Hill Climber

Last night I was able to catch a group ride with the big guns from Trek Store Omaha (Midwest Cycling club). It was the second time I joined this weekly 6pm ride but the first time I was able to complete it with the group. Last time, Munson had one of those miracle flats right at Ft Calhoun, only minutes after a torrent pace with numerous attacks that resulted in cramping calf muscles for me. As a result, the group rode on without us and I didn't experience the full ride.

Yesterday, I was able to leave work early, but much later than I wanted, forcing me to TT through the hills of midtown Omaha to catch the group. But I managed to catch them as they entered the Keystone trail near NFM. I don't know very many riders in that group. Munson already told me that he wasn't going to be there. Bryan and Sean ride with another group. Fred? He's disappeared again into parts unknown. So that left Shim, Lucas and Eric as the only people I knew would be there among at least 30 cyclists.

For those of you who've never experience a big group ride, you're missing out on some good fun. The colorful jerseys and bikes, the camaraderie of working together in a pace line, the antagonists who attack and intentionally work apart and the exhilaration of the sprints are easily some of the reasons that keep 'em coming back. Omaha has a few of these group rides that leave from the following bike stores weekly: High Gear on Tuesdays at 6pm, the Trek Store and Bike Masters on Weds at 6pm. Typically, there are two groups and is an unsupported ride. If you'd like to join, it's a good idea to brush up on some group ride etiquette ahead of time.

The Trek store ride begins with a 15 minute easy spin north along the Keystone trail before hopping off at Fort Street and then continuing northwest through state roads towards Ft. Calhoun. By the time you see cornfields, you'd better be ready to step on it. It's then up-tempo, attacks and sprints until you see the gas station in 'Hoonerville (Ft Calhoun).

The return trip from Ft Calhoun meanders its way through some of my favorite riding in Nebraska: the Boyer Chute Reserve and Ponca Hills. Flat and wide as the eye can see, it's a good place to practice pace lines and such while enjoying the scenery. But don't get lulled into thinking it's gonna be easy. There's a pretty good climb into Ponca hills looming in the distance where the men separate from the boys. (To be politically correct, yesterday there were in fact no women on the group ride).

So while I'm riding, Shim's chattering away about Old Yeller. That and nudging me as to how to ride the pace line, as in "follow that guy in front of you and do what he does" sort of thing. Thanks Shim! As we approached the Ponca section and I'm drifting towards the back of the group, he says, "that hill climbing yellow bike aught to be up there in the front." Shim's referring to Old Yeller's rear cassette. He once implied that it was an easier, big-geared mountain bike cassette tailored to climbing mountains as opposed to a road bike's configuration for speed. For the record, it's a Shimano 105 road racing cassette. Anyway, I looked ahead and saw the group slowly pulling away. I retorted that there was a lot of hill yet to climb and felt smugly confident that I'd catch many that were pending blowing up but just didn't know it yet. I mean, I felt good and had no signs of fatigue that I was aware of. But when I started to spin up to reel them in, I simply didn't have it. It was like: clunk-clunk. What?! That's it?! Sure enough, I was toast as I saw the group putting even more distance between them and me. Then there's a longer gradual portion before the final steep ascent that I attempted to bridge the gap. I managed to pull within about 100 meters before the group punched it up the final portion and left me for good.

Dropped.

I am, I am Superman and I can do anything... What a wake up call. What hubris. Old Yeller may/may not be a climbing bike, but I didn't have the engine yesterday.

Thankfully, the ride re-groups at OJ's restaurant a few miles down the road for the overconfident riders like me. From there it's a few more rolling hills back to the Trek store for the group; I peeled off at 52nd ST and quietly limped home.

Still, what a ride! Looking forward to next time.

The Bicycle(s) You Own

In the past week, I've talked with three people at the U.P. that have purchased new bicycles recently.

Scott picked a new Trek 7300 commuter as his first "grown up" bicycle purchase. He is actively putting it to use commuting to work and experimenting with routes from the 50th and Grover area to downtown. Any suggestions?

Tracy also bought a Trek commuter as her first bicycle as an adult. She lives a little further out west and has transported it to join the UP lunchtime riders over the past two days.

A few weeks ago, Wes was rear-ended while transporting his 2006 GT Series 1 roadbike. From witness accounts, he was more distressed about his totaled bike than his totaled car. The good news was that he was fine and the insurance covered the damages to car and bike. Now he's riding a 2008 fully-carbon GTR Team bike w/ Dura-Ace components, Dura-Ace tubeless wheelset and a Ritchey stem and fork. Dang that's a nice upgrade, dude! During our lunch ride yesterday, I struggled to hang on his wheel at the levee hammerfest north of the I-80 bridge. My hope is that he enters that thing in a Cat5 race with me next year.

Congratulations on the new bike purchases to the three above. Enjoy them and be safe.

While purchasing a new bike is always a titillating experience, shopping for a pre-owned bicycle also has its rewards. Craigslist is a great place to start, especially if you're looking for an entry level bike.

