Taking back winter

I tell you what, a few - maybe a week ago - I was talking about transcending my suburban existance to maybe romanticize myself into the saddle -- and it worked. I have since logged my first major mileage of the 2007 season, most recently today on my commute to work. Today's ride started normally enough, with cold temps - but a welcome tailwind pushing me to the office. This afternoon, however, true images of riding across a frozen lake on my way to a remote settlement became easier to visualize. Kansas, winter, and thick snow showers blanketed the network of roads with an inch-thick slurry of slushy pudding - an 11-mile challenge lay ahead, and as I set forth from the relative safety of the work parking lot onto the nervous streets of town, loaded with 5:00pm cars, I was surprisingly relaxed. The only thing I focused on was staying loose, riding the ruts, and staying textbook - read: "as far to the right as practicable". It was working, and the hundreds of cars that passed me on the way home this evening were very accomidating - though I feel it neccessary to apologize to anyone whose way I might have inadvertantly gotten in. It's one of the few times I was sympathizing on the side of the drivers around me, as news of 30-car pileups and gridlock was fresh on everyone's minds, tense shoulders and nervous applications of the accelerator, only to be complicated by a bicycle on the road ---- in THIS MESS????!!? While *I* know my skill and my experience will keep me upright and secure, the driver passing me doesn't know this. Sadly, the last cyclist they might have passed on a NORMAL day might have been one of those non-signalling, running-the-stop-sign riders that might have been abrasive, or hard to predict at best. It's hard to tell what they expect from me - and I'm certainly not perfect, either. It made certain sections harrowing, but the tenseness was short-lived in each case. In fact, only one mal-informed teenager, safe and secure in his (parents?) Jeep Grand Cherokee used his power-window controls to lower the passenger-side window just long enough to shout "get on the f*ing sidewalk" before rolling it back up and regaining his cushion of recirculated heater-air. Poor bastard. I simply, as always, grin and keep my eyes front, with the sincere hopes that in a fit of rage in his "right" mind he quickly arrived home to fire up the computer and search for "bicycles on the road", perhaps refining his search to include our fair city - only to find himself in the wrong. Sweet justice, only a few clicks away.

Meanwhile, on the slush-covered roads amid the evening rush-hour I carefully make my way.
In the residential maze, in relative seclusion, I slowly make my way past driveway after driveway of amazed citizens, some waving, some just staring with confused looks, snow shovels in-hand, watching as I pass. I offer a quick quip to a mother watching her child play in the new snow near the road -- "Don't try THIS at home, kids" - she laughs, and retorts with a friendly "be safe!" It's a nice evening ride in the snow, no biggie. Miles tick away, twice as slowly as normal, but it's all good. The steady pelting of snow has slowed, and the winds are barely worth mentioning as the sun finally is hidden behind the horizon. I've been on the road over and hour, and still many miles to go -- my average speed must be horrible!

With each passing mile, I try my luck - using a careful ear, I ensure there is no-one coming up behind me and then I guide the front wheel into the thicker snow nearer the shoulder/curb line -- hmmm... seems to stick better here. I abandon the slushy soup for the fresh powder, and suddenly my attempts to stay "as far to the right" are more productive. Passing cars still give a wide berth, likely helped along by the steady and intense flash of my taillights. I make the final turn homeward and enjoy the last of the snow, turning confidently into my driveway without even putting a foot down for insurance -- a good lesson, while probably not as intense in the cardio or hill-climbing department, but still a good time on the bike for a lot of reasons.



More than that, a big smile across my frozen face lights up -- I've done it, I've arrived at the settlement, a warm fire awaits, and supplies for the weary traveler across this frozen wasteland. Romantic, indeed -- Yes, spring, summer and fall are favorites, of course -- but winter, especially episodes like today, are simply unmatched.



On many a training ride LAST late-winter/early-spring, I remember riding along with Ort(of Texas, ya'll) and talking about how miserable the conditions were -- one ride, rain and about 40 degrees, we were passing the miles by tossing back and forth sardonic remarks about the conditions, etc., and a "certain kind of misery", and I remember myself saying something to the effect of "I've never been on a ride in July or August and said to myself "man, I'm sure glad I did all those horrible rides back in February".

I take that back.

Front derailluer logged with snowpack, and spokes, tubes and fenders hanging onto a little, too.

It was a messy commute!

Week One

Welp, the year-long chain of self-checks begin here, man --- time for public accountability!

