Michigan Redux

I'm leaving for Michigan again tomorrow in the early evening. Vacation? Training Camp? Working Remotely? A bit of all and not enough of the first two, I suspect.

The positive is that I will be a short distance from the Big M, home of the Lumberjack 100, as well as a section of the North Country Trail. The perfect place to work out my hand concerns and try to become reacquainted with some technical skill.

The obsession with 24/9 is beginning to gain further force as illustrated by the fact that I considered making a spreadsheet today to get ready. The confidence is low right now so hopefully dialing the details brings a relaxaton and comfort that not all is as bad as I think. A look at last year's top finishers show the value of consistency and I am going to work hard at keeping that in the front of my mind.

I'd probably be better off to simply plan on sharing a beer with Joe and Elk and not worrying about the rest.

Multiple Positions with Mary

Ah, nothing like a little innuendo...

Picked up an On-One Mary Bar at the shop a few days ago in order to improve my hand situation for 9 Mile. After some experimentation, I believe we may have a winner. (I still feel like I am stock upright and riding a hybrid, but am going to give it some time.)

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I started with them flipped upside down...

and ended with them right-side up.

Deadened

I wouldn't say I am sick of racing, but a mellow weekend was very welcome, particularly since my ulnar nerve in my left hand currently hates me. I no longer have to have Corey open bottles for me, but I still can't open the can of Ragu. Still clocking good rides, just a lot of hand-wringing while riding.

Maybe 8am is still too early, but the fresh BKB kit feels good.

IF love done 38x17.

Jamaica North now complete to Princeton, bridges excluded.

PC in the house.

Ride, Ride My Darling

The Art of the Pass

Whether the passer or the passee, if you want to see someone get heated, as them about the worst pass they've ever been a part of. You'l see people relive the entire thing right before your eyes. Unfortunately, you could also ruin their day in the process.

Corey and I were discussing "the pass" immediately after Lumberjack and the conversation continued at both the awards dinner and on the drive home. Corey and I basically fall into the same camp. We go out of our way to let you know we're there. Corey said he basically opens up with something like, "Hey man, how's it going?" I tend to mention I am on a single-speed with the idea of communicating that it's not like I can sit behind you all day and spin. However, we've both also gotten edge from people who don't care to chat. I get that... to a point.

Here are three separate passing stories from Lumberjack. Not all involved yours truly, but I wrote them in the first person anyway. Things like this sound better in the first person.

Pass One: The "Deal with It." I made my way up to two riders working their way up a winding hill with tight brush and fern on each side of the trail. The second rider was right on the wheel of first but nothing was being said. I hooked on, then as the gradient increased, downshifted occurred up front and I needed to go around. "Hey fellas, when it clears up, I'm going to need to come around." "You're fucking on your own, bud," was the shitty reply from the guy in the front. "What the fuck did you just say to me?" came out of my mouth and just as it did, the rider in the middle bolted through a quick openning on the side of the trail. After it closed, I went anyway after a quick "coming left." I rode through a lot of plant life to get around the guy but with that done was just happy to be in the clear.

Pass Two: The "Learn to Get Over." I was just turning into one of the last climbs on the loop when a guy at the front comes up along side me, nothing said, and gives me an elbow to get me out of the way. So, I am fighting to keep my balance and let out a "Shit" or something similar and the guy turn to me and says, "You need to learn to get out of the way." That guy was an asshole.

Pass Three: The "Have a Nice Day." I topped out on one of the harder climbing sections just after the checkpoint and on the decent, I hear someone behind me and think I catch the word "freeride." I get over and as I do I hear, "Thanks man. Great job, keep working." Turns out it's Eatough. Nicest pass I had all day.

So how do you handle passing and getting passed? Worst? Best? I get that situations and races are different, but there always seems to be a story to tell.

Someone should put a study together on this. I find it fascinating.

Assorted Snobbery "Emergency" Post

The White Stripes
Pershing Center
Lincoln, NE
Thu, 10/04/07
On Sale Sat, 06/23/07

The Big M'Fing Race Recap: Flourescent Like Blackout

Corey and I finalized loading the Prius and left the D St Hotel at 5am on Thursday. Consider the two weeks leading up to the Lumberjack 100, I had one hope whispering in my ear as we took off on what would prove to be a 14hr drive to Michigan. "Maybe the planets will align. You never know."

I've driven the route to Manistee so many times that we barely needed the art-laden directions that Mrs. Snob had drawn up. If it hadn't been for Corey's attempt to "hold it" through Chicago traffic, it would have been an uneventful drive. Thank goodness for the 'Lincoln Oasis,' (which is ironically its true name. Thanks, Abe) because otherwise the Prius might have gotten damp.

We hit check-in once in Manistee, picked up our usual pre-race meal of Soy Milk, pastries and bananas at the local grocery and stopped in town for a relaxing dinner. It was a little like we were on cruise control. We'd already hit several races together this year and, as tired as I was, the sense of routine was welcome.

