Cledus and I are gonna head to the beach tomorrow. I’ll let you know how it went when I get there.

[UPDATE]: The bad news is, I didn’t make it on my bike. The good news is, I made it to Rehoboth, and I’m not dead despite the triple-digit temperatures. Here’s the short version:

• I didn’t plan on riding in the heat, but I’d committed to the ride early in the week and figured I could go slow, stop a lot, and drink plenty of fluids. My wife was coming out later in the day, so I figured the worst case scenario was that I’d call her from somewhere on the way and get picked up.
• The ride from New Carrollton Metro Station to Annapolis had some hairy parts early on, where the roads felt more like freeways than bikeable surface streets, but soon after I was riding paths and roads that wound through marshes and forests towards Annapolis. It was morning and already pretty hot, but tolerable and lovely and I was still smiling.
• Part of my route just west of Annapolis went through Bell Branch Rd. and Rutledge Rd. before heading back up to Defense Highway. I met a couple cyclists named Sheila and Jamie from Annapolis Bike Club on this part of the ride, they guided me through this gorgeous, forested, rolling road and led me to a convenience store where we talked about bikes and rides and routes and whatnot. I was thankful to have such delightful local riding companions, I enjoyed the company and the ride immensely. Thanks much!
• I had lunch at Annapolis Gourmet deli, had a delicious turkey and swiss sandwich made by proprietor Gus Leanos, and met some of the West Annapolis locals. I had a great sandwich and enjoyed meeting everyone. Thanks much, I’ll definitely be back!
• I took a Kent Island Express across the bridge, traded jokes and stories with the driver, and was across and ready to roll east by 12:30 p.m.
• I stopped at an American Legion in Grasonville to verify my directions. Besides helping me sort out my route, the locals asked me about my trip (What the hell are you doin’ ridin’ your bike in this heat?!), bought me a big icey tonic water, traded some stories, and took my picture with a couple regulars. They were also pretty concerned about the heat, and I assured them that I’d have support if I found myself in distress. Thank you kindly to all the great folks at the Grasonville American Legion!
• Another 13 or so miles down the road, I was correcting a wrong turn just south of Queen Anne, feeling some distress, and starting to run out of water in the middle of a bunch of farm fields. The road I was on came to an end as it intersected another one, and I stopped to ask directions at one of the farmhouses on the corner. A young man confirmed to me that I was about a mile away from town, filled my water bottles, and even put some ice into them for me. I was starting to cramp and pretty worried up to that point, so I was very grateful for the assistance. Thank you!
• At Queen Anne, I found a duck hunting store that had water and snacks. I came in with cramps in both legs, breathing wrong, slightly dizzy and feeling like my body just wasn’t regulating itself correctly. I sat in the shade of their building rubbing out and stretching my legs, drank 4 bottles of water, stored 4 more, and ate some food. About half an hour later, I was able to ride again, but my strength and stamina were definitely diminished. This was probably about 3:30 p.m. or thereabouts, I’d gone about 32 miles since landing on the east side of the bridge, and it was the hottest part of the day. I think up to that point I’d had a few gallons of water, but I couldn’t hold it in.
• I made it another 8 miles or so to Denton, MD, about 3 miles west of the Delaware Border. Coming slowly into town, my legs were still threatening to seize and I wasn’t feeling fully recovered. When I saw a bar and grill I could almost hear angels singing inside. I went in, looked at my map, thought about whether or not I could make it another 50 miles, and ordered a beer, a glass of water, and a po’ boy. And with that I surrendered completely at 68.5 miles, I was cooked beyond repair. The folks at Market Street Public House took exceptionally fine care of me until my wife arrived about an hour later, and by the time we left I was feeling mostly normal, if not recovered.

And that was the end of that. While I certainly felt some disappointment at not being able to continue, there was never a question about whether or not I should have or could have, the heat just broke me. Being on the road across the peninsula was mostly out in the open, and it felt like being on an anvil for hours.

Since we’ve been here, it’s cooled off, we’ve spent plenty of time at the beach and in the water, seen friends and family, and rented a double trail-a-bike for the kids to blast around on. It’s been a great little vacation, and I can’t wait to take another shot at this when the temperature’s cooler.

Thanks again to everyone that provided assistance and support!

My calves and quads started burning just from watching the peloton climb the Col du Tourmalet at speeds I typically ride on flat ground when I’m feeling good. Team Saxo Bank destroyed themselves all day setting Schleck up to make a run on the Yellow Jersey. What an incredible performance for a team that wasn’t supposed to be great climbers, especially since Frank Schleck’s been gone with a thrice-broken collarbone since crashing in Stage 3. When Andy and Alberto went off the front, I had to say to myself, “Shut up, eyes!” to keep up with them.

