavy legs I enjoyed the ride tremendously, and I got to see all manner of English countryside porn, including but not limited to thatched-roof cottages, really old pubs, nonplussed livestock, rich people in Land Rovers, and of course a bush shaped like a dog's head:

Then, in high non-"epic" style, we took the train back to London:

London's streets are confusing for an out-of-towner, and they're doubly confusing for a stupid out-of-towner, and the latter is the category into which I fall. Nevertheless, I had it pretty much figured out how to get back to my hotel--until I ran into this gigantic protest march:

I think it was either an #Occupy march, or else they were fed up with their free healthcare, but either way the street closure forced me to revise my route and it ultimately took me something like 19 hours to travel three-quarters of a mile.

In any case, at 5:30pm local time I will be at Look Mum No Hands!

If you're in the neighborhood I hope you will join me.

She Said, He Said

2012-05-09T16:26:29Z

A Note from Fatty: Last Saturday, The Hammer raced the Provo City Marathon; I rode my bike along the same route, leapfrogging her and cheering her along the way. Obviously, this resulted in two very different experiences.

Let’s start with The Hammer’s.

The Hammer’s Story: The Best Cheering Section…And The Marathon Wasn’t Half Bad, Either

The day started bright and early, well, maybe not bright-it was 3:45 when the alarm went off. I rolled out of bed after a pretty good Ambien induced slumber. I was starting to get the obligatory pre race jitters and new I would be spending some quality time with “john” before we would head out the door at 4:30.

Yes, I did say “we.”

My sweet husband, Elden had volunteered to get up at this ungodly hour and drive me to the race start. I kept telling him that he didn’t have to do this; he could sleep in. He had had a really stressful work week and could surely use a few extra hours of sleep. I assured him multiple times that I was capable of getting myself to the starting line.

Elden would hear none of this and insisted he would drive me. Not only would he drive me to the starting line, but he was also insisting that he would ride his bike along the course and cheer me on the whole way. Wow, my own personal cheering section — how could I refuse?

At 5:15, we arrived at the bus pickup in Provo where I met my good friend and coworker Ed. Ed was going to run the 1/2 marathon which started at the same location as the marathon and we would be able to ride the bus to the starting line together.

Ed is a remarkable person. A few years ago, Ed had gastric bypass surgery and has now lost at least a person in weight. He is the poster child for gastric bypass as he continues to keep the weight off. He has become quite the runner in the process and has participated in many 5K and half marathon races.

Way to go Ed, you are an inspiration!

The Hammer and Ed before the race.

We said goodbye to Elden and boarded the buses at about 6:00am. Elden’s plan was to change clothes, jump on his bike and ride to the mouth of Provo Canyon where he would meet up with my son Blake (aka the IT guy). They would then ride to Vivian Park and wait for me to run by.

The race organizers did a great job at the starting line. There were fires set up for warming us, plenty of loud music, and a crowd taking their pre-race jitters out on a piñata. And — most importantly — there were plenty of potties.

There was a nice chill in the air and very little wind. South Fork Park was beautiful this early spring morning.

I was surprised as the marathon group lined up. I would guess there were only a couple hundred runners, and probably a thousand half-marathoners. Definitely a different size of crowd than the 23,000 runners at Boston!

The marathon race started promptly at 7:00 am, followed by the half marathon at 7:15. I started with the 3:25 pace group, running at 7:49 minutes per mile.

[Side note about pacers: For those of you unfamiliar with marathons, most marathons have "pacers" -- experienced runners who will carry a sign while they run the race in a specific time. If you need a 3:25 to qualify for Boston, for example, or you have a time goal of 3:25, then you can run with that pacer's group. The pacer does NOT stop at aid stations for drinks or outhouses for potty breaks. He just continually runs. Pace groups are great for people who have a time goal or who have a hard time pacing themselves.]

I started out with the 3:25 group, but had no intention of staying with them the whole race. I knew I could keep up with them for the first few miles because it’s all downhill. My plan worked out perfectly and I exited South Fork Canyon just as the 3:25 pace group passed me.

As I ran through Vivian Park — the first place Elden and Blake were supposed to be cheering for me — I quickly scanned the aid station and the ten people there cheering on the runners.