We stayed on remote until we arrived at the Big M. Corey was concerned about his lack of morning constitutional, I was still half asleep and sleep walking my way through putting my bike together. At one point, Corey looked over and asked if I was okay and I said, "The Lumberjack wants to pick a fight and I'm just happy to be alive." At the time, I thought it was the greatest "Incredibles" reference ever made, but Cornbread hadn't even heard me. Momentarily offended, I then realized I had mumbled it like a two year old and tried to focus on perking up.

We chatted with Dr. Cale, half-listened at the prerace meeting as we stuffed our styrofoam support crew under a picnic table, then soft-pedaled our way to the start. We saw Harlan on the way, chatted a bit about who was there and how we felt, then Harlan was off to his call up. Corey ushered Sydney up with the call ups as well as I pondered how to handle the start. Of course, as I stared down at my front wheel with two feet on the ground, the race started.

"Well, I guess this is Lap One."

The course lap started with a sanding stretch which lead to a short steep sand dune climb. I am sure a few people rode it, but a road start on a single speed lead to a herd of riders pushing bikes, some walking, some like me trying to run cross style. I will say this. It spread out pretty fast. I got the pedals moving and felt a mental comfortable with the course because I had ridden there before. My body however, gave me one of these...

"What the... what the hell are we doing? We're fucking racing?!?!? Good God what the hell is wrong with you?"

The plan I had was to really maximize the trail. In short, flow. So, in that spirit, I washed the front wheel out in a very loose, sharp right-hand turn about a third of the way in. I felt fairly stupid, apologized to the two riders behind me and set back out. It was one of those laps where everything seems like it takes a little bit of extra work. Things aren't quite there, but maybe they will fall into place. I rolled into the pits in a bit over two hours, reloaded for five minutes and headed back out. Time for lap two.

Early in lap two, I heard a rustling in the woods and looked right to see three deer running beside me. "That's cool," I thought. The trail then turned right into their path and I locked up my breaks as bambi blazed by a couple of feet in front of me.

"They'll avoid you," came a voice from behind.

"How the hell would I know that?" I asked.

Of course, now it's cool. At the time, it freaked me out.

Shortly after this point, my body just came unravelled. My eyes were watering and itching as if I needed to go to bed and my pace slowed substantially. It's sad when you start talking to your body as if it's going to respond.

"Dude, what the fuck?"

"Blow me. I'm tired."

I didn't have any huge nutrition mistakes. My body just decided third gear seemed about right for a while. The cadence was slow. The mind was slow. Slow. S-l-o-w. Even when someone was an ass about me passing them, I had nothing. Anger is an energy? Not today.

At some point, probably mid-lap, I shouted to no one, "I just want the fuck out of this forest." As you can guess, it didn't really help.

I rolled into the pits after two and a half hours and began trying to play mental games to stay with it. Training ride mode. Just ride. Don't race. My legs did come back a little. I firmly thought at the end of the race that my third and fourth laps were faster than my second. In riding time, they probably were.

The only thing I remember about lap three is getting lapped by Chris E and Harlan. Usually, that would stoke a fire. Nope.

I started lap four by pausing several times on the sand dune to consider turning around. I never did. I went a bit farther until it made not sense to ride back and I just rode. I encountered a few single-speeders near the end of the lap, but didn't feel like fighting them for spots. One guy crushed himself to get away from me after I had caught up to him and another just flat out caught me. They wanted it. They earned it. I ended up 18th SS.

I rolled in oblivious to the cheers of friends. Said nice job to a single speeder who had passed me, then sat in the grass with Syd and Corey, edgy and asking for cold water. Apparently, we had all encountered a demon. I just got mine out of the way early. Danielle Musto came over and chatted with us. She rocked it to a W. I should have introduced myself but didn't think to do so.

Despite being the multiple personality disorder on the day, the Lumberjack intrigues the hell out of me. It forces you to pay attention in ways a lot of races don't. No gravel roads or open two-track. No chances to chill and spin. Ride your bike, all 100 miles. In hindsight, treating it like a 24hr race with support would probably be helpful, but that's for next year.

Fast forward to the awards ceremony. I had a blast. Again, I failed to say hello to people I should have (sorry), but it was good to actually sit and talk with Dr. Cale, Kris and Joe P. Not to mention Corey and Syd. Syd even rocked an arm-wrestling match in high style. Lincoln pride restored!! However, the Niner/Founder's crew had the other end of our table. Three trophies. Represent!!

In the morning, Corey and I drove back to Lincoln. Ironically, once we arrived home. I thought of Neil Cassady. We'd drive thirteen straight with me behind the wheel the whole time. We didn't use the radio or CD after Chicago. All conversation. It figures. Wanna write like Kerouac but drive like Cassady. Maybe next year I'll ride Lumberjack on benzodiapine and write my report on a roll of paper.

Or not, I always thought "Dharma Bums" was the work of choice.