Week One: yeah, it's Friday, and technically in my new plan the weekends that follow are still part of the week in question - if that makes sense: ok, the weeks run Monday to Sunday for cycling purposes. So, I have ridden to work now Monday and Wednesday this week, and will probably go outside for a cold 10-12 mile spin to test out the new tires in the next two days.
Flurries are expected tomorrow, so maybe Sunday. No longer concerned with the cold temperatures -- fully acclimated again, and have suffered thru the first two days on the bike by being UNDER-dressed for the conditions on the rides home each evening. Miserable headwinds and cold, moist air made the evening portions of these two commutes especially brutal -- but I survived. Wednesday, the new-tire purchase was prompted by a flat tire (usually is) - but it may have been a "panic-purchase". The Pasela TGs have done GREAT, in a myriad of conditions, but I think I'm saving them for brevets, simply to not have to worry about flats at all, especially during the winter. Wednesday's flat tire was a sharp rock chip that worked it's way into the tube, but the tire - in Panaracer's defense - had 2500+ miles on it, was quite flat and thin in the middle where the rock chip worked thru, and winter here is especially bad because of the nature of the material they treat the roads with - which, has a lot of rock chips and sand in it. The chances of this kind of flat go WAY up, and so here was my first flat in a WHILE. This time, however, the wind was cold and the hands were cold, and upon flipping the bike over to better-access the rear wheel, I accidentally dropped the front end and proceeded to try and recover the blunder by grabbing hte first thing I could - which this time was the outer chainring, sans-chain. Nice move. 7 puncture wounds and a lacerated pinkie-finger later I've elected to make THAT flat tire my LAST winter flat. I'll put the Pasela's back on ater the first spring storms wash the roads clear of all this crud. Until then, a pair of heavy-but-sturdy Schwalbe Marathon-Plus tires will take their place. As I type this, careful not to double-hit keys with my excessive bandaging on my left hand, I remind myself that the extra weight is TOTALLY worth it.

Week two begins Monday, Jan 29th, putting the countdown timer on the first 200K brevet at 5 weeks. wow. ONLY five weeks and I'll be riding 125 miles -- that first one, as Thursby quipped this afternoon, is gonna HURT. (Was good to run into you today, by the way). Week two will be the first major step - besides week one, of course - towards being more ready than I am as I type this. Week Two: 74 miles, probably divided between three commutes to work, and a very short weekend run of 4 or 5 miles. Very short - almost not worth it, but it will help the training, so I'll make it a FAST five miles and hope to count it as a positive step back towards speed-training again later on this spring.

I've got a pretty good list of goals posted now, for more public accountability, including one non-cycling goal, the endurance portion of which the sysling SHOULD take care of: I'll post those goals here, too - just for fun and ridicule! Enjoy!

(Oh yeah - that's not my hand, by the way. Thank goodness.)

Another round

Another round of winter weather is headed straight for the metro area, and yet - this time - I'm not discouraged. I spent this morning over strong coffee, looking out the back window at the clear roads and the whiteish haze of salt treatment left over from the last round of wintry weather, and grinned. It will get sloppy again, but this time it won't be as bad. This is when winter really gets fun -- the common motorist looks upon the winter cyclist as a nut, a crazed fool with no other alternatives for transportation - when in reality the roads underneath are just as traction-providing as they are in spring-time. This is gonna be a good week to get back into the swing of things. The fears of getting cold, getting wet, loathing of discomfort, are fading - and as I prepared my laundry for the coming week I also took the time to dust off the thick gloves, the rain pants, the tights, the thicker wool socks and the long un-used winter headcovers and wool caps. I haven't ridden to work for months now, really. Aside from brief rides and the VERY fun New Year's Day ride, I have barely been on the bicycle. I ache for a ride - and I desperately want to break the "car" habit.
The sun is rising again on a passion that has long been buried under the ashes of personal tragedy and borderline depression. It's time to stoke these fires once again, brush away the ashes of despair and toss a few fresh hardwoods on these waning embers.
I see myself, the winter warrior once more suiting up for the challenge at hand. It's not un-usual to mentally transcend my own suburban existance and fancy myself at Vostok, suiting up to check the telemetry settings on a perimeter wind-speed sensor. Perhaps a Canadian Mounted, pulling on heavy boots and lining his pockets with provisions for a midnight patrol along the Trans-Canada #1 in deep January. Not just some cube-jockey on his way to work to create another meaningless spreasheet, but something harder, more romantic. A Norweigan military policeman, looking out over the harsh Arctic waters, monitoring Russian patrol boat activity, as the winter sun barely peeks its head over the horizon behind me - perhaps putting thumb to pipe tobacco to pass the hours, waiting for my captain to return with a pot of hot tea. Certainly not "just" in Kansas, riding along a safe two-lane road. Perhaps to the motorists around me my mission is daring enough; to hold one's head defiant and walk past the car with its promise of speedy transport without icy winds and exposure, with the promise of heat and entertainment and a soft chair - to walk past all that without a moment's hesitation, to put instead metal spikes into icy slush, to play among the steel beasts at intersections and precariously defy convention, to travel as the harder peoples of only 100 years ago would have. Perhaps fantasy isn't neccessary. Perhaps abject refusal to subscribe to the notion that the human race has become soft by taking up the handlebars and putting my chin to my chest in a frigid headwind, facial hair gathering ice along the way, is enough. A noble choice, or a foolish one - it is mine to shoulder, and my own story to create. Whether making my way across the tundra with medicine for my family, or simply making my way to another day at work with a laptop - however I choose to describe it, it's DAMN good to throw my leg over the top tube again, and set off into the challenge. If it was easy, everyone would do it - and because not everyone does I can hold my head strong with pride in my own personal demonstration that this nation's men have NOT gotten soft. There are still some of us that would have it the hard way. Regardless of the freedoms we have earned and the luxuries we can afford, we choose to suffer, to remind ourselves what life is about.
Bring on the snow - I will not waver.

