Wholesome, Steel-Cut Goodness

The BCM Brand

2012-01-18T05:00:00.007-06:00

Recently, I googled to see what the folks were saying about the BCM brand. What's the BCM brand? That's me -- those are my initials, even when you call me Barry.

So like I was saying, in a moment of confessed narcissism, I took a peek-a-loo to see what was being reporting about my good name, the BCM brand in Omaha, NE.

The Google reported lots of stuff. Most of it was about cycling, and most of that was on gamjams-midwest site. But one outlier that caught me eye was the Annoying comment #1082 thread on beginnertriathelete.com, a one-stop triathlon training calendar and forum. Apparently on this forum, a user by the handle "DEMIGODKNIGHT" (profile) was advising other beginner triathletes from his racing experiences. The problem was, he didn't use his own racing resume. He used mine!

See for yourself:

You barely did any training? More likely: you didn't train and didn't race. That was my time from the 2007 Cornhusker State Games, and I didn't spend over 1000 hours training over two years to have some poser claim those results and say how easy it was to finish a triathlon.

Oh no, you're not damaging the BCM brand on my dime, buster.

Fortunately another user, tdk.teacher, was skeptical of his results

Not to be outdone, DEMIGODKNIGHT went on the offensive and attacked with more of my results, this time even trotting out Old Yeller!

Oh no he didn't! Hey demigod-guy, the BCM brand was founded on that $500 aluminum yellow bike! I'm not gonna take this abuse from you.

Then, user 'Steve in IL' came to my defense. He looked up the race results that DGK was claiming. My results came up as an an instant match.

Hmmm. Funny how those results are precisely the same as those of some guy named Brady Murphy, a 37 year old who finished 5th overall at the 2007 Cornhusker State Games Triathlon.

5 1/31 208 Brady Murphy I 37 M Omaha NE 5 13:17 1:16 1:06 25 36:21 20.5 1:12 5 18:50 6:04 1:10:43

Dude. That's weak. Care to fess up? Or are you also lying about your name, and age?

Yes indeed, the BCM brand is all about 'some guy named Brady Murphy'. Thank you for recognizing that, Steve in IL. After that post, things took a turn for the worse for DGK. Another user found my athlete profile at athlinks.com and posted it. The pile-on followed swiftly. DGK wasn't heard from again.

Ugh. This whole thread is pathetic. Truly. Even blogging about it is annoying, but other than the fantastic ice beard I'm currently growing, I've got little else to blog about lately.

Well DEMIGODKNIGHT, or Robert, or whoever you are, I hope you've learned your lesson: DON'T MESS WITH THE BCM BRAND.

Nightmare on 52nd Street

2011-12-07T05:30:00.003-06:00

Last night I had a nightmare. Maybe it was the undigested pizza seeking its revenge. Or, it could have been because my wife stole all the blankets, leaving me shivering in a shallow sleep, which is prime for dream-making.

So anyway, I was commuting home by bike. My commute was quite dark, as the quarter moon was late in rising. It was also very chilly and I wasn't fully prepared for the cold. I lacked adequate protection for my head and face. I had a very thin skullcap under my helmet and had nothing for my face. My 8 3/8" blockhead was uncomfortable, but manageable, for the five mile commute home.

While my headlight flickered on the patchy street, puffs of steam belched up from my breath fogged my glasses. Perhaps due to limited vision, I didn't see the old man in coveralls until he suddenly appeared from behind a Ford 150's shadow.

"You aught'n slow down," he snarled at me.

The patchy snow turned into a nasty sheet of ice in an instant. I heeded the old man's warning, clipped out with one foot and feathered the rear brake. It was dicey. But when I came safely to a stop, I dismounted and walked the bike through the ice field. After remounting, I rode home without incident.

Oh yeah, what's this about? Sorry! I digress. I was supposed to tell you about the nightmare I had the other night, not my commute home from work. I must have been thinking about my commute as I fell asleep. Shortly afterward is when I had the nightmare.

In my nightmare, I dreamed that I was sitting on a stationary bike in a gym. Awful, no? Well hang onto your foam-rubber stationary bike handlebars, because it gets worse. It was about 85F and humid in there. I was staring at a paint chip missing from the burnt umber colored wall. I was staring at the paint chip in a feeble attempt at quelling my raging mind, which teetered atop an abyss of boredom and insanity. While I attempted to focus my mind, I sat and spun on a dated stationary bike that looked like it just came off the set of Total Recall (1990, not 2012). On my left is a woman that looks like Jane Fonda, complete with her trademark neon knee warmers. She's chewing bubble gum, and when not blowing obnoxious bubbles, it sounds like she's eating a live fish. On my right is a dude that looks like he just walked off the WWF (wrestling, not wildlife) wearing purple and black zubaz pants and a tanktop that would make Sammy Hagar weep. He's also humming off-key to 90s hairband rock, blaring from earbuds connected to a Sony Walkman. Let's recap my nightmare: the heat, the humidity; GI Jane stripping her teeth over that fish and the Bret Michaels-wannabe humming Whitesnake's Here I Go Again. All this, while I'm sitting on a stationary bike. AHHHHHH! I couldn't take it! It was way too much for my brain to focus on that stupid paint chip. I went into overload and screamed aloud, waking up my wife in the process.

~//~

As you can see, I hate riding a stationary bike. Trainers, too for that matter. I'll ride them when its absolutely necessary. Last winter, I rode a lot, but only once during a spin class, once on a trainer and twice on rollers. I'm saying that not to brag, like I'm some tough guy for riding outside in the winter or something. I'm sharing so you know how much I'd rather be outside than inside. And, if that resounds in you, that it's something you'd like to try too, then what's keeping you from joining in? Here's my encouragement to you: get out there and see for yourself what it's like.

First of all I can tell you what winter riding is not. No, it's not this:

icebike.org

But with a little preparation, it could be this:

Obviously, it takes a certain level of commitment to assemble the proper clothing and gear to do it right. But rather than hash it out here, why not take your next coffee break and read up on it yourself? There are plenty of good sites out there. One site I came upon recently is Icebike.org. It's probably as good a starting point as any.

I ride throughout the winter simply because its a lot of fun.

And it certainly beats spinning next to a guy in a pair of Zubaz.

Bless His Dear Heart

2011-11-16T09:17:00.002-06:00

You know it immediately when you're the recipient of a backhanded compliment. Like when you're having a bad hair day, and someone says, "Did you get a new haircut?" Or, when you do nothing different than your normal, everyday routine and someone says, "Wow, don't you look good today?" Thanks. Now what does that say about yesterday, or all the days before that?

Another personal slight comes in the form of veiled pity. Like when someone says, "bless his dear heart" while describing a dufus neighbor's attempt at wrestling an overstuffed garbage bag down the driveway, only to have it tear open and spew everything out three feet from the curb. Haha, bless his dear heart.

Only slightly less obnoxious is the guy who can't help but comment on the obvious. Like when you bang your head on the corner of an open drawer and your colleague says, "Oh man, I bet that hurt."

Something like the last one happened to me at the Heartland Park Topeka Grand Prix cyclcocross race this past weekend.

The Heartland Park Grand Prix venue is held on and around a "dirt velodrome" race track on the outskirts of Topeka. The course worked its way through technical sections in and outside the velodrome with two sets of barriers, one with a small fly-over with a ramp, and there was one small but very steep hill that followed a choppy technical section on the backside of the course. It was also a night race. Nothing like racing under the lights on Saturday night.

Anyway, there were 19 starters in the 40-49 masters race. My buddy Shim was there. And another Nebraskan, John Rokke, was in the field. I started in the back row, but by the end of the first lap, I had worked myself into the lead group of six, which included Shim and John Rokke. I sat in with them for the majority of the second lap. That was, until disaster struck: just before the steep hill, I bounced the chain off my front ring. Without power, I was forced to dismount, lug my bike up the hill and then go about resetting the chain.

That's when I first heard the voice from a bystander nearby: "Oh man, that's too bad you dropped your chain."

Yes, that was too bad, especially because after remounting, I had to burn a match to catch back on to the lead group, who were now in the process of trying to reel in a solo breakaway. But I did catch them, and when I did, I intended to sit-in for a breather. That was, until disaster struck for the second time. Again, just before the steep hill, I bounced the chain off my front ring once more. So I lugged the bike up the hill and reset the chain.

The same bystander took couldn't but comment once more, "Oh man, that's too bad you dropped your chain again."

Ugh.

I remounted, and furiously burned another match to catch back onto the chase group. By the time I had arrived, the leader was 10 seconds up the road, and another was attempting to bridge up to him. I didn't wait. I immediately counter-attacked my attack. Shim blocked while I worked on bringing back guy #2. By the time I did, I was content to sit on and catch my breath.

That's when disaster struck for the third time. Yep, another dropped chain -- this time on secluded section of the course. Whew! I wasn't sure how I would have taken hearing that guy tell me how bad it was that I dropped my chain again.

I remounted as the chase group came by and swept me up. We remained that way until midway through the bell lap. When the guy up front sat up on a flat section with a tailwind, I punched it hard. I figured I'd either succeed in creating a buffer, in the event that I had another mechanical, or I'd go out in a flame and let Shim reap the benefits of another awesome lead out. A chaser jumped on my wheel & Shim on his. In a short while, the guy behind me sounded like a horse in labor. We carried speed through the technical section just before the steep hill. And that's when disaster struck again: I heard the chain's unmistakable frame-slap a moment before I lost power. The moment of dread was upon me.

The dread was not that I had just dropped my chain for the fourth time in a race.

Nor was the dread a result of realizing that a chance at a podium had just slipped by.

The moment I dreaded was waiting for me at the top of that damn hill. Sure enough, as I worked that chain back on for the final time, that guy just couldn't help himself repeat once more:

"Oh Man, that's too bad you dropped your chain"

Looking back on it now, I'm sure he really meant what he said. It was indeed bad that I dropped a chain in a race, let alone four times. But c'mon. Offering pity once is understandable; twice is pushing it. But anything beyond that, bless his dear heart, was just speaking the obvious.

Stolen Trek X02 Cyclocross Bike RECOVERED

2011-11-10T08:50:00.006-06:00

STATUS: RECOVERED
$$ CASH REWARD $$

11/11/2011: My friend's stolen bike has been recovered from a local pawn shop. Call off the dogs.

Year: 2010
Make: Trek (cyclocross bike)
Model: XO2
Serial#: 165SZ0865E
Size: 56 cm
Color: Black/white/red. Terry saddle has Zebra pattern
Wheels: Bontrager Race Xlite rims, Fango tires

Call#: (308) 641-4191
Email: lkleager[at]gmail[dot]com

Last Seen:
12:30PM Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Union Pacific Railroad
1400 Douglas Street
Omaha, NE 68179

A Word From Our Sponsors

2011-10-20T23:42:00.003-05:00

Around 10 AM Thursday, I took a coffee break to see what was going on in the world. My escape is cnn.com. When I got there, I immediately saw the BREAKING NEWS headline in the humongous letters. Apparently, word was out that Moammar had been hunted down and killed. I quickly clicked the link, but before I could actually read the BREAKING NEWS, I had to sit through a product endorsement for yogurt.

I like yogurt. And I don't have complaints about the commercial content: smiley, happy people enjoying a delicious snack that was conveniently fortified with calcium for strong bones and teeth. And the kicker was that a portion of the proceeds goes towards the Susan G Komen breast cancer foundation.

Now I'm all for smiley faces, strong bones and teeth. And healthy breasts are about as wholesome steel-cut goodnessey as you can get. But these were the furthest thing from my mind when I was trying to find the low down on ol' Moammar, who was apparently not only way dead, but was also quite gruesomely so. After the 30 second spot, the commercial transitioned to the following:

So like you did and are about to do again, I clicked on the following (be forewarned) link.

Nothing like a side of bloody Gadhafi's face with my wholesome raspberry yogurt. Mmmmm, yogurt. Mmmmm, Moammar.

I understand that somebody's got to pay the bills. I really get that. But yogurt? Now?

Look, if you're gonna be all gristly and such, then why not pitch rifle ammunition, or bludgeoning devices like Louisville Sluggers? Those make far better product-placements than flashing my retina with pro-biotic yogurt a moment before trotting out the bloody boogie man.

Thanks CNN, now I have to find a substitute smoothie mix-in. Bloody Moammar face yogurt isn't going to cut it anymore.

I Prefer Barry

2011-09-28T07:51:00.002-05:00

Hello, my name is Brady.

No, it's not guy.

Nor is my name Dude, although I have a tee shirt that says so.

My name is simply Brady.

But Every once in awhile, somebody gets it wrong. That happened to me the other day, and it triggered an unfortunate memory and subsequent venting about That Guy Who Called Everybody Guy.

Don't fret. We're not going back there again today.

The other day, a colleague called me by the wrong name. He called me Barry. Twice, actually. This colleague travels frequently and is rarely in the office. Having returned from a long absence, he needed some assistance installing a printer to his new laptop. So while I was downloading the driver, we passed the time with the small chit-chat that normally occupies office space. He remembered that I was a cyclist and a swimmer. We talked about our families a little. Then, after successfully printing a test page, he thanked me for getting him hooked up. That's when he called me Barry.

I gave him the benefit of doubt. Perhaps the chatter of the printer made me mishear what he said. But then as we were walking out, he praised me again -- this time distinctly as Barry -- for my efforts.

It was okay. It wasn't the first time I've been called Barry.

Over the years, I've been called a lot of names besides Brady. The most common has been Brad. I hate being called Brad, but not nearly as much as I hate being called guy -- whoops, there's that guy word slipping in again.-- I'm surprised at how much I dislike being called Brad. It's a mystery because I have friends named Brad. I suppose it's because of the context. I'm usually called Brad by a bank teller or someone trying to sell me something. Uh sorry, but Brad's not going to be buying any Florida swamp land from you.

Besides Barry and Brad, I've also been called Grady, Bradley, Brandy, Braddy, and even Bob once. Bob? Here's how that one went:

Me: Hi, my name is Brady.

Them: Nice to meet you, Bob.

Me: Um, you too, guy.

Anyway, about this Barry thing. The first person to call me Barry was Mr. Conway, my high school religion teacher.

Mr Conway was an icon at St. Louis University High School. By the time I sat in his freshman theology class, Mr Conway had served in various roles in the school administration and taught nearly every subject. He had a wealth of experience and was an excellent teacher. The finer details, like remembering the name of another know-it-all-snot-nosed punk sitting in the second row, just wasn't that important to Mr Conway anymore. He just called it the way he saw it.

I can still picture him sitting behind that big old oak desk, his bright, wide eyes staring at me through his Mr Magoo-like glasses, while asking me something like, "How old did the Bible say Methuselah was, Barry?"

I had corrected him a couple times early in the semester. He'd call me by my proper name for a few weeks before being drawn back towards his old standby, Barry. So by the time we were through the Pentateuch, my new name, Barry, was firmly rooted. I/we all kind of got used to it. It was fine.

It was that way until late in the semester. We were studying the minor prophets, when classmate Leonard Shelton broke the silence. He just couldn't take it anymore.

Mr Conway: ...Popular belief is that the Bible says that Jonah was swallowed by a whale. But did the Bible really mention anything about a whale? What does the Bible say, Barry?

Barry/Me: The Bibl --

Leonard: -- MR CONWAY, HIS NAME IS BRADY. FOR GOODNESS SAKE, WHY DO YOU INSIST ON CALLING HIM BARRY?!!

Mr. Conway: Because he looks like Barry Manilow.

The classroom roared with laughter. Mr Conway lets everyone continue for a moment before raising his hand to silence the class

Mr. Conway: So what were you about to say, BARRY? Was there a whale?

Barry/Me: ... no, Mr Conway.The Bible never mentions anything about a whale, it just says a large fish swallowed Jonah.

Mr. Conway: Thank you, Barry. Now Leonard, come put your demerit card on the corner of my desk...

***

From way back then until till now, many years have passed since I've been called Barry. I still don't mind that one.

This much's for sure: being called Barry is much preferred over being called guy by the guy who called everybody guy.

Don't Be That Guy Who Calls Everybody Guy

2011-09-26T22:34:00.002-05:00

Years ago, I met a person who called everybody 'guy'. His name was Vinnie, but for all intents and purposes for the remainder of the post, I shall refer to him as 'That Guy Who Calls Everybody 'Guy,'' or TGWCEG, for short.

Now some of you may guess where this is going. Yeah, yeah, so Brady knew a guy who called everybody guy. Big deal. Who hasn't met someone like that? But I'm telling you, TGWCEG was something special. Let me explain.

I was a college freshman when I met TGWCEG. He was a classmate who also lived on the same floor of the dorm I lived in. TGWCEG was immediately one of the most popular kids in the school.

He was also the most hated.

I came to find out in short order that it didn't matter if you were an acquaintance who and hadn't seen him in years, or if you just met him for the first time. Regardless of the circumstance, he'd slip you a cold fish for a handshake and say, 'how's it going, guy?'

Yessch.

Yes, it was amazing. TGWCEG would walk down the campus and greet everybody that way. It didn't matter of you were male or female. 'Guy' was that -- uh -- guy's go-to word for all people in all occasions.

Like this:
To me, upon our first meeting: How's it going, guy?
To a former girlfriend, on her first meeting: How's it going, guy?
To the tenured professor, right before midterms: How's it going, guy?
To the University's President, at commencement: How's it going, guy?...

TGWCEG was incredible. I mean, the kid was either extremely confident or simply stupid. I never bothered to find out because he grated on my nerves so much.

He grated on everybody's nerves.

Imagine being his roommate. TGWCEG's first dorm roommate only lasted a couple weeks before dropping out of school.

His second roommate lasted a little longer. Once, when TGWCEG was away for the weekend, roommate #2 had a few of us over for pizza. He needed to vent. While we ate and listened, roommate #2 nearly broke down and cried while talking about the living arrangement. Later, when we thanked him for the food, roommate #2 confessed that the pizza was paid for by taking TGWCEG's chemistry book and selling it back to the bookstore earlier that day.

Unfortunately, roommate #2 didn't make it to the end of the semester either. After that, TGWCEG had a private room.

Anyway, something triggered a memory of the guy who called everybody guy, today. I feel better now having expressed this. Thank you for allowing me the space to vent. Whew! That was needed.

So what have we learned here today? Unless you want your possessions sold for someone elses' pizza, don't be that guy who calls everybody guy.

Gravel Worlds 2011 Recap

2011-08-23T22:42:00.007-05:00

Around 100 riders of this year's Gravel Worlds rolled out of the Lancaster Event center in darkness and thick humidity to cover 153.7 miles of mostly gravel roads near Lincoln this past Saturday. A double pace line continued for much of the first 15 miles. The beginning of the race is always exciting, rubbing elbows with many friends. Excitement is high. Lots of smiles and chatting. That part of racing never lasts long enough.

Then we hit the first of many minimum maintenance roads (MMRs). Minimum maintenance roads are country roads without gravel. And since it rained much the night before and was wet throughout the week, the MMRs were basically a ribbon of thick, unrideable mud. But the first section of mud that we hit was relatively dry. That section was actually still a gravel road that had a very short dirt section. Somebody inspired by rideable condition called out, "the gravel gods are smiling on us today". We'd soon find out otherwise.

At the first real MMR, the mud was so thick that nobody could ride it. In the lead group, two had their rear deraileurs snapped off. Everyone was forced to portage their bikes while thick, viscous mud caked shoes. It was like hiking through peanut butter.

The first checkpoint of Valparaiso followed. Leah Kleager was there. It was the first of many times that I gladly accepted her support throughout the race. Some may say that having a support vehicle is not in the spirit of such an event. They might be right. But then again this is the Pirate Cycling League, people. Yeah, it fits inside the pirate's code of ethics. Anyway, thanks Leah, that was huge.

While we were refueling in Malcolm, Jim Winklepleck and Chris Hansen slipped away quietly. Shim, Lucas and I were soon on the chase. The second MMR followed about 10 miles later. While we were hiking through it, Eric Brunt comes riding down the center of the mud. He was on a single speed and just made up huge ground on us. I stood with jaw agape while Lucas called out, "Nice job, Eric." He made the selection. Soon, we were cleaning our bikes and riding again. We stayed together most of the way to Malcolm, where we caught up with Chris Hansen. Hansen hadn't seen Winklepleck so we were now at the lead of the race.

Hansen, also on a single speed, rode out of Malcolm solo. Shim, Brunt and I followed. Lucas was inside filling bottles and had to burn some matches to catch back on. Hansen took some long pulls while I was thinking, what's up with these single speeders? It was amazing.

At about 80 miles, Brunt attacked. Again, another shocker: a single speeder was attacking three guys on geared bikes. But there he went, blazing a trail while we watched. He was pulling away at good speed. After awhile, I went up front to bring him back. I took a long pull. While doing so, Shim said that Lucas and Hansen dropped off. Shim came around for a turn. After my next pull, I could no longer hold onto Shim's wheel. He went ahead while I sat up and waited for Lucas and Hansen.

The three of us rode in together to the secret checkpoint Oasis at mile 102. By that time, Shim and Brunt had six minutes on us. After refueling, we hit the road as Dale Pinkelman pulled up. Soon, Pinkleman was closing in on us. I picked up the pace and ended up going solo beyond the next checkpoint in Hickman (mile 115) and until I caught Eric Brunt at a MMR around 130 mile marker. Eric had GI issues and had to let Shim go ahead.

From there, the two of us rode together to the finish. At one point, we actually saw Shim. I told Eric that I had already helped pull Shim back in a race earlier in the year and I wasn't going to help if he tried. Eric was cool with that. We agreed to ride in together and not let anyone catch us. It was good riding with you, Eric. You rode very well Saturday.

Shim had finished 7 minutes before us. Gravel Worlds Champion can now be added to his list of palmares. Congratulations, Shim.

Greg Shimonek, Gravel Worlds Champion 2011

Thanks to the PCL for all the work required to put this on. We're grateful for your efforts and will look forward to next year's event.

Hello Gravel Worlds

2011-08-05T05:00:00.003-05:00

I'm intrigued. I'm excited. I'm all in.

150 miles of Gravel Worlds goodness awaits 08/20/2011.

Happy Friday, everyone.

The Art of the !Pro (commoner's) Build

2011-07-29T05:00:00.005-05:00

As somebody mentioned before, the devil is in the details. And though I've marveled at the art of the pro build, I've never worked at a bike shop to hone my bike building skills. Come to think of it, I don't believe that I've ever honed anything. Regardless, if MOD is the Michelangelo of Pro bike builds, then I'm that PBS guy with curly hair who water colors a grove of trees next to a lake.

Anyway, whether or not I've honed anything isn't the point. What I'm trying to say is that you can ride a decent looking cyclocross (CX) bike -- and on the cheap -- if you put a little effort into it. Here's how I did it.

A couple years ago, my friend Mike Miles overheard me pining about getting into cyclocross. Now Miles is a purveyor of bicycle goods. He's not quite on the level of your local bike shop, but chances are, he's got what you're looking for.

The CX Frame
Miles produced a Scattante CX frame and fork that was collecting cobwebs in his garage. A Scattante frame wouldn't have been my first choice, but like they say, don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Or in my case, don't look a gift CX frame in the headset, because when I did, I discovered that the integrated headset's bearing was missing. That's bad. But a quick call to Performancebike produced a headset in the mail a few days later, free of charge. I was impressed. That's better service than I would have expected from an online retailer.

Anyway, I decided to customize the frame. Choosing the color was easy for me because I have a fetish for yellow bicycles. I stripped it myself ($8) and then had it powdercoated signal-yellow for $40. I like the powercoat look. Its elegance is its simplicity. And powdercoating is bombproof. There's no need for frame protectors bespoken from branded bar tape provided by sponsors.

