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?

Grim Reaper Saw Me Riding Home from Work Today

While cruising Old Yeller down that big hill on Farnam just before Saddlecreek, this car suddenly makes an aggressive U-Turn about 20 yards in front of me and proceeds to cut across my lane. The driver didn't see me.

I yell, "AHHHHHHHHHHHH!" like really loud because I didn't have time to think of anything more witty to scream.

That's when I saw the Grim Reaper. He was standing at the entrance to Don And Millie's parking lot, which was where the car was about to run me over.

I'm still yelling, "AHHHHHHHHHHHH" as I quickly turn and bunny hop the half-curb driveway entrance at about 30 mph. Brakes were not even an option.

The car screeches to a stop only inches from me. I could feel the heat of the radiator on my legs and as I whizzed by the Grim Reaper. I think that I heard him snap his fingers and say, "shucks."

Other than the embellishments about the radiator heat and the Grim Reaper stuff, it was all frighteningly true: I was almost a goner!

When I came to a stop, I verified that the car hooked around a concrete median and crossed a solid double yellow line. It was bad enough that I had nearly been in a serious accident, but the thought of my life ending over such stupidity, and for what -- a Millie burger and a cheese frenchie? Getting mad. Madder....

**BOOM!!**

With adrenaline surging through my veins, I turned Old Yeller back around and confronted the driver getting out of her car. Well, it was more like a rabid dog's barking than a verbal assault. I believe I conveyed the point that she almost killed me while making an illegal turn for fast food, but it's hard to say. After giving her a good verbal tongue thrashing, I heard her say, "I already said I was sorry".

Thankfully, it was only my anger that she had to be sorry about.

Fred Didn't See Me Riding To Work Today

This morning I dropped off the car at Heavy T's Automotive in Bellevue, down by the infamous toll bridge that charges cyclists 50 cents to cross. I unloaded Old Yeller from the car and wished for a long ride into Glenwood, IA. But responsibility called and I turned northwards.

Along the way, Fred didn't see me while he commuted by bike to his new job not at the UP. Having Fredcube work elsewhere bums me out because the therapeutic United Way campaign haiku sessions won't be the same anymore. Bummer #2 is missing Fredcube fending off the attacks by Reed and Wes over lunch rides.

Such is life.

But I know that Fred didn't see me while riding to work today because I didn't hear him curse and swear at me as I rode by. He also mentioned it that he didn't see me on his blog.

I'd like to imagine what if Fredcube saw me while he rode to not-UP today. Long before he could recognize that it was Old Yeller approaching, venom would have been flowing. In his mind's voice, he'd be critical about the way I was riding, or the clothes I was wearing. Maybe even the bike I was riding. But as I approached, Old Yeller would have struck fear in his heart. In his weakened state, would he let it out, or bottle it up only to go critical-mass on some helpless chap down the path?

Anyway, driving the car 19 miles in the opposite direction from work to only then ride by bicycle back was a good way to start the day. But it came with a twinge of guilt. I mean, I'm riding to work and enjoying the exercise just after dropping off old smokey to be fixed. Indeed, it is not unlike smoking without inhaling?

I wonder if I inhaled the exhaust my car had just created when Fred didn't see me riding to work today.

Steve Lemans

With every day that passes, I get more sucked into the cycling subculture.

Take the Giro d'Italia. Last year, a Giro was just another Greek food; now it's a Greek food (like a balaclava) that also has a cycling connotation. Fantastic! And this year, I've learned the names of a few more riders. I watched as David Millar took an agonizing groin shot to the top tube when his chain snapped 1K from the finish. I've also have been cheering on that little Italian climbing phenomenon and veteran Leonardo Piepoli.

I've come to realize that cycling has more retina staying power than non-mainstream sports. Must be because of the cycling gear: the brightly colored uniforms and cycles. Let's face it, outside of Ringling Brothers, you don't see this much vivid spandex. If only the Italians would follow their circus cousins and grow mustaches to look like their mothers.

Running, in contrast, has no such appeal. You've got boring singlets and running shorts. Oh, and some flashy shoes. With this drab outlook, there's little sense of team competition. Even in cross country, the colors are often so muted like burnt umber or a dull cyan that it just too depressing to view. And while the 1980s had a fair amount of almost-mainstream runners: Rodgers, Prefontaine, Salazar, Beardsley and Samuelson, I challenge you to name a prominent runner today. Can you?

But cycling has its share of recognizable names. Of course, there's Armstrong. Some may recall Floyd Landis. And then there is Greg Lemond.

With a flame out with Trek bicycling company, Lemond is still vying for attention in the public eye. Regarding his image, it does seem as though he has a hard time of letting go of things. Like Pizza. Yet I got to give him credit, because the public still remembers his greatness in Paris.