A month ago, I bought a 1987 Nishiki road bike for $40 off of Craigslist with the goal of overhauling into a single speed during the off season. Advertised as a CroMoly "lightweight", it has enough extra steel to be recycled into a manhole lid. Heck, calling the derailleur guard a pie plate is an understatement; it's more like a charger plate. At first, it will be a rebuild on the cheap. New bar tape, brake pads and a spacer kit are the only parts I hope to purchase. I will swap the 27 inch wheels with a spare set of 700s if the existing dia-compe brakes are long enough to reach. The original peddles are also going into the manhole lid effort too. In doing this overhaul, I hope to build a bullet proof commuter while learning more bicycle maintenance.

If time permits, I may even take it to the Omaha Bicycle Co-Op just south of California Tacos on 30th and California. Katherine and I dropped by there recently: a Creighton student named Emerick Huber has built this grassroots co-op with the help of other students, the neighborhood association and contributors (bike shops, electricians, carpenters and such). It's a pretty cool place. The basement has like a jillion bicycles waiting to be restored. What used to be a kitchen contains bins of spare parts. The former dining room, living room and bedroom are now fully stocked mechanic stations. When we visited, all three mech stations had a volunteer working with a neighborhood kid on simple bike maintenance such as flats and brakes. They even have a deal that if you go through their volunteer mechanic training program, you can build your own bike out of the parts other have donated. Bike cost = your sweat. Volunteers are needed with even the most basic bike maintenance skills. If you can fix a flat, you're ready to volunteer at the Omaha Bike co-op.

Finally, as many of you know, my current multi-use bicycle "Old Yeller" is a hand me down from brother Brendan. It was in pretty dire shape when I got it three years back and lasted for another five hundred miles before the indexing blew up on the 8 spd Shimano RSX shifters. That was a year ago next week. Munson came to the rescue with a cache of quality used parts and reassembled it into what I've got now. While the bike is worth $300 on paper, it rides and looks great. In my estimation, it's priceless.

So what is it about your "grown up" bike that you like? What would you change now if you had the cash/time?

Junk Yard Dog

This past Saturday evening, Katherine and I went to Avoca, IA (pop. 1500) to watch the main event: a junkyard car derby. Awesome! Katherine's friend Shannon is from Avoca and her boyfriend had built a car for the race. Man, that was fun. And LOUD, too.

For the inexperienced, a Demolition derby is an event where automobiles engage in a battle of attrition against each other. It's essentially a cross between the two Rs: racing and 'rasslin, and is a favorite at county fairs. No offense, but other than the 4-H youth who hand fed Wilbur into a hogzilla, who really wants to see the prize hog? Indeed, nothing beats Car Wrestling at the mud track.

Apparently the rules state which type of cars can be entered and how and where they can be reinforced for safety purposes. What it comes down to is choosing the best type of frame that will naturally protect vulnerabilities: radiator, wheels and engine. A 1995 Camry like the one I drive would be a poor choice because it's small, under powered and has plastic bumpers rated at 5 mph. What you need is a steel behometh with some punch under the hood. It appears that station wagons built in the U.S. of A in the 1960-1970s fit this bill best. I wondered more than once how mom and pop's 1976 Catholic Cruiser (Pontiac Grand Safari) would have fared.


While the smell of funnel cakes wafted through the air, I noted the tactics of the better drivers pruning the others with minimal damage to their own. A car smashed another into the wall and the crowd jumped back. My mind then drifted to volunteering at last week's Papillion crit, where a race course official cautiously stepped back from the haystacks and said, "Here comes the Cat5 on their first corner - better give them some space." That's when I had a revelation: there's a lot of derby tactics that can be applied to Cat5 bicycle races.

Cat5 riders are notoriously squirrelly riders. Any time you get 20+ amateur cyclists, much less entry level racers starting from a bunched up state, you're likely to have bedlam. Except for the mud, the noise and carney food (beer-drinking fans exists at anytime of the day), I figure Cat5 racing is not unlike the junk yard derby. So here are my racing takeaways:
1) Turn (lean) into a competitor crashing into you
2) Protect your wheels
3) Position to the inside during turns
4) Get the hell out of the way if somebody's about to T-Bone you at high speeds

Finally, I picked up a few maintenance tips.

A sledge hammer (see yellow circles) is a excellent way to straighten out that frame after a wreck. Sure, dentists will probably need some of Munson's duct tape to get their carbon fiber bike reassembled, but the majority of Cat-5'ers are more likely riding croMoly or aluminum jobbies that could use some good ol' fashioned persuasion to prep them for the next road race.

On paint: I'm sure that many have deeply longed to put a custom touch to their rig's paint scheme but just didn't feel they had the permission. I say go for it. Forget Tom Boonen's Tornado emblem or Ricardo "The Worm" Ricco's Cobra decal that might have come from a box of Cracker Jacks. What I'm talking about is making a statement that really stands out, like car #32's "I like girls that like girls" slogan. The problem of a bicycle not having enough real estate for such a message is overcome with a homemade FOTL and magic marker jersey. Imagine the pizazz! People would show up every week if only to see what Fredcube was pimpin' (and to drink beer (which they do already)).

Anyway, armed with my copious notes and pictures, I say to my fellow Cat5 riders: "Let's get ready to rrrrrrrrrrumble!"

Bike to Work Week

With the Big 'O Bicycle commuter challenge kicking off this week, it's time to discuss the basics of commuting by bike to work.

