Trangko STP training ride - July 8th 2012

My Friends, what a ride.

Sunday morning started out like any other morning where I am going to be on my bike for a good portion of the day; early, restless, and excited for the road ahead. This day was a bit different. THIS day, I was riding with Trangko. 

Trangko, if you are a follower of the blog, you will remember is the group that I drove support for in last year’s STP, and since then, I have rode occasionally with. Well, mostly I have started with them, and then rode to where they were waiting for me to catch up. To say these guys are fast is an understatement of the first order. These guys define “fast”. So, naturally the thought of riding with them was a little intimidating to say the least. Not that they aren’t the nicest group you will ever ride with, they are! And they wait patiently for me at the next stop, but after a few times of that, it starts to get to a guy, you know? I realized about 5 months ago, that if I was going to even try to hang with these guys I was going to have to get a lot stronger.

So I set out to do just that. 

My intense training for STP began in April. I started commuting to my office 2-3 days a week, hitting spin class a couple times a week, and really examining my technique and equipment to see where I could improve on both. I also learned the importance of nutrition on rides over 40 miles. 

In June I bumped up my commute to 25 miles round trip and went to 3 days a week from 2. I also added a long (50+ miles) ride once during the weekend. Rain or shine.

All the while, on every ride, I rode with the vision of Trangko pulling away from me. On a hill, if I wanted to gear down and crank up slow, I envisioned Roland belting out a Tagalog love song as he effortlessly left me in the dust on a hill, so I would gear up, stand up and push it out. On the flats, I would see a 10 rider pace line cruising at 22 mph effortlessly pulling away from me on S. Rainer, leaving me to push my own way through the wind. And I would gear up, and crank until I hoped I had caught up to them, but they always stayed just a little ahead. 

This is the motivation that drove me; this is what keeps driving me. This is what is making me better. You see, as nice as these guys are, and as politely as they wait for me, it is not their job to go slow or change their ride to accommodate me, it is my job to get faster, stronger,  and earn my spot in their highly skilled and close knit group. 

So, back to today. Today, after months of what the guys call “secret training”, I was about to put on the Trangko kit for the first time and join them for a “brisk” 60-70 mile ride around the Lake Tapps plateau. This is what I had been training for, this was my opportunity to show them I deserved the kit, and a place in their pace line. 

Rolling out of the Supermall at 8am evidently I had a lot to still learn, rookie mistake number 1: “Don’t try new equipment for the first time on a group ride”. I had replaced my clips and they felt much different than my old ones. When I tried to push away from a stop at the very beginning of the ride, I slipped forward and onto the nose of my saddle, pushing the nose down to my horizontal. Which brings me to Rookie mistake number 2: “Don’t believe that the shop you took your bike to for the tune up really tightened everything as good as you would like”. Had my seat post been tightened enough, I would not have had to stop everything and make two lengthy adjustments to my seat angle. Again, the extraordinary patience of these guys was put to the test. Thankfully I was able to get it back to original position and we were back on the road. 

The first climb. Now, I’m not going to say I stuck with them on every climb, or even on most. But on this first climb something felt different. They weren’t pulling away as fast as I was used to seeing. I wasn’t in my lowest gear, spinning just to get up the hill. I was cranking! By the time I got to the top of the hill, they were still in my sight, just a little ways down the road. I was even able to catch up to them before the next accent.

That was the way the whole ride went. At every stop I was at most 30 to 60 seconds behind them if I wasn’t with them, on all but the steepest of climbs I was able to stay with the pack. And in what I would call 15 miles of blissful pace line riding, I was tucked in 6 inches of the back wheel of another rider, part of the pace line, and cranking with the team.

It was then, that I felt that I truly belonged with the team. I felt a part of it. Guys coming up behind me with jokes like, “who’s this guy” and “where did you come from?!” just made me feel so good and reinforced that all the work I have been doing is paying off. 

But, alas, this story does not have a good ending. About 6 miles out from the finish I started getting cramps in my legs. Little twinges at first, and then at about 4 miles out my left thigh cramped to the point that I couldn’t extend my leg to complete a pedal stroke. Luckily I was able to lay the bike down and stretch it out. One of the guys, Julius was kind enough to circle back when he saw I didn’t make the light and wait with me while I got my leg back. Once again back with the team I was working hard to stay with them, the temp had gone up to at least 85 deg and I was really starting to feel it. Then, just as we were about to pull back on to the interurban trail, the worst cramps so far hit me. To the point, where both legs locked up and I literally fell over to get off my bike. This cramp would prove to be too painful and stubborn to allow me to get back on my bike. I could barely move for at least 5 mins, and every attempt to stretch would set off cramps in other parts of my body. Essentially my body was telling me enough was enough; no more bike for you.