A new look -- sorta

Just got finished uploading new pages to the Commuterdude.com website, so take a peek when you get time -- the look and feel is nearly the same, as I don't have time to get everything into Flash animation and java applet format, etc. I just don't care THAT much, ya know?! Someday... But, for now, the menus have been updated with location markers to make navigation easier, and most importantly the Gear and Logistics pages have been changed to the HOW and WHAT pages, and the former lighting page has been absorbed into the new WHAT page. Explore, and enjoy -- the texts have also been updated and corrected to be a little more up to date, considering the last time I updated ANY of the content on commuter gear and lighting was August of 2001!!!! Yeesh. Anyone with a handlebar mounted LED headlight knows how out-of-date THAT page was. Yeesh.
Anyways -- I'm slowly re-emerging from the shadows, and back into the role of Team Captain, and you should also note that the Team and Ride update page has been updated a little as well -- the focus taken OFF the team itself, and placed on the RIDES that are coming up. If you scroll down, the team photos and info are still there -- just not as apparent as before. Now, you have one less click to get to the upcoming ride information, which is what most people are visiting that page for these days.

Our next team ride is Feb. 27th, a Saturday -- technically, the new year's day ride was out January edition -- so if you missed that one, too bad! Sorry!

Talk to you all soon!

from the depths...

MAN -- it's been over a month since I've written here, and what a month. Very little riding. I can't begin to describe for you what it means to lose someone you care about. Only those that have gone thru it before can know. It's tough...and that's a gross understatement of the truth. I've had little motivation to even get out of bed somedays, but I've still been doing it - thankfully. My health is good, I suppose, but my goals of losing weight have slipped by the wayside. I'm picking the pieces up, slowly. It's amazing how we "run back to momma", sometimes; I'm re-finding comfort in things I've learned to avoid over the years, like food. I guess they call it 'comfort food' for a reason. Other long-forgotten habits have made temporary returns, and have since been abandoned as well -- only human after all, I wish I could say that I'm stronger than all of this, but I can't. Fallable, for sure - but congnizant enough to recognize the reasons; more importantly the reasons to stop again. Time to lift myself up from the depths, and find the sunshine again.

I've begun Yoga classes, and I can honestly say that I had been sceptical, but am now - in only a short time - a believer. While this has not only helped with the obvious, like breath control and balance and flexibility, it has also refocused me mentally on my goals. I can see the pieces falling back into place; the jigsaw puzzle of my life that I'd had so carefully constructed and then let be tossed into the gale of life's difficulties over the last 40 days. I scoured the endless fields of my past for the pieces, sometimes in the darkness of my dreams, and have finally placed them all back in a large pile in front of me. I can see the patterns, and I can see the finished product coming together once more.

Bicycling is a large, easy to find piece - but it's been hard to get it to fit back into the puzzle. I find myself staring at the bikes - still upsidedown in their hooks in the garage, tires still holding on to the last bit of pressure, and a thin layer of neglect collected on the surfaces facing the ceiling. Often with a careful finger I've wiped some of it clean, only to sigh heavily and walk away again. Many a cold morning, where I knew that the path to a good day lay at the END of a nice, long ride, I've found myself still stuck at the beginning only half-dressed for the ride, collasping back into the chair and reversing the process by retreating to my every-day clothes again. I have found myself packing my Carradice for the next day's ride, only to unpack the next morning and retreat to the car. The voices of motivation haven't grown silent - they're simply drowned out under the growl of doubt and "blah". It's true what is oft said about getting back into something you've set aside. Despite the strength of my previous passions, simply STARTING again is proving harder than the act itself.

There is always tomorrow. Lately, while driving here and there, I've been catching myself once again regarding certain roads by their grade of "ride-ability" - and that's a good sign. Trainspotting the other evening, watching the action on the Emporia sub just west of town, I found a myriad of "new" roads that are ripe for a good gravel ride. When the mind starts leaning that way, it's time for the body to follow.

I have a clear vision of myself putting fresh air into neglected Pasela's, stuffing work clothes into a lonely Carradice, and warming up a shirked saddle. Surely it will do my soul some good, and provide the neccessary warm-up for New Year's Day, where I *am* commited.
I'll not let the shortcomings of late this year cloud the promise of the one coming.

Besides, it is only ten short months until 500-miles looms once again.