Ride Like a Boy Scout Seeking a Merit Badge
Time to reinforce the basics. Wear a helmet. Obey Traffic rules. This includes stop lights and stop signs. Signal your turns even if you never do while driving your car. Don't tailgate. Back in the day, I rolled over the trunk of a 1976 Coupe De Ville when it came to a sudden stop. I was Ok due to the aircraft carrier like trunk that I landed on, but the bike got a bent derailleur hook when it fell to the street. Don't make that rookie mistake: keep plenty of braking distance for obstacles.

It's also a good idea to use marker lights in the city. On occasion, I ride with elite cyclists who regularly use front and rear lights. If they do it, then you should too.

I have also had the unfortunate experience of riding with some tri-geeks. When it comes to safety, they epitomized the exact opposite good urban riding skills. Recklessly pulling out in cross traffic, and bounding to and fro like a squirrel on I-80, it's no wonder that they get such a bad rap as cyclists. I'm not kidding: it was so bad that I was embarrassed to be seen with them and relieved to see no one injured in the ordeal.

Pick A Safe Route
My to-work commute is mostly on side streets. It's typically safer and you're less likely to have somebody give you the finger or have folks pelt you with rocks and garbage. Bike paths are always a great choice but you still have to be alert for other riders, runners and walkers. Announce your approach and pass elderly, children and pets with extra care and reduced speed.

Flat route there, head for the hills afterwards
Use topo maps (terraserver.com) to help pick a route that's as flat as possible. Avoid areas on the topo that looks like spaghetti. This will especially be helpful if you or your co-workers desire a fresh arrival. After work, hammer the hills to your delight and let the dog lick the sweat off your legs.

Pack for the Commute
I ride with a backpack that includes work clothes and shoes, a lock and my lunch. Peanut butter and jelly still cuts it for me.

It's also a good idea to get a saddle bag with small toolkit that includes an extra inner tube, tire irons, patch kit & pump are good investments. Spend the twenty minutes learning how to remove the tire so you can handle the inevitable flat.

Cleaning Up
I'm fortunate that the U.P. has a full shower locker room facility with towel service. I even have my own locker with a picture of Eric Estrada on the inside of it. For those without such luxuries, I've heard that sponge baths work pretty well.

Make Lunch Plans
My favorite part of biking to work is in being able to go for a ride during lunch. Given the shortened time frame, it's a fun social ride with plenty of machismo to go around while attacking the hills of south 'O. At the end of the day, the commute to and from work and the lunch ride adds 28 miles to training log.

Enough of my preaching. Get out and ride!

Nature Boy

The past few weeks have been extremely taxing at work. That and my home PC's harddrive crashed, requiring a trip to the local computer store for a new HD and the tedious work of rebuilding the machine. Blogging and precious training time had to be sacrificed. Please accept my apologies for the silence.

Not too long ago, I joined Bryan, Mike and Joe for an 83 mile group ride along the scenic Loess Hills Highway to Glenwood, IA. Among the memories that persist from that ride came immediately after a ten mile ascent approaching Glenwood. With heart rates at red lines, we rounded the final bend in the road and came upon a pack of horses in a meadow. Without hesitation, they jumped up for the chase and galloped alongside us. Unless you've had a similar experience, it may be hard to appreciate the feeling of powering a bicycle alongside of a galloping horse. It was quite euphoric to say the least.

Regardless, it reminded me of a long run with brother Brendan a few years back in Wisconsin. While at a family reunion, my kid brother had a great idea to go for a nice little run, you know, to shake the legs out. I should have heeded the warning signs when I saw him triangulating the route on the five miles to centimeter Quickie Store map. Big mistake. That seven mile run ballooned into twenty in the end. In the midst of that weary slogging through Holstein country, Brendan caught the attention of a group of horses. It was on the clover filled land my father once farmed. I can still see him high horsey-stepping and clucking his tongue at them like it was yesterday. It wasn't having any effect, but he persisted doggedly. While bonking in glycogen debt, it was quite irritating. I was about to tell my Tarzan wannabe brother to shut it when he got the big brown male trotting. Soon, the rest of the pack was in tow. I had never experienced anything like that before. While that run was the first time I went more than 12 consecutive miles, it's the horses that I remember more than the big 20 or the aches and pains that followed.

I bring this up because nature is one of the many things that I can appreciate while being an active person. I'm mushy like that. Whether it's running with horses in Wisconsin or cycling beneath the shadow created by a hawk circling above Boyer's Chute, the great outdoors are more than merely accessible; indeed, you become an active participant.

Rollers

Over the weekend, I picked up a set of aluminum CycleOps rollers off of Craigslist to complement the off-season/bad weather trainer.

For those of you who don't know what rollers are, they're the equivalent of a treadmill for the bicycle. Two 3.5 inch drums in the back for the rear wheel and one for the front. The front and rear drums are connected by a belt so both wheels move as the crank spins.

What's unnerving about the whole thing is that there's only about two feet of lateral space to ride the bike. It took some gumption to let go of the wall steadying me.

Actually, it's like learning to ride a bike. Flash back a few years into my past. We're going to Heatherbrook Lane in Kirkwood, MO. Dad was there running alongside of me, holding on to what was then my original "old Yeller" - the yellow Jr StingRay Deluxe that was my first bike. I remember hearing his feet and voice of encouragement as I peddled along. Then the voice started fading away. It was at that moment of self-awareness that I was in fact riding a bike that I simply forgot how to do it. I stopped peddling, things went wobbly and down I went.

