Twilight comes late enough to feel like summer, but the waning daylight is evident, and it’s dark when we put the kids to bed. The transition from summer to fall, however, hasn’t been so much a cross-fade as a knife-switch. It took a while for summer’s dog days to arrive, finally coming in August, but in the span of the last 3 days, it’s gone from sleeping-on-top-of-the-sheets hot to it’s-a-great-day-for-football mild. I half expected to come outside this morning, watch every leaf on our street turn red in thirty seconds, and crash to the sidewalk all at once.

This year’s three-month bivouac at the pool is winding down, and once again the last days inspire both panic and relief. The pool itself is a delight, but it’s the grounds and the community that keep us in its orbit all summer long. We let the kids off leash to run with their toddler cohort, cook on community grills while our kitchen remains cool and un-thrashed, get to enjoy a beer (and sometimes more than one), and mingle with our friends in a pleasant meadow. We don’t even have to arrange to meet anyone. I mean, where else are they gonna go?

On the other hand, it tends to dominate the season. In early June, The missus was frantically trying to get the kids and I out the door. I hesitated, looked back, expressed my need to do something about our unfit-for-habitation living room and said I’d meet them later. “What are you talking about?” she said in disbelief, “The pool’s open! We’ll clean in September! Let’s go!” So, in that sense, we’re looking forward to blowing the dust of our project list and seeing what else there is to do.

One big project did get off the ground, though. The Wife’s other gig has been kick-ass this season. We’ve been blessed with berries and peaches and bread and all sorts of delicious local produce. She also came into this season hell-bent to realize a vision, a bike clinic, staffed with volunteers, who’d teach people about bike maintainence, do some repairs, and generally encourage people to get their bikes on the road. I have to admit, I was skeptical that it could work (and leary of being sucked into it since I already take over the kids on Saturday mornings while she’s market-managing). But lo and behold, smart, motivated people jumped right in, got folks signed up, and the results have been stunning. I worked one Saturday with 2-4 other volunteers, and didn’t stop from the opening bell until an hour after market closed. We’d helped over 30 people tune their bikes, and several of those folks have turned around and become volunteers since then. Meanwhile, some enterprising yoots down ’round the Bloomingdale Farmers’ Market have started up their own bike clinic, which we stopped by on Sunday morning, and it was totally hoppin’.

I gotta say, I’d be proud just to know my wife if I wasn’t lucky enough to be married to her.

Cledus and I had an incredible summer together, logging over 1700 miles and climbing almost 60,000 feet since Memorial Day, bringing my totals for the first two-thirds of the year to over 3100 miles and over 100,000 feet of climbing. Our many miles together culminated in my first ever century, which was far and away the baddest-ass thing I’ve done this year, and raising money and riding for Team Fatty made it even more meaningful. I’ll likely do more centuries, but I’ll always regard that one with a special fondness.

So into fall we go. With school starting, children to transport, backpacks to haul, and layers to carry, the swift-strike of a commute I make on Cledus will be replaced most mornings with the happy rolling melody of Nigel’s fat, creamy tires chewing up bricks, asphalt, and gravel with gusto. To tell you the truth, it’s hard to be sad about the transition when they both put such a big grin on my face. And while I’ve certainly enjoyed racking up road miles, the completion of the big ride and the crisp shift in seasons will mark a return to a more balanced palette of adventures. I’m itchy to throw plastic at metal, which I mostly gave up for training, and longtail camping trips up the C&O are definitely in order now that mosquitoes are no longer part of the experience and there’s enough snap in the air to make the first cup of coffee extra awesome.

Speaking of longtail projects, we’ve convinced more of our friends to take the plunge! They asked what it would take to make it happen, I pointed them towards a beautiful mid-90’s Trek 930 being sold nearby, they wisely jumped on it and pulled the trigger on an Xtracycle kit. And, get this, I’ve got the green light to make an appointment with the powder coater to make the whole rig Taxicab Yellow. (I’m trying to track down checkerboard decals, too, let me know if you’ve got a line on ‘em.) It’s going to be beautiful, and hopefully we’ll get it on the road quickly so we can get them out on the trail sooner than later. They’re excited. I’m excited for ‘em.

All this makes it sounds as if I’m done with road miles. Not so! In fact, another transition is in store as we ride into autumn. I had to face the fact that it’s just not the time or place for me to own a kick-ass single-speed mountain bike. I don’t ride singletrack here, as much as I think I’d like to, so the 4one5 has been relegated to the occasional urban assault, which consists mostly of delighting myself with bunny hops off speed bumps and tearing up the neighbors’ lawns. It needs to be on real trails, wearing knobbies, eating dirt. Meanwhile, I’ve developed an itch for a real road bike. Nothing too fancy, mind ya, but something a little more lithe and a little less linebacker than the Cledus. We’ll have to see what happens.