With head held high, we move forward

First let me say that I appreciate all the kind words and thoughts that were sent to our family during the last month - they mean a lot, and will be cherished forever. Having said that, it's time to move forward - as he would have wanted it; not to dwell or linger in the past for too long. So, I have removed some of the more personal effects from the blog - and we now, as they say, return you to our regularly scheduled programming...

Marching back towards regular cycling is one step I can now take, as the clock finally ticks down on my time as a member of the injured reserve list. With only four days left to go, and a lot of baggage to unload, I took the bikes down from the rafters last night, aired up the tires and took a few laps around the neighborhood. I'm happy to report that the pains of the last month are gone, and practically forgotten during daily life these past few weeks. Yard work, playing with the kids, lifting, stretching and general walking around haven't produced any tightness or flaring in the ankle or tendon area. While this injury had become FAR less important over the past weeks, it has popped back into importance as I've looked for ways to occupy myself, and maintain fitness.

While it will take some time to get back to a level of competitiveness, it should also be noted that I really haven't been at a competitive level for some years now. Since 2003, I have really taken a laxidazical approach to riding and eating and health in general. Only recently have I been motivated to do something about that, and by rejoining Weight Watchers this past month, I have lost a total of 10.2 lbs -- however I must admit that Thanksgiving was tough this year, for obvious reasons, and I may have slid backwards a touch; but I can restart and correct for that easily - which is the plan. A solid upper body program has turned into habit, and also while it's been hard to keep that up over the past week, I'm anxious to get back into it, and get more results - some of which have already begun to show. Looking back on HOW I made 2003 such a solid season, it's clear now what's been missing - hard work. It was NOT easy before, but sometimes looking back it seems so impossible -- this time, and for all of 2007, I'm prepared to do the work that delivers the results I have waxed philisophical about.

The first steps, however, are in the form of slow rebuilding. Cycling remains a strong passion, but jumping back into action with a metric century is NOT in the cards. It's almost December, after all, and big miles are really not in the cards -- even though as I write this it's nearly 65 degrees outside! Not bad for the day after Thanksgiving. As much as I'd LIKE to get right back into the thick of riding, I know that I can't, and it will take some time to build up even to a COMMUTE to work! Last night started with approx. 3.5 miles. Today, later this afternoon when the heat of hte day peaks out, I'll go for about 5-7 miles. Then, 7-10 miles. After that, 10-12 miles, then 12-15, then 15-20 -- after reaching a successful 20 mile ride, I'll be ready to start commuting again, sporadically. Rest days will be important, too. After commuting for a bit, the weekends will hold more distance. It will almost be like starting over: though I likely haven't lost THAT much, six weeks off doing ANYTHING cardio-related will certainly have some sort of consequence attached to it.

Reaching 30 miles on the weekends may have to come as early as NEXT weekend, however, with the last CommuterDude ride of the year - this will be a 34 mile ride, at a REALLY easy pace. Hopefully, nothing will prevent me from doing that ride, but I'll have to be cautious. Worst case, I can drive support for the ride, and let others enjoy it - but we'll see. I'm NOT going to reschedule it again!! Promise!

After the 35-mile marker, things will start to get easier, I imagine. Strength and endurance will come back, and hopefully with no reminders of the injury. Knocking on wood!!! The next goals will be the metric century, and that may well be the extent of mileage training until things begin to turn around in late February. After that, serious ramping up for the brevets will have to begin, and I may see my first full century ride in early March (pending the brevet schedule).

After that, a full schedule of 200, 300, 400 and 600K rides ensue - once again with the 600 holding up the scepter of "longest ride ever", since Tejas didn't go as well as planned. I still have yet to break the 300 mile mark in a single event, so I'm looking again at early May for the personal record attempt. With that in the bag, Tejas 2007 will likely hold far fewer surprises.

All in good time... Stay tuned! We're on our way back, baby!!!

Taking stock of the situation

I've learned a lot over the past week -- once injured or something happens, I turn into research-boy - scanning the net for clues, hints, tips... a glimmer of hope. It's been interesting. First off, it's REALLY hard to find CYCLING SPECIFIC information on Achilles tendinitis (or tendOnitis, which I learned is also an acceptable spelling in medical journals...) -- most of the information out there is for long distance runners. But, most of the information is adaptable. So, I learned some stuff on how to heal correctly.

Also broke down on Wednesday and visited the doctor's office - just in case. Each morning the pain and stiffness has been getting progressively better, and also it is taking longer into the day for things to flare back up again - so that means that it's probably healing well. However, I *AM* glad I went to the doc, because a set of x-rays put my mind (and his) at ease about the nature of the injury. No calcifications, no frays or tears, nothing permanent - which is good - but defintely a little stress.

Over-use injury -- no doy.

Let's see; number one was not riding a single weekend between the MS-150 in early September until Tejas in late October. Body not ready for the massive jump in mileage, ya think? Strike one.

Walking to the tent in the dark? Strike two - stumbled on SOMETHING, but not sure what. That irritated things and pushed it over the edge.... but what is "it", in this case? "IT" was saddle height! Strike three.