Take yesterday, for instance. I was riding home from work on Old Yeller in my Midwest Cycling Community kit. As I approached 15th and Farnam a jaywalker yells, "GO STEVE LEMANS!" Um. Lemans? ... Steve? I could be wrong about this, but I think he meant Greg Lemond. But perhaps he meant Lemaze. Lemond does look like he's about to birth something, so I could see that. But I'm pretty certain he said Lemans. Of course, due diligence followed as I later Googled "Steve Lemans." The Google was also a bit confused and fired back "Did you mean: steve le mans". I clicked the link to discover references to Steve McQueen and the 1971 movie "Le Mans". This really got interesting because of the Steve McQueen - Sheryl Crowe connection, which brought me back to Lance. It's a stretch, but I really doubt that's what he meant.

Regardless of what was actually said, it still made a difference on my ride. A toothy grin erupted on my face while the heart rate and cadence picked up. Indeed, I felt a special new connection to the cycling community in being compared with the greatness of the one and only Greg Steve McQueen Le Mans Lemond.

Like Steve McQueen
All I need's a fast machine ....

Lincoln Half

Recently, I postulated that being fit allows one to accept an open invitation to become an active participant of the great outdoors. I admit that I was mushy about nature.

But don't get me wrong. While I attempt to reduce my carbon footprint as much as possible, I haven't gone O/C on it. Yet. I respect nature, but I'm not about to retread my Nikes with old bicycle inner tubes and homemade adhesives concocted of honey, kerosene and egg whites.

And while it's nice to preserve and conserve, nature somehow manages to carry on, oblivious to the idiocy of what we inflict upon it. For example, time and time again soldiers journal that they hear birds singing among the most horrific battlefield scenes. I just don't get that worried about the future of life on this planet. It may not resemble what we have now, but it will endure.

So I don't obsess about it. In fact, I drive a car daily. Sometimes, it's for training or to enter a race. If I was gonzo - environmentalist, training and racing would be off my list.

But it's not. I enjoy being fit to enter races, too.

This past weekend I ran the Lincoln Half Marathon. The weather was perfect: 40 degrees, little wind and brilliant sunshine at the start. Such a difference in conditions from last year.

With the Kansas long course triathlon five weeks out, I approached this race as an opportunity for high end training. No taper. This included normal weekly workouts and a moderately hard 90 minute ride into a stiff north wind to Ft. Calhoun late Saturday afternoon. At the gun, my legs were not exactly fresh. But I remained patient and settled into a comfortably aggressive pace right above for the first half.

At the second half, I gradually picked up the tempo. The legs were no longer feeling heavy and cardio was strong. While others around me wilted at the 10th mile hill, my pace remained steady. I continued to apply more power throughout the race. The clock shows that my fastest miles were the final two at 5:58, 5:55. Overall, my final six miles (36:53) were a slightly faster than the initial six (37:09). In the end, I barely missed reaching a goal to run it in under 1:20 (1:20:37 chip), but that's OK. I'm very satisfied with how I ran the race.

It's also notable that my average heart rate throughout was 167 BPM. The peak of 182 that likely came as I approached the finish. 167 BPM is right above my lactic acid threshold, which I believe is a good sign for a half marathon. I may have been able to push it a little more, but that's fine for a B race.

What this shows me is that training has been effective. In many of my interval workouts and time trials, I've focused on starting at around 80-85% effort and gradually building power throughout the effort. I believe that this has ingrained into my muscles a race-day strategy that is becoming routine. Race experience also helped as I didn't get swept up into the rush at the start but patiently allowed the race to unfold as I envisioned it.

Aside from last year's full marathon, I've never run the 1/2 for a competitive split. Sunday's effort was a de facto PR that will still pose a challenge to eclipse in the future.

Finally, on a sidebar, Ol' Yeller made an appearance afterwards as I rode support for a colleague in the marathon. See! Look at the sippy cup I'm holding for my friend, Derek. What's funny was that while I was on the bike, a runner confused me for the special guest of the day, ultra-marathoner Dean Karnazes. I'm not kidding. This guy, who could've been hallucinating from funk-induced glycogen debt, starts yelling at me, "Dean! Dean Karnazes!" Um, no. Must have been the dazzling effect Ol'Yeller has on folks that caused it.

In the end, a good day of memories, racing and extended training.

10 Things I Hated about Sunday's Ride

It all started weeks ago with a nagging knee injury that was likely the result of a poor self-fitting on Old Yeller. I've always known that the bike was a tad large for me as the top tube is 55cm and I'm 5-9". Plus, the 20mm seat tube offset and 110mm stem stretched me out. Riding required locking the elbows to reach the hoods.

So on Saturday, I took Old Yeller to the LBS for a professional fitting. You know, to do it right. Yeah, it cost a little, but the end results are well worth it. If anything, it reduces the risk of an overuse injury due to a maligned fit. In the end, the gap was shortened with a zero offset seat post and the handlebars were brought closer with an 85mm stem. The stem was a bit tricky because of Old Yeller's antiquated design of not having a modern quill that extends through the stem tube. Instead, its quill is cut at the top of the headset, requiring a special adapter piece from Zoom that inserts into the stem tube to clamp the quill. Then, the top portion of the adapter extends above the stem tube so that the stem can attach to it. Whew! It worked. Old Yeller now fits me better than ever. I can actually bend my elbows while riding and generally feel more compact.