And it was just like that on the rollers. After I let go of the wall and was gaining confidence, concentration lapsed for just a moment...crash!

Of course you gotta get back up on that horse when you fall off. I did it then and I'll do it again.

Thanks for getting me going, Dad!

Peaches and Herb

So I'm borrowing a bit from the bikesnobNYC, but I couldn't resist on this screaming deal from Craigslist Omaha.


THIS IS A RIUNTE BIKE GIVE AWAY,5 SPEED,BEEN RIDEN MAYBE 20 TIMES,MIGHT NEED TUBES PUT IN,NOT SURE. MIGHT TRADE FOR NEW TRUCK TIRES OR FLAT SCREEN TV

This is a beauty, no doubt. Oh. I mean the craigslist ad. While YELLING at us is always a nice touch, the kicker is the seller's willingness to trade for new truck tires or flat screen TV. Truck tires? I can see a flat screen, but he didn't even give the size of tires. I hate that! Be specific about your fungibles, dammit!

Anyway, allow me to create a word picture for a moment. Let's say that I found some satisfactory truck tires and made the trade. Fast forward to the next time I come home from a five hour ride on Old Yeller. It's time to patch things up with Ms Katherine. Wouldn't this just warm her heart and win her over? I can almost feel the harmony as we'd roll through Elmwood park on this classic.

Uh-oh, I can hear the music in my head again...

I found it very hard to stay away
As we reminisce on precious moments like this
I'm glad we're back together
'Cause I missed your kiss, hey, hey

Reunited and it feels so good
Reunited 'cause we understood
There's one perfect fit
And, sugar, this one is it
We both are so excited
'Cause we're reunited, hey, hey

Yeah, yeah, yeah
Ba-a-a-by

The Cycling Sutra

Let's take a moment for a fine discourse on cycling style and techniques.

Of the different types:

A road bike is built for speed. It is to be ridden quickly with either quick up and down strokes, or long and slow mashing in the high gear.

A mountain bike is built for rough play. It is to be ridden with pure abandonment and thrill seeking pleasure. Dirty can be fun.

A fixed gear "fixie" or single speed is for the master cyclist who's been around the block more than just a few times, has tried it all, is a hard core cyclist and is able to ride long with great robusto and endurance.

A tandem bike brings another willing party into the mix. While the stronger usually takes front, many partners have switched roles for additional experimentation and pleasure. However, take care as tandems can also erupt in a flash point of anger and bitterness of one having to do all of the work while the other fakes enjoyment, or skips the adventure altogether due to a "headache".

A recumbent cycle is for leisure riding and for those who like riding in a submissive style.

A unicycle is a bicycle that's been castrated of one wheel. It is usually ridden by unmasculine males in clown suits.

On Washing
The cyclist typically enjoys diligently washing his ride with warm sudsy water, applying plenty of lubricants and finishing the job with a clean wipe of a towel. Unless one's personal preferences enjoy outside assistance, this task is most-often completed solo.

On Mounting
The mount is a very delicate maneuver. The typical male cyclist, however, is often in a rush, which can lead to great discomfort and embarrassment of a mis-mount.

Mounting involves moving the fingers deliberately across the handlebars before applying gentle pressure to the hoods. When ready, place one foot in contact with the pedal and with a single motion, push firmly down until your peddle has grasped your cleat. This is called the cleat grasp.

With a little push off send the other leg in a high arch over the saddle while allowing buttocks to make firm contact with the saddle. Sit down carefully to allow proper position of parts. This is called the line of jewels.

Repeat the cleat grasp with the other foot. Allow a moment to savor the joy.

On Spinning
The art of spinning takes a lot of mastery. While some prefer to bluntly mash on their peddles, this style tends to cause much discord to the bicycle and cyclist. But do not be fooled into thinking that spinning comes easily. While many hurry it, the spin begins with slow and even circles. If you build too quickly you'll blow your max HR, resulting in an unsatisfying experience. Gradually increase circle speed while concentrating on even strokes. Ahh now that's bliss!

On Coasting
When your Heart rate rises to a point where you just can't take it any more, you are permitted to coast. While coasting, many experiment a little. Grasping the top tube with your thighs is called the "mare's position"; doing a backwards spin of the free wheel is called the "reverse silver moon".

On Braking
Braking is to be applied when a voluntary slowing of the action is required. Braking should be done with gentle and increasing even pressure. Sudden braking can lead to violent dismounts and loud squealing sounds. This is called the squeal of the pig.

On Finishing and Recovery
Undisciplined males skip the warm up period and ride recklessly until the point of exhaustion. Females, however, typically have a proper warm up period followed by a deliberate building of momentum before the experience is beneficial. At this point, she is able to spin up and recovery rapidly for many thrilling encounters. In a mixed group ride, the wise male conserves his efforts while his partner is thoroughly enjoying a satiating experience. Only when the finish is approaching may he release his final reserves and sprint to the finish. With muscles twitching and hands shaking, he then dismounts and heads for the nearest food source to refuel before collapsing into the sleep of the dead. Let's face it: he's spent.

On Vigor and Aging
There have been numerous tomes written about cycling for all ages. Rest assured, it can be enjoyed throughout life. While performance certainly varies over time, supplements can help maintain your strength so as to not be an issue. Given the chance, most men will be ready to give it a mount at the drop of a hat. You only have to look as far as this fella for proof.