They weren’t there! Oh no. If they missed me here, would they ever find me as the thousand runners behind me exited the canyon?

But then, just as I was thinking this, I heard cowbells for the first of many times that day. Elden and Blake were just around the bend. They hadn’t calculated the time right and didn’t think they would make it to Vivian Park in time, so set up a little further down the path.

My cheering section had found me!

The Hammer discards the sweatshirt she wore for the first few miles.

The next 5 miles were down Provo Canyon on a great bike path. I know this path well; It was my training route for many years, back when I lived in Orem. I was feeling great and I was keeping the 3:25 pace group in sight.

The 3:25 pace group must have been sad as I drifted off the the back and they lost the perpetual cheering section of Elden and Blake.

Elden and Blake would ride about a mile ahead, get off their bikes, and start cheering and ringing their cowbells. I could hear the cowbells and know they were close by. What a great motivator! As I passed, I would high-five them and Elden would yell words of encouragement.

The Hammer puts her hand out for a high-five as she runs by.

At mile ten, my dad even came out and cheered me on! Thanks Dad!

The halfway point of the marathon is — naturally — the end of the half marathon, and is on center street in Provo. As I ran by the finish line, I felt a little sad that I wasn’t running across the finish line. It’s funny how much of running is mental. When I ran the Moab half-marathon a few weeks ago, I was exhausted when I crossed the finish line. I couldn’t imagine running another 13 miles!

But as I crossed the halfway point on this day, I felt great. I looked down at my watch: 1:43. Wow, not a bad time for a half marathon!

Elden had left me about a block before the finish line/half way mark so he wouldn’t get in the way of people finishing the race. He said he would catch up with me in a little while.

Blake, meanwhile, had gotten bored and left. He said he would find us at the finish line. I didn’t blame him; riding your bike at a runners pace for 26 miles does not sound like the way I want to spend my Saturday morning. I was grateful for his smiling face and expertise at ringing a cowbell! Thanks Blake!

The first six miles of this race had been downhill, but then it had leveled off and become flat by mile thirteen, and continues flat until the finish — relatively flat for a Utah marathon. Now, leaving the crowds at the finish line, the road went up over an overpass — the only “climbing” for the day.

As I descended the overpass, I realized my feet were killing me! The reason was simple: the last three or four miles had been on a concrete road. I couldn’t believe what a difference there is running on concrete vs pavement. We turned, and I was glad we were off the concrete and back on chipseal (chipseal may be terrible for road biking, but it’s fantastic for running).

The next 6 miles would be run through neighborhoods as we made our way toward Utah lake. Once we arrived at the lake we would get back on the Provo River Bike Path and head east back toward the finish line.

As I approached mile 15, the marathon blues started to descend upon me. My feet hurt, and my hamstrings and calves felt like they were on the verge of cramping up.

“What am I doing here,” I thought to myself. “Running marathons suck! Why does anybody run them?” I couldn’t figure out how in the world I was going to make it another 11 miles! I was just going to have to walk.

I was sure all those people behind me were going to start to pass me–how demoralizing that would be! Elden would see me walking when I was supposed to be having a great race! He would be so disappointed in me.

Thank heavens Blake wasn’t around- He thinks im tough, he’d be so disappoointed. And then I heard the cowbell in the distance! “Oh crap,” I thought. “Elden is back! What am I to do?”

“Hey Baby, you’re looking good!” said Elden.

“Clang, clang, clang” said the cow bell.

“You’re not being helpful,” said the grumpy runner.

That’s what I said to my darling husband who got up at 3:45 in the morning and who had been cheering me on for 2 hours! What a brat!

But I couldn’t really say anything else, I was physically exhausted and quite possibly dying!

“Is the bell too much? I’m sorry, I won’t ring it anymore,” chimed Elden.

And he proceeded to be happy and cheerful and tell me stories about people he had met on his bike…blah, blah, blah.

And the thought occurred to me that I must have sounded just like this to Elden when we were running Boston. I was happy and cheerful and talkative. Elden was not. Elden was feeling this same exhaustion and pain while we were running Boston that I was feeling now. I had a new found love and sympathy for what Elden was going through so he could be with me at Boston. What a wonderful guy!