There’s one more big sunny barbecue left before it’s time to get the long sleeves and hoodies out (or, in the case of my San Francisco brethren, to put them back and get ready for things to warm up). And then it’s harvest and costumes and turkeys and reindeer from there on out.

So whatcha got planned for the end of summer?

When I was packing clothes and tools and nutritional blobs, I almost left without a book. The family wasn’t going to be joining me, and I rarely see a movie these days that doesn’t star Julie Andrews or come from Pixar, so I was looking forward to settling in at the hotel and consuming something with guns and swearing and car chases and whoopie-makin’. Unfortunately, I arrived at my hotel Saturday night to find that my room’s television was malfunctioning. If I hadn’t brought the book, Id’ve been stuck with War of the Worlds (the Tom Cruise version) on network television, with maximum commercial interruptions. I was a little disappointed at first, but after reading for an hour straight I realized that it’s no less rare for me to spend a solid block of time, uninterrupted, immersed in a good book. The linguini was pretty good as well, and the beer was delicious. Beer’s pretty dependable that way.

Rollin’ Out with Jason and Philly Jen

I was up at 4:28 a.m. on Sunday, two minutes ahead of my alarm clock. I got dressed, slammed some juice, joyfully spalmed up, washed my hands, and headed to the Doubletree to meet the morning rollout squad. Thirty of forty of us were assembled out front, including one intrepid rider on an Xtracycle, much to my delight.

Spotting Philly Jen was easy, she was simultaneously effervescent and in-charge (which was no mean feat at dawn’s early light). She also noticed that I’d forgotten to put the provided pink Team Fatty ribbons on my wrist and helmet. That’s right, I got busted for failing to wear enough flair. Again. Before long, The Man himself came out, looking a little dazed but happy to be there. Everyone clicked into their pedals, and sixty snicks later we were rolling the back roads of Blue Bell, PA towards Montgomery County Community College.

Ben and Fatty Arrive at Livestrong Central

The Philadelphia Livestrong Challenge filled up completely, 6,500 riders and runners raised over $3.2 million for cancer research, prevention, and survivor support. By the cut-off date for tallying recruitment goals and contributions, Team Fatty Philly had 197 members (over 170 of which were signed up for the 100-mile ride) and raised over $270,000. Team Fatty Austin has raised over $129,000, and still has two months to go. It’s humbling and gratifying to have been part of such an outstanding effort by so many wonderful people.

We Are Legion

We packed the starting chute around 7:30, and hit the road at 8:00. I was pumped with adrenaline, fueled on pasta and gel, and rode the rollers over the first few miles of the course like I had wings. I knew I couldn’t hold that kind of pace for the whole ride, and that hard work lay ahead, but I was filled with energy and enthusiasm, and coffee and sports drinks. I covered the 9 miles to the first Power Stop station with a quickness and made haste to the porta-potties. Relieved, I got back on the road and settled into a comfortable cadence.

Ridin’ Along at a Medium Pace

Before the ride, I’d had doubts about whether or not Cledus was going to be up to the task. He’s built for loaded touring from Surly’s 4130 CroMoly steel, solid and comfortable. But he’s not light, his handling’s more stable than swift, and 32c tires on him pass for “skinny”.

My doubts were totally unfounded, he was a perfect steed, rode like he was on rails. On the rollers, I’d crank and tuck on the downhills, let Cledus carry the bottom, pedal easy and downshift as I came up to the next crest, and push a little to the top. Someday I may be strong enough to attack a 15% grade on a road bike, but this time, on these hills, I was grateful to have a triple crank and I didn’t walk once. The steel frame, long wheelbase, and solid touring tires made descents easy and filled with joy. I spent a lot of time at 35-40 mph, hit 42.5 mph at least once, and I swear the faster I went, the more at home that bike felt.

I imagine I’ll put together something sportier and closer to a real roadie at some point, but I’ll have that Trucker for the rest of my life if I have anything to say about it. What a sweet, sweet ride that bike is. I’m a lucky guy.

Pennsylvania’s Countryside’s Real Purdy

The early miles were pretty easy. I hit every stop for short rests, filled up on sports drinks, PBJ’s and fruit, and chatted with the volunteers. At around the 28 mile mark, we hit our first really good hill, a 600 foot climb over about 5 miles, with a 150 descent in the middle to break it up. This wasn’t the big one, but it was big enough to put me into low gears for a long time. A line of us would climb and climb, pass a few people walking their bikes, and every so often see someone sitting on the side of the road massaging a knot from a cramped quad or hamstring.