***

Whew! I'm spent!

I, Locutus

I'm being assimilated.

Being clipped into the Cervelo P2sL with a cyclo-computer and wearing a heart rate monitor, I couldn't help but feeling assimilated today during a 60 minute interval workout on the trainer.

And of course, the BORG was present: the G.Borg's perceived exertion and pain scales.
My first contact with the Borg RPE came during a six session stress test conducted by my friend and fellow triathlete Jorge at UNO last winter. It was quite an experience. Stationery bike, lactic acid blood sticks, and a darth vadar mask to capture my V02 max. I felt like crying at the end of each of those workouts. But I got good metrics from it. Thanks Jorge!

Today's encounter with the Borg wasn't much better.

Today's Trainer Workout
10 minutes spin warmup
6 x 3 minutes at 90% max BPM w/3 minute recovery at < 65%
10 minutes spin cooldown

Comments:
Watching Ironman Hawaii during workout was helpful
Having the fan behind me was a bad idea. Pits really stink.
I think that I've got Picard's nose & I hear voices in my head from time to time. Maybe I'll go for the bald look...

This Little Piggy

One of the things I've enjoyed learning this year is how to dress for cold weather riding.

Last winter, it was about running. I learned how to manage just about any foul weather, even a blizzard. I don't recommend the latter unless absolutely necessary, like if you're hypothetically stuck at work, the city shuts down, MAT recalls all their buses and your boss is calling for T.P.S. reports from the warmth and coziness of his/her home. Not that that's happened to me. More than once. Last winter. At 2:52pm on March 1, 2007 when it was 27 F, snowing with 31.1 mph steady winds and 43.7 mph gusts. If this happens to you, bundle up with everything you've got, put yaktrax on your boots, say a prayer, call your loved ones and take care of any unsettled necessary business. Then, say another prayer for a tail wind, head outside and run straight down the middle of the street. Don't worry about traffic as cars are stuck, buried, or in the hypothetical case of my boss, is parked securely in the warmth and coziness of her attached garage.

But I digress. This post is on what I've discovered on my last four cold rides: my toes can't take it.

T-Day +1 Ride with Murphini at 11:00 AM in KC.
26.1 F with 9mph Winds. From head to toe: helmet, helmet hat, muffler; silk thermal, long sleeve tech shirt, long sleeve woolie, glove liners, mittens, tights, bib overalls, smart wool socks and road shoes. After the initial shock, the head and torso were very warm. Legs and hands were cool. Feet were deathly cold and I couldn't feel my toes. They felt like this for about 60 minutes.

T-Day +2 (Shabbos) Time Trial at 1:00 PM in Omaha.
35 F with 12-16mph winds. Same gear as above. Feet were cool, toes were cold but bearable.

Tuesday, 11/27 commute to work at 7:00 AM.
21 F with 8mph North winds. Same gear. In the 20 minute ride, the torso was just warming up while the toes were working toward freezing. It's amazing how tingly a hot shower is on those little fellas afterwards.

Tuesday, 11/27 15 mile lunch ride.
28 F with 9mph winds. Same gear. This time, after 55 minutes of riding my feet and toes were both frozen. It should be noted that I followed Fredcube's advice to pick the one day of the week that was nice enough to ride. The weatherman promised 51 F. Maybe he was looking at a weather chart for Houston.

So, what I'm discovering is that in these temps, most of my body can take the cold except the feet and especially the toes. They just can't bear it.

Looks like some Neoprene booties will be on the stocking stuffer for Christmas this year.

Until then...Hey Munson! Teach me how to duct tape my road shoes. I'm looking for an R-Factor 49.

Giving Thanks

Merriam-Webster's etymology of "thank" is from Old English thanc thought, gratitude; akin to Old High German dank gratitude, Latin tongēre to know.

This past weekend's Thanksgiving road trip to the Murphinis was a refresher on knowing that I belong to the Murphy clan.

Let's start with a wonderful meal: tortellini soup & fresh greens salad mix, bacon-wrapped sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes and gravy, strawberry fruit jello with pretzel topping, a golden-brown brined turkey, decorated ginger cookies and two homemade pies: pumpkin and strawberry-rhubarb. Delicious. Who's Rachel Ray? Connie's kitchen was where it's at and was worth the trip in and of itself.

But there was more than just fine dining. It's the companionship, the kinship, that I relished the most.

To illustrate, the Murphinis have some traditions at Thanksgiving. One is to watch National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. There aren't many better ways to cope with holiday zaniness than to watch the antics & dysfunction of the lovable Griswalds.

Another Murphini tradition is to name something for which we are thankful during the Thanksgiving meal. Doing so is an exercise in communicating those things important to family.