The rest of the CX stuff
I asked around some more. With Jim Maaske I bartered a set of well used Rolf wheels, handlebars and avid shorty brakes in exchange for regular barbs towards Shim on this blog. Which reminds me, what four letter word begins with a J and ends in E-R-K? Answer: SHIM. Ka-ching! There's another payment in the books.

From Munson, I acquired a front brake lever, a used nine speed Tiagra brifter, an Ultegra triple chainring with razor sharp teeth and a very worn in set of Vittoria cross tires.

What I contributed: the rear derailleur, pedals and chain, all castaways from Old Yeller.

Now here's the important part. I didn't have the tools or the whereabouts to get all of these parts assembled onto the bike. So what I did was to have the Omaha Trek Store do that for me.

Since I did the project on a small budget, I was able to add a Salsa Ring Dinger bash guard and an N-gear Jump Stop to keep the chain in place on race day. I estimate that I spent $500 on the project, and about a quarter of that was for labor at the shop. And of the amount that I spent on labor, about 15% of that was spent on beer to keep the mechanics happy. That's smart money, right there.

My CX bike may not look like much, but it's been great fun to have. I've raced it, banged out some long winter gravel rides on it, and have used it as a dirty commuter.

There you go, the art of the !Pro (commoner's) build. If I can do this, you can too.

Happy Friday, everyone.

How I Could Talk Then

2011-07-22T05:00:00.004-05:00

Sunday's road race was long and hot. Like I said earlier in the week, I was surprised when the high tempo and attacks came early in what was going to be a test of endurance in the upper 90F heat and high humidity. Despite sitting at the back for the first half of the race, I still felt like poo. I'd describe it as a feeling of riding a bicycle while running a fever of about 102F.

I was able to regroup after the break got away and the peloton settled down. We were riding at a much more comfortable pace. I had also unzipped my jersey for extra ventilation. But the biggest factor was the ice-cold water bottle hand-ups from MWCC volunteers Mike Munson and Kevin Gilinsky. That was huge.

Photo by Dan Farnam

Post-race, Eric O'Brien and I talked about our race strategy. Eric confided that the hill taxed him mentally. I agreed that it was tough, but continued to say that I focused on the cold water bottle at the top instead of the battle in the heat of the climb. In the end, my success was largely due to the cold water bottles.

I offer the following as testimony. At the base of the final climb, after nearly three hours of suffering in sultry heat, the pack was beyond beaten down. It was eerily quiet. There was no chatter. None were motivated to launch a preemptive strike. We were all simply toiling away towards the finish line.

But just as the road pitched up for the final time, I was suddenly overcome with a rush of adrenalin and found myself announcing to the pack, "Hey everyone, Spence just told me that he has volunteered to lead a bonus lap after we all make it to the top."

I'm not kidding, I really said that.

Chris Spence was wasn't in the mood. He bared his teeth and bellowed back, "How in the hell can you even talk right now, man?" He might have said a few other words with it, but that's the gist of it. Anyway, after saying that, his body seemed to deflate over his bike. He was a broken man, riding backwards as the pack surged ahead.

My hamstrings seized when I stood a moment later. I too was riding backwards. But at that point, it no longer mattered. For I knew that just a little further up the hill -- beyond the finish line -- a cold water bottle was waiting for me.

And that's how I could talk right then, Chris.

Happy Friday, Spence. Happy Friday, everyone
.

If the Skinsuit Fits, Wear It

2011-07-20T06:41:00.006-05:00

This past weekend’s TT was the first time I had a complete aero getup. Most of it wasn’t mine. In fact, the only things that were mine was my 2007 Cervelo p2sL frame, a Giro TT helmet and my race shoes. Let’s talk about how I came about the rest. There’s some good stuff there.

Having just acquired a time trial skinsuit (we'll get to that later), I needed a set of aero shoe covers. The local bike store didn't have any so I went to the twitterverse for a pair:

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
BradyMurphy Brady Murphy
No TT shoe covers for tomorrow. That's ok, Munson says he create duct-tape shoe covers *and* a duct-disc wheel out of my Easton trainers
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ericeobrien Eric O'Brien
@BradyMurphy I have 3 extra pairs, but you can't borrow them. You're already too damn fast.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
BradyMurphy Brady Murphy
I'll only wear 1 pair of shoe covers. Promise! RT: @ericeobrien:I have 3 extra pairs, but you can't borrow them.You're already too damn fast
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By the way, if anyone could make a duct-tape disc wheel, it's Munson. In fact, my money says he already has.

Eric relented on the shoe covers. When I dropped by to pick them up, he also lent me his Flashpoint 80mm aero rear wheel. He was going to be using a full disc and could loan the Flashpoint to me. Thanks, Eric.

Then the next morning, Mike Miles lent me an extra Zipp 303 front wheel that was apparently collecting cobwebs in his garage. Thanks, Mike.

Now for the skinsuit. It's a throwback HighGear/Lincoln Bicycle Company suit. As Bryan pointed out to me, both of those entities are now defunct. Lincoln Bicycle company disappeared over three years ago. High Gear was renamed the Trek Store Papillion when it moved last year from LaVista. Even more, High Gear was also the original name of the Midwest Cycling Community race team. That team name goes back at least five years. Yes, this was a vintage skinsuit. It has been around the blocks a few times before I ever laid eyes on it.

Ok, I’ll just throw it out there: it belonged to Munson.

Yes, my boys were down there in Munson’s old skin suit. I know. I know. Ick, right? But detergents like OxyClean have progressed so much over the years. And it was clean when I picked it up, but just to be sure, I soaked and washed it again.

Nonetheless, the attacks came, and they were brutal.

Bryan: Take that thing off. I’m not standing on that podium next to you, while you’re wearing Munson’s defunct skin suit. Anyway, that’s just gross.

Brady: But it was clean. And to be sure, I washed it with Oxy-

Marc W: --moron. You washed it in oxy-moron.

Brady: No, I pre-soaked it before - -

Bryan: - -boiling it. Please tell me you boiled that thing - -

Marc W: - - on the stove, in a big vat of Miller High Life, before putting it on ...

And so forth.

Yes, I was desperate for a skinsuit. But I gotta say, this skinsuit had no funk other than my own when I was done with it. It looks pretty darn good if you ask me. And apparently, Munson left a few good time trials in it before handing it over. Thanks, Mike.

Hey, if the skinsuit fits, wear it.

Photo by Dan Farnam

2 Timothy 4:7

2011-07-19T11:42:00.005-05:00

Photo by Dan Farnam

"I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith." NASB (©1995)

Omaha Weekend Race Report

2011-07-18T06:24:00.013-05:00

The Cornhusker State games time trial was the first of three races I competed in at this year's Omaha cycling weekend. The out and back 13.6 mile TT course was redesigned this year, and it's a good one. It features long sections of relatively flat roads on a new asphalt surface, a steep descent with a sweeping turn, and a helluva steep climb about three miles from the finish. I had a good race. I lit the jets from the start, stayed aero through the descent & turn, held steady on the flats, powered up the steep ascent and punched it for the last 2K home. I covered the 13.6 miles in 30 minutes and 13 seconds, which I'm proud to say is the first TT in which I broke through the 27 MPH avg ceiling. Results

Photo by Dan Farnham

Later that day, I raced the cat 3 Papillion Twilight crit. The course is in downtown Papillion, featuring a long false flat through the first four corners, a short descent followed by a small but steep climb in corners 5-6, a long descent and a wide sweeping turn on corner 7 before a sharp turn and 150m to the start/finish. Saturday was miserably hot. Like 95F with a heat index of 110. Our race started fast. The break occurred about ten minutes into the race. In it was Lee Bumgarner (Flatwater), Kyle McClellan (KAOS), Darren Richter (unattached), Ryan Feagan (MWCC) and I. While we still had 40 minutes of racing, this group had a decent chance at staying away because the big teams were represented in the break. We held a good pace to distance ourselves from the peloton. With teammate Feagan in the break, I attacked twice. After the second attack, Bumgarner countered, forcing me to dig deep to latch back on. Our attacks ended up shedding Richter and Feagan. That didn't work as planned. Sorry, Ryan. Then, Bumgarner kept the heat on for the next three laps, burying me, too. I gave in, sat up and waited until teammates Feagan and Jonathan Wait (MWCC) bridged up . From there, the three of us held tempo for the last seven laps. Ryan unselfishly led us out for the finish. Wait took third, I was fourth, Feagan fifth. Congrats to Bumgarner and McClellan for first and second respectively. Results

Finally, the Dave Babcook Memorial road race on Sunday was a war of attrition. The cat 1-2-3s started together for a 72 mile race on a seven mile circuit course, covering much of the same ground as the TT the day before. On a scorching day of 97F and 115 heat index with a steady 15-20 MPH southerly wind, a four hour road race with 10 trips up a steep hill wasn't going to be pretty. Given all this, I was surprised that the attacks came often and early. We weren't even five miles into the race before somebody up front gutter-balled the pace-line on a crosswind before the first hill climb. It didn't stop there. A short while after climbing the hill, the next furious attack and more gutter-balling came on an even nastier crosswind section. It was like this for the first three laps, or until Lou Waugaman (Velosport Iowa) and Marc Walter (KAOS) got away. But with 50 miles to go, they sat up after a couple laps and were brought back in. The group chilled out through the next lap. At least most of us did. That's when many of us in the peloton found out that we were actually chasing Justin Maresh (KAOS) and Lee Bumgarner (Flatwater), who were apparently 1:25 up the road. We let them go and over three laps put 4 minutes on the peloton. With three laps to go, some of the 1-2 guys got motivated to shake their numbers down. The attacks started again. Redemske & I marked cat 3 Mark Merritt (Joy Ride) when he went with the chase group. I managed to hold on while Bryan fell off. When it came to the final hill climb, my quads seized. Merritt rode away to take second, I took third. Congratulations to Maresh and Bumgarner for their impressive victories. Results

A big thanks goes out to race directors Craig Tuttle and Mark Stursma for coordinating these events. The races were very well organized and had terrific payouts. And many thanks goes out to the scores of volunteers, especially those handing out water at the feed zone, Sunday. There could have been a thousand other things that you could have been doing with your time than standing alongside a country highway-- in that heat and humidity-- handing up cold water bottles to us racers. I can't tell you enough how much we appreciated it. Indeed, well done all.

Vampire Threat Level: DANGER

2011-07-15T05:00:00.001-05:00

Once again, we're on the verge of another TT, the Cornhusker State Games TT, which of course brings out the best among us. And by best, I mean super-human, non-dead, flesh-eating-gory-best. And as sure as I am to being dropped on the sprint to Ft Calhoun, my arch enemies in Lincoln, the KAOS Vampire coven, have been fasting and sharpening their vampire fangs, or whatever their pre-slaughter ritual is, for this event.

So will the MWCC Lycans/werewolves (dogs) answer the call and show up to the race? Well, with the moon at full phase on Saturday July 16th, I'd say the chances are good for a show down.

But, who knows? MWCC's Kevin Burke is going to be out of town. And while it's true that Paul Webb's broken elbows are mending well, they still might be a little tender for the aero position. And that dog Shim will probably be saving his legs for two crits. That, and marking every tree along the Papillion course as his 'territory'. Kent's probably recovering somewhere along the Italian riviera from his most recent eurotrash gran fondo. And there's a good chance that MOD will be sitting in his underwear, roto-tweeting how his man-crush Philip Gilbert is faring on the Col de Latrape.

Sorry, KAOS. I think you guys will be on your own again.

Regardless, it's gonna be a hot & sunny one out there on Saturday. And that got me wondering, how is it that vampires can now brave the flesh-burning sunlight?

Well, one theory being tossed around is that a former teammate of yours is openly dispensing KAOS team secrets on gamjams-midwest. Yes, Bryan Redemske is a recovering vampire and a current pet-project of the MWCC lycans.

Photo credit: David Allen Seevers

By the way, Bryan's rehabilitation is coming along nicely. We're on to the final step of recovery, which according to the 12 Step Vampire Recovery Program, consists of daily feedings of Heinz 57 splattered on the neck of a used department store mannequin.

Anyway, here's how a recovering vampire copes with the sunlight.

It doesn't take long in the summer to burn your dome if its left unprotected. In my experience, Ozone Sport pretty much takes care of that. It's SPF 60 — pretty heavy-duty stuff... only one application for a five-hour ride.

Great. Thanks a lot, Ozone Sport. We're spared skin cancer in exchange for Count Dracula on a TT bike. So with five hours of protection and no MWCC dogs to boot, I'd say the KAOS coven is going to destroy whatever's in their path.

To this bit of ominous news, I heed the warning provided by my friend James Peters, who wrote me this recently:

My wife and I were up in the pacific northwest last year. Apparently we drove into Forks, WA and didn't realize that's where the Twilight series was filmed. Based on the recent entries, I think you may want to include this in your next vampire entry.

Vampire Threat Level: DANGER, indeed.

See you at the races. Happy Friday everyone
.

Mr Kitty, the Garage Door and the Pet Cemetery

2011-07-07T23:35:00.017-05:00

Steve Tilford's blog has had a thing or two about rescuing cats lately. It got me thinking about my childhood cat, Mr Kitty.

Originally, the family cat's name was Jade. Dad got him and his litter mate, Misty, on a business trip while selling banking equipment to a rural bank. Apparently, the transaction wasn't going too well until Dad agreed to take home a couple kittens that the branch manager wanted to unload. So Dad closed the deal and brought home the two cats in a cardboard box. Win-win. My sister named them Jade and Misty for their solid grey coats with greenish blue eyes. Misty's name stuck. But not Jade's. He went through a bunch of names before we finally settled on 'Mr. Kitty.'

The name of Mr Kitty was given to him by our piano tuner, Mr Brooks. Mr Brooks was a black man from the deep south. He liked to talk to our cat with a raspy southern twang while tuning our piano. Why, hello dere Misser Kitty! Well take a look at you, struttin' yer stuff.... Aint ya proud, Misser Kitty!.... and so forth. Anyway, the Mr Brooks' nickname stuck and from then on the cat was known as Mr Kitty.

Years later, my parents went out for a date one evening, leaving us kids behind. Dad backed out the 1976 Pontiac Grand Safari 'catholic-cruiser' station wagon from the garage while Mom stood by the garage door's button. Mom was at the garage door button because there was something wrong with the door's remote controller. Or more likely, there wasn't a remote controller because back then, the 400 MHz rolling code transmitter/receiver unit hadn't been invented yet. Regardless, after the car cleared the garage, she punched the button and scurried beneath the closing door and into the car waiting in the driveway.

Dad was about to continue reversing when he noticed that Mr. Kitty was also scurrying to avoid the closing garage door. But while Mom ran across the garage floor, Mr Kitty was running upward along the outside slope of the closing door's panels. Yes, like he was on a huge treadmill. But unfortunately for Mr Kitty, the treadmill was coming to an end, and it wasn't going end pretty. Mr Kitty would either fall to the ground or get wedged between the door and the top of the garage.

How Mr Kitty got up there will always be a mystery. We figured that he jumped up on top of the door while it was open and the car was parked beneath it. I suppose to a cat, a warm high perch away from the hustle of a bunch of kids made a lot of sense. Apparently, his exit strategy was to jump down on the car beneath. Unfortunately, he lacked the foresight of knowing that the car might not always be there.

I doubt that was going through Mr. Kitty's mind at that moment. That goes for my parents, too, as they watched in horror as Mr Kitty kept running upward while the door continued closing.

Mom bolted out of the car before the final panel sealed the door and Mr Kitty to the top of the garage. But she didn't run toward the garage; she ran towards the front door. Remember: Mom was effectively the garage door's remote control, and now she had to go through the house to get to the button.

We kids were watching TV. Vanna White turning letters on Wheel of Fortune or something of the like while our cat was wedged into the top of the garage. Who knows, somebody might have been buying a vowel while poor Mr Kitty's head was about to pop off. All of a sudden, the doorbell was ringing like crazy. So fast, you could only hear the ring of the first chime among the flurry of electro-static buzzing that came from an over-loaded switch.

We all ran to the front door. From Mom's nearly unintelligible words, I managed to hear that Mr Kitty was stuck on top of the garage door. Mr. Kitty, stuck and garage door all seemed to work neatly together, but on top? Now, that didn't make sense at all. But there was no time to question it. We raced back through the dining room, kitchen and family room. I was the first to the garage, but I had run so fast through the garage access door that I shot past the garage door button and stumbled down the steps. Two of my brothers also tumbled behind me, Keystone Cops style. Finally somebody managed to push the button. The door opened and released our poor cat from the top of the door to the concrete below.

Dad said later that when the garage opened, Mr Kitty hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. Mr. Kitty laid there motionless. He appeared to be dead.

But after a few moments, Mr Kitty stirred, got up and stumbled away from the garage. Pilled-up furballs fell from his body. He wasn't happy and his meows sounded like a warped vinyl record, but he was alive. Dad scooped him up and loaded him into the Grand Safari, and with all of us kids, drove to the vet to have him checked out. In the end, other than some very heavy bruising, he was fine.

There. That's it folks. No Vampires, no lycans; no shark jumpings and no reanimated cats from pet cemeteries in today's post. Just a simple house cat that got pinched at the top of a garage door that lived another day. In fact he did more than just that: Mr Kitty thrived another 15 years before dying at the ripe old age of 22. He was an awesome cat.

Happy Friday, and RIP Mr Kitty
.

Stuntman Sam

2011-07-01T07:47:00.010-05:00

Among the many things that come to mind when I think of the Fourth of July is Evel Knievel. That starry red white and blue jumpsuit probably has something to do with it. He also did a lot of jumps in the summer, many of them televised around the holiday weekend. I loved the thrill of watching his jumps. I even had one of those action figure and motorcycle get-ups that I'd launch down a flight of stairs.

I've always been somewhat a sucker for cheap thrills. Here's one such incident that also came to mind when I thought of Evel Knievel.

Back in second grade there was a rumor going around that a fourth grader named Sam Gibson was going to attempt to jump his bicycle over a local golf course pond. It was being billed as something like Knievel jumping the shark tank, only this was a 4th grader on a bmx bike jumping over lake carp. Anyway, I was intrigued. I pushed my way up through the cafeteria line to hear the ring leader, Mickey 'Jonesy' Jones, telling a bunch of us wide-eyed kids what 'Stuntman Sam' Gibson was going to do later that day. Jonesy worked up the hype until he had us all feeding out of his hand. Then he hit us with the unexpected: Gibson was going to charge 50 cents admission to watch it.

In cafeteria terms, 50 cents was a lot when you could buy a box of lemon-drink for a dime, a bag of BBQ potato chips for 15 cents, and a rectangular slice of soggy pizza or a soybean hamburger for 40 cents. Shoot, that was good money.

But Jonesy was selling it like a carnival freak. He had me dialed in on the pitch: Today only, a caped Stuntman Sam Gibson, flying over Greenbriar Hills #7's pond on a jet-black wonder bike. My stomach growled. I was hungry. But no soybean burger was going to satisfy the hunger I had that day. My appetite was whet for thrills. So I stepped boldly forward, plopped down two quarters and told him I'd be there.

The afternoon's phonics lessons were a total loss. All I could think about was Gibson's dare-devil feat. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the dismissal bell rang. I made like the wind for the golf course to get a front row seat.

Greenbriar Hills hole #7 is a 97 yard par three over a small pond. The tee box is elevated 30 feet above the pond. I arrived to find two people standing next to a 2 x 10 plank ramp propped up with a cinder block at the foot of the pond. One person was another classmate, David Carey, the other was the event promoter, Jonesy. I was dismayed by the low attendance and reasoned that perhaps 50 cents was too steep a price for admission. But more importantly was the noticeable absence of Gibson. I held out hope that he hadn't gone yellow on us.

Brady: Hey Jonesy, where's Gibson?

Jonesy: Relax kid. He's getting ready.

Getting ready? Where? While there was a half-way house nearby, it was closed during the 0ff-season and it's bathrooms locked up. Other than that, there was only open space surrounded by a thick line of trees marking the out of bounds territory.

Jonesy then clears his throat, takes a step forward, opens his arms and calls out:

Jonesy: Ladies and Gentlemen may I have your attention...

I looked at the other person standing there. Carey rolled his eyes while Jonsey bantered on...

Jonesy: ...Today only, for the amazingly low admission price of 50 cents, you will get to witness "Stuntman Sam" Gibson attempt to do what no other fourth grader, or possibly anyone ever, has ever tried: to clear Greenbriar Hills country club's #7 pond on a bicycle. Many have likely considered it, but none have been so daring as Stuntman Sam! Let's give him a big round of applause.

Jonesy looks at me and makes me feel uncomfortable. He's actually expecting us to clap. He nods his head in encouragement and apparently won't continue until we comply. We being to clap feebly. Jonesy turns to face the #7 tee box and continues

Jonesy: ... Stuntman Sam, are you ready?

From the thicket behind the tee box, the pre-pubescent voice of Gibson squeaks out "READY!" My heart rate kicks up a notch. I wasn't going to be disappointed.

Jonesey: Drum roll, please!

Another a glance toward us, the two spectators, to animate a drumming sound. We eagerly join in this time.

Jonesy: OK Stuntman Sam, this is it. On your marks, get set, Go!!!

Gibson comes charging out of the thicket on his black bmx wonder bike. He's also dressed in all black, but best of all was a flowing black cape.

I should also point out that he wasn't wearing a helmet. But back then, nobody wore helmets.

A transformation had taken place in my eyes. No longer was Sam Gibson a simple fourth grader. No, he had become a dare devil stuntman that was spinning like a monkey toward that plank. At that moment, I believed he had a legitimate chance to clear the lake.

Reaching terminal velocity, Gibson's front wheel enters the ramp. A moment later, he's airborne, flying over the lake --

^^ CHOMP ^^

What the -- ??

I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my neck, and through my peripheral vision, I see Jonesy's vampire fangs...

AIYEEE!!!!!

CHOMP-SNAP!! SLURP, GLURBLE-GLURBLE-GLUBLE...

Gotcha again.

Happy Friday everyone
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Vampires on TT Bikes

2011-06-28T22:50:00.030-05:00

Yesterday, Ian Robertson posted a theory that pitted Lincoln's KAOS roadies as vampires against Omaha's MWCC lycans (warewolves).

I have a theory that Cat 1-2 Kaos riders are vampires and Cat 1-2 Midwest Cycling Community riders are lichens and they can’t be in the same race at the same time.

It got me thinking. Perhaps Ian is onto something here. But why restrict it to just the KAOS riders? Perhaps all Lincoln roadies could be infected by the blood-sucker's bite.

So what if Ian was also a vampire? It's been said that vampires don't cast a reflection. Perhaps his race timing chip was affected by this phenomenon, because the chip apparently didn't reflect his official time, either.

I can imagine the scene at the Velo-GreenStreet Team HQ last Friday night as they went through the final race day's checklist.

Duryea: Did you get the timing chips picked up, Randleman?

Randleman: Yeah. I picked up the TT-1000 Timing Chip system today.

Duryea: What?! The TT-1000 system is total crap! I told you: get the TT-2000 because it's paranormally-tuned and undead compliant.

Fortunately for Ian, Garmin saved the day

Nice job to Jarred for putting 39s into me over 24mi. Still lusting after that wind-tunnel experience of his!
53:39 for 24mi today (no idea how correct that distance measurement is until I get the Garmin downloaded) … Hoped to do faster, but never really felt on top of the gear. Note to self – ride tt bike more

I don't know about you, but TTs are already scary enough. And now, thanks to Garmin, vampires' times can also be recorded when they throw the 55-12 hammer down at local TT races.