Once again, Julius stopped and tried to help, but my legs were not going to recover. I asked him to go on, and come back with a car to get me. And there, in a parking lot under a tree at an elementary school in Sumner, my ride came to an end. I had about 30 mins to reflect on the ride thus far… 68 miles in a little over 5 hours, 2000 ft. of elevation, amazing pace line riding, people on the shoulder shouting encouraging “HELL YEAH’s” while girls in their bikini’s jumped up and down as we went screaming by.

It felt good. It all felt good. I have been saying my training has been in preparation for riding STP. But honestly, I am sure that for the most part, I will be riding alone on STP as these guys are still faster than me. But now what I really believe is my training has been in preparation for, was for today. For a chance to wear the Trangko kit, and take my place in the pace line.

And now that I have it… I don’t plan on giving it up. 

To Shave or not To Shave.. that is the question...

Ok, so over the last few months, the thought of shaving my legs has been a reoccurring idea. On the one hand, it would, on the surface, seem like a serious waste of shaving cream, hot water, and fresh razors... (those damn things are expensive!). I also read this guy's blog about leg shaving myths.  But then I did a little research and I noticed a few things:

Not me... Shaving's one thing... pink underwear is something else entirly

1. Marble statues of Hercules do not have leg hair, and you might think this was a ommission for time sake, but they did include the beard, so my thought is they intentionally left out the leg hair
2. Lance shaves his legs, noticible improvement in uphill climbing... I want to be like Lance.
3. Legs without body hair tan faster, and darker. something I have had issues with for along time... 
4. Scarring and healing happens much faster on shaved legs than hairy legs if one crashes
5. I love my wife's smooth sexy legs... surely she would feel the same about mine? 
6. My professional Body Builder brother in law (the Action Figure) shaves his entire body. 

I wanna be like Lance!

So, in a moment of rash thought, last night, after riding home and setting speed records, I decided to do it. Except, not having EVER shaved my legs before, I really didnt do it right... apparently when your leg hair resembles a wild animal, some trimming in advance would be advisable. I litterly would make one pass and the razor would be completly clogged.

So, muddling through that after about 30 - 45 mins, and running out of hot water, I emerged from the shower... with ONE shaved leg.

This wasn't going at all how I had planned it.

Added to the list of "You Don't Miss It Till It's Gone"... Leg Hair. Are you kidding? My leg felt like it had gone numb. Amazing how much sensation you get through hair. Don't believe me, shave one leg and not the other... it's a strange and trippy experience.

Anyway, after charging my beard trimmer all night, this morning the 2nd leg now matches the first, and without using up all the hot water. I am happy to say I fully anticipate being able to keep up with the Trangko guys now that I am so much more streamline.

Oh, and by the way, ladies, stop complaining about it. It's not that big of a deal. ;-) (bet you thought us guys would never find out, huh?)

Cyclist Homeland? - an open letter to the inhabitants of Mercer Island

Imagine, for a moment, a place. Seemingly cut off from the hustle and bustle of the world. A place, where the road moves in rolling ups and downs. Where there are hair pin turns but the road is banked so you can whip through it with no loss of speed like a NASCAR racer taking a left turn on the inside. Where the roads are well maintained and covered with green canopies so even on the hottest days there is always a cool breeze to be made by riding through them.

A place where the drivers are courteous, and understanding, and will actually drive behind you as you ascend a climb rather than blow past and almost hit you.   

“Impossible!” you say? Ridicules! You think?

Nay, Constant Reader, there is such a place. Let me introduce you to…

Mercer Island

On Mercer Island all the things I described above are true. The roads are smooth as silk, the hills challenging enough to be interesting and easy enough so you want to keep coming back. There is actually 5 miles of solid switch backs through tree covered street on the East side of the island where the road dips into each turn just enough so when you rise out of it there is no loss of speed or additional effort required to get to the crest of the next turn.

And most importantly: the drivers. Please let me go on record saying the drivers I have encountered on Mercer Island are the most courteous, respectful, and patient drivers I have ever encountered. I literally had one follow me for a mile on a hill instead of passing me, because they couldn’t see over the crown, and rather than get too close, they just went 5 mph behind me till we reached the top together.   And with a tap on the horn and a friendly wave, they drove on once they could see. Unbelievable.