That’s Some Good Work Right There

We hit the top and dropped quickly into a long descent with a couple short steep climbs down to the plains around Pikeville. I was rocketing down one of these glorious roads when I looked up to see a cyclist waving his arms and making signs to slow down. I yelled back to slow, grabbed a couple handfuls of brakes, and came around the slightly wet, hay-bale-softened corner at a cautious speed as a couple other cyclists were assisting someone who’d clearly gone perineum-over-elbows over the guard rail. The downed rider looked muddy and stunned, but conscious and not bloody. Hearing the ambulance coming up the hill was both reassuring and chilling, I kept rolling with a cautious hand on the brakes the rest of the way down.

Headed down into the Woods

I got nervous as I closed in on the 50 mile mark. The map showed the hill heading up to Landis Store rising slowly, then climbing 600 feet or so over the course of a mile. For all the training I’d done leading up to the ride, I hadn’t done anything remotely like that in D.C. and had no idea what to expect. The road started tilting, but at first it wasn’t any harder than the climb back 20 miles back, and even had a few easy descents. Then, around mile 55, the road got steep, and then it went straight up. The heavy parts were 12-20% grades, but every so often they’d mellow to a 5% grade that felt like heaven for a little while. There was bygawd sufferin’, lots of it to go around.

I got out of the saddle, looked up, visualized a long steep staircase, found a climbing rhythm, and ground it out. Every fifth of a mile or so there’d be a sign with a you can do it! or a not much farther! to keep us going, and I appreciated every one of them. About three-quarters of the way up, one of the volunteers in a Devil outfit, complete with pitchfork, urged us on. He did tell us we only had about 50 meters to go, which of course was a lie, but everyone’s got a job to do, right?

The grade dropped to just a few percent at the top, and we could see volunteers in yellow shirts, waving us up, blowing air horns, and shouting to us that we were almost there. We came around the corner, and hit Landis Store at last.

Happy People Coming In To Landis Store

Landis Store was like heaven. Volunteers congratulated us and offered water, hot dogs, soup, Gatorade, pasta salad, trail mix, watermelon, orange slices. There was a misting machine and a country band. One of the riders I’d been chatting with on the way to the climb lived less than a mile away, his kids were there to greet him and he was visibly touched. I stayed too long, ate too much, and enjoyed the party.

Rockin’ the Chicago Schwinn and Toe Clips, How Cool Is That?

Everything after that seemed, if not easy, at least doable and really fun. There were more 6-7 mph climbs, more blazing descents, more folks on their porches waving and smiling, more beautiful Pennsylvania countryside. Somewhere around mile 65, I felt something crawling on my right ring finger for a split-second before it felt like it’d caught fire. I found the sting but not the stinger, so I figured at least the world hadn’t lost another honey bee. About 10 miles from the end, my right inner thigh cramped at the end of a climb, but I limped to the top and rubbed it out on the road. There was just no way I was going to stop at that point, even if I had to pedal with one leg.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, Around the Bend We Go

At about mile 90, I thought about the Tyvek ticket attached to my rider bib, redeemable for a cold beer, put a few more watts into the cranks, and reeled in the last few miles. Before long I could see the college, then I was in the chute flying between rows of yellow balloons, then I was across the finish line, and then I was at rest. Someone was trying to congratulate me, I looked up and it was Fatty his own self with a big grin and a warm welcome.

You would think from reading his blog that Elden’s a really nice guy, and that you’d probably like him if you ever met him. You’d think that, but you’d still be unprepared for just how nice a guy he is, and what a joy it is to meet him in person. If he hadn’t put together Team Fatty, he’d still be the kind of person that makes the world a better place just by being in it and showing us how it’s done. But in addition to being a swell guy, he also put together a team of hundreds, coordinated all sorts of contests and events to keep us motivated, and so far has been the driving force behind hundreds of people raising over half-a-million dollars and counting to fight cancer. I’m grateful that he invited all of us to join his fight and to raise money and train and be a part of this, and I’ll be ready to do it again next year.

The Tale of the Tape

I’m still exhausted. My legs are noodled, which I expected. My hands are wasted too, which I didn’t expect, seems like all the climbing worked my forearms to the point where it hurts to squeeze a fist. The total for the day, with the ride from the hotel, the ride, and the ride back to the car (including the wrong turn) was around 110 miles. The course map says the total climb was around 4200 feet, but I heard a guy at the 70 mile mark say his GPS was already showing 6240 feet of climbing, and I’d heard it said elsewhere that the actual total climb was around 8300 feet. That sounds about right.

After the ride Sunday, I overheard a Livestrong volunteer telling a rider about the course. The folks that lay out the courses for the events present them to Lance for approval, and when they got to the Philly course, they mentioned to him that this was, of the four events, the hardest course. They showed him the route and topographical chart, and then pointed out some areas where they could change the route to take out some of the more difficult climbs. He said something to the effect of, “Are we putting on the Livestrong Cakewalk? It’s perfect, make sure everyone signs the waiver.”

I couldn’t have asked for a better first century. Thanks for the challenge, Lance. And thanks for the ride, Fatty.