Andy Schleck’s performance was an all-timer, he set an impossible pace all the way up the mountain and didn’t combust. Contador put on a clinic in invincibility by staying right with him every meter of the climb and never looking like he was in trouble, and then looked positively inhuman when he blasted past Schleck with just a few kilometers between them and the mountain-top finish. Schleck dug into reserves deep in the marrow of his bones, all of ‘em, even the ones in the inner ear, grabbed Contador’s wheel, wouldn’t let go, and then came around Alberto and looked him square in the face. And they kept climbing, slowly opening the gap between themselves and everyone else in the field.

They came to the finish in a thick cloudy fog, almost side by side, but Contador didn’t attack Andy at the line. Very well played and classy move by Alberto, giving the stage to Schleck as the hero of the day, but taking everything he could dish out and finishing strong. I’m fairly certain I just watched something historic. Just stunning, really.

Wow.

Hey, look what I found on Versus:

I was poaching EuroSport’s feed while this was happening, so I was watching a choppy low-quality version that needed to be reloaded every 2 minutes or so when it dropped. But I saw the finish, and it sure looked to my gullible eyes like Garmin was in control of the front with 750m to go. My eyes went wide and my knuckles went white when Mark Renshaw dug in and powered up the middle, and I don’t think I breathed for the last 200m when he peeled away and Cavendish turned on the burners.

Helluva’n effort by HTC-Columbia, and a great stage win for Mark Cavendish. Nice work, fellas.

On a side note:

But what the hell, I’m havin’ a blast watching these guys rocket through these gorgeous little towns in the shadows of their cathedrals and castles, so maybe I’m blessed. Woohoo!

[UPDATE]: Oh man, looks like a hockey game broke out too. This just gets better and better. Snob’s right though, if they’re gonna keep this up, the rider that can shed his tap shoes for something better suited to combat’s gonna have an unbeatable advantage.

On some good advice that these days of winter are for relaxing a bit and letting the muscles grow supple, I spent last week riding to the Metro, taking the Red Line downtown, and reading my book for a little while in the morning and evening. I figured it wouldn’t be as frantic over the holidays as I remembered, and it wasn’t. In fact, it was pleasant enough that I’m doing it again this week and reading some more. This is the first time in two years I’ve taken the Metro to work instead of riding my bike. It feels a little bit like I lost something, but that something might have been a chip off my shoulder rather than anything important.

Other than that… what’s to say? It’s not that life hasn’t been interesting, after all the holidays have been a swarm of family and friends and events and food, the kids astonish and nourish me in new ways just about every day, there’s some bike and non-bike projects in the works, and there’s no shortage of current events to ponder aloud (or at least to ignite vehement reactions). I just haven’t been interested in writing about any of it.

Unless I become suddenly inspired, this right here’s the year-end wrap-up:

• I should finish the year with about 4050 miles and 131035 not-feet* of climbing.
• Number of rides is a less precise stat, because I’ll list a ride like “Farmers’ Market and Back” as a single ride, whereas the ride to work and the ride home are two, both because they’re broken up by a whole day of sitting and because it makes it easier to use different routes. The number of rides I’ve recorded for the year stands at 558, but there’s a few days left yet to cross 560 for the year.
• My weekly averages came out to approximately 10 3/4 rides a week for 77 miles and change. The biggest week was 189 miles and a little over 11400 not-feet of climbing, which was the week in August of the Livestrong Challenge. That month was my biggest with almost 625 miles.
• I put over 1575 delightful miles on Cledus (the Long Haul Trucker) this year, which is pretty cool. Cooler still was that Nigel, my Trek 930 based Xtracycle, racked up 1925 miles, and logged over 61k not-feet to Cledus’ 54k. No wonder I had to replace his Fat Franks this year, they got all wore out from kicking everyone’s ass all the time.
• I’m not sure how many miles we put on the car this year, but I’m almost positive it was well under 4k miles. Gotta verify it, but that’ll definitely deserve its own toast on New Year’s Eve.

* MapMyRide.com’s elevation statistics are horribly inaccurate, I’m certain that a year’s worth of GPS data from the same rides would yield an entirely different number. But since MMR was my method of measure throughout the year, it is at least consistently inaccurate. Or it’s not.

So there’s the tale of the tape. Pretty good year! I don’t know if I’ll beat those numbers next year, or if I’ll keep numbers for that matter, but this was worth doing and knowing. Even though it sure felt like I was piling on miles before and during the century, those only accounted for 500-600 of the total. The vast majority of the miles I rode this year were just to work and back, with a regular ride to the market on Saturdays. Pity the cyclist that thinks of those miles as “junk”!

Other things to remember and be thankful for this year:

• I lost a good bike. I miss you, buddy.
• I gained a couple more. I love you all.
• The Bike Clinics at Mt. Pleasant Farmers’ Market (and then at Bloomingdale, 14th and U, and H St.) were incredibly successful this year, more than anyone could’ve guessed. Estimates indicate we may have helped as many as 800 people get their bikes back on the road, and that’s pretty darn cool.
• Every day my wife proves to me how smart I was to marry her, and my children demonstrate to me that there’s nothing that could have adequately prepared me for the experience of raising children.
• And then there’s y’all. Or yinz. Or youse guys. Whatever ya call yourselves, thanks for tuning in. I’d probably write this stuff down somewhere, and bookmark these Internet oddities, but it’s much more satisfying to talk to you than just to myself, and there’s less annoying reverb.