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There are two frames hidden under there.

Our styrofoam support crew.

S'up Rocker?

Lumberjack Mini Post

Lap One: Felt mediocre. Went down a third of the way through.
Lap Two: Came completely unravelled.
Lap Three: Found some flow and got back to bareable.
Lap Four: Nursed the sinking ship to port.

Enjoyed a great event despite the crappy race result.

The awards arm wrestling matches were an incredible highlight.

San Francisco Side Trip - Chrome

Credit to Mrs. Snob here. She discovered we weren't staying far from Chrome. Kept it a semi-secret from me, then showed up with an early father's day gift for me (lightweight shins and a Hip Bone bag).

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The storefront is a single car garage space. Low profile and sweet.

Do they rock? Yes they do.

I saw this guy on the way back. No Epic card, but at least there was da 'gyle.

Caged Rat

Balancing my work life and cycling is usually a non-issue. I work for and with great people. They may not "get it" but they appreciate the passion and need I have to compete and ride my bike. In fact, my boss knows I do some of my best thinking on the bike. I've called co-workers while riding and they think nothing of it. It's nice.

That said, this trip is leaving me feeling nothing short of caged. I got some of it out over the weekend, but it's gone more deeply sour since moving up to SF. The hipster fixie populace is no joke. Urban legend? No, urban trend. But it's beyond messenger bags and rolled up jeans. The bike is viable here as main transport and a hard core tease as I stroll along, feeling couped up and in need of exercise.

I escaped bad lighting and reconditioned air this morning and found a bike shop next to a Whole Foods. I'm heading there shortly.

Just don't ask me why Apple didn't announce an SDK for the iPhone. I've had that conversation already and it wasn't that interesting the first time.

Saturday's Ride

Summit Cycles in Los Gatos saves the day. Gary Fisher Tasajara. Better than what I had, which was nothing.

Lexington Reservoir after a short step climb.



Mountain lions and an hour straight of climbing. Much of it incredibly steep.

Up and Up...

... and Up and Up. I was cursing when I saw this.

If it weren't for the smog, you could see San Jose.

Another view of Lexington.

Two and a half plus hours of mostly climbing for 30 minutes back down.

Friday: Santa Cruz Surf Spots

Former California House of Snobbery

William Blake? YES!! William Blake.



Seven reads the rules.

It was small at Steamer today. Oakley Contest tomorrow.

Beach Cruiser with board rack. Freakin' Sweet!!

A Moment of Lament.

Thursday Evening - Visiting Some Old Hangouts

The first place Mrs. Snob and I ever ate in California always remained our favorite.

A little park in Los Gatos

"Dammit!!!"


Trying to find a mtb so I can hit this.

This picture doesn't do the area justice.

Damage Control

Heading off to the the Bay Area this morning. I wasn't able to find a quick resource for renting a bike in Los Gatos, so I am left wondering if I'll be able to get any bike time in at all. Frustrating. Still, my bigger fear is getting out there and lamenting the fact we moved back to the midwest. Maybe a glance at the housing market will snap me back if that happens. Who knows.

"Why Do Guys Like You and I Know What A Duvet Is?"

Casual day in the cycling office. Meet Corey, Butch and Jeff for a cruise to Yia Yia's. Fumbled around on the Niner Fixt. Avoided drunken Indians. Espresso Stout. Mixed Martial Arts. Warhol. Frank Lloyd Wright. Corey's uses for glue. Jackson Pollock. "Tiny Tortures." Ride plans. Always the bike.

A Convoluted Plan

Lexington Reservoir near Los Gatos, CA.

With this on the work schedule, I had thought that my Lumberjack entry was going to end up a donation as opposed to a race fee, but leave it to a fuel efficient car and Corey to save the day. For perfect race prep, it's the schedule of dreams. Fly to the Bay Area, work and fun, but little time for bike until Thursday. Hit the ground on Thursday, hug the crew and hop in the car to drive to 12hrs to Michigan. I am sure my legs will feel lively and spry. The question now is, do we drive the whole thing and then have Friday to recover and preride the course or do we stop somewhere. I would guess it's all the way.
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Speaking of the Prius, it prompts a lot of comments. I was filling the tank up one weekend when someone at a neighboring pump driving a cliche SUV asked me how much gas it held.
"About ten gallons. It doesn't need much."
"What are you? Some green-nik?" The tone: I'm joking, but I am serious.
"Maybe. Maybe I am a fiscally responsible conservative. How much is that tank costing you?"
I did not get a response.
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I do hope to get a bit of time on the bike while in San Jose. When I first began riding, I rode the Lexington Reservoir quite a bit. (It was actually on my way to work from Redwood Estates if any of you know the area.) First on a Rockhopper Sport and then going for a Specialized FSR. A lot has changed since then, but I regretted never climbing to the top of one of the longer double track sections that exists. I am holding out hope that I can fit that in.

Sunday Still-Life with Bicycle