[UPDATE]: Things I forgot to mention:

• Big, huge thanks again to all of you that made contributions to the Livestrong Foundation. You all are heroes, I just ride a bike.
• The Livestrong Volunteers are, one and all, awesome. This being my first charity ride, my sample size is small, but I honestly can’t imagine any crew anywhere being as enthusiastic, supportive, and dedicated as the folks that shouldered the work of putting this event on so that a bunch of us could run around and ride our bikes.
• Additionally, to the folks at Landis Store, y’all sure know how to put on a party.

Here’s some more stories and photos from other awesome Team Fatty folks, check ‘em out!

• Jason from Albany hits town, and cranks a longtail
• epicmoonflower rides pink tires, has awesome toenails, and provides pics and movin’ pictures.
• Albany Bob hammers roadies on his awesome Gunnar cross bike, and wins wheels. (The Albanians represent!)
• Lizzylou made our awesome bibs, loves cake, and crashes a little (’cause blood smells like victory).
• Pics from Llamahope, Alex Matthews, and a ton of great shots from KevKavPix.

I’ll post more as they become available…

I signed up with Team Fatty to do the Livestrong Challenge 100 Mile Ride in Philadelphia last December. Since then, I’ve put in around 3000 miles in ice, rain, and sun. I’ve raised money for cancer prevention and research, and to support survivors and their families. And I’ve been watching the calendar, anticipating the event. Sunday’s the day, we’re here.

Bag’s packed, clothing’s checked in and checked off. Brought the good socks, and they’re clean. Tool kit’s rolled up and in the bag, along with the Shot Bloks and GU Chomps. Cledus is tuned, stripped of commuter luxuries, and dialed in. Naked Juices are in the fridge, waiting to hop into a cold bag with some freezer packs. DZ Nuts? Oh yeah, I got ‘em covered.

A special thanks goes out to all of you that gave generously to sponsor my participation. I’ll have a ride report and maybe some pics when I return.

I am McLovin.

I repacked both wheels last night, gave the freehub a little love, put some new pads on the brakes, and gave the chain some Rock and Roll*. The bottom bracket could probably use an inspection before next weekend, and I’d still like to get the wheels up on the truing stand for a look. But coming in to work this lovely morning, Cledus was gracefully gliding quiet and smooth on the streets of DC, stopping on dimes and making everything feel easy. I love that feeling.

*Which, by the way, I’m loving. I highly recommend** it.

**Not that my recommendations should carry much weight, I’m just some guy on the Internet with a couple bikes and some baseless opinions. Ask your doctor or local bike shop proprietor if Rock and Roll is right for you.

So, a little more tuning, an easy 40-50 miles tomorrow or Sunday, some light riding next week, and then it’s off to Philly where we will be joined by none other than Fatty his own self, fresh from riding Leadville this weekend. I hope I get to meet him before the ride, because I’m pretty sure that I, in shoes and toeclips, riding my very first century on a what-me-worry-about-weight Long Haul Trucker, will not be setting the pace. Nevertheless, I’m really excited to do the ride.

I’ve mostly stopped doing the Friday Entertaining Interlude thing, for no good reason, but what the hell. It’s Friday, enjoy a lovely tune by Bonnie “Prince” Billy from Master and Everyone, which I’ve been playing in a loop for several days. Helluvan album, really.

Enjoy your weekends, ever’buddy, especially if you find yourself on a bike in Leadville, CO on a 100 mile ride.

[UPDATE]: It would be remiss of me not to mention: there’s still some time left to make a contribution to the Livestrong Foundation, which supports prevention, research, and support for cancer survivors and their families. You may conveniently do so here at my fundraising page, if you’re so inclined. I’m certainly excited about the ride itself and doing something I’ve never done before. But the effort’s about coming together, and fighting cancer on behalf of our families and friends. So if you’ve been thinking about supporting our effort, now would be a great time to pitch in.

And thank you to everyone that’s made a contribution so far, to support me, the team, the Nelson family, and to fight cancer. I’m grateful, and we’ll do our best to make you proud. Cheers.

Yesterday was my last change to take a shot at a distance close to a century to see what kind of shape I was in. We’ve had guests, little emergencies came up last weekend that kept me from doing a long one, and of course between distractions and last week’s wrecks, saddle time and base miles were limited.

Saturday would’ve been a possibility, but my daughter got a case of Swimmer’s Ear. From about 3 p.m. until 9 p.m., she and my wife sat in an emergency room, waiting to be admitted for about five-and-a-half hours, and then being diagnosed and prescribed ear drops, while the boy and I got some quality time. From about 9:30 p.m. until 11 p.m., I was standing in line at a pharmacy, waiting to fill the prescription.

Incidentally. as far as all the scaremongering about socialized medicine and long waits for treatment goes, I say bring it, I have no fear of your hypothetical long waits. If we can get emergency room visits to be as pleasant as a visit to the DMV, it’ll be a huge improvement.