But I still wasn't satisfied. So, looking for more clues, I studied David Seever's photos from last week's State Championship TT. Tell me if you don't agree with my keen eye at picking a vampire

Overall TT Winner, Jarred Berger, and a Lincoln KAOS vampire

Joe McWilliams, from Lincoln KAOS, another one

Marc Walter, Lincoln KAOS and possible vampire

Ian Robertson, also from Lincoln, also a vampire

Greg Hagele, Ian's teammate and member of the Flatwater coven

MWCC's Kevin Burke. The first flaw in Ian's theory. But as the founder of KAOS and a Lincolnite, Kevin is quite likely a vampire

Eric O'Brien. Whoops, an Omaha MWCC dude. Oh well, there goes Ian's theory. But hang on, Eric's also a transplant from California and likely a repressed vampire, resorting to drinking pig blood.

And what about Shim? He's like older than Methuselah. I bet that he's a vam --

!!! KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK !!!

Hang on, somebody's at my front door.

Well Hi, Ian. Why, that's funny, I was just blogging about your vampire theory when, wait a minute. You don't look so good. You look absolutely famished, and your eyes...they're are all red and stuff. Are you alrig --

^^ CHOMP ^^

AIYEEE!!!!!

CHOMP-SNAP!! SLURP, GLURBLE-GLURBLE-GLUBLE...
...

Flashback Friday: If Paul Harvey was at this Year's Norfolk Classic

2011-06-24T05:11:00.011-05:00

Hello Wholesome Steel-Cut Goodness readers. You know what the news is, and in a minute, you're going to read... the rest of the story.

Reel 1:
It was the Norfolk Classic Road Race weekend and everything was all abuzz. Yes, there was lots of excitement in the air, for this was no ordinary road race. It was the one to settle them all. For the year 2011 at least, one victor would climb the stairs at the end of the race to stand proudly above the rest, adorned with a shiny gold medal signifying his glorious achievement. Yes, indeed folks, it was the State Championship road race weekend, and the Norfolk Classic was the gracious host.

And it was a beautiful day in hand for this year's Classic. Now let's pick up on the action, where this day's news of most lasting significance is about to be told.

The scene was a county highway, a flat section alongside vast cornfields famous for whipping up notorious crosswinds. The group had just gone through a feed zone and no one in the pack was motivated to move. Our good man was getting antsy. Time was running short. He carefully chose his moment, and swinging wide to the outside, dropped the hammer and pinned it. He got clear! Our man was on the attack and he was making good ground.

That's when he looked up and saw the rollers approaching down the road.

And by rollers, I don't mean hills. No, my good friends reading this story today, by rollers, I mean a Nebraska State Patrol car.

Yes indeed, our man was caught in a predicament and probably wouldn't want us to mention his name right now...

Perhaps this young man would have seen those rollers sooner if he had taken his Hi-Health dietary supplements like I do. Have you heard about the good news from Hi-Health? Developed from the extracts of neolithic Scandinavian tundra that have been scientifically reconstituted in hydroponic labs in Scranton, PA, Hi-Health supplements have not only stabilized my vision, but improved it drastically. Why just the other day, I was able to clearly see from three bike lengths away that my friend's unidirectional ten speed Dura-Ace chain was installed backwards. Hi-Health is where it's at, folks. Remember that name: Hi-Health supplements.

Reel 2
No, those rollers weren't hills. It was the Nebraska State Patrol's Dodge Charger that was barreling toward him. And it was not the Norfolk Classic that our good man was in that early Saturday morning. No, it was the pre-race race to the Norfolk Classic. You see, the feed zone he just passed through was a McDonalds restaurant, and it wasn't exactly fast-food that morning. So due to an extraordinary long wait for an order flapjacks, he was making up for lost time on a stretch of Hwy 275 just outside of West Point.

When he saw the cruiser, our man quickly shifted the foot from the accelerator and started applying pressure to the brake. The needle was falling, but not fast enough. He was doing well over the posted speed limit of 60.

Meanwhile, NSP Trooper Bruning had him dialed in on his radar. He swung wide onto his shoulder and flipped the u-turn to chase the speeder down.

I imagine it was quite a scene from a rear view mirror: a thick dust cloud kicked up from the shoulder formed a marvelous backdrop while the Charger pursued with lights-a-blazing. The gap was closed quickly. Another speeding ticket was about to be in the books.

As the dust settled, Trooper Bruning stepped out of the cruiser. A Smokey Bear hat, a crisply starched khaki uniform and spit & polish black boots that crunched the gravel with authority, he was all business. There would be no soft warning today, folks. Bruning informed our man that he was doing 74 in a 60 MPH zone, then asked for license, registration and proof of insurance. He wrote the ticket, explained that he could pay the fine, protest in court, or take a STOP class to have it expunged from the record. The officer made a final plea to drive safely and let our man go about his business.

I'm sure right about now, our good man would not want his name revealed to our reading audience...

Reel 3
The whole affair took about 15 minutes. 15 minutes of precious time whittled away from the clock. And now, speeding to the race was out of the question. But without breaking any laws, he made it safely to the race to join his MWCC teammates with only minutes to spare.

Who was this spurned speeder?

Was it MWCC's Feagan, Marshall, O'Brien? How about Redemske, Savery or Webb? They were all at the race that day.

I will give you a clue. Our man wasn't at last Wednesday night's group ride either. No, he had chosen instead to take the STOP class this past Wednesday.

What about Shim? Was he the guilty party? While he missed the start of Wednesday's ride and has received a speeding ticket in West Point on Norfolk Classic race weekend, it wasn't from this past year's classic.

If not Shim, then who?

Our good man, the one who received the speeding ticket in West Point that day, and the same person who sat in the Red Room at the Ramada for eight hours this past Tuesday and Wednesday nights was Brady. And in the 25 years of driving, it was his first speeding ticket to boot.

And now you know the rest of the story.

Signing off as WSCG... Good day

Cats Are Steve Tilford's Kryptonite

2011-06-17T05:00:00.011-05:00

Since gamjams-midwest began picking up feeds from professional cyclist Steve Tilford sometime last year, I've become a regular follower of Steve's blog. I like his blog because I'm a relative newbie to road racing and could use as much good advice as I can get. He brings plenty of that.

But what I also like about his blog is that it's not always about cycling. Take this past Wednesday's post, where Tilford suffered another cat bite:

I was trying to catch the mother cat yesterday to take to the vet to get spayed and thought I was past the cat-bites-the-human part of the relationship, but I was wrong. She chomped down on my finger pretty good. Nothing hurts more initially that a good cat bite. I think it is because their teeth go all the way to the bone.

Something's amiss. In his lengthy career, Tilford has been involved in more crashes than I care to think about, but seemingly nothing hurts more initially than a good cat bite? Yeesh. Unconvinced, I did some research on Tilford's injuries. Here's what he had to say in Pez Cycling news last October:

One time in the Milk Race I broke my leg, hand and collar bone and was back racing at the Coors Classic within five weeks. I've broken my collar bone pretty often, that heals in about three weeks.
-- Pez-Talk, American Legend Steve Tilford

Did he really just trivialize broken collarbone(s)?! And the Coors Classic in just five weeks from multiple fractures? No wonder he's called the 'cyborg'. And yet, because Tilford doesn't have a spleen (afraid to ask why), this cat bite will probably sideline him for a month due to the risk of blood infection.

Let's recap: that's five weeks for broken leg, hand and collarbone, four weeks for cat bite or three weeks for a routine broken collar bone. Wait. What was that -- a month for a cat bite? Suffice it to say, it's probably not the crashes that keeps Steve awake at night. No, it's being bitten by another cat.

Cats are apparently Steve Tilford's kryptonite.

Anyway, I may not be able to offer any cycling advice to a seasoned pro like Steve Tilford, but I have successfully caught an angry cat or two in my time. And since Steve has had more than one bad cat nabbing outcome, I'm assuming that (he's reading this and) could use a tip here or there to get him through the next time he squares up against his feline nemesis. So while that finger mends, pop another antibiotic and read on, Mr. Steve Tilford, because this one's for you.

~//~

On a bitterly cold winter night years ago, I awoke to hear my cat Newton making those really low, guttural tones that escalate slowly into the higher decibels. I got up to check out what was going on. Newton was upset that a feral cat was at the sliding glass back door. It was definitely a stray: an unkempt orange tabby with a chunk of ear missing. And, one couldn't help but notice that the family jewels were well in-tact. Yes indeed, this fella was a wild one, and he either wanted to come in from the cold, or make a territorial claim against Newton.

Newton, RIP 2005

With the wind and all, the temperature outside felt like -20F. I assumed that the tomcat wanted to come in from the cold. But it was 1:00 AM, what could I do? I went back to bed and wrestled with my conscience under a heated blanket. I wasn't about to let a wild cat into my house, so I decided on a compromise. I setup a space heater and some of Newton's bedding in the three-season, enclosed porch and then let the tomcat in there. My guilt relieved, I went back to bed.

But in a short while, the tomcat and Newton started that eerie trash-talking again.

So I got up once more, put some water and cat food out there and then covered half the door's window panels with paper so the tomcat couldn't see inside to Newton. Heat, food, water and privacy. That's pretty good for a stray cat. Contented once more, I went back to bed.

The peace and quiet lasted all of about two minutes before the commotion started again.

So I got up for the third time. This time, I found that the tomcat had climbed all the way up the backside of the porch door and was hanging from his front paws to look through the top row of uncovered windows. That cat didn't want shelter from the harsh weather outside, nor was he hungry or thirsty. All along, all he wanted was to rumble with Newton.

Now I was determined to resolve the issue once and for all. So pay attention Tilford, here's what I did. I got fully dressed in cat-catching garb, which included jeans, a heavy flannel long-sleeve shirt, leather boots and heavy leather work gloves. I then grabbed a large cardboard box and duct tape and went to work at catching a feral cat that was set on staking a territorial claim.

It wasn't pretty. The tomcat put up a good fight with lots of hissing, kicking, clawing and attempted biting as I hauled him in. But by the time all the fur-balls settled, I was scratch-free with one very pissed off cat sealed inside a cardboard box.

I then loaded him into the car for a drive. Now my friend Shim probably would have driven to the Mormon bridge and thrown the box with cat inside into the icy Missouri river below. But what I did instead was to take the cat to the Omaha Humane Society. Even at 1:30 AM, our local Humane Society accepts strays. As an aside, the Omaha Humane Society is truly humane to our dumb friends. They have a heated room with an empty cage for strays that's monitored by the Humane Society's staff 24/7. See Shim, no need to dump cats in rivers.

So there you go, Mr Tilford. You probably already knew this stuff. But just in case, wear some heavy work gloves the next time you need to grab that mother cat.

It's either that or another ten days of horse pills and a month off the bike.

Mend well, Steve Tilford.

Happy Friday, everyone
.

State Championships Are Earned at State Championships

2011-06-10T05:07:00.005-05:00

I used to follow Charles Schultz' Peanuts when I was a kid. Sunday comics, books and holiday specials brought the peanut gallery to life. Favorites included Linus and the nativity scene, Snoopy as the Red Baron, Peppermint Patty and who could forget Pig-Pen.

But if I had to reduce it all down to one frame, I'd pick Charlie Brown, Lucy and the football. Somehow, Charles Schultz managed to capture the essence of Charlie Brown's tenacious character in that scene. How many times would he line up to kick that ball only to have Lucy snatch it away at the last second? It seemed that it appeared in in the Sunday comics about once a month, was in every comic book, and in every holiday TV special.

You got to hand it to Charlie for never giving up. For better or worse, he was resolved to accomplish that goal of beating Lucy at her own game.

My friend Mike Miles reminds me a little of Charlie Brown's character. Not in the blockhead sort of way, but because of Mike's tenacious character. Since I met him in 2009, Mike's road racing has seen more than a fair share of good chances at a podium snatched away by defeat near or at the last moment of the races. I can imagine the frustration of being so close and yet seemingly so far away. But despite the setbacks, he's one of the most dedicated racers around.

I've ridden a lot with Mike. He handles his bike well. He has good power numbers that come from calf muscles that look like volleyballs. Sprinting is one of his strengths. So you'd think he'd do well in a field sprint.

But like I said, often with the finish line in sight, victory has been snatched away. At last year's Babcock Road race, he was in good position for the field sprint when carnage broke out that sent him into a ditch. At the Pioneer Park Grand Prix a few weeks ago, another rider crashed in front of him, forcing him off the course. And if not for interference from other riders, then it's been a host of mechanical setbacks -- flats & dropped chains -- that have kept his number from making it into the final selection.

That's bike racing sometimes.

So at this past weekend's crit, our good man Miles was looking great, riding third wheel with a half lap to go. It was like Charlie Brown lining up to kick that football out of Lucy's hands once again...

The field rounded the last corner and began the final 400 meters of frenzy. It was going to be decided in a large field sprint. Though he was third wheel moments before, Mike was nowhere to be found. At about 150m, I distinctly remember thinking, 'where is he?' It was at that moment that Mike made his move. Suddenly, I saw his head pop up as he came out from hiding and was in a full standing sprint in tight traffic. John Lefler Jr. was swallowing the microphone calling the exciting finish.

photo credit: Devin Bethune
Looks like persistence paid off this time.

Congratulations on a State Championship, Mike Miles. That was a well-earned win.

Happy Friday, Mike Miles.

And happy Friday, everyone else
.

State Championships Aren't Decided on Wednesdays

2011-06-07T09:32:00.011-05:00

Some might say that the Nebraksa State Championship road and criterium championships were soured by a low turnout among the Cat 1-2-3 field. Yes, that was disappointing. I can imagine even more so for the organizers of the event, Elkhorn Valley Cycling club.

But make no doubt about it. The low turnout was not a reflection of the quality of the races that were put on this past weekend. The Norfolk crew and local race officials deserve accolades for the race they put on. Thank you!

But I still wondered, was the low turnout at a State Championship weekend due to it being hosted (remotely) in Norfolk? At more than two hours by car, Norfolk is just far enough to make one choose between the lesser of two inconveniences: a five hour round trip each day, or in staying overnight. But as a State Championship venue, Norfolk also makes for an ideal location because of its neutrality as its nearly equidistant from Nebraska's most populated areas of Omaha & Lincoln.

Perhaps it was due to a lack of motivated racers in Nebraska? But this is obviously not the case. Last Wednesday night, there were 39 riders on the local Trek Store Omaha ride. No, there's a healthy appetite for racing around here.

Perhaps it's because of us. You and me. Perhaps we roadies simply need to do a better job of recruiting.

Recruiting is simply a matter of asking a non-racer, "When are you going to start racing?"

That's all it took for me. Four years ago, I didn't even own a bike. At the time, running filled that competitive void for me. Sometime later, my brother gave me a very well-used road bike and suggested doing triathlons. Soon, I was joining in on small group rides. Then came the Wednesday Night Worlds (WNW). My bike handling improved tremendously. So did my triathlon bike splits. I soon found myself looking forward to cycling more than running.

But I was still on the fence about racing.

If not for cyclists asking me when I was going to start racing, I may never have moved beyond the WNWs and inked my name on a single-day cat 5 license at the Norfolk Road Race two years ago. I've been all-in ever since.

Like me, did you wonder where the cyclists were this past weekend? It wasn't because of the the race, nor because of the location.

I say it's because of us. Recruiting grows our sport and makes for larger fields in all categories. It may take some time to get the younger riders into more competitive ones, but it's worth the effort. The benefits will be seen in more balanced teams and better competition. And as much as I enjoyed racing with the cat 1-2 field, as a cat 3 racer, I don't belong there. Wouldn't it have been great to see a field of 30, 40, 50! pro-1-2s duke it out for all the glory?

So next time you see that dude in the Pink Floyd jersey who shows up week upon week at your WNW ride, ask him when he's going to start racing for real.

Soon enough, you'll see him frantically pinning his number to his jersey in the parking lot on race day. And when you see this, make sure you go up to them and congratulate them for being there. Chris Spence did that to me. I'll never forget that.

So who's in with me?

There Will Be No Bacon Without Blood

2011-06-03T05:00:00.003-05:00

This past Sunday, I joined up with eight others on what's known locally as the Bacon ride. It was my first undertaking of such an event.

Bacon ride participants Jonathan Neve, Mike Miles, Mark Savery & Eric Brunt. Not pictured: James Peters, David Randelman, Chris Goodall, Rafal Doloto

For those not in the know, the bacon ride is a round trip between Omaha and Platte River State Park, where a breakfast buffet complete with salted pig meat awaits. Much of the ride is on gravel and crushed limestone. As a result, most choose to ride cyclocross bikes.

It was a wet morning. A thunderstorm passed through at 4:00 AM, and another was threatening when we pushed off. Fortunately, we missed the storm and only had a few bouts of sprinkles. Still, the ground was soaked. The gravel wasn't too bad, but the crushed limestone was mushy in parts.

James Peters hydrates in Walnut Creek

There were many memorable moments on this ride. One of them was Rafal's crash on an old steel-trussed bridge spanning a swollen country creek.

Remember when Curly the Stooge would step on a wooden plank, only to have it come up and smack him in the face? Well, it was kinda like the inverse of that. As Rafal crossed the bridge, his front wheel neatly slipped into the expansion joint between two wooden planks. The wheel seized instantly. That's bad, especially when you're going about 20 mph, like Rafal was. However, the bike didn't stop moving. No, it continued to rotate around the front hub. Rafal had no time to react as the bike bucked him violently over the handle bars and onto the bridge decking.

Fortunately, both he and his bike were fine.

The same couldn't be said about his bibs:

Rafal's tattered bibs and road rash

I rolled up next to him a few minutes later to check how he was doing. What he said next was verbatim:

There will be no bacon without blood.

Yes! Our man was on a mission, and he was not going to be denied a seat at the Platte River State Park breakfast table that morning. Tattered bibs and road rash seemed to only motivate him more.

But before we got there, there was one more crash. A few miles down the road, Chris Goodall and I were riding and chatting side-by-side. We approached a sketchy corner at Hwy 50 and Hwy 66. As Chris rounded the inside corner, his tires washed out and slid into mine. Both of us went down. Then came a prolonged noise of aluminum scraping over wet concrete.

Remember folks, there will be no bacon without blood.

We were fine. Chris had some minor road rash, but otherwise okay.

The rest of the ride was relatively uneventful. In all, we covered 70 miles of beautiful country field roads, wooden planked bridges and crushed limestone trails.

Most importantly, Rafal got his bacon. In fact we all did, and even got some free high-fives to boot from the Lincoln crew who also rode in.

Good times.

If you haven't done a bacon ride, you really owe it to yourself to do so. I'm not saying that there'll be blood every week. There will certainly be bacon. But who knows? If you're lucky enough, perhaps Rafal will demonstrate how to wedge a front wheel into a bridge expansion joint just for giggles.

Happy Friday, everyone
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Lawns Are For Mowing

2011-05-27T04:45:00.010-05:00

While the patch of zoysia I keep on my front yard for my golf short game is still brown, the Kentucky bluegrass has finally starting taking hold. The recent re-seeding and the wet spring has sprouted into lush green that is now ready for mowing.

And yet people are already talking about cyclocross, or "Lawn Racing", as Shim derides it.

Mod got the cyclocross discussion started on Facebook this week:

I've been working on something special for CX season. It's about ready. Full zip, ankle to hip warm up tights

Really, 18 comments on cyclocross and it's not even Memorial Day yet?

Not to be outdone, Bryan Redemske dropped a cx bomb of his own:

Cronus CX built. And now I wait for my new shoes

Did anyone else catch that, or was I the only who detected a note of impatience from Bryan, who, having just built a top-of-the-line cyclocross bike, also has to go through the indignity of waiting for new shoes?

I've got two words for you, Bryan: boo hoo.

Now for goodness sake, can the two of you psychos show some constraint, already? Yes, yes, we all love 'cross. And as much as we're dazzled by your latest bike, shoes and zippy pants, cyclocross season is like four months away.

Oh what's the use. I give in. The truth is that I'm simply green with envy over Bryan's new bike and Mod's new duds. There, I admit it. I'm jealous. Yes, it's a cool bike. Enjoy it, Bryan. I wish I had one.

Oh well, I can probably afford to put in an order for the warm up tights.

Yes, you may even catch me wearing those warm ups on a cool summer morning. On that day, I'll zip up those full length jobbies, walk past the Madone, and choose to take my lawn rig out for a spin

At least for now, lawns are for mowing.

Happy Friday, everyone
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Capital City Crit Cat 3 Men Recap

2011-05-24T08:49:00.019-05:00

This past weekend, I raced the Capital City Crit in Lincoln, NE with five other Cat 3 Midwest Cycling Community teammates. We were by far the largest team out there of any race. With a large team like that, you have a lot of cards to play, and we used just about every one of them. In the end, I won the race, teammate Ryan Feagan won the field sprint and our team took both premes. Not a bad day's work.

In fact, it was Ryan Feagan who tweeted about working with the MWCC team pre-race,

and I'm excited to work with a team during a crit! @TrekO_Midtown represent

I couldn't have put it any better. As a newbie to cat 3 racing, I haven't had the opportunity to truly race with a team until now. For any of the cat 4 or 5s out there reading this, it does make a huge difference when you've got teammates working with you. It's almost like having insurance. I had the confidence throughout the race that if each of us did our part, though some of our individual efforts might fail to stick, our team's chance for a successful outcome was very good.

Here's my perspective of how the race went down.

Bryan Redemske (MWCC) drilled it from the whistle for the first couple laps. The field was strung out single-file and I was tail gunner. Then the attacks came. When our team sent Lucas Marshal, Team Kaos/Allegent Health chased him down. Then Kaos launched a counter, and we'd have Bryan Redemske or Matt Tillinghast pull him back.

photo credits: John Peterson, Nebraska Cycling News

Then at some point, it was my turn. I got away right as John Lefler Jr called a preme lap. The jump I got on the peleton gave me a comfortable margin to win that preme and stay away for another lap before being brought back in. But by then, we had Eric O'Brien, Lucas and Ryan Feagan well rested to go off the front once more.

About half way through the race, it was my turn to attack again. With Tillinghast on the front and Redemske third wheel, I just rode away from the peloton. When I was away, I punched it hard for a lap. Again, I was by myself. On the next lap, Nathan Hicks (Team EMU/Zealous) and Logan Evans (Univ North Dakota) bridged. Then came Vaughn Pierce (KAOS/Allegent Health). There was 30 minutes to go. We had a gap of 15 seconds on the peloton. Although none of us were sure at the time, this was the break that was going to stick.

On the final lap, Logan Evans turned on the gas. I jumped on his wheel. We came around the final corner and Logan stood to sprint, but his final burst was to be short lived. The dude just put out some massive wattage pulling us around that last lap and much of the break. In the end, I was able to sling around him and take the line with Pierce and Hicks nipping behind.

celebrating with a victory punch

Ryan Feagan wins field sprint

In retrospect, I ended up where I was in large (if not most) part due to my team. I attacked three times: the preme lap, the successful break and then on the final sprint. In between those efforts, I had the support of my team to help recover the legs, but more importantly, the peace of mind in knowing that if I should fail, there'd be another one of us to fill the void. And on that day, with our collective strength, it could have been any of my teammates.

Thanks goes out to the Lincoln's Bike Pedalers for hosting the races and to John Lefler Jr for calling them. Lefler does a great job keeping it exciting. But most of all, thanks goes out to my MWCC teammates.