"What??? I thought the dude was all tape-measury and stuff????"

Well, I know -- I SHOULD be... but on the most recent of my builds I have been using the tape measure only sporadically, and the saddle heights were all adjusted on the trainer "biomechanically" -- specifically, the "heel test".
What's that?
Get on the bike, pedal a little to settle in, and then unclip one foot from the pedals and try to touch your extended heel to the pedal when it's furthest away from you, at the 5 o'clock position or thereabouts. The way it reads is, you should be "barely able to touch it, but are NOT able to plant your weight on it - if you can, your seat is too low." Okay, cake... so I got the saddles in a good starting place, and then took it from there. They always felt fine, no issues, no knee pain, etc.

HOWEVER, I forgot a critical thing: "barely able to touch it" is VERY VAGUE. Sure, I was barely able to touch the pedals with my heel - but compared to WHAT? Like, you can only MAYBE touch them, or you simply can't get your whole heel on there? And what if you drop your hips a little to one side? What then? We're talking full centimeters here, potentially!

Cut back to today, and my specific injury. Possibly caused by over-extending the ankle downward, putting undue stretch on the achilles tendon -- multiply by however many pedal strokes it takes to get to 220 miles. Yeesh... toss in a hobble on a rock or something on a dark walk back to the tent, and then ride AGAIN, yeah - that might do it. But were the saddles too low all this time? And if they were, how come I didn't notice any knee pain???

Well, there was no knee pain because I *WAS* able to "barely" brush the pedals with my heel... that only means that it's not too high OR too low for my KNEES. What about joints that don't have such a broad sweep of range like the knees do? Like the ankle? It's a pretty tight arrangement down there.

So, I dug into the toolbox and got out the old tape measure that I'd used in the past to get all anal about saddle height and handlebars and such. There, upon it's surface, was the old tick-mark that designated the seat-height on my original road bike, the orange Schwinn. The benchmark.
Lets see how close the "heel test" got me...

Yikes.

First, the Kogswell --- survey says...... >EAARRRRRNNNN!!!!<
WRONG! Close, but no banana. The saddle was indeed low - by about 3/8 of an inch!
That's a LOT, dude. So, I got out the allen wrenches and got it spec'd exactly how all my older bikes had been in the past. After re-centering the saddle and tightening everything up, I threw it into the track-stand and mounted up....and performed the "heel test"...

THIS time, I truly was only *BARELY* able to brush my extended heel on the pedal -- I mean **BARELY** --- maybe THIS is what they were talking about! That explains the mild, but manageable, knee pain after the MS-150 this year (done on the Kogswell).
DUDE, sometimes your dumbness amazes me... talking to me. Wow.

So, not low enough to hurt the knees, obviously - but low enough that the over-use injury itself was probably brewing a lot longer than just this recent Tejas weekend -- it was probably brewing all summer long on commutes on a saddle that was just about a centimeter too low - but, at only 11 miles at a time I would never have revealed it.

Not even on a century, perhaps. But it was indeed causing heel-drop at the bottom of each pedal stroke, and giving the achilles a slight tug. The twisted ankle probably sent things over the edge at Tejas, and then riding on it just made it worse.

But wait --- I wasn't ON the Kogswell in Texas... I was on the Weapon... the Cannondale. Could I have screwed up there, too?

Well, probably so, foolio.

I then took the tape measure to the Cannondale and found the same issue - just not to the same degree. The saddle was actually fairly close - but still about 1/4" too low. While this might not have been enough to cause the initial injury, it was certainly enough to make life a little less comfy. Still, it probably saved me from having to bow out of Tejas after only 100 miles, instead of 220. Who knows... but again, the revised "heel test" after adjusting the Cannondale proved the same as it had minutes before: It was much more apparent what *BARELY* meant in those instructions. The Cannondale is now the same as the Kogswell, and now BOTH bikes are the same as the old Schwinn had been - which was PERFECT at MV24.
I tossed C'Dale into the trainer next and spun for about five, pain-free minutes -- of course that's probably the ankle wrap, ibuprofen and Flexoril talking... I'm still taking the doc's advice -- no riding for 4 more weeks: but I can't WAIT for December 1st to get out and ride a short 15 miles and see how things feel - based on that short trainer session, the bike feels more "dialed" that it has since I bought it.

Why I didn't notice this sooner is beyond me, because it could have prevented a LOT of hassle and pain. I'm very glad I read that piece on saddle height relating to tendinitis: Otherwise I would've jumped on the bike on December 1st and started the injury process all over again on the Kogswell with too-low a saddle. Now, the position, and the way my legs are behaving in that new position, everything feels neutral, efficient, and fluid. I never felt like my knees were coming up too high before - but now, it's clear that something was "off" -- both bikes not only feel identical to each other, but they both also seem to fit me better now. I'm really disappointed that my stickler-ness didn't catch THIS important detail.... but, hey; at least all my crimp ends are color-matched.

Dummy.