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Mercer Island is the wealthiest zip code in Washington State, Bill Gate’s neighborhood not withstanding. There is more concentrated wealth on what we affectionately call “Poverty Rock” than in any other area of Washington. I guess if you have more money than God, and nothing to do all day except spend it, you don’t get much road rage for being delayed 2 minutes behind a cyclist. 

So, thank you Mercer Island for being there. For having a tax base that allows you to fix every little pothole, crack, rough patch, and unevenness almost before it happens. And most of all for allowing the “little people” like me, and the gazillion other cyclists I’ve encountered whilst on “The Rock,” enjoy your little piece of heaven.

I will be returning. 

Two Flats and a Goose attack – A ride cut short

The Cascade Bicycle Club is a fantastic organization. I plan on joining it officially very soon, but until then I will continue to take part of their free daily rides -http://www.cascade.org/EandR/Activities_Calendar.cfm. You might not know it but most every day, there is a club sponsored ride happening in many different locations around our area for just about every level of rider. Coming up short on friends who find destroying themselves on long distance rides as pleasurable as I do, I really enjoy being part of these sponsored rides that include people as psychotic as I am.

This morning it happened to be a great little ride advertised as “41 miles through wooded rolling hills. Steady Pace from Woodinville through Duvall and back”. I was really looking forward to the hills, and was also pretty pumped that I could ride from my home and add another 5 miles to each side of it making it 51 miles total.

Knowing it was supposed to be the hottest day of the week so far, I packed extra water and electrolyte replacement powder and gel packs and headed out to the Red Hook Brewery.

Interesting point of fact: the Red Hook Brewery has become the defacto biking Mecca on the east side. Any given day if the sun is out, there will be hundreds of bikes on their racks and riders hanging out, drinking beer, eating, meeting up, heading out, etc… it’s a great place to start and finish a ride.  

When I got there, it was obvious it was going to be a big ride, there were already 25 people that were signed up for it, and more were arriving every minute. I think by the time we left, we had about 30 people. What a pace-line!

As we headed down the valley towards our first climb of the day, English Hill, I remembered that I hadn’t really warmed up yet. The 4 miles from my house to the brewery wasn’t enough. So, I think I kinda psyc’d myself out for the first climb. I made it almost the entire way up before I had to stop for a short break. It has become obvious to me I need 3 more gears in my cartridge. The trusty ol 11-25T just isn’t cutting it anymore. I need more grunt for the climbs. So, once I got to the top, the rest of the group was there, waiting. I assured them, that I was slow to warm up, but once warm, I would have no problem keeping up. And off we went.

Along the way, one of the riders had an ear bud in and was listening to music. This is a big “NO-NO” as it prevents you from hearing the verbal’s and other things, like cars… the ride leader made her take them out even though she protested. But since none of the rest of us were wearing ear buds either, we got to listen to her grumble for the rest of the ride.

The route for the first part mirrored my “Tour of Redmond” route, through Trilogy, Redmond Ridge, and then it changed. Where I had turned right on Union Hill Rd, we now turned left. Shockingly, even though I group up living at the top of this hill, this was one direction I never went.  To my supreme enjoyment and the others, it turns out this is the back side of Union Hill! What a ride, we got up to 45 mph in some places, twisting and turning beneath tree covered streets. It was amazing! What a “downhill”.

Halfway down the hill, there was a flat section that lasted for about ¾ of a mile. I only mention it because this is where we encountered the Rabid Goose.  This goose was pissed off. I don’t know if it had been ran over by a bike in the past, or if we disturbed it’s nest, or what, but I’ll tell you what, we were on “It’s” road, and it wanted to make sure we knew it. It literally would chase groups of us on foot, and when we started to pull away, it would take to the air and fly after us at head level. Screaming at us the whole way! It was terrifying!

Now, this might seem funny to you as I write this, after all, it’s just a goose right? But to get an approximation of how I felt with this goose flying after me, go get a butterball turkey, one of the big ones… Got it? Ok good. Now paint angry bird eyes on it and have a friend of yours throw it at your head while another friend blows a horn in your ear. . Kinda scary huh? Yeah, that’s how it felt.

Luckily I found out I can ride faster than a goose can fly, which is always good knowledge to have.

Moving on.