Saturday night was punctuated with ear-dropping and other small emergencies that kept me from sleeping for more than about 90 minutes at a time. It turns out that this is not an optimal training regimen. Two large cups of coffee into the morning, I still couldn’t shake the queasiness, lethargy, and disorientation I get these days when I don’t get my beauty sleep.

Nevertheless, I was determined to do 3 laps around the city on what’s become my training route: Sligo Creek Parkway up to Silver Spring, across town to the Capital Crescent Trail, down to Georgetown, and back through the city to Northeast. There are variations, but the trails make up a good 19 miles of it, with mild elevation changes and long stretches without cars. Cledus and I took off from home and went counter-clockwise, turned northeast from the Washington Monument, and back up through town. Lap one was just a hair over 30 miles, and held a steady 15.5 mph until downtown’s lights and stops brought it down into the high fourteens. I was feeling pretty good when I stopped at home, drank a quart of milk, and made an adjustment to my saddle.

For the second lap, I went the other way, except instead of heading downtown I went due east towards Rock Creek Church Parkway, just west of the United States Soldiers’ and Airmen’s Home. I needed more climb than my usual route has, since the Livestrong Challenge ride promises a couple good ones, and the route north of Catholic University goes up a couple hundred feet in a couple miles. The climb was long, but I was up to it, and the payoff was great. I flew down the other side, hit some rollers on the way to 14th, turned south and headed for the National Zoo to pick up the Rock Creek Park Trail to Georgetown.

It was getting towards one o’clock by then, and the temperature was climbing towards 95 by the time I made it up the CCT to Bethesda. I stopped at Gifford’s,slammed a smoothie made of sugar, ice, and something from the artificial berry family, and alternated between ecstatic gulps of ice-coldness and agonizing bouts of brain freezing. The heat and humidity was getting to me. I was 45 miles in, and seriously doubting whether or not I had another lap-and-a-half left in me, but pretty sure I could get home. I stretched a bit and saddled up for the second half of lap two.

Another hour and two bottles of water later, I was back home, slamming another quart and a half of milk and eating frozen blueberries. Lap two took about the same time, and my average was holding at 14.7 mph, but I was hurtin’. I did another set of stretches and thought about calling it a day. My legs were cramping in the hamstrings, but the more troubling cramps were coming from my ribs. I’d misadjusted the bars and seat so that I was putting just a little too much weight on my arms, and the supporting muscles were starting to protest. I rested ten minutes, made small adjustments to my cockpit and seat and decided to give it a go, but slowly for a while.

Lap three went clockwise again, but this time, I took a quick, easy route downtown before heading west on K St. to the CCT entrance on Water St. The first part of that leg was tender and tenuous, but I loosened up and my position was definitely better. By the time I hit the trail, I wasn’t explosive by any means, but I felt like I was on the upswing. I hit Gifford’s again once I got to Bethesda, and sucked down an orange soda float with vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, and a cherry. (It might’ve been the best soda float I’ve ever had, and I recommend it as a superior training drink.) I rode an easy pace up the rest of the CCT, and crawled through Silver Spring to the Sligo Creek Parkway. Sligo Creek was beautifully smooth and winding, and didn’t have a lot of traffic on it. I took the lane, and started pushing just a little harder. I couldn’t really pound on the cranks, my legs felt fragile, but gently pushing with what I had was enough to glide along at 20 mph and enjoy the ride for a while.

I gave what I had left to the last five miles or so between New Hampshire Avenue and the Prince George’s Community Pool where the rest of the family was waiting for me. It was good to see them, and not just because my wife had an ice-cold Yuengling waiting for me. Well, that was a big part of it, that and she’d just come out of the pool and gave me a big, wet, cold hug. The total for the day came to 87.5 miles and around 3080 feet of climbing in a few minutes over 6 hours of saddle-time. I took 4 breaks for about another 45 minutes, drank close to a gallon of milk, and maybe another quart of cold ice-cream drinks.

That’s the most miles I’ve ever done in a day, and the most I’ve ever done at a time, though it’s still short of the Livestrong ride by about 12 miles. I realize that this is, by any objective standard, a mediocre achievement. After all, Kent Peterson does 174 miles as a practice run for really big rides. But I know this: 4 months ago, I couldn’t have done it, and two weeks from now, I’m going to ride 100 miles. I know that I can, I know that I will. In fact, I’m really looking forward to it.

[UPDATE]: Mr. Peterson, sir, if you’re reading this, I’d like to apologize. Searching through these posts, I realized I used the couch cushion metaphor on December 2 of last year, when I signed up for this thing. You deserve better than a recycled quip, therefore, I’ve fixed it.