Indeed, it was truly good racing with you, buddies!

John Muir; Psalm 23

2011-05-17T23:02:00.002-05:00

Everybody needs beauty as well as bread,
places to play in and pray in,
where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.
~John Muir

I shall not want.

I'm given rest in the green pastures

I am led beside the still waters which restores my soul

I am lead down the paths of righteousness for his name's sake

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever

How to Ramno a Bass

2011-05-16T05:00:00.003-05:00

This past Tuesday, I joined Rafal Doloto, Noah Marcus and Alexander Sanchez for some hill repeats in Council Bluffs. There are some monster hills over there. We did about 20 miles of them before calling it quits. It was a good one.

Post-ride, Rafal tweeted:

WTF? RT@rafal78: on the ride tonight some kid ramnoed a bass
with a bow . awesome !! Oh there were hills too #fb

I've got this one, Bryan.

Rafal, Noah, Alex and I had just crossed the Bob Kerry Pedestrian bridge and were riding along the north river front trail. Suddenly, Rafal became quite animated. Out of his mouth came a sort of pigeon mixture of English and his native Polish language (Rafal is from Poland). And because of the excitement, Rafal's speech was rushed. I could make out about every third word or so. I heard something like this, "DUDE" blah blah blah "RAMBO" blah blah blah "BOW FISHING." I followed his line of sight down the bike path and to the banks of the Missouri river below. Only then was I able to put the pieces together. There, down along the banks was a rambo looking dude, and he was bow-hunting fish. This wasn't the actual image, but this is what it looked like:

image: Bowfishers of Nebraska

This wasn't the first time I had witnessed bow fishing while riding a bicycle. A few years ago, I was doing a time trial workout at Lake Manawa when I came upon bow-hunter fishing. At the time, my blood was boiling lactic acid from the TT effort. To compensate, I was practicing a mental imaging technique that my friend and cycling sage Mike Munson taught me. When Munson's blood brimmed with lactic acid, he'd distract his mind by thinking of images that were the opposite of pain. For him, that equated to bunnies and lollipops. But as much as I tried, the lollipops and bunnies weren't working for me. That's when I came upon the two bow fishers. One was a stand-in for Ted Nugent. The other was an Athena warrior-princess, and she was bow fishing carp in a camouflage bikini. From then on, the bunnies & lollipops were out when I time trialed. In its place was Ted Nugent and his girl friend bow hunting carp.

After this past week's bow fishing episode, I wondered if there was a connection between cycling and bow fishing. Apparently, there is this on livestrong.com

Anyway, back to the present. Our group did the hill repeats in CB. Cooling down on the way back, we re-encountered the bow fishers. Their hunt? fish? was quite successful. Again, not the actual picture, but it looked something like this:

There you go Bryan. That's how a bass gets ramnoed [sic] with a bow.

Happy Monday, everyone.

Post Script:
Congrats to Rafal for winning the single speed division in twelve plus hours in this past weekend's running of the Almanzo 100 gravel road race.

All done 12 hours plus ss 1st place common sense Last place

Good job, buddy.

Roach Coach Diet

2011-05-06T05:00:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, the infamous UP lunch ride got diverted from its typical routine.

Normally, the UP lunch ride consists of leaving the rack at 1400 Dodge St at 11:45 for a 50 minute group ride. The pace is a moderate 16 mph avg, with as many as ten riders joining in. Occasionally, there are some short attacks and spirited tempo work, but mostly, it's simply good group riding time.

But as I said, yesterday was different. We paused to take in the sights, sounds and flavors of Cinco de Mayo.

So at 11:45, we left downtown for South O.

There was great anticipation and excitement among the group on this beautiful day.

Near Spring Lake park, my friend Bill got the yips and attacked, leading the only breakaway of the ride. It lasted all of 30 seconds before he blew up and sat in.

Fortunately for Bill, we were just a short distance from our Cinco de Mayo celebration, already underway at 24th Street and Vinton.

Whoops. Not much happening here. Oh yeah, the real party was going on across 24th street.

Yes indeed, the roach-coach parked in the O'Reilly Auto parts lot at 24th & Vinton is where it was at. After dismounting, we scanned the menu board for the best tex-mex chow on wheels around. Alhough the "Cuatro Taco Combo" was the crowd favorite, I threw down two burritos and a horchata drink.

Roach-Coach Nutrition
Of course, such a diet can wreak havoc on your training. Every once in awhile, it's okay I suppose. But I got to thinking how some of the my fellow local cyclists might think about the nutritional content of such tex-mex fare.

On the one hand, there's Marc Walter. As a coach that actually earns a living researching nutrition, Marc would probably poo-poo the entire idea.

On the other hand is Mark Savery. As a professed foodie, Mod would likely join in on the festivities, but after eating, would then produce some sort of road side 'cleanse' kit from his saddle bag and quickly duck into the nearest port-a-potty.

Shim would be all over this, too. In fact, he would order something that looked and smelled like it came from a port-a-potty. I know, ick. It's called menudo and it's a very acquired taste. But as yucky as it looks and smells, he'd chow down on it with gusto.

And Rafal? Well, he'd also take the menudo, add a little chorizo sausage and then chase it with a gallon of Tequila and three gallons of corn syrup.

it better not rain WTH am i going to to with
gallon of montezuma tequila and 3 gallons of corn syrup ?

For simplicity's sake, here's a convenient primer you can use the next time you get a hankering for roach coach grub

Beginner:
Simply look for the bold lettering on the menu board : CUATRO TACO COMBO. Proceed to stuff face.

Intermediate:
Instead of taking the cuatro taco combo, point to any item on the menu board and say you'd like X number of those. Proceed to stuff face.

Advanced:
Step forward and confidently order what Shim's having. Pinch nose, stuff face and chase with what's in Rafal's cup.

Happy Seis de Mayo, everyone
.

How to Execute the Perfect Sneak Attack

2011-04-29T05:00:00.007-05:00

Last weekend, Lucas and I did some hill work near Crescent, IA. In the process of doing so, we were sneak-attacked by two dogs on Mudhollow road. The dogs weren't that big. Actually, they were kinda small and fat, but still strong enough to put on a good chase. Anyway, I took note of their attack. Here's what I learned.

How to Launch a Stealthy Hill Attack

1: Use the element of surprise.
Attack when your foe is least expecting it. Recently, Steve Tillford blogged about attacking when an opponent reaches for the water bottle. And last year, I won the cat 4 Papillion Twilight crit in part from launching an attack when someone flatted and caused a mini pileup in the field.

On this past Sunday, Lucas and I were sneak-attacked during a transition zone. We had just finished a section of gravel and were soft-peddling a moderate climb when the dogs suddenly appeared. At that point, the farthest thing from our minds was a sneak attack. For one, we weren't even racing. And for another, until the moment they appeared, our foes weren't even known. Advantage: dogs.

2: Leverage home field advantage
Being intimate with the pave sections of a spring classic certainly helps a pro cyclist minimize risk of failure.

Likewise, it should follow that being familiar with roadside hazards like concealed ditches alongside Mudhollow Road will minimize your risks, too. This point is especially true when a couple of ankle biters will come barreling out of that same ditch when you're least expecting it.

3: Timing your attack
It's common knowledge that many stage races are won and lost in the mountains. Who can forget when Alberto Contrador counter-attacked his own Astana teammate, Andrea Kloden, on the 17th stage of 2009's Tour de France? In doing so, he not only dropped Kloden, but also pulled the rival Schleck brothers along for a stage win (Frank).

Alberto Contrador pulls the Schleck brothers to stage victory

And speaking of the Schlecks, wasn't it Andy who lost the maillot jaune on last year's 15th stage of the TdF when he dropped his chain on a hill and no one waited for him?

Andy Schleck drops chain climbing 15th Stage of 2010 Tour de France

Heaven forbid that you should drop a chain climbing Mudhollow with those little fellers stripping their teeth at your feet.

In truth, the dogs appeared to be just having fun. While they made a big fuss trying to get to us, their tails were also wagging. Perhaps next time, I'll take a page from Rafal's notebook and toss some bacon for their efforts.

The scene was amusing enough that after catching our breath, we turned around and made a second run at the hill. Fortunately, Lucas captured the moment forever:

The Mudhollow dogs launch a perfect sneak attack. Photo credit Lucas Marshall

Happy Friday everyone
.

TOP SECRET RACE PLANS

2011-04-22T05:00:00.009-05:00

Last weekend, Bryan Redemske, Eric O'Brien and I entered the Tour de Husker road race. To say that we had our work cut out for us is an understatement.

First was the course and conditions. The Tour de Husker is staged at Branched Oak Lake, on an 11 mile loop with one longish climb, some rollers and a notorious crosswind section on a dam road. The cat 1-2-3 race completed five loops for roughly 60 miles. The conditions at the start were: 33° F with NW winds at 18 mph with gusts over 25 mph.

Then there were the competitors. Only 16 entrants made up the small field. The three of us, representing Midwest Cycling Community, were all cat 3s. There were a handful of other teams represented including two wearing Iowa Hawkeyes kits, but by and large, Team Kaos and their six riders (a cat 1, four cat 2s & two cat 3s) was the dominant force of the race. They practically had it sown up before the starting whistle even blew.

But nobody could tell us that. Before the race, we carefully drew up a plan on my Big Chief tablet, and it was filled with moxie. Actually, I forgot about these plans until I found them much later, crumpled up beneath a dirty chamois, while unpacking my racing bag.

Anyway, here they are:

TOP SECRET!
STEP 1: Send most experience w/break
Did that win the race? No? Proceed to Step 2
STEP 2: Send next most experienced w/break
Did that win the race? No? Proceed to Step 3
STEP 3: Have least experienced sit in Chase
Did that win the race? No? Proceed to Step 4
STEP 4: Quietly weep, prepare for time trial

Yeah, that's about sums it up for the Cat3 MWCC guys at this year's Tour de Husker.

However, the race wasn't a total loss. In a stinging defeat, there are so many things one can learn. Bryan shared. So did Eric.

During this road race, I learned about tactics by sitting in with much more experienced racers than myself. Like how the strong team gets to mostly sit-in while the others work to pull back the break.

But one thing I didn't learn from the others was how to create a fantastic photo opportunity for yourself. You know, the photo that gets tagged in Facebook for all to marvel at? Or the same one you choose for your Twitter profile? Heck, if it's really good, it can be the one you have Kinkos blow up into a foam-backed poster board to update the triathlon photo you had blown up five years ago.

So pay attention, here's how I did it. Actually, what transpired was totally by accident, but here's how it went down anyway.

On the fourth lap, one of the two Iowa Hawkeyes riders in the chase rotates past me and says, "your skewer's open."

Yeah right. That's the cycling equivalent of someone saying, "Hey McFly, there's something on your shirt," before getting slapped for looking down.

I nodded to brush him off. Eighth place was on the line, and I wasn't going to let a Hawkeye TT off the front on my watch.

But the Hawkeye persisted, "Your front wheel's skewer is open." His eyes motioned downward, inviting me to take a look.

I looked. Darn it , I'm weak.

But by golly, the Hawkeye wasn't lying -- the skewer was nearly wide open.

I glanced at the speedometer. We were doing like 32 mph with a favorable tail wind. I suddenly became aware of the heavy thumping caused by the road's wide expansion joints.

I knew that this could get ugly. I mean, it would be bad enough if I were to go down, but God forbid that I should take out any of the five others in our chase group with me. So with a neutral feed zone approaching, I asked the group if they would allow me to solo ahead to tighten up the skewer and then regroup in the neutral zone. They agreed.

So that's what I did, and in the process of pulling over to lock down that skewer, Georgia Hart O'Donnell snapped the most awesome picture of me. This is the photo I intend to blow up to let everyone at the office know how awesome I am at riding a bicycle.

photo courtesy of Georgia Hart O'Donnell

You see what you can learn by reading this blog? The race wasn't a total loss.

Technically, the race was nearly a total lost a short time later. That's when one of the Hawkeyes finally broke loose to TT for eighth place. Why I'm not sure, but he was gunning for it. When we tried to bring him back, I blew up, and in doing so got popped and also lost 9th, 10th, 11th and 12th place, as well as a lot of time on the G.C. clock that put me well out of contention for a podium. But really, at that point, who was counting?

Still, I can't complain. I've got a new cubicle prop, I didn't crash or take anybody out, and I've learned from failure how not to win a race when the cards are totally stacked against you.

In hindsight, if could do it all over again, I would revise our top secret race plan to actually give us a shot at winning.

Here's how the final draft would look:

STEP 0: Rig skewer to look open
Attack neutral zone
Did that win the race?
Congratulations!!

Happy Good Friday everyone
.

Twin Bing's Laterne Rouge

2011-04-15T04:45:00.009-05:00

Finishing last in a road race isn't that bad.

photo courtesy of Lois Brunnert

I mean, it's a little sucky, but really, it's not without its merits.

For one, the last place finisher gets the most out of their entrance fee.

For another, last-placers get lots of extra attention.

For instance, there's at least one compulsory visit from a race marshal who's sweeping the course for stragglers. The stragglers will recognize the official as the one who sidles up alongside at 8 MPH in a pickup truck, and while putting an ice cold Coca-Cola in the cup holder, asks you if everything's alright.

Of course everything's not alright. You stink, you're bonking and you want to burn your bicycle at that point. But you nod your head and say everything's alright so you can resume getting every penny's worth of your entrance fee.

Another benefit is that you're almost famous for 15 seconds.

It's human nature to scan the podium for the victors,

or to ponder how many in your category finished ahead of you,

but you can bet your sweet-bippy that nearly everyone dredges the bottom line to see the guy who finished Dead Freaking Last.

I was that guy, the one who finished DFL at this year's Twin Bing Classic road race.

But hang on, there's one more merit to finishing last.

In the MWCC team sprinter van on our way home, Mark Savery reminded me of the prestige of finishing DFL as he said, "that's sweet dude, you're the Twin Bing Lanterne Rouge."

A few miles down the road, I quietly Googled 'Lanterne Rouge' on my smart phone:

The Lanterne Rouge is the competitor in last place in a cycling race such as the Tour de France. The phrase comes from the French "Red Lantern" and refers to the red lantern hung on the caboose of a railway train, which conductors would look for in order to make sure none of the couplings had become disconnected.

In the Tour de France the rider who finishes last, rather than dropping out along the way, is accorded a distinction. Riders may compete to come last rather than just near the back. Often the rider who comes last is remembered, while those a few places ahead are forgotten. The revenue the last rider will generate from later appearance fees can be greater than had he finished second to last.
reference: Wikipedia

Certainly, there won't be any appearance fees for being Twin Bing's Lanterne Rouge, but I'll take the street creds, man. Thanks, Mark.

The truth is that it's no big deal to finish last in a bike race. Especially among amateurs, it's really not much different than winning. Sure, it feels great to stand on the podium, but in a couple days, nobody will care who won or who came DFL.

Still, I don't plan on making this a reoccurring event. Hopefully, what I took away from Twin Bing will improve my racing skills and keep my name from reappearing on the bottom line.

But if not?

Then, DFL Baby, the Lanterne Rouge will be all mine.

Happy Friday everyone.

Snowy Commute

2011-03-25T09:07:00.005-05:00

It snowed a few inches last night.

Who let a little snow get in the way of bigger plans? Not these guys.

Not me either.

Happy Friday everyone.

Do Unto Others

2011-03-17T04:55:00.000-05:00

Wow, a lot has happened in the world over the past week. Japan. Gadhafi. Sadness & yuck. The earth is a hurting place.

All things considered, things aren't too bad here in Omaha. In fact, Spring is only days away, some local group rides are already taking advantage of extended daylight and the recent warm weather has prompted Bryan Redemske to spontaneously tweet that he's shaving his legs once more.

Blood on the tracks: I did not bring my A-game with the razor today. Eesh.

So with all of this local wholesome goodness, I was surprised to receive a grouchy-toned email today from everybody's good buddy, Shim. He was ornery. Pesky even. I wondered why he was acting out. Perhaps three days of traveling-- of being away from his wife & children, of subsisting on a steady diet of cheeseburgers, of sleeping in hotels infested with bed-bugs, and of missing his bicycle -- had something to do with him lashing out at me today.

When someone's hurting, I make it a task to find something to cheer them up. Like it says in the good Lord's book, "Do unto others as you would have others do unto you."

Resolved, I looked for an opportunity to put a smile back on old grumpy's face. I found it at the bike rack at work. In the very spot that Shim normally locks his bicycle, somebody's bike was there and was in dire need of chain maintenance. I mean, check out the rust on that thing:

Fortunately, I had an oil can in my locker. I fetched it immediately.

Now before anyone (I mean you, Munson) says anything about the inappropriate use of 3-in-One on a bicycle chain, I want to draw your attention back to the picture above, especially those orange hues. That's some serious oxidation going on there. At this point, even a snot-rocket to that chain would have even been a lubrication improvement. So anyway Munson, when I apply chain lube, I don't hold back. In this case, I doused that thing liberally with half the can. It just soaked it up like sponge. I didn't quit until the ground beneath was dripping wet. Now take a look at that:

I have no idea whose bike that is, but by-golly, that chain sure is a lot more happy now. And because the bike is parked in Shim's normal spot, I bet he'll gets all the credit.

There you go, Shim, a good deed done in your name. Cheer up, buddy. Go ahead, you know you want to smile.

Happy Friday, everyone.

Barry Manilow's Eurotrash Wardrobe

2011-03-11T04:55:00.004-06:00

A few weeks ago during a cold group ride, Mark Savery (Mod) commented favorably on my 'eurotrash tights-over-booties' look.

tights over booties eurotrash look

I suppose eurotrash is cool. Then again, most Europeans don't think showering is cool, so I can't be absolutely certain.

That Mod said something positive about my cycling fashion was a real feather in my cap. I mean, Mod's the guy to turn to when it comes to looking good kitting up. He reads all of those eurotrash cycling magazines and has great taste in gear. His bikes are well-equipped and are always spotless. He eats a steady diet of twigs and berries, believes in colonic cleanses and shaves his legs. But I doubt he shampoos his hair. Eurotrash? Absolutely.

Recently on the 622 REALM, Mod shared about his sock & hat fetish.

In this day and age of custom team kits about the only way to have some sense of individuality is by selecting your own socks and hats.

Taking Mod's cue, I stamped my own sense of individuality with a hat selection on last weekend's group ride.

At ride time, it was 19F and I was fretting over looking good and dressing functionally for the cold. I managed to piece together an ensemble that was both up to eurotrash snuff while providing excellent warmth for legs and torso.

But I had a problem with my head wear.

A thin balaclava provides good insulation for the face, but doesn't do enough to keep the rest of the head warm. So my solution was to add a knit skullcap. The problem was that my skullcap has got to be the ugliest hat ever made. For starters, it's Miami-Vice teal. Secondly, it has a dizzying array of orange, yellow, blue and green color splotches throughout. But the worst part are its ear flaps. Yes, the 'flaps push the hat beyond simply ugly and well into the hideous-phere.

Here's what the ugliest hat looks like rendered by msPaint.exe

knit skull cap with earflaps in teal, orange, yellow, blue & green splotches

But as I said, it was 19F, and a long, cold winter had already nearly broken me. In a moment of desperation, I convinced myself that my helmet would obscure most of the hat from being seen.

Desperation will drive a man to believe just about anything

I rolled up to about a dozen riders finishing their coffee. Then somebody had a flat to repair before we pushed off. In all that time, nobody said boo about my hat.

A voice in my head reassured me that the helmet was doing its job concealing my secret.

I took a position in the back of the pack as we rolled down the keystone trail. Rotation of the pace line brought me through the rear quarter and middle without a mention of it. By the time it was my turn to pull up front, my confidence had swelled to the point that I totally forgot about the hat and its hideous ear flaps. I took a long pull with a little swagger in my cadence.

You could say I was be-bopping and skadadeling up there.

But as we turned northwest to go to Bennington, a solitary voice called out from the back of the peleton, "Does your wife know that you borrowed her hat?"

It was like being socked in the gut when you least expected it.

It was David Randleman. He rides for the Velo Veloce club. This is important to note because the Velo Veloce team, or 'Tiggers' as they're affectionately known, ride in powder blue and bright orange tiger-striped team kits. Until last year's Futon-Cervelo's tan-on-brown kit, the Tiggers had a very strong claim on the most outrageous kit ever created.

And now I was being called out by a Tigger.

David might as well have asked me if Barry Manilow knew I was raiding his wardrobe.

Which got me wondering if Barry Manilow would let me raid his wardrobe. I could certainly use the help. So I tweeted the following:

Copa-cabana pow -- that Barry Manilow is a one man marketing dynamo!

So anyway, let's recap: 1) I have an ugly hat that needs to be burned, 2) I've been called out by a Tigger and 3) Barry Manilow won't let me raid his wardrobe. Yes, I'm a little hurt. Defensive even. Yes, angry.

I now know what it means to be this guy:

Happy Friday everyone.
.

Meet The Frickers

2011-01-21T07:42:00.003-06:00

Yesterday evening, I was getting prepared to ride home when I saw that Rafal had wall-posted a Facebook invite for Jonathan Neve to join him for an evening run.

hey dude noah and are going running tonight

Though I wasn't invited, a spontaneous thought popped into my head: flash mob! I quickly decided to join in on the festivities unannounced.

Having ridden the famous UP lunch hour ride with buddies Shim and Leah earlier in the day (image -->), I had plenty of warm clothes from my winter kit to ride over to Rafal's house. Fortunately, I also had a clean pair of sweat pants and running shoes for the run portion in my locker at work. So I gathered up my stuff, kitted up and rode over to crash their party.

The impromptu flash mob consisted of four people: Rafal, Noah, Jonathan and I. I suppose running five miles had something to do with the poor turn out. It was also after work on a Thursday evening and quite dark . And it was 4°F.

Not very many takers for a bike-run flash mob this evening.

Triathletes have a term for bike-run workouts. They're called, 'bricks.' Now if a bike-run is a brick, I suppose it follows that a brick completed in the winter would be a frigid brick, or a 'frick', and it's participants would be known as 'frickers'.

Now I could attempt to expand this section into a bad parody called, 'Meet the Frickers', complete with innuendos of how much fun it is to frick, how good it is for your heart and how the chics really dig it. (They may say otherwise, or attempt to get out of fricking by complaining of headaches, but trust me, they do really dig it.) Regardless, that 'Meet the Fockers' franchise has already run its course and we refrain from entertaining such vulgarities here on Wholesome Steel Cut Goodness.

But just in case, hey RedHourBen, I'm available for casting. And for cheap.

Happy Friday everyone.

The Facebook Before Facebook

2011-01-19T04:45:00.013-06:00

In the comments from Monday's post, my brother Murphini said that I had some issues to work out.

To you Murphini, I have a two word response: no shit.

Of course I have issues. What gave it away? Was it the ranting or the public urination?

Anyway, I decided to do a little soul-searching after my big brother's comment. So last night, as I lay my big fat head on my snow white pillows, I reflected about what those issues could be. To quiet the mind, I drew a long breath into my lungs and expelled it slowly. And waited. I did it again. And then waited some more. A good five seconds later, I concluded that I did indeed have some issues. Thankfully nothing too major, like Bryan Redemske's sock fetishes or issues with frosty beards, but really, who among us is free of being a tad unbalanced from time to time?

Rather than brush this wonderful insight aside, I capitalized on the moment and said this little prayer of serenity:

Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the Shim I cannot change,
The courage to change my attitude about Mark Savery,
and the wisdom to ignore all social networking provocations.

And all the voices in my head said, AMEN!

