A Long Ride

After yesterday's non-ride of fits and starts, I needed my fix: a long gravel ride. It was a perfect day. Sunny, blue skies, a breeze out of the south east, which would give me a tailwind on the homestretch. It wasn't long before I had to stop and get rid of some clothing. Given the cold, wet weather that's plagued us lately, having to stuff arm warmers and vest in my already jammed pockets was not a bad problem to have. The ride could not have started better. Even the dogs that normally chase me preferred to continue napping, soaking up the sun.

Then, the flats started. The first was a pinch. I was going downhill, bouncing all over the deep, recently dumped gravel. No sooner did I think, I can't believe I haven't flatted, when PSSSSSSSSS. There goes the air and it's flat-changing time. Just as I am putting the wheel back on, a guy in a pick up drives up and stops, "Is it gonna work?" He appears to have a slight smirk on his face as he asks. "I hope so," I reply, and I really do. I also wonder what the odds are of having someone stop to help when you really need it.

I continue on. Not more than 5 miles further down the road, another flat. The front, this time. I fix it, but have used my last tube. I decide that the prudent thing to do at this point is to modify my route. I figure, that if I flat again, my odds of getting home are better if I stick to the MKT trail, rather than take a forsaken gravel road through National Forest.

I stop in Hartsburg to get water. There's a group of cyclists stopped, they're hauling stuff like they've been camping. I have hope that my luck has changed. I ask to buy a tube off one of them, and they're happy to oblige. Turns out the three Daves and Lee are from Springfield. One of the Dave's says he is happy to see me. He hasn't see any girls the two days he's been riding and camping on the trail. I respond by asking if they know any racers from Springfield. They look confused. "Certainly, you know Brad Huff?," I ask. Now, they understand my question. Turns out Doug, Cale, and Jim are mutual acquaintances.

I gratefully stuff the tube I bought off of Lee into my pocket and decide to stick to my original route. I mean, I've already had two flats. How many flats could one person have in one day? Two miles later, with the air leaking from my rear tire, I conclude that it's just not meant to be. Once again, I have no spare.

I head towards home, cautiously optimistic that if I can make it to Cooper's Landing, I will not have to spend the night walking home in the cold and dark. I start thinking of all the people I could call to beg to come rescue me. I try to remember their phone numbers.

That I make it home without having to walk my bike, borrow a tube from a stranger, or call for a ride, seems like a small miracle. Whatever I've done to deserve this bad luck, I am sorry!

All Hallows' Eve

When people ask me for training advice, e.g., how should I train for Leadville?, I always tell them that they need to "practice" whatever it is they want to be good at. In other words, your training should be specific to the event.

Today, I came to appreciate that this principle can be generalized to a much wider range of activities than I previously realized. Rather than make the trip to Saint Louis to race Bubba In the Dark (and in the muck), which would get me home after midnight, I opted to do the "costume ride" with Larry and Dana, Jessica, and her sister, and Kristen. I knew that the event would test my limits--physically and mentally. To prepare for all of the non-pedaling and frequent stops, I got up early and did "openers" to Cooper's Landing and back. I changed into my costume, met the ladies, and we rode down to Flat Branch Park to meet Larry and Dana.

I must digress on my costume for a moment. I wore a dress from Gotcha that I've had for awhile--as you might imagine, having been chosen for me by Aaro, it was a leopard print. Fluorescent green with hot pink trim. Hideous. I put a jersey on underneath and stuffed my extra tube, etc. in my pockets. By doing so, I inadvertently transformed myself into a "hunch back hooker." At least, that's what I looked like to Larry. I just couldn't bring myself to carry all my stuff in a fanny pack. That would have made the outfit too realistic. If you don't know what I'm talking, just ask Green Beans.

After much ado, including photos and a couple of mimosas, we rolled out. We'd only gone a mile when the "intervals" started. I was "dropped" on the first one. Shortly thereafter, we met Butthead, who, after it occurred to him that he actually knows some the crazy costumed mob, shook his head in disgust.

It was all downhill from there--I couldn't keep up. It quickly became apparent that I was ill-prepared for this event. After a road race earlier this summer, I came to the realization that if I am going to race, I really should train--if for no other reason than to lessen the pain. Today, about half-way into the "event," I thought, "If I am going to participate in these non-race events, I need to train for them." I was out of my element coasting and I could not get used to stopping every couple of miles. I know my beer-consumption ability (or lack thereof) was an embarrassment to my "teammates" who are in much better "shape" than me.