I think that’s enough to call it a year, don’t ya think? Feel free to drop a comment about something awesome or not so awesome that you did, or were just in the path of, this year. And when it gets close to midnight on Thursday night, when I raise a glass to the end of this year, consider it hoisted in your direction.

Cheers!

Honk my hooter, look at what happened last night on the ride home from work.

I was just reading a post from a normally indefatigable friend of mine who’s struggling with motivation to keep racing. My guess is that, rather than a surrender, this is a small crisis of conscience that will burn off whatever doubts she has about taking it to the next level, because she’s a bad-ass and everything she’s written about it thus far has been excitement and fire and joy.

But it did get me thinking about my relationship to cycling, and the things I’ve accomplished this year, and where I want it to go from here. I’ve logged about 4000 miles this year, most of them commuting miles, but at least a thousand of them were training for and riding my first century back in August.

As I began training for that ride, I’d thought I might be taking my first step towards getting into serious road riding. I put in pre-dawn miles and went after hills and thought about how heavy my bike was and how thick my tires were. I ate little blocks of gummi caffeine and sugar, occasionally found someone else going fast to trade drafting duties with, and wondered if I should get serious and trade the pedal clips for real cycling shoes and clipless pedals. I thought about joining a club and riding a featherweight bike in a paceline on Saturday mornings, and derided myself for having a triple crank.

Some things have become clear to me since then, most notably that performance road riding’s not my cup of tea. Occasionally I take on something that seems big and challenging out of curiosity or to prove something to myself, or in the case of the Livestrong Challenge because I wanted to do something good and difficult. But the truth is that I just don’t have much of a passion for pushing the envelope, my competitive fire doesn’t burn all that hot, and that anything that starts feeling like Serious Business loses my attention. I’m bliss-driven.

For example, I’ve gone weeks without making it out to a disc golf course, but I’ll still get up at 5:00 a.m. a few times a week to head out to a field with a stack of Rocs or Teebirds for an hour or so before work. There’s a peripheral motivation to become a better disc golfer and a stronger competitor, but that’s not really why I do it. I do it because I love throwing discs, I love shaping lines in the sky and watching the disc follow them. If there were no courses nearby, I’d still get out to a field because I love the snap of the throw and the shape of the flight, and I experience a lot of perfect moments doing it.

The perfect moments I have on bikes are blissful and joyous, very few of them have involved much suffering. The best rides I’ve had this year have been on partly cloudy days in the mid-60’s, flying down brick alleys on 60mm balloon tires with my hands wrapped around a pair of Albatross bars. I love riding my Xtracycle with my daughter to her school. I love wrenching on our bikes and building wheels and tuning drivetrains until they’re quiet and smooth. I love bunny-hopping and off-street bike trails and saying Good Morning to crossing guards on my way to work and cranking and rolling and flowing with traffic and breathing the air and having nothing but the sky above me the whole time. My brass bell is one of the prettiest tones I can think of. Sometimes, I like to go slow.

There’s a hundred things that make me smile about being on a bike, but there’s not a single one of them that a heart-rate monitor would make any better for me. Sometimes I wish that weren’t the case. Sometimes, I think it would be awesome to be driven to achieve peak performance, to measure my effort by my perseverance and endurance, to conquer and win. And I enjoy watching folks with those qualities struggle and grind and endure, I’m amazed by their superhumanity (as well as their humanity) and take delight in their performances. But the only measures of my cycling experience that really motivate me are grins and laughs.

I realized that I wasn’t dissatisfied because my Long Haul Trucker was the wrong bike for how I wanted to ride, but rather that I wasn’t doing the kind of riding I truly love doing (for which the Trucker actually is perfect). I put the fenders back on, the clips came off the pedals (though I may pick up a pair of these or these for traction), and it’s getting mustache bars at the earliest opportunity.

I also picked up a beautiful Paramount Series 3 earlier this year, and had plans to outfit it for road riding. But I think I’m going to put riser bars, platform pedals, and 28’s on it instead. I may not have room for a serious road bike in my stable, but I can make room for a zippy street bike. Especially if it’s fun to ride.

Ever wonder what it would look like if God rode to work on a bike?

(h/t to the Sweeney to the Stevil)

Here’s a hot tip for those of you with the old-style Xtracycle Free Radicals that don’t have the strap anchors. Xtracycle has some “Classic” Freeloaders, the ones which strap around the frame rather than buckling to anchors, laying around the warehouse and they’re blowing them out for $39/ea. Buy both sides and save a cool hundred bucks!

Sylvie’s super retro Hypalon Freeloaders have been on life support for a while, so I was delighted to take a pair off their hands. And my, doesn’t she look handsome in her new duds. Mm mm mm.