A little over a year ago, I stumbled across a great cycling blog, though it already had an eager following of many thousands of folks in the cycling community. The proprietor, Elden Nelson, is an avid cyclist, on and off-road, and a wonderful humorist. I enjoyed every post, and over time gradually got to know a little about him, his riding buddies, and his family.

I also came to know, through his writing, about his wife Susan, her struggle with cancer, her family’s commitment to fighting it, and the cycling community’s response to their calls to help. I was inspired to join the fight, which is why I’ll be riding my first century in the Philadelphia Livestrong Challenge two and a half weeks from now, and why I’ve been asking for your support. I’ll be riding to fight cancer in the larger sense, but specifically, though I’ve never met or spoken with the Nelson family, I committed to this almost a year ago to fight for Susan, and for the Nelson family.

Susan passed away this evening. If you’re so inclined, you might drop a note of love and support. My thoughts and prayers are with the Nelson family tonight, and we’ll keep fighting.

[UPDATE]: This is a beautiful eulogy to Susan. Riding for Team Fatty on her behalf will be an honor, of which I’m probably not worthy, but I’m sure proud have the opportunity to do it.

My mom’s in town, and with an extra hand to wrangle children, I had an opportunity to tackle some tasks this weekend…

This part was awesome.

Saturday morning, the wife and I got up together, had some coffee, and headed off to the Mt. Pleasant Farmers’ Market. I helped with some setting up of InstaShelters for the musicians and bike clinic, then got on the bike and started the first of two laps around the northern part of the city.

I’d stripped Cledus of fenders, lights, and other luxury commuting accessories, getting him down to a svelte sub-30 pounds. Actually, I don’t know how much weight was saved, but the placebo effect was noticeable. I dropped into Rock Creek Park, took the trail to the Capital Crescent Trail, got into some tunes and found a nice pace for the first lap.

I was tempted to fire it up a little, but remembered my commute from earlier in the week and exercised restraint. Last Wednesday, I’d hopped onto the tail of a paceline with some superheroes on the Georgetown side of the CCT, spent five or ten minutes with them, then decided to overtake them. I wasn’t racing or throwing down any gauntlets, I was just listening to Blondie and Debbie wanted me to raise my cadence. But I became aware as I did that there’s no way that a guy wearing a teeshirt and Dickies, riding a steel touring bike with platform pedals, can overtake 5 roadies in skinsuits on skinny tires without making a statement. And so, with great pride and questionable judgment, I stood behind my inadvertent statement and pushed Cledus hard for about 15 miles, feeling their imaginary heat behind me the whole way home.

Racing with unsuspecting commuters is pretty fun and a great workout, but the effort had eaten me up pretty quick, so this time I got comfortable and paid attention to the gorgeous day and the thick, lush woods. After about an hour and a half of steady pedaling, I’d come full circle to home, where I slugged a quart of milk and re-filled my water bottle. 5 miles later I was back at the market inhaling a pint of Tree and Leaf blueberries, and some outstanding peaches.

At about 45 miles I was feeling some fatigue, but I could still keep the chain from slacking, still keep the cranks spinning, and anytime I needed to I could still get off the saddle and fire it up. Once I hit Sligo Creek Park, I left the trail at the first opportunity to ride the road. It’s fairly twisty, and the speed limit’s 25, so I figured some nice smooth asphalt and a little pressure from traffic would be good for the pace (and it was).

A little while later I was home, hammering another quart of milk, filling the water bottle again, and then headed back to the market. Once market was over, the whole family headed over to Wonderland for burgers, Yuenglings, and pink lemonades on the patio, and then home. My total for the day was 61.5 miles, and even with the half hour of crawling Xtracycle pace from early in the morning, I averaged about 14 mph.

A moment to reflect.

Saturday’s ride made for 180 mile week, hopefully put me on pace for another 500 mile month, and brings the year to around 2160 miles.

I’m not quite ready for 100 miles with climbs yet, but I will be. And I’m a long ways away from anything remotely resembling this kind of crazy (Christ, she’s smiling, such a bad-ass).

But it wasn’t that long ago when I rode up to the Metro station on my bike and decided I’d rather ride all the way to work (all five miles!) than take the train. Soon after, Sylvie and Nigel joined the stable, which allowed us to eliminate most of the short car trips, bring the kids with us, and bring home four flats of strawberries when the opportunity arose. Do you have any idea how many daiquiris that is? Let me help you with the math: it’s a helluvalotta daiquiris.

My life with bikes in it is awesome. I wish it hadn’t taken me so long to discover this, but I’m grateful to know it now, and I’m not wasting any more time.

This part was also pretty awesome.

Sunday was pretty clear, thanks again to help from Sainted Mother and Lovely-and-Talented Wife, and the bike room had been left in a catastrophic state since last weekend’s workbench odyssey.