I told about the lessons I learned the first time I ran away from home. I don't exactly remember why I did it, but it was probably because of my older brother Matt. I was eight; he was ten. There is a thin line between love and hate among brothers at that age. In truth, I loved him but despised what he inflicted upon me. His favorite torture was to pin me down and thump my chest and put wet-willys in my ears. But this was just a prelude to the dreaded, hacked-up, deep guttural goober being dangled precariously over my forehead. It would hang there for a few seconds before being voraciously sucked back into his mouth. I tried to play it cool by counting - one... two... three... fou - "Sluuuuurp!!!" Matt sucked that nastiness back in and the cycle resets. Each time that snot ball got closer and closer while I anxiously mumbled another ten-count. Inevitably, the goobery weight would snap the over-extended sinuous snot-strand. With a warm and viscous slap, it hit my forehead and drove this eight year old mad. It was probably something like that that compelled me to run away. With burning tears running down the cheeks, I ran with fury for a few blocks, believing in my heart that each step would lead me away from them forever. After exhaustion hit, I was forced to rethink this strategy. I was cold and hungry. Fifteen minutes after I ran out of their lives for good, I returned and asked Mom what was for dinner. I'm sure that I wasn't even missed because I didn't even tell anyone of my plan to run away. Still, it meant a lot that they were there when I came home.

"You got to learn to stick to your own blood or you ain’t going to have any blood to stick to you."    --Colonel Abner Snopes to young Sarty in William Faulkner's Barn Burning.

It wasn't the last time that I ran away from them. I made some painful choices later in life that could have resulted in them shutting the door on me for good. Still, they've been patient, correcting and compassionate when I returned to my senses and came home.

I suppose that I'm little like Cousin Eddie. My wife's name is Katherine, I have a large clumsy dog and my neighbors would tell you that I've worn goofy hats and robe outside plenty of times. And even though I don't have an RV to abduct your boss in, like cousin Eddie, I've had my shares of blunders.

This year, I have gratitude to know that my family has stuck with me through it all.

Shabbos Time Trial

My triathlete friend Scott has proposed a Time Trial out at Epply this Saturday afternoon with beer and food at his Old Market apartment following.

I'm IN and will be wearing my heart rate monitor to get a good lactate acid threshold base test.

All are welcome...this includes YOU!

SATURDAY November 24, 2007: Time-Trial & Beer

1:00 PM
Meet at Delice's in Old Market. Drop off extra gear at Scott's apartment nearby.

Group ride to Epply Service Road for the start of the 9.3 mile time-trial (individual starts in one minute increments).

After the last finisher, maybe another quick loop as a group and then back to the Old Market to Scott's apartment for beer and food

2:45 PM
Post Time-Trial Showers, Beer, and Food

There are five riders in for sure. The more the merrier. I was thinking that it would be sweet to have a prize purse. Everyone could pay $5; we would put $1 of that in the prize purse for the winner and $4 in the Pizza and Beer fund.

O! Cranksgiving Recap

This past Saturday morning, I participated in Omaha's first inaugural Cranksgiving cycling scavenger hunt benefiting the local food bank. Arriving directly from swimming practice, I quickly pulled Old Yeller out of the car and frantically attempted to install the rack on the back of the bike while shoveling mcGarbage in my mouth. It was hectic and my hands were quivering with excitement as I tried to tighten those little allen bolts.

There was a reason for this rush: the coveted gold painted crank for the first cyclist to finish.

I had about 30 seconds to spare by the time I gotten it all together. Fortunately, Munson was right there and said to hang on his wheel. Thanks, Munson...who knows where I would have ridden without you.

Shortly, the race was on and we were peddling with a fury into stiff crosswinds along Fort Street with the first destination as the Irvington Wal-Mart. We passed a couple mountain bikers along the way and were the first to arrive there. Grabbing a box of pasta, I went through the self checkout while Munson opted for the express lane. The woman in front of me was taking her sweet time while I must have looked like the village fool: helmet, bike gear, road shoes and all doing a tap dance like a four year old 'bout ready to piss his pants while Barry Manilow muzak filtered down from the PA system above.

The next stop, Hy-Vee on Fort, was the place where we got stuck in the Tuna Helper nightmare. We lost precious time checking and re-checking the baking aisle's countless varieties of *-Helpers. I mean, there was hamburger, lasagna, beef stroganoff, linguine, chicken and pork helpers, but no tuna. Apparently, we found out five minutes later, Tuna Helper is in such demand that it has its commands its own shelf space in the luncheon meats aisle. Arrggh. Another dash to checkout and off to the gas station across the street.

When we arrived at this store, the woman behind the counter barely peeks over her copy of People to quip, "peanut butter for the scavenger hunt's in aisle four." Then, Munson and I were ambushed by Qianna Bradley, a World Herald reporter who happened on us by random chance. "You guys doing that Cranksgiving thing?" she inquired while I put a jar of Jiffy on the counter. She went on to say that she was at the start at Bike Masters and was looking to see what it was like out on the street. Pretty cool. This Cranksgiving thing was taking on a life of its own. Qianna interviewed us over the next few stops and wrote a piece that was in the Sunday Paper.

The rest of Cranksgiving was more of the same: riding, clip-cloppity & sliding through waxed floors in road shoes and managing self- checkout machines that effervescently inquired, "Do you have a coupon that you would like to use?"

There were already a few bikes outside by the time Munson and I made it back to Bike Masters. Damn that Tuna Helper. I felt a tad better when they weighed my sack [sic] at 20 lbs. I looked disdainfully at Munson's 13.9 lbs and gave a gorilla press to show how steel-cut I was. Then again, he was riding a 1x9 spd cromoly tank with a hub generator that looks like the fuse to an atomic bomb. Still, I felt like the alpha male until I heard another weigh-in at 39 lbs. I turned to see a 20 lb bag of flour with puncture marks being removed from the scale. Apparently, the bag was torn by the handlebars during the ride, resulting in a flour cloud and gluten mess for the cyclist & his bike. Then, another came in with a B.O.B and 76lbs of food. Dang! This guy hoisted a frozen turkey and a sack of potatoes out of his bag while someone muttered incredulously, "Potatoes weren't on the list!" It was pretty cool to see the generosity of folks and what they could do on a bike ride.