“I’m bonking bad, Elden, I need a gel!”

“One gel coming right up!” and he produced a gel and some water and an “I love you.”

Gel may feel and taste disgusting going down, but its effect is magic. Within a few minutes, I was back. My feet stopped hurting and the blues were on their way out!

“Thanks Elden, but dont be mad if I can’t talk. I’m pretty tired.”

“I completely understand, Baby, You just keep running and I will just keep talking…if it’s helpful.”

Feel free to take a few moments to admire and envy The Hammer’s legs.

The next few miles flew by and soon I was back on the bike path headed toward the finish line–only six miles to go.

At one point I found myself alone. Well, I wasn’t completely alone. I could see one guy about 25 yards a head of me, but alone in the sense that Elden was a way behind me, talking to a different runner and I was out of cheering section for a moment. Then I heard a cowbell approaching. I thought it was the return of Elden, but was surprised to see Blake riding up to me.

Blake (The IT Guy) snaps a picture of his mom (The hammer) as she runs by.

“Mom, you look great!” Blake said.

“I do? I don’t really feel that great.”

“Well you look way better than the 200 people I just passed while I was looking for you. They all look like they are dying.”

It was sure a good thing that Blake didn’t see me 8 miles ago when I was the one about to die. My secret is still safe (I think). Blake still thinks I’m tough!

The last few miles I had a tailwind. It is amazing what a little wind on your rear can do for your momentum and spirits. Blake and Elden soon veered off the path and headed for the finish line. They wanted to be on the line when I crossed. I looked down at my watch–only one mile to go. I thought I had this in the bag until I rounded the last corner and saw the overpass!

“Crap,” I thought. “I have to go up and over that again.”

I slowed to a walk. How could I have forgotten about that? I passed a man who was walking on the sidewalk; he gave me a curious smile. At that moment, I interpreted his smile as a smirk. In my mind, the man was saying “Girl, you are almost at the finish line–it’s just over that incline and you are walking? What a wimp!”

That did it! I picked up the pace and finished strong! Elden was at the finish line greeting me with a giant hug and kiss! I collapsed in his arms–exhausted. 3 hours, 36 minutes. Not quite my fastest time, but pretty close to it! I couldn’t have done it without a fantastic cheering section!

Both glad the race is over: The IT Guy and The Hammer.

Thanks Elden and Blake, for pushing me and cheering me on during the highs and lows! I love you guys!

Fatty’s Story: Marathons Are Fun And Easy

I have little to add to The Hammer’s excellent narrative. And by “little,” I of course mean “a surprisingly large amount, due to the fact that I seem to be unable to ever shut up and let well enough alone.”