As is the case on all group rides, I've learned to have perspective on getting dropped--to look for the silver lining. Today, it was the costumes. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, who had alternative names, were pretty good. Although, that Snow White was a blow-up doll being hauled behind lying supine, was disturbing. My personal favorite was the couple who came as Contador and Armstrong. The best part was that "Contador" kept yelling things at Armstrong that the real Alberto must have only thought or said behind closed doors.

As is always the case, I dug deep and somehow made it home. Tomorrow, I am staying below "threshold." Bring on the gravel.

Gorilla in the Mist (Rain, actually)

I got up extra early to try and sneak in a ride before the rain arrived. I'd tried this strategy earlier this week and it didn't work out all that well. I flatted on the darkest stretch of trail, jogged/pushed my bike to the trailhead at Scott Blvd. where there was light enough to see, fixed the flat and headed out. Within half a mile, I'd flatted again, and had to walk/jog home. But, like the rest of you, I'm tired of the rain keeping me off my bike. So, I set my alarm for 5:30 to beat the rain that was due to arrive sometime after 8.

It was pitch dark out when I left. As soon as I hit the trail, I came up on some army trainees running in camo and t-shirts with "ARMY" written in fluorescent letters on the back. They were carrying weaponry, which is always a little weird, even in the daylight. Then, I met an "army" of triathletes a mile long, running with head lamps. Just as I passed the last one, I saw some lights flashing about a foot off the ground. I tried to make out what it was--a bike with a trailer, laying on the trail. Just as I passed the bike, wondering what happened to the owner, out of the corner of my eye I saw something move. Something big and black was climbing up onto the trail from under a bridge. It was a gorilla. A talking gorilla. I heard it say, "Hi, there," in a deep man's voice. If I hadn't been half asleep, I probably would have screamed. But, it was all so surreal, I just kept pedaling, trying to convince myself that Halloween is still a few days off.

The rest of my ride was within the realm of the expected. I was treated to a spectacular lightning display, a beautiful sunrise, and then RAIN, RAIN, RAIN. That's one good thing about this crappy weather, I have the trail all to myself.

One of Those Days

The day didn't get off to bad start. I got up when the alarm went off. Did a little stretching, and managed to go for a short shuffle jog around the block and lift weights without pulling a hamstring or throwing out my back.

The weirdness started when I rolled my dirt bike out of the garage and heard the rear brake rubbing. Then I noticed a broken spoke. How does this happen? It's not like I'm hard on the bike. Oh well. I swap dirt for single speed.

It's a chilly morning, so I've got the long-sleeved jersey on. But, it's unzipped just enough, that as I roll down Stewart, some crazy insect flies directly into my jersey, down my sports bra and stings me on the chest. I let out a burst of profanity (WTF????!!!!!), while trying to free whatever stung me from my clothing. Then, embarrassed, I notice two little kids waiting with their mom at the bus stop. It's obvious that they've witnessed the entire incident.

I stop at Uprise Bakery for some bread on my way to work. I tell a small lie as I
recruit the "hipster" to cyclocross practice.
Hipster behind the counter: Do you race? (I am wearing spandex)
Me: Yes, a little.
Hipster behind the counter: Only road? Or, cyclocross, too?
Me: Both.
Hipster behind the counter: It's cyclocross season isn't it?
Me: Yes. (I then proceed to tell him about our weekly practices)
Hipster behind the counter: Oh, I know the spot. Are they low-key?
Me: Yes. (I lie, and then hedge). But, it's a bunch of guys, so of course, they get competitive....
Hipster behind the counter: Says nothing, just smiles and then laughs.

I leave Uprise and go to work. I feel guilty for misleading the hipster.

I change out of my spandex into work clothes and check my email. Professor Green Beans is going to ride the Gravel Grumble at 4, leaving from Twin Lakes. I'm in.

Meetings. Coffee break, but Starbucks has no coffee ready (how can this be? all they do is coffee!). I am too impatient to wait for it to finish brewing.

More meetings. I am on track to leave in time to meet Green Beans. All I have to do is make sure I have the supplies I need for tomorrow's experiments. I go to the lab and start to go through my mental list. And, then, I am pissed. Someone has STOLEN my multi-channel pipette reagent reservoirs and pipette tips. You'd think that scientists would be above thievery.

By the time I make arrangements to borrow what went missing, it is 5 o'clock. Now, I am really irritated because my ride will be cut short. I decide to go directly, with backpack, and do a out-and-back to Cooper's Landing. I figure I've got enough daylight. And, I've got my emergency light, just in case.

I see Butthead doing trailer intervals with Riley on my way out. I smile and wave. I hope that I might run into Green Beans on his way back from Hartsburg. I need to vent. Just as I get to Cooper's, it's starts to sprinkle. I hope I do not get caught in a downpour. I check the time and figure that I'll make it back just before dark.