In truth, I felt refreshed while riding in the cool, crisp air this past Sunday. It's good to get out of the group from time to time for a little solitude, to enjoy the peaceful stillness that only a winter day can bring. Don't get me wrong: group rides are still the best, but there's typically one dude in the mix who likes to run his mouth more than Rush Limbaugh. Perhaps that's the original reason why a rotating paceline was created: everyone's got to take a pull.

But in the solitude of winter, you have the time to think in peace. To sort a thing or two out and learn something along the way. On Sunday's ride I learned some things about winter riding, the greatest of which was my apparent need to hydrate more. I mean, did anyone even notice the dark, golden-amber color of the snow? Golly! You would think that I was pissing India Pale Ale right from the tap.

The truth was that peeing on this route was by far the most refreshing part of the ride. It was way more than a simple biological relief. It was cathartic. I mean, it was like, so primal to mark (yes, pun) Savery's territory.

Now it's common knowledge that long before there was ever a Facebook or Twitter, and long before there were petroglyphs and cave paintings, we animals simply peed to mark our social network and boundaries. Peeing was essentially the Facebook before Facebook.

But somehow, today's digital age lacks the same punch that only voiding can produce. By comparison, without that distinctive urine odor that permeates and never ceases, today's social networking is not only sterile, but is soon written over and inevitably forgotten. For example, I present to you this post:

Good pissing on your territory today, buddy!

While there's a chance you'll remember that Facebook stinger, you'll never forget the smell of that tawny stain behind the toilet seat of your first apartment.

What I also learned on Sunday was that it's difficult to hydrate with a frozen water bottle. I've read that there are solutions for this, including using insulated water bottles during frigid rides. I've also read that those insulated bottles suck. A solution for this dilemma is to ensure that the route passes a convenience store to refill from the coffee machine's hot water spigot. The heated water lasts at least 30 minutes in 15F temps at ride pace before beginning to freeze again.

Unfortunately, I discovered this hot water ditty a little too late. And that's the reason why I couldn't complete my yellow fresco in the snow. You see, I had originally planned a much bigger mural on that snowy canvas. Plans that included peeing 'MOD' with a smiley-face next to the date of "01 16" that I managed to squirt out. But the lack of urine in the tank and its dark color could only mean one thing: ~~I was dehydrated~~ I'll have to be better prepared next time.

If for nothing else, Mod, you've taught me the importance of being properly hydrated during a winter ride in your territory.

Hey Murphini, how'd I do? I'd say there's one less issue that I have to work out now.

It Was Good Riding with You Today Buddy

2011-01-16T21:20:00.013-06:00

This past Saturday, a group of us were to meet for a gravel ride, leaving from the Bob Kerry pedestrian bridge at 10:30.

I was one of the group. I was excited about the ride. In fact, I boasted the day before on Munson's blog that I'd be there regardless of the weather.

Do your worst, old man winter. See you at 10:30

At 9:45 AM Saturday, I was kitted up and about to head out the door to ride to the bridge. That's when the work phone rang. It seems that there was a major issue at UP that the primary on-call support person couldn't handle. I was his backup. This was irregular indeed, so I quickly remoted into work, not even taking the balaclava off my head. The problem was a level one issue that required hot attention. It wasn't going to be a quick fix.

I sent a text to Shim and Leah to tell them I wouldn't be joining because of work, took the balaclava off my head and began digging into application log files. It wasn't how I wanted to spend the morning, but somebody's got to keep the lights on. I was disappointed, but rationalized that it was work and there would be other rides.

Later that afternoon, Mark Savery mentioned me in a tweet

Hey @BradyMurphy my ass was at the BK bridge at 10:30, where was yours?

I missed that tweet. Must have been still fixing problems at work.

Mark also wrote on my facebook wall:

Good riding with you today buddy.

Hey Mark: sorry that I couldn't join you and Rafal and Mike Miles and everyone else that was able to make it. Shim probably told you that I suddenly got called in for work.

Also on the facebook replies, Kevin wondered if Old man Winter was too much.

Hmmm. Maybe you guys thought I bailed because of the cold weather. But I had messaged Shim. And since I had never bailed on account of the weather in the past, why would anyone make that conclusion?

~//~

Well, Sunday was a new day. Weatherwise, it was nearly identical. Actually, at 12F, it was colder at 10:30 AM on Sunday than the same time Saturday, but why split hairs?

Apparently, Ryan Feagan had previously tweeted about a ride leaving midtown at 10 AM. Lucas and Jonathan Neve were game, but there was silence from the rest of you.

In fairness to you Mark, I did catch a post about you going out cross-country skiing in between the play-by-play account of the world championship cyclocross race feed that you retweeted for the entire Twitterverse to see. I mean, gosh, thank you for that wonderful service. I could hardly tear myself away from that feed.

And Rafal? Miles? Never heard from you guys Sunday morning.

And Shim? You canceled your gravel ride because, as you said, no one had any interest -- actually heart -- after yesterday's cold ride.

Now was that a fair account of how the group felt? Nobody had the heart? Wow, it really must have felt really cold yesterday to break the will of all you tough guys from going out for another ride today.

So at around 9:00 AM, I began tweeting Ryan, Lucas and Jonathan about where to meet for the ride. Jonathan promptly replied that he was out after a night of too many beers. Good for you. I can understand that. And thanks for the quick reply Jonathan.

By 9:45, I still had not heard from Ryan or Lucas, so I saddled up and rode to Askarben Village. Nobody at Scooters reported seeing any cyclists. I continued onward.

I did receive a reply from Ryan many miles down the road. Ryan's reply was short but sweet:

Not gonna do it, too few replies, too late. I gotta board a plane at 4. Missed you yesterday.

Thanks Ryan, I missed riding with you yesterday, too. Sorry that we couldn't hook up today. You must have been busy getting ready for traveling for work. Have a prosperous trip.

So with apparently too few replies, I was by myself. That was OK; a stretch of road awaited me. It turned out to be a nice ride, Sunday, spanning many hours and lots of miles.

I went along one of your favorite routes, Mark. Applewood Ave is beautiful this time of the year, by the way.

I had to stop and take a few pictures for you since you couldn't make the ride today. Enjoy:

Oh and I almost forgot the best part: I marked your territory.

Ah, now that felt good.

So Mark, to answer your question, while yesterday my ass was stuck in front of computer getting a fortune 500 company out of a mess, today it was crossing the Bob Kerry bridge at 10:30 AM while you were a tweeting fool.

It was good riding with you today, buddy.

And Shim: Screw you too, you backstabbing wheel sucker. You of all people should appreciate being accountable to job responsibilities. No, I guess you chose to disregard this value when you piled on me yesterday. Hypocrite.

And another thing: you could have ridden today, Shim. But instead of admitting that you too didn't have the heart, you blamed it on the rest of them for canceling today's ride. Oh no, we all know that you're tough. You can take the cold. It was them I'm sure. Not you.

It was good riding with you today too, buddy.

So to be clear, I may be a lot of things, but two things I am not: 1) a slacker and 2) unable to take cold weather.

Revenge is a dish best served cold. See you jerks out on the road.

post-edit: if you liked this, there's a follow up here
--wscg

Commuter Cowboy

2011-01-14T07:49:00.004-06:00

This past Monday morning, while the city was besieged by a 48 hour snow storm, I decided to opt out of taking the bus and took it directly to the streets.

I snowshoed into work.

Snowshoeing as a means of commuting has been a work in process that began when I left the car at home and started taking the bus to work six years ago. At the time, I had little idea how much fun I'd have. In fact, I mistakenly thought that hitching myself to public transportation meant giving up a personal freedom. But I quickly discovered otherwise: I could take the bus for one leg and commute by my own power -- running or biking -- for the other. This is what's called being a multi-modal commuter.

Being a multi-modal commuter was initially exciting, like being part of a counter-cultural revolution or something. At first, it meant simply commuting to/from work by public transportation or my own power. Later, I used the bike & bus for errands and such. I never went cold-turkey on my car. But I began trying to find ways to be efficient without it. In my mind's eye, I was like a commuter cowboy and damn proud of it.

Over the years, I've learned the best routes to run and bike. In that time, I have also witnessed the growth of alternative commuting in Omaha, as city streets were transformed overnight into bicycle-friendly roads with newly painted bike lanes.

I have also learned how to dress appropriately for the cowboy commute. I picked up a skiier's backpack to carry a change of clothes. During winter, I discovered: wool, running in yaktrax, and how to outfit my bike with fenders for the slop.

And for a long time, I was satisfied, and it was good.

But inevitably, those paths that were once vibrant became dull and well-trodden to me. Many of the routes I discovered independently had become painted bike lanes, and later faded, and re-painted once more. Some lanes were abandoned, some new lanes were added, and some even became sharrows.

Something was amiss. What was once exciting had become commonplace. The thrill was gone, baby.

So I began seeking new adventures. I've considered: unicycling, street-luge, roller blading and swimming the Missouri river from the North Omaha railroad swing bridge. Adventurous yes, but all impractical.

I had all but given up hope when local weatherman and avid cyclist CT Thongklin posted an early warning forecast on his Facebook page last Friday. A forecast promising a 48 hour snow event culminating in bad roads during Monday morning's commute.
Looks like about 8"-9" for the Omaha metro...forecasting a significant snow event a couple days in advance.

When I read significant snow event a couple days in advance, the idea to commute-by-snowshoe crystallized in my numb skull like water vapor depositing into a snowflake.

As CT predicted, Monday morning was a snowy mess. While others likely fumbled for keys and cursed digging out their car from the snow, I laced up my running shoes and strapped on the snowshoes. Car tires spun in futile attempts for traction while my snowshoes settled into a light clippity-clop rhythm. A little while later, someone shoveling his driveway paused to catch his breath and remarked, "you've got the right idea."

I thought so, too.

I plodded along as the snow fell softly, snowshoeing through neighborhood roads and alleys, a roundabout, two city parks, and one green space downtown. In all, it took about an hour to cover the five or so miles from home to work.

And with that, I can now ink "snowshoeing" to the cowboy commuter list I had sharpied to my cinder block basement wall.

Perhaps swimming the Missouri will join that list one day...

Snowshoeing Season

2011-01-11T04:40:00.004-06:00

With up to eight inches of new fallen snow in Omaha, it's time to break out the snowshoes.

For the uninitiated, there's a great snowshoeing primer in the latest edition of Subaru Drive magazine. It's a quick read. Even Shim could probably have the patience to trudge through the entire story. There's lots of pictures!

My first snowshoeing experience came a couple years ago when my younger brother Brendan took me out for a run just outside of Keystone, CO. Yes, run. On snowshoes. Brendan's a little nutty that way. In fact, he's more than just a bit eccentric. Afterward, he told me that he once experienced the mercurial taste of blood in his mouth during a sprint finish at a snowshoe race in altitude.

Perhaps he should have shared that before inviting me to go snowshoe running.

But alas, there was no blood-spitting at the end of that run. It turned out to be a good time as we attacked fresh powder on a forest service road with his dog Jack.

With last year's huge amounts of snowfall, I decided to invest in a pair of snowshoes. I did some research discovered that the magic price-point for a good pair of snowshoes is around $200. Now, you can buy some entry level ones for around $100, but you might as well duct tape Billie Jean King tennis rackets to your feet for a comparable snowshoeing experience. Admittedly, $200 is a little steep for a few months of use per year. But a good pair should bring enjoyment for many seasons.

Whether you're running or walking, there are many benefits to snow shoeing. Research shows that it's one of the best ways you can find to burn calories while exercising (I stole that ditty from the Subaru Drive Magazine article with pretty pictures that Shim didn't read). But the the real benefit is that it offers a superb cross-training option when the snowy streets make cycling or running otherwise impractical.

Turns out lots of people around Omaha have a pair of snowshoes. In fact, last winter many local cyclists met regularly to snowshoe Jewell Park. You'd be surprised at how different the trails look when the trees are barren and powder covers the single track you once thought you knew like the back of your hand.

Consider picking up a pair. Local bike shops often carry them (eg: Trek Omaha), sporting goods stores like Canfield's and on-line retailers like REI the Sierra Trading Post typically stock them in winter months.

Some places also rent them. Locally, UNO's venture center has some very nice hiking snowshoes for rent. And on the cheap. Just make sure to call ahead to reserve them as quantities are limited.

Otherwise, you and your best duct taping skills can make Billy Jean King proud.

Hope to see you on the trails soon.

A Wish for Christmas

2010-11-24T07:49:00.006-06:00

The elderly of Council Bluffs are in need this season.

Yesterday, the Real Wes J and I were out riding the CB trails during the lunch hour. At 22F, it was brisk outside, but bearable without much wind. Anyway, on our return trip, we exited the Manawa trail, went through a CB trailer park and continued west along 34th Ave to connect to the Riverfront trail. As we approached 24th St, we moved to the turning lane to allow a car to pass. A second car suddenly pulls in behind us in the turning lane. This car's driver was impatient and was getting really close to our bicycles. With a car in the center lane, and this one now behind us, we had nowhere to go. Fortunately, at the traffic signal, we were able to give way to allow the car to turn right.

As we made way for the car to pass, the driver of the vehicle, an old woman, rolls down her window, points to our bikes, then the sidewalk, and opens her mouth:

Granny: There's a place for that

She's not at all happy that we were holding her up from very important business.

Now it was my turn to open my mouth:

Me: What's your hurry, lady? Did you leave your iron on back home or something?

She merges her fat Buick into traffic, then sticks her bare hand out the window and extends the middle finger.

I was flipped off by somebody's grandma.

But rather than be bitter, I chose the higher ground and offered a plea for help. So I got out my Big Chief tablet and scratched out the following note:

Dear Santa,

Times are bad, especially for an elderly woman of CB this Christmas season. Could you kindly provide a new clothes iron for her? It doesn't have to be deluxe model, just one equipped with an auto-shutoff feature.

And while you're at it, how about also throwing in a nice pair of Isotoner gloves? That way, she wouldn't have to suffer the indignity of frost bite on her middle finger after giving the bird to another cyclists who asks her if she left a major appliance on -- like her oven -- while every timber of her house is consumed in total fire loss.

Times are bad, but I know I can count on you, Santa. Thanks in advance for bringing good holiday cheer.

Sincerely,
WSCG

Easy Friday -- My Bike Has Been Sullied

2010-10-22T08:24:00.008-05:00

Someone has defiled my cyclocross bike with a Hawkeyes Club sticker. For Shame, for shame!

Cri·turf·i·um

2010-09-22T04:55:00.015-05:00

Behold, as of today, September 22nd, the waning rays of summer have slipped into the yore of golden yesterday. Autumn is upon us and that can only mean one thing. Actually two: we're all going to get sick and tired of Shim complaining about why there aren't more Fall mountain bike races on the calendar this year. The other is that Autumn marks the beginning of Cyclocross season.

Now some folks (Shim) deride cyclocross as "lawn racing" events because the race courses are primarily on grass. And some (actually just Shim) refer to it as lawn racing because they (he) hate(s) running so much that it ruins an otherwise good bike race. That, and one other person (Shim *yawn*) likes to goad Mark Savery, who is currently besides himself that the 'lawn racing' season is finally upon us.

But while Shim calls it lawn racing, I prefer the term 'criturfium'. Here's how it's defined:

Cri·turf·i·um
[krahy-teerf-ee-uhm]
- noun, plural -te·ri·a
1. a timed, short-circuit bicycle race conducted over grass, sand, mud and/or snow with obstacles requiring dismounts and shouldering the bike;
2. a closed-circuit bike path burned into the sod of a local city park or unsuspecting private property owner, often by encroachment. See Trespassing.
3. bicycle lawn racing

I prefer calling it a criturfium because the races are similar to a roadie's criteriums, or crits. Like crits, cyclocross races are conducted on a short circuit course less than one mile in length over a set period of time, usually around an hour. The courses are often serpentine with hairpin turns, which increase the risk of collisions with other cyclists. But while the turns and other rides are the biggest risks in crits, cyclocross races also have physical barriers and steep hill climbs that force the rider to shoulder his/her bike over various terrains including grass, sand, mud and occasionally snow.

One might wonder, with all the risks, why has cyclocross become so popular?

I've done some thinking about this and comes to this. Cyclocross is not the fastest growing demographic segment because of the opinion of the competitors. No, you ask any cyclist what they really feel about riding and shouldering their bike for an hour at maximum effort and the honest ones will tell you straight up: it sucks.

So if not the cyclist's that's behind the popularity, then who?

It's the fan who comes to watch the criturfiums who are clamoring for more, more, more. And do you know who makes up this demographic? Friends and family, and they're hungry for action.

You see, humans are naturally wired to be attracted to pain and suffering. This is evidenced from the headlines on the nightly news to the most popular sports on television: football and NASCAR, where gratuitous violence is commonplace. Yes, and right next to their team covering the spread, the people want to see all the carnage go down, up-front and center in HD.

Like NASCAR, Cyclocross races dispense the titillating thrills that the fans seek.

Indeed, 'cross races can be therapeutic. Even cathartic. For instance, does your spouse leave dirty socks on the bedroom floor every day? Encourage him/her to enter the next race. When they do, make sure you get a front row seat by the barriers. It'll be pay dirt. And, the $25 race entrance fee easily beats the shrink's deductible. Win-Win! But the real winners of a cyclocross race aren't the few who climb onto the podium after the race; no, it's the children who squeal with delight when they see Dad's ungraceful attempt at a running mount onto the bike. Uh-oh, groin shot! You tell me those kids aren't enjoying this. Indeed, it's sweet revenge for making them eat eat the tuna noodle casserole for dinner.

Carnage. Cylcocross. The people love it.

So here's to criturfiums, lawn racing or whatever you want to call it.

Can somebody ring a cow bell already?

Let the races begin, bloody American style!

Mammon

2010-09-20T08:52:00.018-05:00

The pre-race ritual of two shots of espresso had to be altered. Though I arrived at the downtown Starbucks 20 minutes before gun time, and the line was only two deep, the customer at the counter was a quarter of the way through the list of 17 drinks for the Omaha Fashion Show's hair & makeup crew. Yes, 17 drinks, each with their own requirements. Her bill was $74.45 and she was put off because she hadn't collected enough money from the hair divas. She reached into her purse and produced $75. She kept the change. I'm sorry to rant, but that's just wrong. Get a couple travelers and be on your way. Geez!!!

As time was short, I took a small cup of bold roast and dashed to the starting area to complete warmup.

It was about 50F when the gun went off. The streets were still wet from the previous night's cold front that blew through, the remnants of which greeted us with a slight headwind as we race towards north Omaha. After the initial surge of the first mile's mostly downhill grade, I settled into race pace. Mile two breezed by before the cardio started feeling the shock of running right below anaerobic threshold. That's when I saw it: there was a wad of cash submerged in a puddle on the street. Cash?!? A double take. Yes, there was green, cold hard cash, some with zeros on them, ripe for the taking beneath a couple inches of standing water.

But there was the problem, you see, as I was currently sharing the lead with another runner.

Relax, this wasn't yesterday's Omaha Corporate cup. The race I'm talking about was the 2006 Run With A Heart 10k that shares much of the same course as the Corporate Cup.

Anyway about this cash. Had runner next to me seen it? It didn't appear so. So I called it out to his attention. He thought I was bluffing, like "Hey McFly -- your shoe's untied."

He wasn't having any of me 'gettin' in his grill'.

Thus a moral dilemma unfolded before me: go for the ego or the quick money? Having never won a race before, I was highly motivated for the win. But then again, I could sellout for the easy cash...

Ego or Mammon. What would you do?

The cash option felt dirty, so I went for the win and pressed on. Ultimately, I overcame the other runner in the final quarter mile to win the race. For my efforts, I was awarded a small trophy and two Qdoba burrito coupons.

Looking back, I feel like Monty Hall had revealed a donkey behind curtain number two. Bwaa wahn wahn wahn...

Anyway, I thought of this yesterday as I passed the exact spot where I saw that wad of cash years ago. Not that there wasn't a cash prize in yesterday's Omaha Corporate Cup 10K race.

The big deal about the 2010 Omaha Corporate Cup was that for the first time in its 30 year history, there was a cash purse that paid three deep ($500,$300,$200) for the top males and females. A local race promoter, Speedy Mart/Shell, had put up $2000 in cash prizes with the hopes of making it Omaha's most competitive 10K.

It worked. Eric Rasmussen of Omaha's Team Nebraska Brooks won the race in 30:42, only 21 seconds off of Tim Dooling's 1988 course-record and nearly a minute and a half faster than the winning time of last year's race. Melissa Todd of Kansas City Smoke claimed the women's victory nearly two minutes faster than the previous year's top female.

Congratulations to the victors, to the American Lung Association and to the race organizers & volunteers for putting together a very competitive race. Yesterday's race was the most competitive 10K I've ever competed in.

Elite race results

Carb Unloading Revisited

2010-09-16T11:25:00.001-05:00

I attended the Trek store ride last night with six others, including Shim, E O'B, Joe Savoie, Trek store's Paul, Fred Galata and Leah Kleager. About 10 miles into the ride, just after the pace was picking up, I rolled up next to Shim. Something like the following conversation occurred through the next few pace line rotations.

WSCG: I'm not planning on hitting it very hard tonight.

Shim: Why not?

WSCG: I'm resting the legs for the Corporate Cup 10K this weekend.

(I didn't tell him that I was also on day three of carb-unloading and the needle was nearing empty.)

Shim: The Corporate Cup 10k is on Sunday. That's like five days away. [Joe] Friel says that you should do an intense effort 48 to 72 hours before a big race.

~ the paceline splits us; onto the next rotation ~

WSCG: Friel was talking about cycling. Running's different.

Shim: Yeah, running's different because you wear those gay little running shorts and a visor.

Nice. Fast forward a few miles down the road when I shared this encounter with Leah, who as a fellow runner/triathlete, could appreciate both the running aspect and the response from our dear friend Shim. Regarding the running shorts, Leah asked me if I reminded Shim that he wears spandex and shaves his legs. I hadn't. At the moment, the best I could come up with was how fantastic he looked in his white-trash sleeveless cycling jerseys.

Now back to intense efforts. I partially agreed with Shim's reference to Joe Friel: a few intense efforts probably wouldn't hurt. So when he lit it up on the second to last hill on Hwy 36 approaching 72nd St, I jumped on his wheel. By the time we crested it, my heart rate must have been in the mid 180s.

The rest of the ride to Ft Calhoun was a typical Wednesday night affair, with all the attacks/counter attacks and high tempo pace lines until the final sprint at the end of the Omaha Trace. It felt good.

At Ft Calhoun, I glanced beyond the candy bars and coca-cola and simply filled the water bottles.

In the midst of Boyer's Chute 20 minutes later, I felt the first clunk-clunk of a bonk coming on. I noted there were the hills of Ft Calhoun and many miles still ahead. Also, it wasn't my imagination that ominously dark rain clouds were threatening.

picture courtesy of Jonathan Neve

I punched it up the lower half of Ft Calhoun and then let Galata pull me to the second one. When I stood to get over the second hill, I discovered the classic signs of glucose deprivation: extreme fatigue in the quadriceps.

To add to the misery, the skies opened. While lightning flashed, a torrential downpour with 40mph wind gusts drenched us. Unfortunately, we were totally exposed without any nearby shelter. By now, I was struggling to hang on to the wheel in front of me. I think we were going about 12 mph. That only lasted a few minutes before I got popped off.

Bonk achieved.

I find bonking very funny. Roughly an hour beforehand, I was attacking uphill at 26mph and felt great. Yet in a short span of time, my ride quality had degraded to the point that I could barely ride a straight line.