On the way to Duvall we had to ride on Woodinville – Duvall Rd. This is not a “bike friendly” road. No shoulder, very rough, cracks and patch everywhere. But it is the only way to get to where we were going, so we were pretty committed.

Along the way, we were passed by the biggest, ugliest, stinkyest dump truck I have ever seen. This thing looked like it could be a character in a Stephen King novel about possessed dump trucks. I swear. It was billowing out some acrid smoke out of it’s exhaust that looked like it was burning coal. And in it’s wake it left a fume trail that we all had to ride in. I don’t know if it was the exhaust, or the cargo, or the evil forces within, but I’ll tell you what, whatever was in that truck just about caused me to give up. I couldn’t breath, I was choking, it was horrible. Even after the truck had gone, I could smell the disgusting fumes for the next 4 miles or so. It was really hard to go on.  But I did.

In Duvall we found that there were no plans for regrouping for lunch, so we each went off in small groups looking for food. Eventually we all found each other, except for the lady with the ear buds; she had them in her ears again, and when we all tried to yell at her as she rode by on the other side of the road, she didn’t hear us. So I am sure she went on her way thinking we had abandoned her. C’est la vie!

Just before leaving Duvall, our ride leader walked us through the rest of the ride: “Ok, so the next part is back on Woodinville-Duvall Rd. This road sux for riders, cars everywhere, and they will hit you so watch out. There are shadows everywhere so they most of the time can’t see you. There isn’t a bike lane, but there is a 6” wide shoulder to ride on, but there are holes everywhere. Oh, and as soon as we get across the bridge and on to this wonderful road, it’s a 2 mile climb”. Awesome. I was so excited to do this next part.

The good news is that the road wasn’t as bad as she made it out to be, the cars were not that rude, and the climb, well, like I said earlier, I had gotten warmed up by now, and my legs knew what they were supposed to do. I held my own up the climb and even passed a few people. It felt good.

Shortly after the climbing was over, trouble started. We had just finished bombing down this nice hill when I felt something I have not felt before. A wobble in my back tire. I looked down and sure enough, I had a flat. Shit. I haven’t had one of those before, and while I “knew” how to change the tire in theory, I have had no practical application to date. Guess what, class starts now.

Knowing the rule of the ride is, “if you fall by the wayside we wont wait for you, and you are expected to know what the fuck your doing when it comes to changing a tire”, I waived good by to the sweeper, let him know I was out of the ride and would finish on my own, and bid them farewell.

And then it was just me, 90 degree sun, a blown tire, and my inexperience.

As I was taking the tire off, and going through the motions on how to swap out the tube, etc… a rusty brown creeper van pulled up behind me. I mean, this thing had Ted Bundy written all over it: Root beer brown, teardrop window in the back, no other windows ANYWHERE, rust… you get the picture. And in that moment, I wondered if I should not also be packing heat on my rides and mentally going through the list of the lightest pistols that I knew of…  BUT, it turned out it was ok. It was just a helpful guy, who was a cyclist himself, and asked if I needed to use his air compressor? He didn’t have the right valve, but he did have an extra pair of hands, and that was handy when wrestling the new tire on, and getting the tube in right. After wasting one CO2 cartridge I figured out how the valve works, and then using my only other one, I inflated the tire, it was great, put it on, thanked the guy, and headed out.

Man I felt good, I had overcame the one challenge I had dreaded, a flat. I figured out how to do it! I can do anything! Man I could ride across the country! This was awesome!

FIIISSSSSSsssssssssss…..

Seriously?

Yep, not two miles from the spot of my last misfortune my new tube lost pressure. And there I was, no more Co2, no more tubes, I have a patch kit, but no way to inflate them… so, guess what. It was time to call in re-enforcements. I hit my panic button on Life 360 which sent out a text and e-mail to everyone on my emergency list, and transmitted my exact location (fantastic app by the way), and then followed up with a call to Wife 911.

After explaining the situation to Jane 1, I found a shady spot to rest and reflect on the day. 41 miles down, I missed out on the last 10. I changed my tire, but I don’t think I did it right. No less than 4 people stopped to ask if I needed help while I was waiting for Jane, so with that coupled with the Creeper van, my faith in humanity is restored.  All in all it was a good ride, despite the ending.

But, I think I might need better tires. 

STP - 2011. Seattle to Portland Classic

STP – 2011

First let me apologize for the tardiness of the post. I have been very busy being a money pimp lately, which is a good thing, but after 10 hours of looking at a computer screen, I tend to want to turn it off when I am done.  Here is the long overdue post covering my amazing experience of driving support for this years STP.