So, there ya have it --- saddle height is not something to be messed with, and not only from a knee perspective. Now my heels don't drop -- my toes have to point a little to make it to the bottom of the stroke, and that relaxes that tendon nicely... this is how it SHOULD be. No hip rocking, no pain; nice and smooth.
The only reason I didn't have this issue at Tinbutt is likely that the Cannondale's saddle WAS closer than the Kogswells - but also, I didn't stumble on any campsite debris, either.

The mystery is solved: A combination of too much mileage on a bike with too-low a saddle all summer, the transition to a bike with a slightly different saddle height, a 12-hour drive in a car with no cruise control, a stumble/ankle-twist on a walk to/from the tent, a hilly course, and a jump in mileage from 110-per-week to 220 in less than 24-hours, and not ramping-up with weekend rides of ANY distance for over a month leading up to it.

All that equals a painful mistake that didn't have to happen. But that's life.

Man, this is gonna be a LONG month.

The Next C'Dude Ride - RESCHEDULED!!!

Pay attention, kids ... this is sometimes a neccessary evil:

I'm headed to Chi-Town on family biz on the 11th, so the widely publicized C'Dude ride that WAS to take place on that date has been moved out:

Please make a note of the new date:

Saturday, November 18th, 7:00AM!

Hopefully it will be dry, but there are never any guarantees this time of year, ya know? Dress warmly, and be ready to enjoy a brisk pace and some hot coffee and pastries, ya'll. It's the joint! Be there!

Ride details are available at the main webpage, so won'tcha nav that way?

Le Team C'Dude Page



PS: the ankle is healing... so, let's get back to the business of riding to work, why don't we? That is what this is all about, ya know?

IT'S HERE! Tune in!

Welp, this is it -- the culmination of years of preparation (without my knowledge), the training, the goofiness, the singing in the shower, the trials, the annoying my cube-neighbors at work, the cassette tapes, the endless miles of microphone wire stretched across the decades....

It's time...to audition - * LIVE *!

Tune in TOMORROW:
that's FRIDAY, OCTOBER 27th!
Starting around 6:30AM, or there-abouts... BE THERE!

LOCAL KANSAS CITY FOLLOWERS of DUDE: 99.7 Mhz on your FM dial!

INTERNATIONAL GROUPIES of DUDE: Streaming audio available at...
KYYS - LISTEN LIVE
(Don't be discouraged by the need to sign up - it doesn't spam you or anything)

Seriously, I appreciate ALL of the support from family and friends over these past weeks! It's been CRAZY, the voting, the hoping!

This is a rare, one-shot opportunity to do what I honestly believe what I was meant to do. Honestly, if every other day you have someone on your voicemail telling you that "you should be in radio", eventually one has to realize that it's probably a sign. Fingers crossed, kids!!!

Tejas Wrap-Up, Part Three

More ramblings, perhaps? Of course! That's what this blog is all about, really...

Here's some more details about the ride itself, for your reading pleasure...

It was a strange feeling, first of all, driving down to Texas in the middle of the night. My preferred method of interstate travel starts with a long, overnight drive to avoid traffic and the usual construction issues that usually happen along the highways. Unfortunately, this didn't do wonders for my sleep clock and personal awareness. Leaving at midnight Wednesday, and driving until I arrived in the afternoon the same day made it seem like it was Thursday already. All afternoon, even though it was only 4:00pm, I kept thinking it was 7:30pm or something - very odd.

I slept like a rock that night, on a comfortable bed.

The next day - race day - we rose and began to ready ourselves for the task ahead. Another weird thing about the Tejas ride was the fact it started in the evening. This was a first, at least for a ride of this size. I'd done evening rides before, but we're talking after-work rides of 20 miles or so - you ride at 6pm, and you're done by 8pm. In this case, we were starting a 48-hour event at 5:30 PM. One lap of daylight, and then it's lights-on for the next 8-10 hours. WEIRD! But, smart, on the part of the race organizers. In an event where sleep deprivation is as much a part of training as endurance rides are, having the riders make it through the first night right off the bat probably prevented a lot of sleep-deprivation-related issues, because the sun will come up before the sleepies have a real chance to take hold. 5:30 came, the whistle blew, and we were off and riding!

I started WAY in the back of the pack. Even though drafting was allowed for part of the first lap, I chose not to participate much. I eventually worked my way up to DT about halfway up to the lime plant at mile five, and stuck in with him for a bit, along with some other random riders. I figured, this was probably the only chance I'd get to talk to ANYONE for the rest of the ride, since a strict no-drafting policy was to ensue after the first stop-sign came. After reaching the first turn on the magnificent course, we enjoyed a nice tailwind to the first stop sign, and then turned southwest onto the back-side of the loop. Considerably less climbing here, it seemed, save for the steady rollers, I was really enjoying myself. Eating up hill after hill, and savoring the LONG downhills, this ride was gonna be a blast!