Thankfully, the group sat up and waited for me, and we all managed to make it back to the store safely under clearing skies.

Carb loading ensued shortly after. I ate three Kripsy Kremes at the bike shop. They were delicious. Shim, Leah and I then went to Qdoba where upon I destroyed a burrito, chips and guacamole.

What a night.

Next week looks to be the final Wedneday night ride of the year from the Trek Store. We depart at 5:30PM. Hope to see you there.

148 Days and Counting

2010-08-25T09:21:00.004-05:00

This blog's been silent lately. Through my ruminating, I have come to realize that I'm slightly depressed because I hate this time of the year. Yes, cooler weather can be nice, but...

I live for the long days of summer. To have sunlight from 5:30 AM to 9:30 PM more than makes up for the inconvenience of the heat and humidity.

I've always felt this way. When I was a kid, I lived at our local swimming pool from morning swimming practice at 8:00 AM till when it closed each night at 9:00 PM. I wasn't just a fixture at that pool. I was the gate keeper: first in and last out each day. The sparkle of the sun off the concrete deck, chlorine bleached hair, a sun-burned nose, and the artificially-laced, coconut-smelling Hawaiian Tropic suntan oil was heaven on earth.

So when August rolled around and friends spoke of the coming school year, I'd slip away to do another cannonball off the high dive. It's not so much that I disliked school, but more that I hated the thought of summer ending.

Sigh.

This summer's been a good one. Lots of great training rides peppered with racing, and five fantastic days in the mountains with my brothers have produced many lasting memories. Even the injury to my shoulder, which I still feel today, comes secondary to the events of the past 90 days.

So now that August is nearly over, I find myself feeling gloomy about the transition to Autumn once more. Bear with me a moment as I lament and say my piece.

So long, white pants! Adios, 16 hours of daily sunlight! (And soon) Good bye Wednesday Night Worlds!

And yet, there is hope: only 148 days until the 2011 Vernal Equinox. That doesn't sound too long to wait.

Bring Out The Polka Dots

2010-08-04T23:25:00.005-05:00

Last night was one for the memories.

Out from the lurking shadows emerged my friend, the one and only Real Wes J, joining in his Omaha Trek Store Wednesday Night Worlds (WNW) group ride.

Donning the King of the Mountains jersey, the Real Wes J made a bold statement in the ranks of the WNW peleton.

Can you spot the red and white polka-dots?

Ah, there's our boy

Here he is again drafting the wheel of Bryan Redemske

Where did he g-- oh, got him, sneaking into the lower left frame

A wise tactician, Wes waits for his moment

And there he goes. The Real WesJ drops me while fending for the KOM points on the final sprint to Ft Calhoun

Tell Them Why My Company Is So Hip, Munson

2010-07-30T09:40:00.005-05:00

The new Corporate Cycling Challenge poster just came out at the company I work for. To the casual observer, it may look like just another promotional poster. It's not.

I know of two people -- actually one now that Sheldon Brown has passed -- that could take one look at this poster and immediately tell you the cycling innovation that is being suggested here.

Go on already Munson, tell them why we're the hipsters of cycling.

Freak Show

2010-07-28T20:02:00.017-05:00

Last weekend I was working in the yard, clearing the remnants of two eight-foot sections of cedar fence that were crushed by a fallen limb from a recent storm. It wasn't fun. It was hot and humid and the fence had a lot of under growth and weeds. The hardest part was removing the concrete post hole. That one required renting a jack hammer.

Somewhere along the way, I brushed up against some poison oak. That plus the heat and humidity caused havoc on my immune system. An allergic reaction erupted into huge patches of hives on my legs and arms. Due to itching, sleep was miserable on Sunday night. Work was barely tolerable on Monday. But when I awoke Tuesday morning, things were starting to get downright ugly.

Did Ever see that scene in Hitch when Will Smith discovers that the food he's just eaten is known allergen?
That's how I felt when I looked into the mirror Tuesday. My face, arms and knees had puffed up considerably. Maybe not as dramatic as Mr. Smith's. But still, a freak show was in the making on 52nd Street. For example, normally I'm able to cup my wrist with my thumb and middle finger. But on Tuesday, the swelling in the wrist created a gap of nearly an inch. My appearance also spooked Katherine when she woke up. But at least my dog still wagged her tail in the morning when I fed her.

Over the next 48 hours, I popped Benedryl like Pez, called in sick, took a couple ice baths, got a doctor's appointment and filled a prescription for Prednisone. The Prednisone is the one that is finally getting things under control.

Man, if there was only a carnival in town. I could have made some good money.

Post Script:
I still managed to make a brief appearance at the Wednesday night group ride. There's this Italian restaurant called "Mangias" at 90th and Irvington Road that the ride passes every week. I've always wondered how the pizza was. Tonight, I went to find out. And when the group came rolling by at 6:23, I let others in on the pizza too while running alongside the peleton like one of those nut jobs at the grand tours. I didn't hold back. I was shouting pigeon-Italian while offering slices right out of the box to whomever wanted one. Shim, Paul and a couple others took a slice.

"Buona fortuna," I yelled as they pedaled down the road. With pizza dough and mozzarella cheese in their guts, they needed a dose of good luck when the sprint to Ft Calhoun kicked in.

Jens Voigt Spotted on Old Yeller?

2010-07-22T10:02:00.013-05:00

It's been pointed out to me that Jens "Shut Up Legs" Voigt was photographed on a loaner bike after crashing on Stage 16 of TDF. The loaner bike bears a remarkable resemblance to my road bike known as Old Yeller.

You be the judge.

Jens Voigt on the loaner bike

WSCG himself on Old Yeller

Something doesn't quite look right. Yeah, someone photo-shopped Jens to make it appear that he's on Old Yeller.

Experience Gained

2010-07-19T10:18:00.027-05:00

Cat. 4 racing has been good to me. Yes, there have been successes. Even a victory or two. But it's more than that. There have been adversities and failures that have taught me much more about racing than success ever has.

At the Cornhusker State Games TT last summer, Cat.4 competitors Pete Duryea and Brandon Fenster put the fear of TT discipline in me. More than ever, to be good at time trialing, I realized that I would have to spend time in aero position, in the weight room and beg-borrow-steal better equipment.

At last year's State Road Race Championship, I gained a new appreciation for the skill of sprinting from a pack. Going into the last turn, I was fifth wheel. I finished 16th. Even more, I gained an appreciation for the promoters and race officials who actually put the race together.

Then there was a lesson in humility at this year's Twin Bing Classic. Jumping into a three man break 15 miles into a hilly 45 mile race with prevailing winds proved to be too much. Eight miles from the finish, I cramped and got popped off the back. The ensuing chase group then caught me, but I was too wasted to latch onto them. I finished 8th and learned how strong I wasn't. What a wonderful, miserable race that was. I can't wait to do it next year.

Then there was sweet success at the Capital City Crit. Having never raced in a crit before, I was jittery before the race. A tall coffee with a shot of espresso beforehand may have contributed to the yips, but the truth was that I simply nervous. The mystique vanished when the race got rolling. Carving turns, taking a flier and sprinting for primes proved to be quite a rush. Yes, I learned the thrill of racing there. Finishing second was the exclamation point to fun day of racing.

At the Pioneer's Park Gran Prix, I discovered how not to finish a race. Thinking back to the failure at last year's State Championship Road Race finish, I decided that a sprint from the pack wasn't among my strongest suits. So I worked with Jesse Petersen, Kyle McClellan, Nathan Hicks and Dan Ertz to create a gap from the peleton. It worked. But when it came to the final hill, I attacked early in attempt to ride away from them. It got very quiet near the crest of the hill. Just as I thought the plan worked, I saw cyclists sprinting around me on both sides. Apparently, I learned how to give a text book lead out.

At this year's State TT Championship, I learned how to deal with the adversity of flatting and taking a DNF.

Shortly thereafter, I crashed during a training ride and had to deal with uncertainty while recovering from an injury for the first time.

Finally, there was a lesson in every race of the Omaha Cycling weekend.

It started with the Time Trial, where I missed my start. Warming up near the starting line, I somehow managed to not hear the announcer repeatedly call my name. I'm a knucklehead. Fortunately, with the help of a fantastic set of aero wheels, gratis Bryan Redemske, I still had a strong enough ride to account for the time I had dallied away.

At the Papillion Twilight later that afternoon, I experienced two firsts: tactical racing and overcoming doubt to finish the race strongly. Fellow team members Jonathan Wait, Mike Bartels and Ben Perkins gave us the tactical advantage to control the race. That, and being away when another racer flatted opened up a significant gap between the field and me. As the race progressed, the chase was closing the gap. But as I delved deep within the pain cave, the thought of the Jens Voigt "shut up legs" video that somebody linked to on their blog recently kept coming to mind. Success was ultimately a combination of gritty determination and the help of my teammates, Jens and whoever posted that video.

And then there was the Babcock Memorial race.

From all of this, Cat. 4 racing has served its purpose.

Thanks to all who've contributed to my growth as a cyclist. It's been good racing with you, and I look forward to lining up with you again soon.

Cats and Dogs

2010-07-15T08:42:00.008-05:00

Yesterday was a case of extremes in Omaha Weather. First was sultry stuff that pushed the heat index to 115, then came a walloping storm with some 70 mph winds.

The two extremes -- the heat before and the threat of severe weather later -- resulted in a low turnout for our normal Wednesday night Trek Store group ride. In all, 12 of us pointed our front wheels into a NW headwind as foreboding clouds gathered on the horizon. At Democracy Park, we decided to push forward to HWY 36. Bryan said he was going to turn back once we got to 72nd Street, while other suggested alternate routes.

30 minutes into the ride, the group had fragmented into three groups: breakaway, chasers and the recreational riders. I was among the chasers, which included Sarah Viamonte and Alexander Sanchez. By the time we arrived at HWY 36 & 72nd ST, nobody was to be found. At that point, the clouds appeared to be tracking NW of us, and the skies looked good enough to the south. Because of this, we decided to try our luck with a longer route continuing east along HWY 36 to the River Front trail, then southward through the airport and downtown before heading northwest again to the Trek Store.

We got as far as the airport when the skies got really dark, really fast. A quick change in plans had us drilling it for cover downtown. We didn't make it.

A quick change in plans had us drilling it for cover downtown. We didn't make it.

We got as far as the entrance to Gallup University when the brunt force of the wall cloud hit. I had to clip out to prevent being pushed over. From there we scrambled for cover at the River City Yacht Club. Thankfully, they were open and let us ride out the storm.

What a view afterward.

Accidents Happen

2010-07-11T17:46:00.012-05:00

After winning the Cat 4 time trial and Papillion Crit yesterday, I abandoned today's State Road Race Championship after getting in a bike tangle with Sydney Brown.

Today's race was chaotic, to say the least. Thunderstorms overnight flooded the lower half of the course, resulting in a 45 minute start delay while race officials rerouted the race. In the end, the officials lopped off roughly four miles -- including a long hill climb -- from the original seven mile circuit loop. The entire dynamic of the race shifted from one that favored hill climbers to one that favored the flat lander power racer.

The race officials had their work cut out for them, keeping the many different racing skill levels separated within the three mile loop. The fields included: Men Cat 1-2-3, Men 4 & Women 1-2-3, Masters 40+, 50+, 60+, Cat 5 men, women Cat 4-5 and juniors. Added to the mayhem was the necessity of all the race officials' cars, wheel trucks, and later: ambulances and firetrucks. All on a tight, three mile loop.

About thirty minutes into the race, the Mens Cat 1-2-3 passed us. The race officials had the Cat 4s field slow to a neutral (easy with no-attacks) pace until the 1-2-3 men passed. I'm quite certain that the entire Cat 4 field realized that with two more hours of racing, there would be a lot of this stop and go stuff. Perhaps because of this, the attacks began shortly thereafter. I presume it was to create a gap that could leverage an advantage when the next neutral period occurred.

I was in one such attack with seven other riders that included fellow Midwest Cycling team member Ben Perkins. As the attack began to fail, I came around from the back to the outside/center line to drive the pace. As I came around, I looked over my right shoulder and motioned to Ben to latch on. When I turned back to look forward, there was forearm-to-forearm contact on my left side. It was Sydney. She yelled. We tangled and in a blink of an eye, she went down hard on her shoulder and face. I nearly followed.

What do you do in that situation?

I looked back and saw her crawling to the side of the road. 200 meters ahead was the roadside paramedic. We alerted for help as we rolled by. Of course, nobody knew how badly she was hurt. Since the circuit would bring us back the the scene minutes later, I decided to wait and see on the next pass.

When we returned, Sydney was lying on her back while the paramedic was treating her shoulder. Her race was over.

Having gone through something similar recently, I could empathize to some extent what she must have been experiencing. And since I was the one that got tangled up with her, I just didn't have the heart to race anymore. As the peleton rolled along, I delivered the news to my teammates and abandoned the race on the next loop.

Mend well, Sydney. You're in my/our thoughts and prayers for a speedy recovery.

My Territory

2010-07-07T22:50:00.008-05:00

I've been riding around Omaha for a couple of years now and have gotten to know a lot of roads that I would never have taken by car. As a result, my appreciation of what Omaha offers, and as I'm learning, what lies just beyond Omaha, is growing.

Sometimes when I'm with Katherine, I'll take one of these off the beaten path routes and declare, "this is my territory." Katherine's heard that a thousand times if she's heard it once. "Yeah, yeah, what around here isn't your territory," she replies.

Until last night, County Road 49 wasn't. But due to a wet summer and more rain throughout the day, our normal route home through the Boyer's Chute wilderness area was flooded out. As a result, we were forced to reroute our ride through higher grounds along County Road 49. It was a first for me.

From HWY 75 heading south, County Road 49's surface is chipped gravel over pavement. But it's an easy ride on a road bike, especially if you follow the well-worn tire ruts. A sharp but short kicker brings you to a section of tree-lined fields to the east and an expansive valley to the west. This is Nebraska country scenery at its finest.

The road rises slowly into a false flat, followed by a moderate climb that brings you to the top of a long paved descent through a wooded area. Ultimately, County Road 49 terminates at the volunteer fire department of Ponca Hills. From there, we went east and drilled it through the valley, saving the hill repeats for another day.

This ride almost didn't happen due to weather. But local weatherman and avid cyclist CT Thongklin reassured me that the skies would part and the roads would be dry. And sure enough, at 6:00 PM, the sun had returned for nearly perfect riding conditions: 75 F and little wind.

The ideal conditions and the discovery of a new route is cycling at its best.

I'm happy to say that County Road 49 is now my territory.

30 Minute Japanimation Morality Plays

2010-07-02T07:35:00.014-05:00

Back in the late '60s, Japanimation cartoons like Speed Racer were more than simply after school TV. They were art films that depicted a morality play in 30 minutes.

It was true that each 30 minute episode also had a total of about 30 frames, but boy did they tell a story of a fantastic race car, its special powers and a driver who raced it with fierce integrity. Fist fights, jealous girl friends, spectacular crashes and death -- cartoon people death -- were in every episode. Man, those were the days, camped out in front of the TV with a PB&J watching Speed go for another checkered flag. Today's NASCAR is lame by comparison.

The Snake Track episode with race car driver Rock Force was one such classic. Rock had a special driving technique of taking corners on two wheels (it was faster than on four) A favorite to win at the local snake track, Rock took a bribe to throw a race. But after taking the money, he disobeyed and won it anyway. Then the mob boss got mad and had his henchmen cut off Rock's right arm so he couldn't drive a stick shift anymore. Rock had it reattached, but it never quite worked as well.

That's when the hero, Speed Racer, enters the scene. Speed befriends Rock to learn his special cornering technique. By then, Rock was driving an automatic-transmission race car, but it gets smashed up by the angry mob. Speed promises to repair the car if Rock would teach him how to corner better. He does, they race and Rock wins. But the mob attempts to get Rock DQ'd for driving with one arm, a violation of safety rules. A gratuitous fist fight then ensues (gotta love Japanimation). While Rock is smashing the mob guy's face with his right arm, Speed exclaims, "Huh? Look Rock -- you're using your right arm!"

Awesome. Rock Force is my inspiration.

My right shoulder isn't 100%, but it's getting stronger each day.

Perhaps I should get into a fist fight with Shim after next Wednesday night's Trek Store ride. Now that would be inspiring.

Go Speed Racer, Go!

Enigma II

2010-07-01T09:14:00.007-05:00

side note: don't worry, other than the title, there's nothing in this account that relates to the the other post bearing the same title.

Last night I jumped in with the Trek Store ride for the first time in a few weeks. To say it went well is an understatement. I rode this piss out of that bike last night and it felt great.

I was fairly confident that the shoulder had healed enough to ride hard without safety issues or injuring it any further. No, I was more concerned about how my breathing would be affected by sore ribs. That, and the deep bronchial cough had me wondering how the cardio would take it. And of course, I had no idea what to expect from my legs. But none of those issues manifested. I rode hard and hung with the lead pack throughout the ride. After 16 days off the bike, who'd figure?

I certainly didn't.

Granted, it wasn't the fastest of group rides. While there were aggressive moments, there was also a large pack to hide in and recover. Also, some riders were coming off a race weekend and others were saving it for big races coming up.

I suppose fresh legs could have been part of it. After the accident, I took the first week totally off to concentrate on arm exercises. Then this past week, I did two stair master sessions and two runs at 45 minutes each. There was also that easy 90 minutes ride on Sunday and I lifted (legs) once on Tuesday. So it wasn't that I didn't do anything. But still, cycling requires muscle-specific training.

Oh well, what can I say? I suppose my cycling legs didn't have know that they're supposed to be weak.

When his team was drudging the bottom of the division a month into the season, Charles Barkley answered his critics by saying, "The bad teams just don't know that they're bad yet."

Perhaps the same could be said of my legs. It's an enigma to me.

Two Milestones: 99% ROM and a Seven Mile Run

2010-06-30T11:09:00.004-05:00

The shoulder's improving. Yesterday, after five rounds of assisted SHOULDER - 1 ROM: Flexion - Wand exercises, I did the final five unassisted. The range of motion is nearly 100% now and its strength is returning. Fantastic.

To celebrate, I ran the seven miles from work to home last night. I had no issues with the shoulder during the run. Granted, there was very little shoulder movement, but the fact that there wasn't any pain from the jarring foot strikes has got to be a good sign. In fact, the only issues experienced were in the ribcage (minor) as a result of heavy respiration during the run.

The body's healing mechanism is truly an amazing thing.

Nutrition Tool Box: Emulsified Norwegian Cod Liver Oil

2010-06-29T05:30:00.001-05:00

Last Friday's blog had a plug for TwinLab's Emulsified Norwegian Cod Liver Oil. Although setup for comic relief, it wasn't meant to be only that.

Since injuring my shoulder, I've been giving my body the building blocks it needs for recovery. In a the accident has allowed me to reassess my nutrition intakes. So while whey protein and antioxidant rich fruits have been supplemented to help in the short term recovery, I've also taken the time to look at longevity needs.

One such area is in cardiovascular health. We all know that cholesterol is bad. Well all but the HDL "good" cholesterol form. HDL cholesterol reduces plaque and carries bad cholesterol to the liver where it can be passed out of the system.

How much is needed? Clinical studies have shown that a diet of 400mg of fatty acids nutritionally supports cardiovascular health. Two tablespoon of Twinlab's cod liver oil provides 900 mg of total Omega-3 Fatty acids.

Will it miraculously heal my shoulder? Of course not. But it's contributing to overall good health on both a short and long term.

The product comes in three varieties: natural and mint, cherry or orange flavoring. The flavoring helps, but you can still taste the fish oil. But it's tolerable. In fact, I previously took fish oil in the form of a gel tabs. Gel tabs have no taste, right? Wrong. Without fail, every time I took one of those, I'd burp up heavy fish-taste within a few minutes. And I'm not talking about a dainty little Queen of England hiccup. Nope. It'd be one of those nasty guttural uuuuuuurrrrrrrrps that would wake the dog sleeping next to you.

No thanks. I'd rather deal with a little taste up front than have to deal with that later.

So if you're looking for a quick and convenient way to boost your Omega 3 fatty acids, this isn't a bad way to do it.

Whole Foods. $11.49

Not numb, NUMB

2010-06-28T10:14:00.002-05:00

I got back on the bike yesterday for a 90 minute test ride with Mike Munson. The shoulder didn't feel great, but it felt good enough. Basically, it now feels like a big bad bruise. The good news was that there were no twinges of sharp pain, nor did it feel numb at anytime during the ride.

Speaking of numb, my friend the Real Wes J is participating in the Nebraska United Methodist Bike (NUMB) for Hunger charity ride this week. Count on him for a podium finish.

Here's one from the NUMB archives, where the Real Wes J just missed the win by a wheel:

NUMB is a worthy cause. Consider a donation. They'll take anything you throw at them, including a third place payout from a CAT4 road race.

Go get 'em, Wes!

Enigma

2010-06-25T04:30:00.000-05:00

Many years ago, I had the privilege of backpacking in Europe with my friend Larry. Larry isn't his real name. But let's just call him that.

Larry and I made great traveling companions. He laid out out an ambitious, low budget assault of continental Europe on a 30 day Eurail Pass and I was content to simply tail along.

We arrived in Frankfurt, caught the first train to Wiesbaden, hopped a boat along the Rhine to Amsterdam, then back to rail into Belgium and so on. Within a week, we were in Paris, munching on a baguette and drinking cokes in a city park.

Larry stood and said that it was time to go.

Go? Go where? We had just arrived.

Larry dusted the fresh crumbs from his khaki shorts and began to head across the street toward a quintessential European Cafe. I stirred, but he turned and motioned to me to sit back down.

You don't understand, he said. I haven't taken a shit since we were stateside. I have to go.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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I sat there dumbfounded, weighing the gravity of Larry's last statement. It had been a week since we were in the States. Seven days! Why, what -- how -- how was that even humanly possible!?

A long time passed. Finally, Larry reappeared at the entrance. He had a contorted sort of smile on his face as he picked his way through the parked mopeds and crossed the street. It was a puzzling look, one that could be taken simultaneously for both shame and pride.

Let's get the hell out of here, he said, and without breaking stride, heaved his backpack onto his shoulder.

I hustled to grab all of my stuff. Moments later, I caught up to him.

What happened back there?

The toilet couldn't handle it. It was a small bathroom. I nearly flooded the damn thing. I panicked for a bit before settling on a plan. First, I attempted to unclog the toilet. To do so, I unfolded four paper towels on the floor, and then reached down into the toilet with my bare hands and removed the crap, placing it on the paper towels. I tried the toilet again, but it was worthless. Plan A was out. By then I was gagging. Since the toilet couldn't take it, and I certainly couldn't leave it in the trash can, I had to go with plan B.

So what did you do?

There was a small window to the alley out back.

You didn't

I did.

It was the only solution. Gnarly, huh? I tidied up the bathroom and washed my hands for about five minutes. Then, without saying a word, I dropped a twenty franc note on the bar and walked out.

Later that day, we saw the Mona Lisa.

There's been a lot that's been said about the expression on her face.

Thanks to Larry, I have my own interpretation.

Follow Up Visit

2010-06-23T18:55:00.002-05:00

I had a follow-up with the Orthopedic today. A fresh batch of x-rays didn't reveal anything new. That's the good news. The bad is that I still have a separated shoulder and will need to proceed with caution for the time being. The official word is that I've been given the green light to resume low-impact training so long as it's in the normal range of discomfort.

It's not that the shoulder hasn't made progress. The general inflammation has resided considerably and mobility seems to increase as much as an inch per day. The line of discomfort begins when I attempt to lift my arm above neck level. That's better than a few days ago.