Then, as I am crossing the first bridge coming around the water-treatment ponds, standing up to avoid the bumps, I am suddenly having to catch myself to keep from going over the bars. When I recover, I realize I am pedaling, but my chain is not engaged. My initial thought is that the chain is broken (that would be a first), but I look down and see it's come off the back cog. How in the hell did that happen? I struggle to get the chain back on. I am thinking that it's going to be a long walk home.

After getting covered with black grease, I finally get the chain back on.

It is now raining.
It is now dark. The emergency light is worthless.
I have the song, "man of constant sorrow" running through my head, changing "man" to "woman"....

I pedal home rather tentatively so as not to lose my chain again. I make it without further incident.

I have a certified letter from the IRS in my mail. It is a "notice of deficieny." I owe $1797 plus interest that has been compounding since April 15, 2007. I now know that I am a "self-employed, independent contractor" not a "common law employee." Big difference. Someone's got to pay the Social Security and Medicare. That someone was supposed to be me.

I don't know whether to think I am cursed, or that my luck is about to change.... But, I do know that this picture sums it up pretty well.

Leader of the Pack

A highly observant member of the BOCOMO peloton termed the little faction that I ride with “The Rolling Sitcom.” It’s not a bad analogy—a group of idiosyncratic characters thrown together for shits and grins and more than little drama. The other day, during the latest episode of the Rolling Sitcom—Tuesday Night Worlds, it occurred to me that the wolf pack would an equally appropriate analogy. Read what follows and I think you’ll agree. (DISCLAIMER: I did not make this up—it all came from reputable sources.)

The wolf pack is a tightly knit social group with a hierarchical structure to maintain pack organization for hunting and care of the pack. The hierarchy of a typical wolf pack is as follows: an Alpha male who is pack leader; a Beta male that supports the Alpha male; subordinates; and, the Omega wolf, typically a female, who bears the brunt of the pack's stress.

Alpha wolves are not dominant because they are the strongest, but because they are effective leaders. Thus, they lead the pack by organization and rallying, rather than forceful domination and strength. This is consistent with the very nature of the pack--it is not vital that the pack be as strong as can be, but as organized as possible, so that the hunt can be as successful as possible. The Alpha wolves tend to start and guide most pack activities. They lead the pack when travelling, decide when and where to hunt, are usually the first to attack strange wolves, and tend to attack the most vigorously when encountering a hostile wolf pack.

The Beta wolf usually does the 'enforcing' of the pack structure, showing support for the Alpha, and 'reminding' the other members of who is in charge.

The Omega wolf bears the stress of the pack by acting as a kind of a scapegoat. This is an essential role, as the pack must find a way to relieve stress if the hunt is not successful, or if a pack member is angered or stressed for any other reason. Surprisingly, the Omega wolf finds comfort in its position.

You can tell a wolf's rank in the pack simply by looking at how it holds its body. Alpha wolves stand more erect with their tails held higher, while lower-ranking ones slouch toward the ground. Submissive wolves even relieve themselves differently from alphas; an Omega wolf urinates in a squatting position.

Wolves communicate in many ways. Primary communication seems to be body language, gesture, and expression. Wolves do vocalize in the form of howling and other minor ways such as whines, whimpers, yips and sometimes even barks. “Mob greetings,” wherein a large number, if not all, of the pack member gather and lick and/or sniff each other, are commonplace.

It is important to remember that Alpha wolves are the most experienced members of a pack and it is generally to every member's advantage to do what they bid.

Christa

Sometimes there are no words for the feelings.

There are no words for the sick feeling that I have from the unexpected bad news. Christa Voss was hit by a truck and killed yesterday while riding her bike outside of Tulsa.

Christa was a talented athlete--a runner and then a cyclist. She was a professor of biology at Tulsa Community College. She was my friend.

I will remember Christa for the kind of person that she was: sweet, kind, thoughtful, gentle, and optimistic. She walked in grace, always smiling. And, no one will ever fill her shoes (boots)....

I hate to say good bye so soon.

Going to class

I overslept this morning and was almost late for class. I was scheduled for some long overdue remedial lab training. Thankfully, the Professor excused my tardiness and we proceeded with the practicum as planned. After several hours of hands-on practice from a patient teacher who provided explanations of "why"--my bike maintenance skills now range beyond cleaning the chain and changing a cassette. Although we covered such topics as replacement of head-set bearings and bottom bracket rebuilding, the real lesson was one of empowerment. Thanks, Professor Beans. I will never again be intimidated by a task just because it requires tools and a basic understanding of physics!