Well, not complete disarray, necessarily. The kind of mess the room was in demanded that everything be disassembled, sorted into heaps, and put back together. Last weekend we’d gotten two steps into that process when I realized a workbench would be part of the solution, and then set about not quite finishing it. So the homogenized heaps of parts and tools have been on the floor, slowly disintegrating and mixing as the two-year-old discovers the nifty doodads they contain. Kind of like Brownian Motion.

It was pretty clear that the workbench drawer and pegboard tasks would need to be completed before order could be restored. Given the late start and the overhead involved in deploying my backyard-workshop, I knew it was gonna be close.

Home Depot went quickly, and without much pain. Mounting the drawer slides into the workbench took some effort, but went mostly without a hitch. Building the drawer itself went really, really well. In fact, I’ve gotten good enough with my homemade jigs and modified router bases that levels of squareness I wouldn’t have thought possible several months ago have become “almost good enough”. I was totally annoyed with Home Depot’s pine stock when two of the boards I was using for the drawer sides were clearly off by at least a thirty-second of an inch in width.

It was hot and sunny, I was pouring sweat and could feel the skin on the back of my neck getting crispier with each passing hour. It cooled down enough, later in the afternoon, for the gnats and a few mosquitoes to come out and play. But by five o’clock, the drawer was built and installed, and by seven I’d framed and mounted the pegboard to hang on the wall behind it. The pegboard’s layout will change, I’m sure, and there’s still a bunch of heaps to put away, but they’ll all have homes in no time.

Behold, a decent workspace!

This is going great.

This part was not so great.

It seems, at this point in the tale, that the whole weekend from the waking moments of Saturday to the waning moments of Sunday were perfect, what could go wrong? Nothing, really. But a tale without some pain and adversity isn’t terribly interesting, so here’s a little spice to finish it off.

My two-year-old son is a joy, I love and adore him, his two’s are going really well and so far haven’t been at all terrible. But last night I was playing keep-away with him, passing his book of cute animals from one hand to the other, letting him jump over me to get it before I passed it back. He was enjoying the game, smiling and laughing giddily.

But over the course of our game, in say five minutes, he punched and kneed me right square in the balls no less than five times, laughing the whole goddam time. When we got to lights out, I gave him a hug and a kiss and said, “Good night buddy, I love you… quit punching and kicking me in my goddam balls.” I mean, five times? It’s hard not to take that a little personally. Ya know?

So, that’s all I got, how was your weekend?

Howdy, it’s been a little while since we corresponded, I thought I’d check in and report on what’s shakin’ around these parts.

How Much Ya Bench?

Independence Day fell on a Saturday, so my fellow bit-miners and I had Friday off. I’d been kind of under the weather comin’ into the weekend so I took some time off the bike, but I got a wild hair to tear apart the bike room and try to make some sense of it. It had gotten to the point where all sorts of tube cuttings, panniers, wrenches, and laundry were gathering and compacting into the corners of the room, like dirty grease collecting in the nooks of a bottom bracket.

The first thing was to pull out the bikes, and make piles of tools, parts, accessories, and everything else to get a look at the campaign I was waging. Once that was done, I knew I needed some bins and was pretty sure I needed a workbench in the corner and a couple other things as well. So I girded my loins for consumer combat, and marched to Home Depot to see what they had. Their workbench selection was disappointing, but I had my graph-paper notebook (lordamighty I love graph-paper notebooks) with a sketch of the corner, so I drew up a just-right bench, broke it down into parts, and came home with some planks and two-buh-fers.

So what started as an all-day-organizing-party quickly evolved into a three-day-woodworking-bender, totally ate up the whole weekend. It’s not quite done yet, there’s still piles of parts on the floor and bikes strewn about dining room. But check it out!

It needs a drawer, and the pegboard’s not up yet, but it’s a beaut, Clark! The frame is mortise-and-tenon jointed, made from poplar two-by-fours for legs and one-by-threes for rails. The top came from a bit of Home Depot improvisation: two oak stair treads, four feet long by about a foot wide and one-inch thick, biscuit-jointed back to back. I look forward to the day, very soon, when I see my tools hanging on the pegboard, outlined in sharpie like little crime scenes. The day draws nigh!

The Big White Razor and the Grocery Getter

I’ve had some time now with the new bikes, and they’re pretty neat. I’d had a thought when we brought them home that the Trek 1400 was going to join the stable as the racer, but I wasn’t sure about the Schwinn.

Sure, it’s a lovely mixte, the frame’s in decent shape and it runs fine. But after all, we do already have two Xtracycles, so an upright grocery getter didn’t seem like it could compete for scarce stable space when we already had two grocery freighters. Nevertheless, all it needed was a little love, some grease, and some tires to put the zip back into it, so I gave it some attention and it’s responded beautifully. My dear, sainted mother’s in town, and not only does it fit her well, she’s absolutely loving it. Now that I’m seeing it as a possible keeper, thoughts are turning to updating the drivetrain, perhaps converting the 27″ steel wheels to some cheap 700c’s, and maybe a saddle, some bars… powdercoat? Hm.