As mentioned previously, it's incredibly painful to sneeze or cough. I'd rate it a 9 of 10 for two seconds after the sneeze followed by a solid 8 for the next 20. Unfortunately, I'm reminded quite often of my injury as this is also my allergy season.

Obviously, I'm scratching from this weekend's CSG TT. As for the Omaha Cycling weekend, only time will tell.

The WSCG List

2010-06-22T05:30:00.020-05:00

Sometime awhile back, Bryan Redemske's List appeared on Facebook. Bryan put a lot of thought into this list. In fact, his concept was brilliant: whereas most lists actually have items on it, Bryan Redemske's List started off as an empty, blank slate. It's true. Let's take a look at the first two posts:

Bryan Redemske's List edited their Phone and Location
Bryan Redemske's List joined Facebook

First, notice that it records that Bryan's list joined Facebook. That's it-- no content, hyperlinks, photos or any other info. The list simply joined Facebook.

The next line above it states, "Bryan Redemske's List edited their Phone and Location." Now this was truly uncanny. It was as if the list had a life of its own. Meanwhile, the flesh-and-blood Bryan Redemske was only an afterthought. As evidence, look at the word "their" as in, "Bryan Redemske's List edited their Phone and location." This was beginning to feel like that time John Malkovich starred as himself in Being John Malkovich.

Finally, there was some substance on the third installment:

Ryan Feagan is on Bryan Redemske's List. Confirmed.

That Ryan Feagan made the list, and as the first entrant, made a lot of sense. To a lot of people. I'd be willing to bet that since Kindergarten, RF has occupied the first slot on many lists.

From there, Bryan Redemske's List pretty much remained a dirty, secretive little cloud. To this day, it's contents have never been fully revealed. But one thing was for certain was that it involved people he competed against. Though I believe it was a dubious honor to make the list, people actually provoked him to get on it.

Making a list is a good practice. While many lists remain private, posting them publicly achieves the best results.

It's been a week since I wiped-out on my bike. I've made some progress, but there are a number of things I'm still unable to do unassisted. Let this list serve as my public record of my right shoulder's health.

Milestones:

~~Put button-down shirt on unassisted~~ 06/15/2010
~~Comb hair with right hand~~ 06/18/2010
~~Put on deodorant (lift right arm, reach across to left pit)~~ 06/21/2010
Put on tee shirt on unassisted
Run a 10K. Jogging doesn't count
Bike 2 hours. Drop Bryan Redemske's List
Do 20 push ups.
Jump in with Omaha Masters Swim Team
Bench press body weight
Paint the Fence. No really, it's a task I have to do this summer.

Reward: 1/2 gallon of Premium Bordeaux Cherry Chocolate ice cream. Until then, it's a bowl of frozen yogurt for each step.

In Search for Mr Miyagi

2010-06-21T12:21:00.017-05:00

My shoulder's making progress. It's not too bad when it's moved slowly. Quick movements, like spasms in sleep, aren't fun. Otherwise, it's mostly dull aches with a lot of lateral stiffness.

Actually, the area that's worse than the shoulder is my ribcage. Coughing and sneezing brings misery.

Last week, I reported visiting my PT, Mike Bartels. As far as I know, Mike doesn't carry a black belt. But, the repetitive motions he's prescribed remind me of martial arts. At least what I know from watching Ralph Macchio's version of Karate Kid.

Here's Mike's version of "Paint the Fence."

I don't know, but perhaps he should call it something else. How about "touchdown Jesus" or "full-throttle-on-carrier-approach?" At least something with a little more pop than the the vanilla description:

SHOULDER - 1 ROM: Flexion - Wand

I mean, how uninspiring. The great Mr Miyagi couldn't even breathe life into that one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Daniel-san: Mr Miyagi, can't I go back to doing something cooler? Come to think of it, paint the fence wasn't that bad.

Mr Miyagi: No, grasshoper. Do Shoulder-1 ROM Flexion-Wand ... sigh... oh what's the use? See if Jackie Chan can do any better. I quit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh well, I'll have to make do.

Banzai!

Plane Spotting

2010-06-20T16:16:00.008-05:00

When i was a kid, one of the favorite things to do with Dad was to go to the airport and plane spot.

My Dad was a loyal, hard-working employee that spent 35+ years with the same company. Part of his responsibilities included traveling. He was on the road probably 25 weeks a year.

On occasion, Dad would take us kids to a parking lot just off Lambert field's main runway to spot planes. As the jets approached, he'd teach us about the different makes and models while giving us details of what he liked or disliked about them. By 10 years old, I became an expert at identifying commercial aircraft. For example, a DC-9 had two tail engines a 727 added a third on the vertical stabilizer. But my favorites were the wide body jets, especially the graceful Lockheed L10-11.

After an hour or so of spotting and feeling the thundering rush of the turbofan engines passing overhead, he'd take us to White Castles for a half-dozen belly-bombers.

Man, what a day spent with Dad.

I've heard that traveling can be very exhausting. I would never know as that's never been a part of my work's responsibilities. But that's what Dad did to make the ends meet and give my Mom and his five children a stable, comfortable life.

Thanks Dad.

Happy Father's Day.

A Time To Build

2010-06-18T06:00:00.001-05:00

The body's healing power is amazing. For the first 12 hours after wrecking, I needed a sling to support the weight of my arm as my shoulder muscles were too freaked out to do any work. But since then, my shoulder has improved a lot. The ability to support the weight of my arm has not only returned, but the range of motion has extended inches to feet. Meanwhile, the swelling and general aches and pains are subsiding.

These are all encouraging signs that I was spared serious injury. Of course, only time will tell the extent of the injury.

THE HEALING PLAN
When I workout, I typically have a goal in mind. That goal is based on a plan that was put together weeks/months before. Workouts tend to have different stages: base, build, peak, etc. The same can be true about your healing plan. When I'm injured, I make a mental switch from a workout plan to a healing plan.

Recovery also takes longer with aging. As you age, it becomes more important to remain focused on giving the body the tools it needs to heal as quickly as possible. My healing plan includes the following: NICE (NSAIDs, Ice, Compression, elevation), good nutrition, therapy and having a positive outlook.

NICE
NSAIDS include Ibuprofen (Motrin), naproxen (Aleve) or acetaminophen (Tylenol). I use ibuprofen only because it seems that I tolerate it the best. Choose one and take regularly for 10 days to reduce the inflammation.

ICE
10 minutes on multiple times per day. I've found that compressing a drug store ice bag with an Ace bandage is probably the most effective treatment you can do. Ice temporarily restricts the flow of blood in the damage tissue. When removed, the tissue is flushed with fresh blood and nutrients.

NUTRITION
Even more so than when working out, recovering from injury requires a diet rich in protein and antioxidants.

I was surprised to find that I had be diligent about meeting daily protein requirements. Research suggests that an active athlete should take 1.2 to 1.8 grams of protein per kilogram of body weight. I achieve this by consuming high protein foods and supplementing with whey protein powder.

Antioxidant flushing is achieve by substituting green tea for coffee, and consuming lots of fresh fruits like berries, cherries, plums and grapes.

THERAPY
I've already met with my PT, Mike Bartels at Edge Physical Therapy. Mike's a terrific local resource for cyclists and athlete in general. An active competitive cyclist, Mike relates well to the motivated weekend warrior. Since our visit, I've begun a series of light exercises to gently begin working on increasing mobility. If for nothing else, a PT will provide a road map toward your recovery. It's either that or following the advice of a typical doctor: rest.

A POSITIVE OUTLOOK
Having a positive mental attitude helps. Certainly, the body will repair itself regardless of the attitude of the person, but I believe that being positive about your recovery does something more.

You don't have to do it all on your own. Let people know when your injured. The encouragement you'll receive in return will help keep you motivated to stay on your plan.

So thanks again for your encouragement. I hope to join you on the road again soon.

Wholesome, Steel-Pole Goodness

2010-06-16T05:30:00.011-05:00

What nice notes I received from you all yesterday, wishing for my speedy recovery. Some from old friends, and a few from new ones, including a comment from the 2010 DK200 winner, Cornbread. I should also mention my gratitude to Bryan, Eric and Munson for linking my story in their blogs. Finally, a big shout out to the good folks of Algona, IA for pulling for me. You guys are awesome.

So thanks to all who stopped by yesterday. The get well wishes were appreciated.

Oh wait, what's this at the bottom of my email inbox?

Apparently, I missed a note from Shim, who along with the Real Wes J, was looking out for my well being when the accident happened.

Let's see what words of condolence Shim has to offer:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From: G.Shim0nek
Sent: 06/15/2010 06:37 PM CDT
To: E.Br0wn; W.J0hnson; B.Hanquist
Cc: Brady Murphy

Subject: the scene of the crime.

It looks so peaceful. Then BAM!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yeah. Thanks for nothing, buddy.

WSCG

A Time to Mend

2010-06-15T06:00:00.012-05:00

I took a nasty spill on the Riverfront North trail Monday. I was out riding over the lunch hour with Shim and the real Wes J. As we approached the Mormon Bridge, I lapsed about the existence of a steel pole in the middle of the trail. Unfortunately, that lapse was precisely at the same moment I came around to pass Shim. Upon seeing the pole, I attempted a swerve, but the handlebar's left drop still clipped it, launching me head-first onto the tarmac. My right shoulder took the brunt of the impact. My knee also has a nice contusion and raspberry. The helmet spared my head.

Thankfully, the x-rays were negative on obvious breaks, but the Orthopedic wants to take another look next week with the possibility of an MRI to check for hairline cracks in the shoulder, ribs and for damage to soft tissue.

Projected recovery time: 6 weeks.

In the meantime, looks like I'll be convalescing poolside with my lady, the lovely Ms Katherine. Groovy, baby.

DNF

2010-06-12T22:55:00.005-05:00

I've had a Time Trial (TT) bike for a couple years now. Last year, I picked up one of those dorky looking aero helmets. And this year, thanks to Bryan Redemske loaning me his set of Bontrager Aeolus 50mm deep dish wheels, my TT bike was ready to go faster than ever.

The bike did go fast. At least for the first 8.25 miles of the 24 mile course. With a generous tailwind, I was averaging 28 MPH before noticing that the front tire started going mushy. Sure enough, I had flatted.

DNF.

I couldn't help but think how Dennis Menchov must have felt during his bike troubles at the 2009 Giro Time Trial in Rome. I mean, it was like eerie how similar our TT experiences were. Except that Menchov rode on wet cobbles and I was on dry asphalt. And he had a team car, mechanic and an extra bike waiting for him, while the only person following me was my minute man, Brandon Fenster, and he wasn't about to give me his bike. And Dennis had a spectacular crash broadcast over live international television; mine was a trifle less exciting as I skillfully brought the bike to a controlled stop on a dusty county highway. And I suppose that retaining the maglia rosa jersey meant something special, too.

Other than that, it must have felt exactly the same. Exactly.

Anyway, thanks to Omaha Velo Veloce for putting on a great race. Congratulations to all the victors and all who finished the race. For the rest of us, better luck next time.

Hey Dennis Menchov, let's swap war stories over an Italian soda sometime. My treat!

Shame on You

2010-06-11T08:43:00.008-05:00

During a break on our Wednesday night group ride, Shim was hit by a pen thrown from a passenger in a car passing by. Shim muttered something before jumping on his pedals to chase the car down. Seeing him in pursuit, the car made a quick turn and sped down a side street. They got away. But a short time later, the car returned and was caught in the front row of an intersection, waiting for the traffic signal to change. In a scene reminiscent of Tienanmen Squire, Shim and another rider rolled up in front of the car and promptly returned the pen while non verbally clarifying how they felt about the incident. A classic Shim moment if there ever was one.

Shim's defiance reminded me of a time when my Mom confronted a nasty motorist.

Back in the day when I was about ten years old and riding my first of many yellow bicycles, somebody in a 70s-something muscle car was making our neighborhood into a NASCAR training circuit. Neutral-drops, excessive speed and power slides through the corners were just a few of his skills on display that day. The idyllic tranquility of our neighborhood had been replaced by a haze of blue smoke from burning tires, oil, and whatever he was smoking inside the car.

My Mom had become incensed. Ask anyone that knows her and they'll tell you that to see my Mom openly express anger was a very rare event. (Passive aggression & guilt were her strong suits.) A very strong Catholic, my Mom was the spiritual, calming center of her husband and five children. Over the years, we gave her plenty of times to practice her faith and patience, but she was a tough nut to crack. In fact, I've seen my Mom enraged only twice in my life. Once it was directed at Dad. Having never heard them argue before or since, I thought they were going to get a divorce. They managed through it and have been on course to celebrate 50 years this December.

The other time was in confronting this driver.

So as the car was winding up to make another pass around the neighborhood, my Mom goes storming out to the curb to give him a piece of her holy mind. The driver approached at around 50 MPH while my Mom stood her ground at the foot of the street, pointing her index finger directly at him.

It was effective. The driver locked up the brakes and brought the car to a skidding halt about 100 ft down the road. He then dropped the transmission to reverse and laid an impressive reverse-scratch until he stopped the car right next to her.

A thick stench of burned rubber permeated the air. The driver leaned across the seat and asked roughly, "What do you want, lady?"

Heroically, she calmly rebuked him. "Shame on you."

I braced for what I thought was going to be a verbal assault. Or worse. Instead, the best come-back the driver had was to parrot, "SHAME ON YOU!!" He then popped the clutch one last time and left our neighborhood for good.

Awesome.

When she speaks, her words are wise, and she gives instructions with kindness.
-- Proverbs 31:20-29

Thanks for always setting the right example for us time and time again. You are an amazing woman, spouse and mother. Of course, I'm proud to be your son. And another thing:

Happy Birthday Mom!

In Wholesome Steel-Cut Goodness,
Brady

Jux-TT-posed

2010-06-10T12:05:00.001-05:00

Omaha Metro Area Transit bus paired with my Time Trial Bike

It may look a little odd, but MAT bus racks can transport a time trial bike. As a multi-modal commuter, I recently used this option to bring my TT bike to work for a time trial session over the lunch hour. Thanks, MAT.

See you at the State Time Trial Championship this Saturday.

Refreshing

2010-06-08T10:26:00.012-05:00

Photo Credit: Lois Brunnert

A generous person will prosper;

whoever refreshes others will be refreshed
--Proverbs 11:25 (Today's New International Version)

Thanks goes out to all who made the Norfolk Classic Cycling Weekend possible. Congratulations on a job well done.

Nebraska cycling is where it's at.

The Race Face: AKA Basso's Bluff

2010-05-26T07:56:00.011-05:00

Many weeks ago, I made a comparison of myself to professional cyclist Tom Boonen. If you recall, it wasn't to his fine sprinting skills, but more to that of his disproportionate torso to leg ratio.

Now I find the need to compare a trait I have in common with another professional cyclist, this time Ivan Basso.

I like Basso. I like him not because he's riding more human like post Operación Puerto, but because he's always smiling when he does. He rides like he's enjoying every minute of it even though you know he's burying himself in immense suffering. It doesn't matter if he's drilling it at the front of the pace line, or climbing a 6% grade for 20K with a 14% kicker at the end: Basso's all yippy-skippy when he rides. I bet he even hums a snappy tune from time to time. And the more intense it gets, the more you see him grinning. See for yourself as we walk down some finer moments of his career:

Yes, Ivan Basso is a good bluffer. He's the only one who appears to be on a bacon ride among the suffering faces around him. Either that or he's a total masochist.

As for me, the quest to become a better bluffer started a couple years ago when my brother Murphini commented that I winced when I ran. Um, who doesn't? Have you ever seen anyone looking like they're enjoying running?

Brady wincing during the IronmanKansas 70.3

After brother John's revelation, I began working on my race face during practice runs.

Now a lesser man would have practiced it during a recovery run. Oh, not me. I cut right to the chase and began working on Basso's bluff during 800m track repeats. That's right: rapid flat foot strikes, aligned hips, high arm turnover, steady breathing and a stupid ear-to-ear grin on my face. Truly, a running fool if there was one.

The end result is that I mastered it. Mom was right. You continue to make a face and it may stick that way.

photo credits: Dan Farnham

Let it be known that while it looks like a pleasure ride in the park, there's not a whole lot of happiness going on inside.

I love bicycle racing.

Easy Friday: Wednesday Night Worlds

2010-04-15T22:00:00.013-05:00

Proportionality

2010-04-07T00:07:00.008-05:00

My mountain biking friends had their first race of the year on Saturday. It was a time trial. As you already know, I'm not a mountain biker. Heck, I didn't even know that there were mountain bike time trials. But just because I don't own a mountain bike doesn't mean that I had to miss out on time trialing fun. So Saturday afternoon, I paid a visit to the airport service road for a TT workout on the p2SL.

While boiling up some fresh lactic acid, my mind began to drift. I thought the shadows that the late afternoon sun threw on the tarmac were funny.

Airport time trial run. My legs look like they're about 45 feet long.

The silhouette projected on the road reminded me of my life long best friend, Steve Missey.

Back when we were in kindergartners, I followed him home after school one day. I thought he was cool. His mom greeted him/us at his front door and asked, "who's your new friend, Steve." He turned and looked surprised to see me standing there. He had no idea who I was. We've been best friends ever since.

Anyway, I learned a lot from hanging out with Steve. Like how to think abstractly. His gift manifested itself early in his art work. Steve's specialty was the family portrait. While the rest of us were instructed to draw stick figures with proportional arms, legs and torso, Steve's point of view gave a heavy emphasis to the legs. He was brilliant. Bucking convention, Steve boldly drew it as he saw it. Like the shadow projected above, young Steve drew his parents legs as if they were four stories tall.

Here's an mspaint.exe replica of Steve's family portrait:

the Missey Family Portrait

Those gangling legs crystallized new pathways of intellect for me, forever changing the way I perceived the world. Thanks, Steve.

So it should come as no surprise that I thought of Steve -- again -- when I was riding with Mark Savery (Mod) and Bryan Redemske on Sunday.

Bryan (top) and Mark training in the new MWCC kits

When Bryan wasn't drilling it up the 12-16% grades, the topic of conversation was on Tom Boonen not winning the Tour de Flanders earlier that day. At some point, Mod said that Boonen had a freakishly long torso compared to his legs. He went on: at 6'4 and 180 pounds, Tornado Tom rides a relatively small bike (58 cm) with a 140mm stem. Boonen's build sounds more like swimmer Michael Phelps than that of a world champion cyclist.

Tom Bonnen's torso wins the world championship

My mind spooled as I attempted to grasp what Mod was saying. I realized that he was describing the inverse of the Missey family portrait. Could there be such a thing?

I then wondered how a young Tom Boonen would have drawn himself riding a bicycle. Imagine the torso:

a rendering of Tom Bonnen's first self-portrait

Apparently, there's been lots of discussion in cycling forums about Tom Boonen towering size and his disproportionate torso. In one, writer Talewinds dared to publicly ponder what it'd be like to build a bike to Bonnen's specs:

Talewinds:
The other day and I realized [Bonnen] and I are the same height/ weight. I currently have (2) 60cm bikes, a 62cm bike (too long top tube) and I'm building a 58.5 cm bike. The only measurement I'm really worried about is the seat-to-bar drop, because on this used frame/fork, there's gonna be quite a bit of drop.

FMW:
I have no idea but I can say that fitting a frame to you based on what fits someone else makes absolutely no sense at all to me.

chzman:
you should try to be like mcewen, he's only won three stages at the tour this year

Talewinds :
I'm not some naive noob here FMW, and I'm not trying to fit myself to a bike based on how someone else fits to theirs. It's a GENERAL interest in bike fitting

Aw Geez, Talewinds, don't listen to those bullies. Who's to say that your build is not unlike Boonen's? Where some may dream, you may be justified in replicating Boonen's bike. Perhaps it's the only thing keeping you from reaching your full potential. Do you wish you could drop freds on your next group ride? Are you always a pack finisher just off the podium? Perhaps you're only a few percentage points of efficiency away from being the next State champ in your category. You may never know unless you go for it.

You see Talewinds, I can sympathize with you because I also have a disproportionate torso-to-leg ratio. At 5'9 with an inseam of 33 inches, I am an 80% version of Tom Bonnen. Where most at my height ride a 54-56 cm bike, I have a 51 cm with a 120mm stem. The stem stretches me out so far that I feel like superman when I ride it. I'm no Tom Boonen, but it works for me.

Still, since seeing Steve's family portrait, I've had a void in me that my stubby little legs could never fill. I've secretly wished that my proportions were flipped.

A boy can always dream...

Teach, Scold, Correct, Train

2010-04-02T08:22:00.015-05:00

Shim's so vain, he probably thinks this blog is about him.

Sorry Shim, it's not about you. Though you do all of these quite well -- especially the scolding/rebuking part -- this post's not necessarily about you. But pay attention, I believe you could still learn something, and there may be a quiz on Monday.

The title of this post comes from Paul's second letter to Timothy:
All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness
--2nd Timothy 3:16

I like Paul. He must have been an athlete. A runner, even. There are numerous examples where Paul compares living a holy life to that of running a race. The discipline of being holy is not unlike the training it requires to finish the race strongly.

At bible study last night, we were reading 2 Timothy. In our group discussion, someone mentioned that in order to be ready for the trials of life, one should strive to balance the four ingredients: teach, rebuke, correct and train. For example, one cannot simply teach without having first trained, nor rebuke without encouraging proper correction.

During the discussion, my poorly disciplined mind started thinking about triathlons. In triathlons, one needs to be balanced in their preparation for a race. It doesn't come easy. In fact, I've never met a triathlete who loves all three disciplines of swimming, biking and running. More often, the triathlete excels at one skill and has to really work on the other two. Training requires sticky determination to remain committed to the plan when you'd rather ride on a run day. But if you're not committed, you'll become imbalanced and pay the price. Imbalance leads to poor racing performance, and quite possibly overuse injuries.

Don't let perfection become the enemy of good.
Being balanced will never create perfection. At the pool, I'm not the fastest swimmer. I get dropped all the time on the bike. Gerald Kubiak's presence regularly reminds me that I'm not the fastest runner. But when the race comes, I only need to be among the fastest to compete. I managed to win a triathlon once. I was sixth out of the water, third fastest on the bike and the second fastest runner. But overall, I was the most balanced triathlete that day. In fact, I won the race by over a minute.

Triathlons neatly illustrate the importance of being in balance. But much of the same could be said about how one trains as a cyclist. To be successful, a cyclist needs to train towards different skills, ie: strength/power, handling, endurance, hill climbing, sprinting.

The same could be said about running.

Or about work.

Or about our relationships with family, spouse, children.

Or about our relationship with God. It's a holy week. My Jewish friends are in the midst of celebrating passover. Today is Good Friday and Easter is on Sunday. To this, I've been thinking about how I can become more balanced in my relationship with God. Lord knows, I'm no saint and could use a training plan refresher.

Teach, Rebuke, Correct, Train. All Scripture is God-breathed and useful.

I encourage you to spend some time reviewing your personal training plan. Where can you become more balanced in your life?

Thanks for reading. Happy Easter everyone.

Wednesday Night Worlds

2010-03-31T22:32:00.010-05:00

I joined up with about 20 other riders for the year's first running of the Trek Store Omaha's 'Wednesday Night Worlds' group ride. I think Bryan made that title up. Good choice. In a word (or four): it was totally awesome. With light winds and temperatures in the 70s, what more could you ask for?