It was fun to watch The Hammer actually hammer. It’s very strange that up until last Saturday, I had never watched The Hammer run a race. That’s because up to this point, she had always convinced me to run the race along with her, which meant that either she would be running way below her ability, or she’d be way ahead of me and I wouldn’t see her anyway. This time, though, I’d get to see her run, for more than the few moments it took for her to pull away from me at the starting line.
I was excited to be at a running race, but on a bike. I anticipated that there would be something deliciously evil about being on a bike at a marathon. To be comfortably lollygagging along, leapfrogging the very fastest runners, without even breaking a sweat.
Running makes you emotional. I’ve ridden my bike for 20 hours straight before. I was exhausted and hallucinating, but I still felt like myself — friendly, stable, and silly (the three characteristics I self-define with). Whenever I’ve gone on a long run, I’ve become much more emotional than usual. It was reassuring to see that The Hammer has to confront some bugaboos on hard runs, too.
Cowbells are awesome. When The Hammer and I were in Boston, Philly Jen gave us a bunch of little Boston Marathon-branded cowbells. One of these easily fits in a jersey pocket, and Blake and I used them the whole day. Cowbells are awesome because they’re louder than clapping and yelling, and hurt way less when used for an extended period of time.
Racers love spectators. Of course, I was at the race for The Hammer, but I cheered for — and occasionally rode alongside — everyone and anyone. And after the race, at least half a dozen racers came up to me and expressed gratitude for me bing there and cheering them on. It makes me think: anyone who has ever benefitted from cheering spectators needs to find time to be a cheering spectator sometimes, thus paying the good karma forward.
Small races are great. Of course, the iconic marathons like NYC and Boston have their obvious appeal, but a tiny race like (fewer than 300 runners!) like the Provo City Marathon made it possible for me to — without difficulty — constantly leapfrog the runners, either by taking a different street to the next place I’d stop to cheer for them, or sometimes just riding ahead of — and even alongside — them.
The Hammer is modest. The Hammer doesn’t mention in her story that she took a podium spot in her age group: third. She also doesn’t mention that her time across the line at the halfway spot for her marathon was fast enough that she would have taken first in her age group for the half marathon.
Everyone has an interesting story. I sometimes stopped and cheered for people who were racing, and sometimes I would randomly pick a person racing and ride alongside her or him for a few minutes, just chatting. And you know what? There’s not a single person out there who doesn’t have an interesting story to tell. The world might be a better place if we all took the time to talk to more strangers (but don’t tell that to your kids, I guess).
Riding 40 miles, slowly, over the course of four hours, is easy. Between riding from the finish line to where we first caught up with The Hammer to leapfrogging and riding along racers, I put in about 40 road miles on my mountain bike (mountain biking shoes are much better if you’re going to be getting off your bike and standing around a bunch) that morning. But it was such slow miles that I didn’t feel like I had gotten any kind of workout from it. So after I brought The Hammer home, I got back on my bike and went mountain biking for a couple hours.
This item placed because people like lists of 10 better than lists of 9. Have you ever considered how much of our world is governed by the fact that most of us have ten fingers? How would the world be different if we had fourteen? Something to think about.

And in short, I look forward to spectating in the future, as The Hammer crushes other running events.

PS: I really like how my sister Jodi (Pistols and Popcorn) is helping a reader of hers (Amy) get treatment for MS. Check out Jodi’s post from yesterday, and then maybe go find $5 to help Amy too.

Field Trip!

2012-05-09T03:10:00Z

Good morning, evening, middle of the night, middle of the day, or whatever time it is here in whatever country I'm in.

Frankly, I've lost track.

This post must be brief, for I am at this moment preparing to head from London to the Brooks factory in Birmingham. Needless to say I'll be undertaking this journey by "Boris Bike," which means I should be able to make it there and back in roughly four days. I'm also pretty nervous about my visit, mostly because it will involve seeing people working, and as a semi-professional bike blogger and book author I haven't done an honest day's work in something like three years.

In short, I exude sloth, and the hardworking Brooksians are bound to smell it radiating off of me like smugness off of a Portlander.

Pending my return (assuming I return and do not meet my fate at the chamferer's blade), in the interest of inspiring more recumbent commentary I'd like to share this specimen that I spotted in Williamsburg, Brooklyn shortly before departing:

As you can see, recumbents clearly represent the next phase of hardcore "urban cycling," and this one features not only homemade foot retention:

But also a battle-scarred and duct-taped seat that, in the unlikely event of a water landing, could probably serve as a flotation device:

Sure it's not pretty, but I'm guessing it does the job, and anyway not everybody can afford one of those exquisite handmade Brooks recumbent saddles:

(Brooks B17 Recumbent, aka the "Lazy Bloke")

In any event, I will update you upon my return, and until then I reman,

Faithfully yours,

--Wildcat Rocking Chair

This Just In: Headed Abroad!

2012-05-08T04:48:00Z

Further to yesterday's post concerning "dooring" in Melbourne, Australia, a commenter named Dee points out that ABC News have since published the following on their "Corrections & Clarifications" page:

Dooring cyclists

News Breakfast: On May 7, the program interviewed Garry Brennan from Bicycle Network Victoria about a campaign to increase fines for motorists who open their car doors into the path of cyclists. After the interview we suggested that cyclists should share some of the blame for ‘dooring’ incidents. The law states that this is incorrect. In every ‘dooring’ incident it is the fault of the person opening the door for not exercising due care.