But Somehow in the hustle and bustle of running a shop while doing a professional fitting, the final tightening of the lateral stem bolts was skipped. It was firm, but not tight.

Hated #1:
As I found shortly after beginning Sunday's ride, there are at least two parts that you don't want to fail while riding: 1) brakes and 2) steering. but you see, when your steering fails, your brakes are pointless. In my case, I was fortunately only starting to accelerate from a stop to cross busy Pacific street. The torque that I applied on the handle bar twisted the stem while the front wheel went the other way. Oh yeah, there was a truck coming, too. Fortunately, instincts prevailed as I kicked out of the pedals and let the bike fall out from underneath.

Hated #2:
At the other side of the street, I discovered that I forgot to transfer the tool kit from the commuter to Old Yeller. No tools to fix it.

Hated #3:
Only a mile from Munson's house, I called for support. I misdiagnosed the problem as a loose top stem bolt and not the stem's lateral ones. As a result, he brought the wrong allen key. He TT'd back to his place to get the right one. Thanks, Muncie!

Hated #4:
Now that we were behind schedule to meet with the other riders at Crane coffee shop, there was a certain amount of angst in getting there. In the haste to hop back on the Old Yeller, I failed to check the rear dérailleur. That was a mistake as it took the brunt of the fall and bent the hanger hook inwards. Of course, it would have been nice to know that before I shifted the chain into rear spokes and then had to stop to back it out. More lost time, but it was cool seeing Munson go Incredible Hulk on the hanger to try to bend it back in place. While not perfect, it was enough to get me going again.

Hated #5:
For the next 4.5 hours, coping with a rear der that would not want to stay in the lowest gear (largest cassette sprocket) under any amount of strain. That made hill climbing very squirrelly.

Hated #6
About 45 minutes into the ride, my right knee starts acting up. Good grief: they're taking turns being injured. Same issue as the left, but now on the right. What's funny is that the left knee felt great throughout the ride.

Hated #7:
...And that old north wind should begin to blow. For the last eight miles into Blair, the double whammy of a stiff north wind and dropping temperature provided character building opportunities.

Hated #8:
The high road outside of Ft. Calhoun. This one came right after hovering at around 175 BPM for a solid ten minutes as we tried to pick up the tempo to get Bryan home on time. And I was being pulled--just trying to hang on to Bryan's wheel. Dang those guys are strong! Then we got to that hill. It turns out that the high heart rate didn't matter as I shifted the chain again off the rear der and into the spokes. I admit: it was a pre-climb moment of desperation that I forgot about the bent hanger. By the time I got the chain back on, my heart rate had returned from insanity. Mike and Bryan were not to be seen. But to my relief, they were waiting for me at the top.

Hated #9:
More torture as we took on the high road rollers in an effort to pick up lost time. My right knee was toast by this time as it shot pain with each downward stroke.

Hated #10:
Post ride recovery: after the ride, my right knee felt relatively fine walking around the house. However, the left knee was now sore going down steps. Whatever.

--//--

Despite these ten rants, it was still a great time and definitely worth all of the hassles.

The highlight reel was that ridiculous hill climb on Dana College road. While the chain was dancing all over the rear der, I was in a full pursuit of Bryan. Both knees were feeling good. Meanwhile, Munson had fallen off somewhere behind. I wanted to believe that I was making small gains on Bryan but realized that the top of hill was coming too quickly for me to catch him. Just then, Munson goes flying by in a full sprint sneak-attack and catches Bryan as they crest the top. Bryan and Mike say that it only takes dropping it into that extra gear for that last 200 meters. What gear? I was already at the redline and had nowhere else to go.

Like the shanker who grooves only one drives down the center fairway, that's the one that will keep me coming back for more.

My belated apologies to Chris for my part in delaying Bryan's return home. Thanks to Bryan and Mike for waiting for me at the high road and the subsequent dragging me back home. Plus, I owe Munson a few more burritos for the on-the-site mechanic worx to keep me rolling.

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!

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.

RIP: GT zr 4000

Yesterday's ride was likely the last for the GT.

What prompted a visit to the Trek store was a problem with the rear shifter. The indexing stripped during a ride yesterday, rendering the entire rear shifting mechanism worthless. My triple-eight had effectively become a three speed: 53-42-30 chain rings. Hoping for the best, expecting the worst, I dropped if off at the shop last night.

The phone rang like a death knell this morning. At the other end, the bike mechanic is yelling in my ear, "Dude, you rode the piss out of this thing!"

Apparently, not only is the rear shifter hosed, but the chain is stretched beyond the capability of measurement and the teeth are stripped on the triple chain rings and cassette.

At first, I was proud of what my beastly side had accomplished. And then depression set in.

It was a nice bike! It was a joy to ride and it was cheerfully yellow. It brought me many places that I never dreamt of before. Well, Louisville, Nebraska is not much of a place to dream of, but it still got me there and back. And man, what a heroic sacrifice it made for me during its last race two days ago!

"Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak, Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break." -- Shakespeare's Macbeth

Oh! The loss...the agony!! ***Gnashing-teeth sound***

I shall miss you, GT. Rest in Peace.