The riders gather outside the Trek store

The roll out down the Keystone. Nice turn out of riders

Newcomer Sarah on her first Trek Store Omaha ride

A first for Rafal (front) Kevin, and James (not pictured)

The peleton bunches up on a hill climb

After I took this shot, the tempo picked up and the camera was tucked away. As usual, we rode into Ft Calhoun and made a quick pit stop at the convenience store before turning back to Omaha via the Boyer Chute and Ponca Hills. In Boyer's Chute, the tempo ratcheted up until a complete hammerfest was going down. Limpach and Vaughn were mercilessly driving the pace as we approached the hills. Then Mod launched an attack at the foot of Ponca. Man, it was on.

What a ride (exclamation point).

In summary, great weather, great turn out, great (<--last great) ride. Regardless of how well one performed, it's safe to say that warm spring air and open road was a tonic to the soul, especially after the brutal winter we've endured.

Here's to Wednesday Night Worlds.

See you all next week.

Trees are Tomorrow's Burden

2010-03-30T14:59:00.010-05:00

This is not a rally cry for tree huggers. Although it could be, because man, I really love trees. In fact, I cry a little when I have to pull the volunteer maples that sprout up from acorns each year. Poor little buggers.
I digress. This post is an answer to Rafal and Mike Miles comments on Bryan's recent mountain biking post. By the way, nice wookie sticks Bryan. The forests of Endor are calling for your return.

Since my priority has shifted from running to riding, some (a few (actually one)) have asked when I'm also going to begin riding mountain bikes.

To this, I say mountain biking among the trees is tomorrow's burden.

You see, I'm broke. I don't mean broke as in cash, although purchasing a previously loved Madone hasn't helped my cash flow. No, what I'm referring to is the commodity of time. There just isn't enough of it. Especially if I want to continue running and swimming. (I do). Not to mention having time for a life apart from bicycles, which also includes blogging about it, Mike Miles.

So there it is. I'm broke. Brother can you spare an hour or two?

Now I'm sad. I'm gonna go hug a tree.

A Mile for Every Degree

2010-03-19T07:10:00.019-05:00

After ten days of clouds and cooler weather, we finally had sun and +60°F yesterday. Hands down, it was the best day of the year so far. And with nasty weather looming, I acted quickly and took the afternoon off to ride.

Earlier in the day, I had tweeted that my stated goal for the day was to ride 1 mile for each degree F. As a group, we did exactly that, riding 64 miles (map) in some 3 hours and 45 minutes.

I caught up with Shim and the Real Wes J. at 11:45 AM. We formed a three man echelon to attack the 15-20 mph SSW on the open plains before arriving at the base of the seven mile climb into Glenwood. The sunny warmth and beauty of the scenic Loess highway more than compensated for the winds. In fact, it was just warm enough to feel the heat reflecting off the tarmac for the first in a long time.

The roads are obviously in bad shape. Potholes and sandy conditions are everywhere. Anticipating this, I rode Bontrager Race X Lite Hardcase tires. Hardcases are excellent all-around training tires because they significantly reduce the chances of flatting. They're also quite durable. The last set I had lasted many seasons and thousands of miles.

Still, hardcases aren't bomb-proof. Shim was riding them when he flatted about 50 miles into the ride. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.

Wes and I fought over the spoils (a patchable innertube). Wes won. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.

When times are bad, frugality is good. Which reminds me: hey Shim, do you have any slightly worn Ultegra (or better) pedals that you're gonna toss aside?

Hill Repeats in CB

2010-03-17T23:11:00.008-05:00

I joined Shim and Jonathan Wait for a ride into the hills of Council Bluffs after work tonight. The weather was almost perfect: sunny, very little wind and temperatures hovering around 50 F. After ten days of cooler weather and clouds, it was euphoric.

There are some steep hills over there, some topping off at 22% gradient. Coach Shim says that it was probably too early in the spring to be hitting that kind of intensity, but we did it anyway.

We spent a couple hours chasing wheels before peeling off on our separate ways. Overall, a great ride. In the end, I was exhausted, but nevertheless content from enjoying nice weather in the wholesome goodness of the great outdoors.

On the way home, I encountered a car coming up Hamilton Street on the wrong side of the road. Four blocks later, a pickup truck belched blue diesel in my face as the driver yelled at me to get off the F*ing road. Nice.

Happy St Patrick's Day, everyone.

As*fault

2010-03-15T22:09:00.011-05:00

Ride-quality has been neutralized

Intervals were this Morning's Burden

2010-03-15T09:38:00.025-05:00

I got up early this morning to do intervals. The workout called for five sets of five high-intensity intervals (25 total) on an ascending clock. The first five were on 1:15 with five seconds of recovery, followed by two sets of five on 1:20 with five seconds rest, and then two sets at 1:25 with 15 seconds recovery. This would roughly translate to heart rates in zone 5c, 5b, 5a.

The throw down began after a ten minute warm up. As any of you know who've done intervals, it takes a few before your heart rate catches up to what's going on. The first felt silky smooth with lots of power and low heart rate, but by the fourth interval, the voice in your head transforms from the tranquil civility of an NPR talk show host to shouting death metal lyrics with heavy electric guitar distortion.

So it was this morning.

On interval #12, Erin was waiting at the wall and grabbed my leg as I flip-turned. (Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that these are swimming intervals.) Anyway, I'm was leading the lane and on our third set of 100s, Erin stops me to yell, 'THIS INTERVAL IS SUPPOSED TO BE ON THE 1:40.*'

The lactic acid in my blood violently spikes. 'Excuse me?' -- but before the rebuttal's out, she pushed off the wall. A strong stench of freshly released chlorine permeates the air, possibly from the water boiling around me.

Death metal/Cookie Monster voice in now violently shouting in my head

Only ten minutes beforehand, the group had decided to do the sets in ascending order. The initial 15 intervals weren't going to be easy, but that's what we agreed upon. So I thought. Apparently to some, ascending order meant 1:20, 1:25, 1:40, 1:25, 1:40.

By the end of practice, apologies were plenty and everybody was all huggy-huggy again.

There, for those of you who've wondered what a Masters' swim practice is like at 5:30 AM, now you know.

Like Munson on the bike, I swim better when I'm angry.

* exclamation marks are yesterday's burden, but all-caps are not. Hi Fred.

Exclamation Marks are Yesterday's Burden

2010-03-11T12:57:00.021-06:00

Enormous snowflakes were falling as I drove to swimming practice this morning. I had a sudden urge to pull over and tweet, "Crap! More Snow!! Somebody take Old Man winter off Viagra!!!"

But I was strong and refrained. Whew, that was a close call.

For those wondering what I'm talking about, I've come to a punctuation crossroads on the usage of the exclamation mark (!). Apparently, I use way too many of them. Recently, I read that it's in bad form to use more than one exclamation mark in every 100,000 words. Scanning through my writings, I found examples of using two or three at a time, sometimes with multiple references per page. Yikes.

I've hit rock bottom and have decided to make a change for the better. Unfortunately, there is no Betty Ford clinic for punctuation rehabilitation. Having nowhere else to go, I've turned to the internet for the help. As an aside, the internet is the best place to seek such help, because you can always find something you want to hear that you can believe in. Anyway, I settled on a modified 12 step program suited towards my needs.

Hello my name is Brady. I am a recovering exclamation-markaholic.

Allow me clarify that in no way am I making light of 12 step methods. These programs are quite effective in treating many who are desperate for change. It is for this reason I can take solace that perhaps I can break bad habits, too.

I'm a quick study. I breezed through the first few steps. I then discovered how cathartic it was to take a personal grammar inventory. Among other things, I gained an new appreciation for the English language. Whereas English has only the one, Spanish also has the inverted exclamation mark. Crikeys. One exclamation mark is more than enough; imagine having to give up both. ¡Dé gracias a Dios yo no sé español!

Now I'm on to step 8: making amends to all I've harmed.

First, to you my public audience, I am sorry for using the exclamation point more than once in every 100K words. It must have been unbearable to read my prose at times. Thank you for sticking with me.

Specifically, I apologize to Miles, who I believe once expressed his frustration on facebook about people who abuse the exclamation mark. While I'm unsure if you were speaking to me, I'm fairly certain you've cringed more than once when visiting this blog. Miles: I am sorry to have offended you. I'm glad you're still reading this blog.

And To Bryan, who's writing is the envy of the AP Style guide editors, I owe you an amends. I cannot even recall the last time I saw you use an exclamation point. Your unencumbered writing is a clear beacon to the internet's dark cloud. Thank you for not giving up on me.

Even though my third grade teacher ridiculed me as the 'Big Cheese' in front of the entire class, I owe Ms Hannebrink an apology for having clapped, "Hanabana is a bitch!!!!!" on the brick wall with chalk board erasers. I'm sorry to have displayed such bad form, Ms Hannebrink. One exclamation point was sufficient.

I'd also be remiss if I didn't apologize to the period (.). True, a punctuation mark is not a person, but I've still managed to hold the period in contempt for being boring and understated. This is especially the case with interjections. And though there have been documented shortages of periods affecting the Times Roman Font, the superfluous use of exclamation marks on social networking sites has created a glut of periods for years to come. Indeed, I'm in arrears for an apology to the period. Sorry, period(.), dot(.) and stop(.).(period).

To Shim I owe nothing. The email with subject,"How's work?" you sent last Friday while you were cycling in Texas was predictable. Jerk. Thanks for attaching the pictures, pig. I especially enjoyed seeing those while I was at the office, you miserable vomitous mass. And while you logged over 300 miles in the warmth of Fredericksburg, I got to chase Limpach's wheel in the 34°F with overcast skies. Yes, work and Omaha were grand, you LOUSY NO GOOD SONOFABITCH!

Crap! (Sorry Miles!) Double-crap!! Aiyeeee!!!!!

sigh.

Step one. I admit I'm powerless...

Pants are Yesterday's Burden

2010-03-06T21:20:00.009-06:00

My Neighbors saw me run out the door without my pants today.

I didn't mind. I just kept running down the street without a care in the world. From there I ran through Dundee. From Dundee, through Memorial and Elmwood parks; and then along Farnam Street before streaking through Midtown crossing. It was a blissful running all the way through downtown Omaha. All without my pants.

Good pantless. Bad Pantless.
Let's be frank. There is good and bad pantless running. Case in point is the guy on your right. Freak. Not only is he pantless, but also shoeless. I am not condoning this. Definitely bad pantless.

Better pantless: today's temperature of 41° F and light rain wasn't ideal weather to run outside without pants. Certainly after a long winter, it took a little to get reacquainted to the cool winds and puddles splashing against the legs. But it could have been worse. For example, it was 4°F the morning after I declared coats to be yesterday's burden last week. On that chilly morning, I didn't wear a coat to the bus stop, but you can bet your sweet bippy that I wore pants. Today's +40° F was balmy by comparison.

So with that, it's final. Pants are now yesterday's burden too. At least while running. Chances are that the next time you see some dude sprinting through Dundee sans pants, it could be me. If you do, give a honk.

In return, I may flash you a cheeky smile.

Coats are Yesterday's Burden

2010-02-23T12:50:00.007-06:00

Katherine and I were in Denver for a four day weekend to relax and spend time with family. We were also hopeful for some sunshine and milder temperatures since Denver boasts 300 days of sun each year.

It was cloudy and snowed three of four days.

We're used to this in Omaha. We can go for weeks at a time without the sun. But Denver? It's rare when there are two days of clouds. So by day three, the locals were in full panic mode from the snow and cooler temperatures. The weatherman said to bundle up and wear hats and gloves because it was a 'chilly' 29 degrees outside.

That's balmy for Omaha.

We couldn't help but think that the snow followed us to Denver. Our egos were checked when I read that Omaha had some snow this past weekend as well.

So I've been doing some thinking about this dreary winter and it comes to this: I'm moving on. I'm through wishing for Spring's return and am now acting upon it. My first order to moving on is to dress accordingly. From hence forth, I will not wear a coat outside.

Go ahead, winter, take your best shot. From here out, my wholesome steel-cut mind will be focused on green grass, blooming tulips and a gentle southern breeze.

Mod's Wild Ride

2010-02-06T18:43:00.046-06:00

Seven of us peeled off from downtown Omaha for one of Mark Savery's (Mod) twisty road rides through Council Bluffs and Crescent Iowa's hill country.

Mapped as 37 miles, the ride wasn't long on distance. But it felt long because of all the climbing: 14%, 15%, even 16%! gradients. If you want a good hill workout around Omaha, get in touch with Mod. He's got western Iowa covered.

This type of hill workout nearly justifies a granny-gear. However, most of us flat landers have traditional double chain rings. Only lately have compacts become more common among roadies. The gear ratios compacts offer would be more suitable on this ride than a double ring. But a triple chain ring with a granny gear for really steep climbs? Perhaps a few hills around here could use a third ring.

My good buddy Shim has a triple on his Rocky Mountain cross bike. His bike also sports a clip on rear-fender. Midway through last weekend's ride, the fender fell off. He rode the rest of the way with it in his back jersey pocket. Since it's common knowledge that clip on fenders are practically worthless, it should come as no surprise that the fender performed only slightly worse in his back pocket than when it was physically mounted to his bike. Anyway, the fender was back today. The contrasting blue duct tape used to secure it to his red bicycle was a nice touch.

While Shim's fender'd bike has a granny gear, Rafal was pushing a 42x18 single speed up those hills. Holy exploding knee caps, that dude can mash. Did it bother him? Rafal said he would have preferred a bigger gear for the flat sections.

For the most part, Kevin was riding conservatively today. There was one major throw down, however. Not far beyond the legendary prime rib served at Crescent's Pink Poodle restaurant, there's an absurd climb on Badger Ave. At a 15% gradient, it wasn't the steepest hill of the route. But at well over a quarter mile with very little run-up, it was the ride's longest section of sharp climbing.

Knowing how difficult the climb was, I planned to launch a surprise attack on Kevin, who had previously never ridden it. Seeing me attack, Kevin would then counter, charge up the hill and then totally blow up. It was text book. Taking that hill from Kevin would then be like taking candy from a baby.

So when it came time, I stood up and charged. After 30 seconds, I eased up a bit to allow Kevin to blast by. But for some inexplicable reason, Kevin didn't attack. Instead, I looked back and found him glued to me. A total wheel sucker! My great plan had backfired. Instead of hunting him down, I had become the prey. Well, I wasn't going to have that, so I sat up. It was at that moment that Kevin finally launched the counter attack and left us all behind.

Now here's a familiar sight:

Behind are Mod, Shim and I.

A short while later, the pack reformed

Ryan and Roxy were also with the group. Riding alongside a married couple was a first for me. I also now know why Ryan is as fast as he is: Roxie is one tough chic. Thanks for coming out, Roxy. You not only held your own, but kept most of us civil.

I did say most.

Lids

2010-01-18T19:01:00.018-06:00

For those outside of Omaha, we've had extremely dense fog for the past few days. Coupled to this have been temperatures below freezing. These conditions were ripe to create icy driveways, sidewalks and side streets.

Given the hazardous conditions, I opted to take the bus to work. Since the forecast called for warmer temperatures in the afternoon, I brought the bike along in hopes of riding home in the evening.

But as it was, I was short on time and decided to ride the bike the short distance to the bus stop. I reasoned that a couple of blocks with one turn was a manageable distance. I mean, I've got decent winter bike handling skills, so why not?

Since I didn't want to spill hot coffee all over my hands (or other parts) I quickly replaced the empty water bottle from its cage with the recycled paper coffee cup. I compression-cinched the empty water bottle to the messenger bag, slung the bag over the shoulder and put the helmet on my head. Then I walked the bike down the sloppy, snow-caked driveway and mounted it on the street.

Things were fine until I attempted to make the 90° turn one block from the bus stop. I approached the turn with caution. I knew fully well that the risk of a wheel washout increased while shifting weight inward to turn a bicycle. This is especially true on a slick surface.

So I gingerly negotiated the turn and... WHAMO! In the blink of an eye, the wheels lost traction and I crashed. The Bike and I came down hard on the cold concrete, my right flank absorbing the heaviest blow. The impact launched the helmet across the street like a slapshot hockey puck. The messenger bag had jettisoned the empty water bottle to a snow bank. Even the coffee cup was bounced from the water bottle cage, coming to a rest upended a few feet from the bike.

I jumped up right away. All was good. Aside from a thrown chain, the bike was fine, too.

As I went about gathering the goods from my impromptu yard sale, a car pulled up along side. The driver rolled down the window to ask if I was ok. I assured him that I was fine and thanked him for stopping. I stooped to pick up the upside-down coffee cup and was delighted to find coffee still in it. Mmmm coffee. While I wiped the salty brine from the lid and took a deep draw, the driver asked again, this time including the detail about seeing my helmet skid across the road. My thoughts raced. The coffee was hot and good. I was confounded how this little paper cup and lid remained intact, yet my helmet had not. I reassured the driver that I was fine and thanked him for stopping once more. As he drove away, I took another gulp and pondered.

Let's back up a few paragraphs. Skip the part about me acting like a professional cyclist giving a clinic on how to negotiate an icy corner. No, above that. The part about the helmet. Notice that I said that I put the helmet on my head. Well, that's all I did. I neglected to actually click-lock the chin strap.

What a knucklehead.

Later that morning I instant messaged a fellow cyclist. Here's the transcript

WSCG... Not riding today
Wes J...Yeah, I am thinking it is awful foggy
WSCG... that + freezing fog
WSCG... I crashed riding to catch the bus this morning.
Wes J...Are you OK from the spill?
WSCG... yeah - slight bruise on glute, but otherwise 100%.Total yard sale (threw water bottle, messenger bag and unclipped helmet popped off).
WSCG... I dropped my coffee too. It was upside down when I picked it up. The lid saved the day. I still drank the coffee.
Wes J...UNCLIPPED HELMET!!!
WSCG... Yes, I was stupid on the unclipped helmet. I was in a rush. Like cars, most accidents happen within a short distance from home
Wes J...It takes less then a second to clip the helmet! Do I need to bring my helmet from my crash as a reminder?
WSCG... yes
WSCG... But the coffee lid stayed on and it wasn't clipped.
Wes J...Next time wear a coffee lid on your head then

Well put, Wes J. I both needed and deserved that.

As a safety reminder, I have zip-tied a coffee lid to my helmet. I won't be making that foolish mistake again.

The Next Level of Insanity: Running in Snowshoes

2010-01-12T04:55:00.020-06:00

Recently, I picked up a pair of Red Feather "Race" snow shoes. I've used them three times now, and although that alone hardly qualifying me as an expert, the season's timing makes this review apropos. So if you've ever wondered what it'd be like to strap a pair of tennis rackets to your feet and go for a run in snow, here's your chance to live it vicariously.

As its name implies, the Red Feather Race is designed as a running snowshoe. It is also suitable as a light trekking. As such, don't expect to load up an external pack with your camping gear for a back country expedition with these fellas.

But if you're a runner, this is a good option to getting you off the treadmill and running outside when snow would otherwise prevent you.
Running in these snowshoes is surprisingly easy. The Race is recommended to be worn beneath running shoes, but the straps are long enough to accommodate boots. (I wear running shoes.) The snowshoe's narrow profile, tapered tail and spring loaded hinge is designed to not impeded the running gait. Indeed, they feel natural within minutes.

But Make no doubt about it, you will run slower. Snowshoeing is incredibly taxing. Although made of lightweight 6000 series aluminum and titanium, the snowshoes add 2.9 pounds to your stride. That and all of the other gear on your body will slow you down considerably. Snow also creates a lot of resistance. Even in the best conditions, your foot remains in contact a lot longer than running on dry pavement in ordinary running shoes.
Still, despite the slower speed, your heart and legs will never know it. It takes tremendous energy to cut a new trail with any snowshoe, let alone a running snowshoe. While doing so, the hip flexors and quads are doing heavy lifting with each step. It's a little like running in sand -- or doing the stair stepper -- with weights strapped to your ankles. The result are certainly felt in legs and cardio.

The Race snowshoe frame is constructed of 6000 series aluminum. It has titanium crampons, giving durability to its teeth. The decking and binding is a high performance elastomer called Hypalon. So far, I've been impressed with the quality of its make and materials.

Choosing what to wear it a little tricky. For one, you'd be surprised how much heat is generated while doing a snowshoe run. It's quite easy to overdress. Dress in layers: a wicking shirt & fleece beneath a light windbreaker is more than enough when the temperature is above 10 F. Perspiration and snow kick will make staying dry difficult. Leg gaiters and wool socks can help keep your feet dryer and warmer. Don't forget the sunglasses and sunscreen when the sun's out.

With that, I can say I highly recommend these snowshoes for runners and light trekking. I purchased my pair online from the Sierra Trading Post. In Omaha, the Trek Store announced that it will be carrying Atlas snowshoes. They say they can order the Atlas running snowshoe as well. Otherwise, if you're looking to find a pair of back country snowshoes, try Canfields, Scheels, Cabellas' and Dick's. Finally, as mentioned on a previous post, the UNO Venture center rents the MSR EVO showshoe for a reasonable rate.

Chris, Shim, Jim, Kevin and Brady

Kevin's brother, Shim, and Jim blazing a trail

Foot prints of Jewell Park's Abominable Snowman?

Could be. It's either Sasquatch or Limpach got hungry

Snowshoeing in Colorado with brother Brendan & his best friend Jack

Dogs love getting out too. This is Jack's territory

Brendan takes a pose with Mr WSCG himself

Omaha Yay-hoos on Ice

2010-01-10T20:05:00.011-06:00

Nine of us conquered nearly 50 miles on snow and ice-packed gravel roads today. Present were: Greg Shimonek, Mark Savery, Kevin Limpach, Mike Miles, Ryan Feagan, Rafal Doloto, Jeremy Grant and a new guy named Joshua, who's here from N. Carolina. Joshua did great by the way. In fact, if the tarheel-transplant could hack it, so you can you. Join us next time!

Good times by all. Steady pace with a few throw downs mixed in to get the blood moving. If that wasn't enough, Mod was dispensing hot ginseng tea from his custom stainless steel thermos-bottle cage. Awesome.

Conditions: It was 19°F at start time. The sun's warmed it up to about 25°F by the ride's end. I wore less clothing than last week, but still layered a lot. I had a Pearl Isumi (PI) Balaclava, PI lobster claw gloves (no liners), PI barrier jacket, woolie and long sleeve wicking shirt; legs had cycling shorts beneath PI amfib bib tights. Feet had wool socks beneath mtn bike shoes and amfib booties. Interestingly, my feet had identical protection this week, yet despite warmer conditions, they felt colder. Other than that, I was completely comfortable.

The route had us going southwest from Papillion, crossing I-80 on an overpass near Gretna, continuing south along the highway, then crossing back over I-80 before the Glass chapel & heading northeast back home..

I rode my Scattante 'cross bike, the incorrigible yellow fervor with not one, but two cross tires. Lemme tell you: that crap about a slick tire on the front is for the birds. Indeed, the bike handled way better with a cross tire mounted on the front.

Here are a few pics

The nine roll out

Industrial grade Caterpillar snow removal equipment

Typical road conditions. Cross or studded tires preferred

More pictures from MOD here

Do Your Worst

2010-01-04T11:09:00.005-06:00

Here are a couple shots from yesterday's 40 miles of packed snow, ice and gravel. Ride time temperatures ranged from 4 to 12 F. Perhaps due to the cold, Kevin's bike wouldn't shift and I flatted.

Yet, despite these trials and tribulations, we still managed to have a good ride.

Do your worst, Old Man Winter. I'm ready for you.

Shim and Limpach in the distance. Look at those snow banks!

Even in the grips of winter, a throw down ensues

What say you, Old Man Winter? Is that all you've got?!?