I'd also like to see ABC "even the ledger up a tiny, weensy bit" by forcing the offending hosts to ride Segways and then subjecting them to an on-camera dooring:

(Host indicating the "tiny, weensy" nature of his "ledger.")

But I suppose this retraction is the best we're going to get.

Anyway, as you read this, I am en route to London, England. (Unless you're reading this later, in which case I'm probably already there, or unless you're reading this on March 22nd, 2017, in which case I'm knocking back olive oil martinis at Mario Cipollini's 50th birthday bash, or unless you're somehow reading this on April 12th, 1861, in which case you've got bigger things to worry about than bikes since the Civil War has just broken out, plus the safety bicycle hasn't even been invented yet anyway.)

The main reason for my visit to London is that I'll be fumbling with a BRA at Look Mum No Hands! (exclamation point theirs!, though that last one was mine!) on Thursday, May 10th at 5:30pm:

Also, if you're wondering about the origins of the shop's name, "Look Mum no hands!" is actually an old English expression that, roughly translated, means, "Look Mom, no hands!"

At some point during my time in England I'll also be visiting the Brooks factory, where Eric "The Chamferer" Murray has promised to make something called "minced meat" out of me.

Sounds delicious.

Then, from there I'll be headed to Italy for the Full Bike Day festival in Brindisi, where I'll be speaking on Sunday, May 13th:

And if you're wondering why a bike festival in Italy would want me, you may be surprised to learn that my first book was actually published in Italian:

Not only is it a small world, but apparently also a world with universally bad taste in literature.

In any event, it's possible and indeed likely that my international travels may affect my posting schedule, but I assure you I'll keep you apprised of any interruptions. I'll also remind you that my Italian adventure marks more or less the end of my book-related travels for the time being, and I thank you for your indulgence during this necessary period of self-whorage. Rest assured, starting next week I will once again assume my customary position, which is to say I'll be chained to a computer blogging away as my helper monkey, Vito, alternately de-louses me and slaps me upside the head whilst screeching with simian mirth over the latest episode of "Girls."

I'd also like to thank the commenters who have already offered me advice for my trip to London. For example, people have told me to watch out for the black cabs:

Which is kind of cute, because where I'm from we have these things:

There's nothing unusual about the image above, by the way. Now, I'm sure London taxis can be quite dangerous, and I assure you I will exercise due discretion, but telling a visiting New Yorker to watch out for the local cabs is like passing Keith Richards a joint and then telling him to be careful because it's "pretty strong stuff."

Of course, black cabs aren't the only ones in London, and so someone else chimed in and said that the minicabs are even worse:

Which is kind of cute, because where I'm from we have these things:

There's also nothing unusual about a car service crashing into your house, as you can see from the accompanying article:

Campbell said this is the second time a car has slammed into his home.

The first time, the car went straight through the home into an adjoining apartment.

Though the happy ending in all of this is that the homeowner learned an important lesson:

“This is the second time it’s happened, so maybe I should move to the middle of the block,” Campbell said.

I mean, come on, the corner lot is suicide in New York, everybody knows that.

Speaking of books (I was awhile back anyway), Rivendell Bicycle Works proprietor and noted quill stem enthusiast Grant Peterson has just published one:

This book is the antithesis of all that is Fredly, and I recommend it highly. You can obtain a copy here, or wherever fine books are sold. I should also stress that my enthusiasm for this book is completely sincere and totally unsolicited, and I'm not just pretending to like it because Grant Petersen is blackmailing me by threatening to publish pictures of me riding a recumbent bicycle. Indeed, he's already done that, and I'm still recommending it:

Sure, it may be too late for me to salvage what was left of my dignity at this point, but at least I managed to turn the camera back on him in the process:

This was actually my first time riding a recumbent bicycle, and I have to admit I now understand the appeal. It's pretty much exactly like riding a regular bicycle, except it's vastly more cumbersome, with the added benefit that and you look and feel ridiculous. Think of it as a horizontal tall bike and you get the idea.

On the plus side, the low position a recumbent affords you may also allow you to "limbo" beneath an open SUV door.

The Myth, The Legend, Mister Sudsy Butt

2012-05-07T13:54:00Z