On July 9^th, 11,000 cyclists from all over the world gathered en masse at the University of Washington getting ready to take part in the largest bicycle event in the Pacific North West. There were riders from all over the country, from Europe, Australia, and even Africa who flew in just to be a part of this amazing ride. And this is just the ones who officially registered! I personally know at least one rider, who just was “along for the ride” (he still got his finisher patch though. J)

I have been told from time to time that when I find something I enjoy, I have a tendency to become “obsessive” about it, or whatever? So naturally when I started really enjoying cycling my thoughts turned towards STP as kind of an “End Goal”. Although I am not sure of the End of what… I plan to keep riding after doing the STP… anyway.

BUT, the thought of riding 204 miles in 2 days was rather daunting, and frankly… it scared the hell out of me. My previous longest ride being only 50 miles. So, I had all sorts of excuses as to why I couldn’t do it this year. Let me recap a few you might have heard spill out of my mouth…:

·         “I don’t have the right bike. I need a lighter, better, road bike”

·         “I haven’t hit my fitness goals yet. I don’t want to attempt it until I have”

·         “I haven’t trained enough yet”

·         “I didn’t register”

·         “I have a tummy ache”

·         “My dog ate my homework”

Well, you might not have heard that last one.

So, I did the next best thing, I drove support for my brother in law’s team of riders, Team Trangko; the Filipino – American cycling team.  (to be more accurate: he is the husband of my wifes sisters husband's sister = Manong)

Saturday morning started very early for me, used to as I am of getting up around 7:30ish… the alarm at 4:30 that morning was like a klaxon going off in my head. I rolled out of bed, somehow made it to the shower, and low and behold at 5:15 I was on the road heading south to the first check point: REI headquarters.

REI Headquarters. So, stupid Google Maps navigation doesn’t know the difference between REI Headquarters in Kent, and REI STORE in Tukwila. So naturally I ended up at an empty parking lot at 6:00am, with nary a cyclist in sight, wondering where the team was. At this point, Mark called and verified that I was at the wrong place, and he would just see me in Puyallup at the next check point. Very embarrassed and wondering if I was even cut out for this “support” position, I decided to have a long talk with my phone, and we came to the determination that it would not take me to the wrong location again. Moving on…

Puyallup: In Puyallup I positioned myself alongside the route in what I thought was a very easy to access area. Popped open the hatch and arranged my coolers, ready for the onslaught of grateful and thirsty cyclists that I was supporting. As I sat there in the morning sun, I watched probably 400 cyclists ride by. No less than 5 called out “Beer me!” as they rode by, HA! After about 20 mins of waiting, a huge group of about 50 riders turned the corner at about 20mph, as they passed, I heard one shout, “OH! Hey John!” and then they road right by. I found that when they’re in the middle of a pace line, they can't just drop out without potentially causing a pileup resembling a freight train derailment.

It took me a minute to figure out they weren’t coming back so I got in my truck and started following the riders. Turns out less than 500 yards down the road was the official “Mini Stop” for Puyallup with lots of riders, lots of cars, and most importantly, the team I was supporting.

We decided that the mini stops were good places for me to be from that point on.

After a quick fill up and refuel for the guys and gals, they were back on the road, and so was I, This time to the top of “the hill”. It’s a long hill, it has been known to cause fear in the heartiest of riders, it is Puyallup’s East Hill.

At the top there is a middle school, and there was a band, and cheerleaders, it was like a carnival! The group road in, and after getting the free swag from the sponsor, they made another pit stop at the truck, and road on.

And so on, this is how my day went. I would ride ahead of the group, find a nice spot near the mini stop and then wait for them to top off and refill. Most of the time they just tossed me their clothes, and kept on going. I was shocked that they didn’t need more water, or Gatorade, etc.. but they didn’t!

For lunch we stopped at Chehalis and that is where Mark’s wife met us with a lunch of teriyaki, longanisa, rice, and pasta. So good! From there we headed down to Castle Rock to go camping at Sea quest State Park. Very cool campsite. I highly recommend it.

Once everyone had showered and changed a group of the guys and I drove down to Castle Rock to get more meat, steak to be exact. After looking everywhere for this little supermarket, we finally found it and started shopping. This is where I encountered my first experience of small town racism. The most interesting part of it (for me at least), was that because I was “with” the guys, the racism was also directed at me.  The check out lady was incredibly rude, making some of the guys repeat themselves over and over if they had a question, pretending she didn’t understand what they were saying. I know that some of the accents in the group are thicker than others, but Filipino accented English is really not that hard to understand, and most of the guys have almost no accent at all. This woman was acting like they were speaking to her in Tagalog. On one occasion I had to repeat the question to her just for her to acknowledge she was being spoken to.