We passed by a new development called "The Retreat", an up-scale looking community that was still under construction - and the roadside construction barrels and such made it easy to call off the miles, as they provided the needed mental landmarks that helped pass the time. The bike was performing nicely, as I climbed and descended along the nicely rolling road - any doubts I'd had about the Cannondale being "neccessary" in my stable were quickly put to rest. This is a GREAT bike, and it would continue to prove itself comfortable and responsive mile after mile for the next couple days - which is something that one could never say about a Cannondale in the past.

In the last five miles of the course came my favorite section. All of the cumulative altitude we'd gained over the course of the loop was about to be paid back in full in the course of three miles. A curve, a split in the road, and then a long steady climb to the back ridge of the loop, and then finally a LONG, probably two-mile long downhill followed at a steep pitch. Any complaints riders might have had about the first section of climbing on the course were probably put to rest on this section, as one realizes things would be far worse if we'd been riding in the opposite direction. This was SOME hill. Only a short, 1/2 mile flat section separated this long hill from another long downhill that curved and plunged down to a bridge. Usually, speeds without pedaling would top out in the upper 30 MPH range, and then BAM - the momentum would be sapped up quickly as the road pitched back up after the bridge, and led riders up to the start/finish line. Numbers were shouted out, lap times checked, and then you'd start over again. It was deceiving at first glance, but this was a technical course. The nearly nine miles of climbing on the first section had some riders calling it "Colorado-like", and the constant rollers on the backside of the loop, though not as steep, were reminiscent of brevet season in Kansas City. It's truly a course with something for everyone.

After the first lap, which was clicked off in an hour and five minutes, it was clear that from here in we'd be in the dark for a while. The sun was dipping, along with the temperatures and jackets, warmers, earbands and reflective vests came out of bags and into service. Head-lights flickered to life, and tail-lights came aglow. It was a magical moment, and on this first moonless night we'd all learn the course details, inch by inch feeling our way along. I was once again extremely pleased with my generator set-up, not at all concerned with its weight and supposed "rolling resistance", as a clean, white beam of light shone brightly in front of me, lighting up the road, the signs, and any obstacles that happened to be there. Fumbling with battery lights just isn't worth the trouble anymore - even on long, fast downhills the beam was spectacular, allowing full-speed descents without fear of something sneaking out of the dark to dismount me. Again, my thanks to Peter White for bringing these fine systems to the states. Simply awesome!

Riding up past the Lime plant on Park Road 21 and then onto the longest part of the climbing brought me up onto a plateau, which was pretty neat during the day, but downright mystical at night. The lights in the horizon were so far away that they flickered and twinkled just like distant stars, and airplanes on final approach could be seen miles away, beacons flashing silently across the night sky. Only the rush of the occasional passing truck broke up the scene.

The trucks were truly driven by professionals, and it was hard to believe I was in Texas. Tales of beer bottles and close-calls flowed through my head, but really there was nothing of the sort - save for one solitary yeahoo on Friday afternoon. The heavy trucks gave a wide berth, and passed with true care. It was nice.

There was the occasional night-time weirdness on that first night: first, the continuously dropping temperatures also made it hard to believe I was in Texas, as lap after lap I added layer after layer to keep warm. There wasn't much to see, but there was a lot to hear. On the upper two-mile portion of the loop, a bull hollered at two of us as we passed by, with a frustrated and confused "mooooouuuuhh!!!", seemingly coming right from the fence line as we rolled past. That was loud, and a little freaky. Then there was the late-model red Ford Escort that did a slow fly-by while I climbed the steepest and longest part of the climb on the next lap. With hazard flashers going, I assumed it was one of the officials checking on riders, but it was not. The Escort, complete with two teenage boys, had a flat rear tire and was slowly attempting to make it back to town. The smell of hot rubber was thick in the air as they slowly rolled past me, barely going faster than I was. Eventually, they gave up and ended up parking it on the shoulder a little later up the road, walking home from there. It was entertaining the next day to ride past this car over and over, and eventually see them back out, with a parent, trying to fix the flat tire. There was a spark of recognition from the driver as I rode past, nearly 12 hours later -- "yep. I'm STILL riding my bicycle." He looked confused, amazed....priceless.

Lap after lap I ticked off the miles, promising myself a rest after the first hundred miles were tucked away. During lap five, a real visual treat; as Orion began to rise on the eastern horizon I rolled up the last part of a climb on the back-half of the loop, atop the highest portion of the course. As I rounded off the top, I could see the next four miles of the course - marked only by the lonely taillights of the riders that were already up there. All evenly lined up, with little blotches of headlight beam visible in front of them, it was a beautiful sight: no cars, just bikes scattered along a perfectly winding road that merged almost seamlessly with the brilliant and cold night sky. As I began to descend to catch them, the super-cooled air near a lake snuck into my open jersey, and I pulled my zipper up quick to compensate for the 40 degree air. It was a fantastic moment.