Meantime, I put some work into the Trek last night, replaced the tires and tubes, repacked the hubs, and cleaned it up some. I thought I had all the components I needed to replace the rings, chain, and cassette, but the freehub is an older 7-speed spaced for 126mm frames, and the replacement is for 130mm spacing, which is not a big deal, but work’s suspended on the drivetrain until I can get a new freehub body and axle.

More distressing, however, is that the guy who gave it to me said it was a 56cm, and I’d taken him at his word. Once I got things all shined up and got into setting up the seat and bars, I realized that reaching the brakes was really stretching me out, then noticed how long the stem was, and then noticed that with a little less than half-a-fistfull of seatpost coming out of the frame, the seat was already a hair too high.

Stepping off the bike and putting a tape measure to it, it turned out to be a 62cm frame, way out of my range. So it looks like this beautiful, light, white scalpel of a bike has to go on the block, probably for the cost of the parts I’ve put into it so far. Shame too, I’ve never owned a racer and I was really looking forward to getting to know it. Who knows, perhaps I’ll get lucky and trade it for something in my size.

The funny thing is that the guy who gave it to me isn’t that much taller than me, so I can’t imagine his inseam or reach could have been comfortable, but he said he rode this for years. Poor guy.

Beautiful Moments

The Riding-With-Music-Without-Being-A-Solipsistic-Asshole Experiment continues, and I’m enjoying it. There’s not even a little bit of a chance that I’ll use the mp3 player when I’m coming straight through town, because:

• Swimming safely with the steel whales takes every perceptual faculty I have, especially when the drivers are entertaining themselves every possible way they can to keep from having to pay attention to their stupid, grinding, hostility-filled commutes. (Really, can ya blame ‘em?)
• The closer I get to downtown, the more pedestrians seem to enjoy throwing a “juke” at me, using a variety of head-fakes, last-fraction-of-a-second decisions, and games of “chicken” to make sure I’m not lulled into falsely correlating green lights with right-of-way. Once I figure out the scoring system of this game, or who’s playing it, or what the object is, I’ll have a much better chance of winning. If there’s winners.
• “Other”. This category of urban hazard is the Rumsfeldian Plane, full of unknown unknowns, ranging from annoying to fatal. One must be ever vigilant against the dreaded Miscellany.

However, at the beginnings of the off-street paths (that we of the Washington Metropolitan Region are lucky to have in such abundance), I’ve popped the tiny speakers like pills for the ears, kicked out the jams* at a reasonable volume, and still been able to hear bells, sirens, and calls of “onyerleft”.

*or, since the jams are being piped into my brain through earbuds, perhaps the correct ideom would be “kicking in the jams”?

And for long stretches of these paths, it’s been delightful. Last night, I was keeping an easy, swift pace coming southeast through Sligo Creek Park, the weather was beautiful, and this is what I listened to as billowing clouds sailed across the evening sky, and golden sunlight flickered through the branches and leaves and fell all around me. It was an astonishingly beautiful moment.

Yeah, I know, I’m a huge wussy, whatever. I enjoyed cranking hard through the gravel northeast of Bethesda to Hamburger Train too, f’real, it just wasn’t as breathtaking an experience. Anway, so far I’m digging it, and it’s a nice companion to have as the miles accumulate.

Big Money Makes the World Go Round

And accumulate they will. There’s 45 days left until the Philly Livestrong Challenge. I’m much more confident now than I was a month ago that I’m up to the task. If I keep riding like I have been and add a few more miles on the long trips, the ride shouldn’t be a problem. What’s left is the important part, hitting our team rider and fundraising goals for Team Fatty.

We’re 3 riders short of our 165-member goal, and as far as I know I’m still the only one riding for Washington, D.C. If you’re in the area, especially if you’re from D.C., please consider joining the fight and doing the ride with us. I’ll even give you and your gear a ride up to Philadelphia.

The fundraising is going well, we’ve raised almost $63k of our $165k goal, but we’re coming into the final push. The Seattle, San Jose, and Austin teams have each had a few fundraising superstars (like the Peterson Family, Twin Six, and Bob Roll) to anchor them. Team Philly, by contrast, is short on superstars, but we have a solid, consistent small-donor base that can go toe-to-toe with any other team, twenty bucks at a time. We’re like the Howard Dean Campaign of the Livestrong Challenge, but without The Scream.

Actually, if we hit our goal, I may just do the scream anyway. How’s that for an enticement?

So if you’ve thought about making a contribution to sponsor me, in support of someone you love, or in someone’s memory, you’ve got a little over 40 days. But, as they say, why put off until tomorrow a donation you can make today.

And, as ever, thank you for you support. I may be doing the ride, but we’re doing the important part together.