Apparently also, while we were loading the car, one of the guys went back in to get something, and was approached by some redneck local who cornered him and asked/demanded to know, “You from around HERE????”

The way the guys dealt with it was amazing. They just brushed it off, chalking it up to inbreeding I guess, and went about their day. If I had been directly challenged like that, I am not sure what I would have done, but it sure wouldn’t have been pleasant… it might very well have ended in me making a call to Jane 1 to have her come bail me out of the local jail.

Back at the camp we commenced to stuff ourselves on meat and rice and more meat and even more rice.  Having rode 140 miles that day, the guys were obviously tired so after eating pretty much everyone went to bed.

The next day was beautiful and since they only had 60 miles to go, we had a nice leisurely breakfast, took our time, and then the guys got all “kitted” up in their matching team wear. It was pretty cool to see all of them in their gear. They looked like a real cycling team.

There was only one real stop along the way that day, so on my way there, I made little stops and grabbed clothing as they shed it, and gave them drinks, etc. at one point I even stopped along the way and took video and pictures, but they didn’t turn out very good. I should have taken my video camera like I originally planned to.

At one of these little stops, one of the guys, Russell, was “riding sweep” for the team, and about 10 mins behind the rest of the group. He stopped and filled up his water, took a breather for 30 seconds and headed back out. I pulled ahead, and went on to the middle school in St. Helens Or. which was the last food stop before the finish line. After about 20 mins, the main group pulled in and headed for the food tents, then a few of the others (I was keeping a head count), but Russell never showed up. Seeing as he was the last one, I was concerned he might have had an accident, or something so I jumped back in the car and started retracing the route back to the last point I saw him.

Little observation… no matter how distinctive your jersey design is, at 40 mph, they all look the same.

Unable to find him, I called the emergency STP hotline, but they had not been called for any rider matching his description or rider number. After I felt I had scoured the route as much as possible I headed back towards the finish line to meet up with Mark’s wife and the rest of the guy’s families and to greet them as they rode in.

When I got to the finish line it was a madhouse: 5 city blocks and an entire park taken over and devoted to this ride. Cyclists everywhere, bikes everywhere, I don’t know how anyone would ever find anyone else. So I went and positioned myself at the finish line to greet the guys and take pictures as the rode in.

After about 10 mins of waiting, to my surprise guess who rode through the tunnel all by himself?? None other than Russell! Apparently he had blown right by the middle school and just kept right on riding! He passed everyone and instead of finishing last, he was the first out of the group to cross!

The rest of the guys came in about 6 mins after Russell, exhausted, smiling, and completely spent. But the sense of accomplishment was plain on their faces. They had done it. 210 miles in two days with about 11 hours of saddle time total. It’s an amazing feat.

As I watched them hug their wives and family, wolf down some sandwiches, and drink their replenishment drinks, I reflected on the entire experience.

I cannot say enough about the group I was fortunate enough to be a part of. Even though my closest relationship in the group is cursory at best, everyone in the group welcomed me as though we had known each other for a long time. It was a great experience.

I witnessed riders who outweighed me by at least 100 lbs. and while they weren’t going fast, they were doing it. I saw a rider who looked to be paralyzed from his waist down, he operated his “bike” by lying down with his head propped up, and turning a crank with his hands. He essentially did “pull-ups” all the way to Portland.

I saw a rider on a unicycle, an elliptical cycle, and even one rider who did it on a long board.

After seeing this, and witnessing more closely the guys in my group, it became clear to me that none of my excuses work anymore, for anything. I have never been part of something so inspiring, and uplifting as what my experiences were that weekend. I am forever grateful to have been a part of it in the capacity I was, and can't wait to ride in it next year.

Tour of Redmond 3.0 – SUCCESS!

I can’t believe I actually did it. In truth my tour of Redmond was 14 miles shorter than my longest ride of 50 miles. But this ride had some serious hills in it where my “Loop the Lake” didn’t have as many.

Some of you may know the saga that has gone into doing this little jaunt around the hills of Redmond. First attempt – rain out ended in a stair climb which showed me just how out of shape I really am. Second attempt – Satan possessed mine and my friend’s bicycles. After destroying B’s bike, he tried to put me on the permanently injured list by causing me to fall down – twice.