Unfortunately, the demon of sleep crept up to smack my dreams down a little, as I took the promised sleep break at the end of my first century. My loose plan was to ride 100, sleep for 2 hours, and repeat. Plenty of time to do this -- unfortunately, I was tired enough to either sleep through my alarm, or at least smack the snooze button faster than I could reach consciousness. I slept for a full SEVEN hours instead!!! A full nights' rest!! Well, no sense getting upset about it -- it was what it was, and so I rose up in the REALLY cold 35º air of the early morning, and prepared to get back on the bike.

That's when difficulty started to hit me. Either on the way from the bike to the tent, or vice versa, I had twisted my ankle on a rock or branch or something, and upon getting back on the road that next morning, my right ankle had a slight twinge to it, out back by the heel and tendon. Uh-oh... but, similar to the ankle problem that hit my left leg during MV24 I decided that I could ride through it and it would work itself out. I started the first of my next set of laps, and rode as best I could.
Each lap, unfortunately, became more tense than the next as the back of my right leg began to seize up with sharper and sharper pain, and walking around while off the bike became harder and harder. This was not good! How much longer would I be able to "ride this off?" I began to think about my options as I popped two Aleve, and continued on.

This was frustrating: my knees, legs, arms, shoulders, neck, and will to continue were all fine; no cramps, no food issues, no stomach issues, no headaches -- just this one, nagging, one-inch by one-inch section of achilles/ankle pain was making things really nasty, and it was becoming difficult to do what I've become good at: climbing. Sitting or standing, the pain worsened, despite Icy/Hot rubs and Naproxen Sodium intake after each lap. After 120 more miles, and the beginning of another sundown, it was decision-time.

Knowing that I'd slept too long already, and that my average per lap was starting to drop because of the injury that would not yield, I began to realize that I was not going to have enough time to get 500 miles inside the alotted 48-hour cutoff. Frustrated, and saddened by losing the chance to ride into another mystical night, I wrestled with my options and eventually decided to NOT risk a permanent injury. I was already limping after walking only a few feet off the bike, and the pain was sharp and defining. Like a knife to the back of the heel, just above the ankle, my decision was being made for me, and I wasn't happy about it. I wanted to continue -- but at what cost, considering I might not even be an official finisher after it would be all said and done?

Gut check time - time to be the bigger, smarter person. I reluctantly unpinned my rider number from the back of my reflective vest, and hobbled over to the official's tent near the start/finish. It was a long walk/limp of personal shame - but perhaps the walk of a smarter man, a man that wanted to walk tomorrow, rather than finish just short of 500 miles today and perhaps not being able to ride for months afterward.

I handed my rider bib to the lap tracking team, and hobbled silently away.
The official reason for withdrawl read "injury" - a first for me. Hopefully the last.

For the next 12 hours I would sit by the roadside in the cold night air, watching rider after stronger-than-I rider pass by in the night. Occasionally, after a long while in the chair, I would get up and examine the notion of at least, after 220 miles, getting a new PERSONAL best -- what more could it hurt to just break 300 miles with four more laps??? Then I would walk ten feet, and nearly be brought to my knees with the reminder of pain. This stinks.

Like a shackle around my soul, the pain kept me lashed to the chair. I WANTED to ride, but something wasn't letting me - and I was sad. I felt horrible, guilty, mad, somber - all at once. But, sometimes it's like that.

Severe saddle sores for the Warbird once upon a 300K, a bum knee for DT once upon a 400K, and now my turn with this ankle/tendon issue. Every man has his turn - and true, I'm not getting any younger. Sit down, suck it up, and rest that leg. You'll live to ride again. Despite all my training, and my clear mental approach to this event, this is proof that sometimes it's just not up to me. Injuries can't be planned for, forseen, or sometimes even prevented. I just have to exercise caution next time, make sure that I'm taking every precaution that I can -- no more distant campsites, or long dark walks to and from the tent -- next year's site will be closer to the road, and clear of walking obstacles. That's probably the best I can do! Perhaps next year I'll rent a van, and that way I won't even NEED a tent to sleep and change clothes. Lot's of time to plan, but I've learned more valuable lessons, and more importantly how to deal with things that I don't have complete control over. It could have been a rash of flat tires, a frame failure, or heaven-forbid a mal-attentive motorist that might have caused a more serious injury -- there is SO much that hangs in the balance out on these long rides, and I can't control it all.

A simple ankle twist, and I'm out of the running --- but it could have been a lot worse, and I know that.

Time to get past it, and ride on.



Several days later, here I am feeling better, walking better, and already planning next year. It'll be a nice, long, steady winter - and spring will be here in less than 80 days.

I'll be back. Solo Tejas 500 in 2007, with no regrets!
The ankle will heal - and so will my constitution.

First things first --- as noted below:
- Lose 20 lbs., slow and correctly. Keep it off.
- Cross train - strengthen the upper core to help counter-act the lower body.
- More fast centuries during the summer.
- No riding until the ankle is healed. Then, start slow again.
- No rush - it's gonna be winter, after all. Look to spring, and the 200K!