In fact, the generosity is what I appreciated most about the event. Way to go, Bryan & Chris, on getting this thing going. I remember thinking that you were crazy to even consider doing this, especially after having a kid a few months back. I still think that, but you did it. There was great participation, in both riders and in sponsors. While the rest of us were munching down sloppy joes and soup (all terrific, but the Wisconsin cheese was my favorite), Bryan was working the crowd and stuffing people's arms with all kinds of handouts while socializing. Meanwhile, Chris and a group of volunteers were weighing-in bags, counting and sorting food. And, There must have been one heck of a clean-up afterwards.

Memories from this Cranksgiving I shall not forget:

Nearly fifty bikes strewn all over the parking lot at the start

Munson's head-wag during the starting line sprint

Cyclists & backpacks peddling like mad to the next stop

The clerk at the quick shop reading the magazine

The Flour Man and his bike

The torn bag of flour

A sack of potatoes

Festive atmosphere in the store

Award ceremonies: Gold-painted crank, Silver cassettes and bronze crank arms for top finishers. Silver brake caliper for the last person.

Home made soups and a sweet potato? cake. That thing was awesome

In short: it was grande. Way to go, Bryan and gang, on getting Cranksgiving-Omaha it's start.

Newbie on a Trainer

I'm no longer a virgin. Well, at least no longer a cycling trainer virgin.

I picked up a used Blackburn mag trainer a year ago but never went for it. But last night, I did, as put Old Yeller to the test.

It hurt a lot in the legs and cardio, but it was most painful for my brain. I mean, it was more boring than running on a treadmill, and I hate doing that with a passion. To illustrate, last year I ran outside throughout the entire winter -- sleet, snow, negative wind chills and all -- to avoid the treadmill. But cycling is obviously more dangerous in cold weather than running, so it looks like there's no escaping it this time.

Heck. I wish I could escape it. In fact, I would rather spend 90 minutes in the dentist chair than on the trainer. Oh, the horror.

Seriously, please help me out by offering your suggestions and tips so I can make it through this winter:
1) What works for you to keep from going nuts?
2) What are some good workouts?
3) How do you measure your workout performance?

Priceless: 1999 GT ZR 4000 Upgrades

She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts, kid. I've made a lot of special modifications myself.

Credit to where it's due, a big thanks to Munson's mechanical skills in reassembling it. That, and the best that Taco Johns can offer.

Old Yeller's back and better than ever!

Weekend Recap

Friday Night:
Ms Katherine and I had a big date. First, her swimming lesson was canceled due to a high school/club swimming meet at UNO. We stuck around and watched for a half hour before going out to dinner (Great Wall) and grocery shopping. Whew! What a date. If I said that we then went home and watched disc 3 of Heroes Season 1, would that be sharing too much information about my personal life?

Saturday
After house cleaning, Katherine studied while I took Emmylou to the park for an hour walk. Then, I went hunting for components for the yellow GT. Stopped by Bike Masters, saw Bryan's poster, and talked shop with the older guy with the British accent while he shoveled some mean looking stew in his pie whole. Among the bikes there, there was a $10,000 Felt TT. Meanwhile, NU was getting their ass handed to them on the shop TV. I then went to Powerpro sports to drool over some Honda Interceptors and Suzuki Bandits. It's funny: those bikes cost $6,000 and you get one helluva rush riding them. The highlight of the rest of Saturday night: Ms Katherine and I finished disc 3 of Heroes. You can stop here if this is too personal.

Sunday
Church at Glad Tidings in the morning followed by a trip to the Donut Professor.

Perhaps the Donut Professor could be the home of Shabbos +1 during the interim. Donut shop culture is like cycling anarchy: coffee made from dipping a brown crayon in hot water and artery choking deep-fried flour pucks represents an interesting dichotomy to livestrong. Just a thought.

Then, I did yard work. The highlight of the day was going for a 9 mile run from my house to drop off videos Season 1 Heroes discs 2 and 3 at the Blockbuster on Cass Street.

Along the way, I noticed a foreboding sign: "River City Hockey is now closed" on the shop's door. I liked Ted and his shop. Times are bad. It seems like small businesses are closing left and right.

The remainder of the weekend was spent on a walk with Emmylou, dining on take out Cantonese noodles from the Rice Bowl (four out of five stars) and studying with Ms. Katherine.

Congratulations. You made it to the end of this blog entry.

Big Wheel Update

From Bicycle Village's Interbike 2007 update:


"Big toys for big kids! For every Interbike Yakima brings some crazy new machine that draws the hordes to their booth. This year their Hot For Teacher big wheel did the trick.

Sized two and a half times larger than the tot rod you rode as a kid, this trick trike boasts dual disc brakes, a cooler for your beverages and, unlike your first 3-wheeler, you can coast on this puppy. Oh, and since it's hard to tell in the photo, the guy on the trike here is six-feet five-inches tall!"