And then we come to the third attempt – 3.0. Complete success. I only left about 45 mins late, due to friend dropping out at the last minute… I don’t think he felt completely certain that the demon had left his bike yet and didn’t trust it to the hills.  So, without outside pressure to be on a timeline, I putted around the garage making sure my bike was in tip – top condition. I lubed the chain, I pumped the tires, checked each spoke for tightness, packed my nutrition (that’s what they call food in the cycling world), and adjusted everything to a hairs tolerance. I was not going to have any mechanical issues on this ride.

And just to be on the safe side, I WD-40’d my pedals so my clips slid in and out nice and smooth… genius.

With a kiss from the wife, and a banana in my belly, I headed down the hill. It was a perfect day. Sunny, but not too warm, no wind, and light traffic.  With the 4^th of July being Western Washington’s unofficial “Let’s go to Eastern Washington and try to burn it down” weekend there were few cars on the road.

I could tell it was going to be a good ride.

I made 124^th in like, 20 mins. I was flying. My legs were warmed up, I was feeling good. Got to Theno’s Dairy and that’s when I saw my first climb of the day: English Hill. This is 275’ in less than one mile, with one false summit before the plateau. Now, that might not sound like much to you, and if it doesn’t, go try it. To me if felt like Mt. Everest. But, I had prepared for this. As I approached I drank down half of my energy/electrolyte drink, geared down, and began the climb. The whole time I’m going that damn song from Yo-Gabba-Gabba is going on in my head “Never give up, don’t ever give up”! Curiously it worked! Keeping my head down and just focusing on the 10 feet in front of me, I climbed right up that hill with no breaks and a constant speed!

As a side note on Yo-Gabba-Gabba… this is what happens when you give hippies from the 60’s modern day acid and then tell them to write a topical children’s TV show…

Once at the top, I told myself I would take a break and rest, but I was feeling so good when I got there, I just kept pedaling and let myself coast down. That was the rest I needed. No need to stop the momentum!

By the way, if you ever are driving down the road, and see a biker in the lane with you, with what looks like a perfectly good bike lane that is going unused, let me just say, they aren’t doing that just to piss you off. Things you can’t see in the bike lane as you fly by at 45 mph are VERY visible at 15 mph and they are all dangerous to a biker. All the rocks and sticks and garbage that get’s blown off your nice smooth road, are waiting in the bike lane for the unsuspecting biker to come along so it can pop our tire, cause us to jump off our line and crash, or end up in our spokes making us do our best impression of the Greatest American Hero coming in for a landing.

So, when flying down a hill like English Hill, or Union Hill, etc… that is why we stay in the most traveled part of the road. It will have the least amount of hazards in it.

So back to the ride.

Down Avondale, into Bear Creek PKWY. As I road by Tuscany, and The Hills, I was reminded of my first big ride when I road through Medina and was counting all the “For Sale” signs. My friend who was with me then asked as we road by one mansion after another, “I wonder what all these people do”? To which my response was, “Well, whatever it was, it doesn’t look like they’re doing it anymore”! That right there is a whole lot of high end real-estate that is up for sale.

And then my next climb was upon me: Novelty Hill. This is the infamous hill where B’s chain broke half way up. So I approached it with some trepidation to say the least. But I geared down and headed up.

This is one long ass hill. And it is for most of the way, infuriatingly just the wrong grade where 1/L is too low, and 1/2 is too high. I couldn’t find a comfortable rhythm until about 2/3rds of the way up. Then I clicked into 2/L and it was gravy.

Finally made it to the top cruised through Trilogy and headed towards Redmond Ridge.

A small observation as I rode through Trilogy and saw the golfers there: Gentleman, if you are a “portly fellow”, if you have some weight to loose, if, in short you are a big fat bastard… the Gilligan hat is not doing you any fashion favors.

Once in Redmond Ridge I stopped by my sisters place for a water refill and to give my ass and legs a little break. That was a lot of hill climbing. She wasn’t expecting me, which was the idea. I wanted to surprise her. The funny part was even though I was wearing all my biking gear, it took her like 2-3 mins to realize I rode my bike there. After a nice visit I was back on the road heading down Union Hill.

Through Redmond, by the way, thank you Redmond for creating a bike path that allows us to completely stay off the surface streets and run behind all the shops and Town Center on our way to the Sammamish trail. It was so easy.

