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.

Everything I know about mountain bike racing would fit in the unused neurons of a common garden slug, but there are some folks I enjoy reading that know lots about it.

FatCyclist is posting his race report (a bit at a time) of the epic Leadville 100 Mountain Bike Race in Colorado, which he did on a freakin’ single-speed. Much like the Great Divide Race article I posted on earlier, it’s inspiring and it’s making me hungry for trails.

Linked from there was this short video documentary of 7-time Tour De France winner Lance Armstrong and 5-time Leadville 100 winner Dave Wiens pushing each other way out in front of everyone else. Great photography, commentary, and soundtrack, plus Lance Armstrong admitting at the end that he told Dave Wiens to go on without him when he ran out of gas. Ever think you’d hear Mr. Armstrong saying, “I can’t do it.” and mean it? Crazy-ass superhumans, they are, both of ‘em.

My friend Carl and I used to ride from up to Ojai from the beach in Ventura, and then up into Matilija Canyon along the creek. He still rides that GT Avalanche, I haven’t seen my beautiful old Trek 970 in probably 14 years. But I can remember vividly, like it was last week, climbing those trails, flying down the fire roads, rear end drifting precisely around the turns, hopping from one tractor rut to the other at high speed, coming around a turn into a meadow and resting on a boulder next to the burblin’ brook.

Good times, maybe something I’ll get to enjoy again, but clearly nothin’ like the mayhem they were stirring up in Leadville. Check out Fatty’s race report and then watch a couple freakish superhumans go at it in the Colorado Mountains.

Bike To Work Day was, for many of us in cities around the world, an opportunity to ride in solidarity with our fellow commuters, raise bicycle awareness at a time when it’s needed more than ever, and have a good ol’ time doing it.

But in our enthusiasm to celebrate all that is The Ride To Work, and the delight of cycling generally, we’ve left behind some of our brothers and sisters who’ve experienced a particular tragedy that I hope never to know myself.

I’m talking about victims of Low Clearance Height. It’s something most of us never think about, and hopefully won’t ever have to. But for those who’ve driven their roof-mounted bikes into low overhangs, whether they be at a McDonald’s dozens of miles from home, or the garage door of their very own house, the nightmare never ends. Or it does, but it takes a while. Or it really fucks up their weekend.

Thankfully, a dedicated group of San Franciscans is making sure that those crushed and mangled bikes, those horribly scratched cars, those somewhat messed up garages, and those seriously inconvenienced Wienerschnitzel managers are not forgotten.

It’s too late to participate this year. But next year on Drive Your Bike To Work Day, when you see them driving up your street, roofs overflowing with racked bikes, won’t you take a moment to remember?

(h/t Anonymous commenter at Planetary Gears)

As promised, or at least as insinuated, I participated in Bike To Work Day despite the fact that the route took me away from where I work, and did it much earlier than could be considered civilized. I took some photos at Freedom Plaza, but the couple pics I got off the phone will have to suffice for now. I’ll post the rest later.

The convoy on my route (The Old #18 out of Hyattsville) left Magruder Park, heading in my direction, at about 7:15 a.m. I mounted up and zipped down to the corner to drink coffee and watch, and 15 minutes later I spotted a block of raincoat yellow coming down Michigan Avenue. There were only 8 people, but that was enough to take the lane and hold it without challenge. I slipped easily into the convoy, and was warmly greeted with smiles and salutations.

It was that rainy sort of morning that alternates between light showers and heavy mist, and we rode under a thick gray blanket of low clouds. Earlier that morning, I was considering which pair of shoes to soak on the ride, and settled on Tevas instead. So, off came the pedal cages and straps. And you know what? I really didn’t miss them much. Making the ride more casual has its own rewards, it’s got me thinking that maybe the Trucker needs some albatross bars.

We rode Michigan to North Capital, snaked west on Channing below the reservoir, did some wiggling through LeDroit Park and Shaw, and made our way Downtown to Freedom Plaza. The ride was relaxed and pleasant, with reactions from drivers ranging from tolerance and curiosity to enthusiastic support.

Freedom Plaza was filled with Insta-Shelter booths, wandering people in all sorts of gear, and bikes. Lots of bikes. All The Pretty Bikes. Road racers, mountain goats, fixies, townies, tourers, a few exotics and more. City Bikes was out in force, and had set up a small stage for speechifying, raffling, and performances. They’d also set up a few bikes on training stands, with dynamos hooked up to a deep-cycle battery, which in turn powered the P.A. system. They recruited folks from the crowd to come and pedal a few watts into it, which was a brilliant idea, considering the abundance of people milling about wearing cycling gear.

I strolled the plaza a bit, ogling bikes and mentally noting the variety of bicycle subba-cultchas present, then grabbed my ride and headed down Pennsylvania to complete the commute. I had more quickness and agility riding by myself, felt good, and exchanged “Good Mornings!” with the Capital Police running the intersections around the Rayburn Building as I often do. Drafting a pack doing 8 miles-per-hour doesn’t do much for efficiency, and yet there’s no denying that biking solo to Capital South lacked the conviviality of riding into Downtown with my slower, happy pack of commuter pals.

Thanks to everyone who put this together, it was a delight, and cheers to everyone who participated. Oh! And I’ve got the ratings plugin workin’ again, so how about some stars…

Bike To Work Day 2008:

(I figure I’ll leave a few stars open for more people, sunny weather, and a “Bike Naked!” theme for next year.)