Cool Weather Gear Primer

My brother Murphini helped mark another year of my life recently with an addition to the cycling wardrobe: a Pearl Izumi long sleeve Woolie. Dang...That's hot! Thanks, Murphini! In fact, I'd have to admit that my kin is a group of hoopy froods that I'm extremely fortunate to sass.

Anyway, this woolie segues into questions that a cycling newbie has on cool weather riding gear. Please advise or I shall rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon.

Head
Do I wear some sort of hat under the helmet?

Hands
What types of gloves will I need for different temperatures ranges:

Torso
I understand the concept of layering with thermal undershirt/wool/silk base layers, a long sleeve jerseys and a shell. But what is the case for wearing a short sleeve wool jersey? Would you wear arm warmers in the morning and then opt for no sleeves as the day went on? Also, until I get some more experience, I won't know how much layering to wear.

Legs
Tights? Knickers? Thermal underwear? Maybe I'll get knickers just to tell the young whipper-snappers when I'm 80 that I once owned a pair back in aught-seven.

Feet
Neoprene Booties? Munson's duct tape?

Seriously, though, I'm lost when it comes to this stuff. Mostly, I believe that it will be used for commuting. I suppose there could be some group rides on the warmer days. So basically, what brands do you recommend and where to go to get it? Thanks in advance.

Part VIII: 1999 GT ZR 4000

Picking up from yesterday's brief interruption...riding a motorcycle was a enjoyable, but it doesn't compare to the exhilaration of a draft line or the sense of satisfaction of covering a long distance on your own power.

While I had taken up running a couple years earlier, my kid brother Brendan had been nudging me to follow his lead in getting into triathlons. So as a primer, he permanently loaned me his 1999 GT ZR 4000 road bike. Thanks, Brendan!

Somebody once said, "This is my grandfather's axe. My father replaced the blade and I replaced the handle. It's my grandfather's axe." Is that philosophy or geometry? I think it tends toward philosophical circles, but I would bet somebody could use side-angle-side to prove that theorem is correct. Anyway, I'm not exactly sure about it, but that same principle was about to be set in motion on the GT.

At the time of acquisition, the GT was a commuter with green knobbies and a partial paint strip.

I finished stripping it with the help of Jasco Premium paint and epoxy remover. That's good stuff. Just make sure to wear gloves and apply in a well ventilated area.

Next, it was powder coated for $40 at R&R Powder Coating on 19th and Leavenworth. The shop owner Ray is like your favorite uncle who chain smokes cigarettes and drinks coal-black coffee while talking shop. He did an excellent job: the powder coat is bullet proof, looks great and you couldn't beat the price.

Then it was time to assess the components. I knew that the chain, chain rings & cassette were well-worn, but I wasn't ready to invest much more money in it because I was unsure if I'd enjoy cycling. So I opted to replace the cassette and put some new Bontrager yellow Race X Lites tires on it. The big bucks would have to come later.


I didn't ride much at first: commuting to work, during UP lunch rides and in the 2006 Corporate Cycling challenge. But this past summer, I finally caught the cycling bug during long group rides. It was never easy. Pain may better describe it. Maybe even preposterous. Somehow, this equates to good times. Cyclists are nuts.

All of the wear and tear over the years finally caught up with the bike. The day after it's final triathlon race, it went to crap. Bryan's idea of pissing into the seat post tube to restore what Brendan and I rode out of it was creative. Crude, but certainly creative.

Instead, I have decided to rebuild it properly, which could cost more on upgrades than the bike was worth brand new. That being said, I'm looking for parts: 105s or better. It needs shifters, dérailleurs, cassette, hubs, an axe blade...

Post-Edit:
Ol' Yeller has been restored.

Part VII: 1981 Suzuki GS250t

OK, this is cheating, but I did venture into motorcycles, or motorsackles as Mom likes to call them, by picking up this starter bike for $700 in 2003.

By that time, the GT Karakoram was collecting cobwebs in the basement and I hadn't yet discovered the joy of running. In fact, things weren't so great in general as I had just gone through a divorce. My way of coping with it was to buy a motorcycle. It probably wasn't the most mature way to handle it, but I suppose it's better than some.

The idea was to learn how to ride and then upgrade into some sort of bigger bike. I had my eyes on the Suzuki Bandit. Then later, I'd trade up again for a Honda sport touring bike.

For a small bike, this fella sure was a blast. It had surprisingly good power range and the five speed gearbox was fun to work. It was also in great shape when I bought it, having only 2,500 miles and no dings, scrapes or rust. Those chrome pipes gave it a nice cruiser look and were remarkably loud. It also got about 55 miles per gallon, so I had that going for me, which was nice. Despite its age, it started up faithfully each morning and required normal maintenance.

By 2006, the divorce crisis was behind me and I had been remarried. Along the way of working things out, I had gotten back into physical shape first by running. Then, I began cycling; even later, swimming. Triathlons and running races became regular events in my life. Indeed, my life had changed quite a bit in a few years.

As a result of all of these changes, the GS250t became the bike collecting the cobwebs. It was time to move on. I sold the bike this spring for $750 and used the cash toward the purchase of the Cervelo P2sl time trial bike. The GS250t was fun for a season, but I don't regret what I traded up for.

Next blog installment: a second life for the GT zr 4000 road bike.