As I was winding through the Redmond trail, I had a moment to reflect on why I enjoy riding so much. And it hit me. So much of my life is dedicated to either reviewing what I have done, or planning for the next week/month/year, I miss what is happening at the moment. When I’m riding, I am totally focused on what is happening at that very moment, nothing else. Pumping the legs, don’t hit that rock, breath, gear down, change hand position, etc… there is no room for any other considerations. It is about the closest thing I have ever come to, to meditation. Now that I realize that, I don’t know how I can live without it.

Climb number 3: 520 out of Redmond. Even in a car this can be a tough climb, long, steep, and no shade. Breathing a mix of 50/50 exhaust from the freeway and oxygen I slowly climb out of Redmond on my way to 51^st St where I can cut over to 148^th and then on to Old Redmond Rd.

148^th is especially dangerous. The sewer grate openings are positioned directionally with the road, instead of across it. that means that when I ride along, if I’m not paying attention it could end up grabbing my tire like a vice and sending me into the air (see: Greatest American Hero). Trust me when I tell you, I rode in the middle of the lane on that street.

On my way down Old Redmond road, I had three people slow down long enough and roll down their window to tell me how much they like my jersey. I was wearing the “Don’t Run Me Over” one. It’s nice to connect with kind drivers who say stuff like that.  

Heading down 70^th into Kirkland, I recalled this is where I started getting all those concerns that made me fall over on the last ride. I reminded myself I had checked the bike, and all was well, and started to fly.

As I was rolling in to Houghton my breaks started making noise. Crap. That’s not good, mostly because I was doing almost 35mph at that point. The noise became louder and louder; a high pitched squeal. And they kinda stopped working.

Turns out they were overheating. I didn’t know they could do that, but I guess it makes sense. They are just friction, and it was hot. I let them cool down, and decided to head to Kirkland cycle to make sure I didn’t actually hurt anything. As it turned out, I did need to have my rear hub tightened, I can’t say enough about the bike shops in the area, every one has great staff, and they are very helpful. Kirkland Cycle is no exception.

From Kirkland it was my same old route home, 6 more miles out of 35. Up over Market, through Juanita, and over 160^th. My legs were shot, I was hot, but I felt great. As I rolled into my condo’s the feeling of accomplishment was intense. I had done my ride, actual rolling time, 3 hours, avg speed 12.7 mph, including hill climbs at 6mph. The bike performed excellently and I guess my nutrition was good because I didn’t get one single cramp.

Next week I will be forgoing my long ride to drive support for Team TRANGKO on this year’s STP. That is the ride I will be joining them on next year. It should be a great trip, a fun weekend, and a good learning experience.

Happy riding!

Is Jimmy John’s “Super Food”?

So, Tuesday this week I road in to work, like most every other day. But something about Tuesday was different. The ride in was the same, no real issues or interesting things there… no that came later.

Lunch came and went, and being as our office might as well be on a desert island as far as restaurants are concerned, I ordered Jimmy John’s. I got the Beach Club, Diet Coke and a pickle

Now most of you know I have had my issues with Jimmy John’s. their management staff is rude and not interested in listening to customers. They get my delivery instructions right about 25% of the time, and they put so much goddamn tape on my drink that I end up spilling half of it before I can get it opened.

BUT… they deliver.

So on the days that I ride in, and I am out of my standard Lean Cuisine, I usually do Jimmy John’s. Wednesday was no exception.

So, I eat the sandwich, it was good. And I feel properly bloated from the bread afterwards. Yuck. Around 4pm though, something happens… I get a burst of energy, and it doesn’t go away. At 5:00 I get into my gear, get on the bike and head out.

I feel great! I feel like my legs are moving on their own, riding is effortless! AMAZING!!!

As I go flying down the street, I start going through my day, trying to figure out why the day before I felt like I was dragging 50lb weights behind me in soft sand and today I feel like I am flying… About the time I hit my 2^nd “hill” where I normally click down to 2/L to get up, I go flying up it in 2/5!!! I CAN DO ANYTHING!!! And then it hits me… JIMMY JOHN’S!!! that’s the only thing I did different!

Jimmy John’s = Superfood.              

So today, I will try it again. I have my Jimmy John’s Tom Turkey with Avocado and Bacon, Diet Coke, but forwent the pickle.

I hope it wasn’t the pickle…

Let’s see how I do going home today.

Tomorrow… attempt # 3 at the Tour of Redmond. Wish me Luck!