Bespoke later, for now, it spoke no more

bespoke_at_MAD

On Thursday, Mark Z. and I took a moment to see the “bespoke” exhibit of hand made bicycles at MAD. It’s a nice display of some of the finest bikes made by hand today. The irony of the bike rental business on the corner, while just inside were wheelsets that cost more than several rentals was not lost on us. Another irony was the mud covered Richard Sachs ‘cross bike which the guard would shoo people away from if they even tried to touch it… something tells me Richard would just shake his head, atmo.

Screen shot 2010-06-13 at 7.03.36 PM.png

As I’ve said before I’ve yet to commit to a “bespoke” cycle… but one day.

However in the world of cycling ignominy is never far away—at least for me. Lloyd and John posted this nice ride they do up to Cold Spring and beyond. In need of nice long ride I planned to go despite having to wake up early on the one day when I don’t have to… 5am came early as it were.

Six of us started out from Rockland Lake heading north up the rollers of 9W, dropped into Haverstraw, and met up with three others. We climbed up toward Bear Mountain bridge and crossed over continuing up 9D. As I get nearly as far away from home as I’m going to get, I hear the loudest “bang” I’ve ever heard come from my bike. I thought I had flatted, so I slowed and stopped carefully, but it didn’t look like it, and once stopped, it was clearly not the problem, and yet the wheel was not really turning. And then I saw it.

There was a spoke unattached at the hub end. “That’s gonna be a hassle.” I thought. I knew that I didn’t have a spoke wrench on my multi tool. And while I opened the brake and tried to re-orient the wheel in the frame enough to limp home, it was a no go. The wheel was significantly out of true.

Just then Lloyd and (the other) John came riding by (I’m not sure why they were that far behind me) and the stopped to help. Lloyd broke off the dangling spoke, but without a spoke wrench we were kinda stuck. They didn’t have anything on their tools either. There’d be no limping home. All that was left was calling Lisa and asking to be picked up. Luckily she had a morning of chores planned, and was home and could quickly throw The Kid in the car and made her way to me… but still… I’m almost as far away from home as I planned to be that day. (Darn you Murphy!) Nor was I close to any of the bike shops in the area that would have come and picked me up (because they’re awesome around here.)

Phone call made, I sent Lloyd and (the other) John on their way and tried not to go stir crazy waiting… now of course, all of this could have been worse. It could have started raining for example. But even then, I happened to stop by Hudson Highlands State Park, so there was a little covered message board that I could have hidden under. And while it was cool, I did have rain jacket with me… and food and water. All in all… not the worst conditions in which to wait. I only called Lisa three times…

I’ve taken away some thoughts for the future.

I put a spoke wrench in my seat bag. Already. As in I already got one of the right size and put it in the bag.
I could have salvaged the ride home if I had a spare set of wheels pumped up and ready to go in every way sitting where Lisa would know she had the right wheels. This is a bit more complicated, but I took the steps I could today. I need to get a set of wheels with matching rims to really make this pain free… but in the meantime I’ve prepped a set and made a spot for them to live. When I check the pressure on the bike set, I check those too. I’d move them into Lisa’s car, but that’ll get in her way most of the time, so I’ll leave them in the newly created spot.
Lastly, I need to put *all* the phone numbers I need into my cell phone. As long as I have a cell connection I can look up the phone numbers I need. But what if I don’t? I might be able to borrow a cup of phone, but internet access? Lots harder ’round the state parks. I can’t run up 411 access fees on someone’s phone either… it would make it harder for the next person who needs their help to get it (regardless of whether I pay for it or not. Just my feeling, but still.)

I’d take a few hours of riding on a wobbly wheel over dragging my wife (or anyone else) out on the road to help me while I wait. And a little preparation could’ve rescued the ride. She even could’ve grabbed another bike, but the rack isn’t on her car and putting a bike in the car is not easy (to say the least)… so wheels it would be.

I thought about bringing extra wheels to the Battenkill ride, but because I didn’t think of it until the last minute I was, again, unprepared. I’ll do better next time. Seems a shame to lose a day to something that a minute wheel change could save. Especially in that case where we really did have a “team” car.

elevation graph

Comfortable clothes

When I say that about clothes I wear it means that I don’t notice the clothes as I wear them. They fit in such a way as not to need adjustment—certainly not near constant adjustment.

Fashion is a complex subject because it is so subjective. While I have learned to understand that fashion doesn’t have to be comfortable for some folks, I found a line today that I wish more folks wouldn’t cross.

It was a very warm day out for spring in New York. 90F. More like summer than spring around here. As I ran an errand today in the heart of midtown NYC I saw lots of folks from all walks of life, countries, and origins. The melting pot was on full display. As was a great deal of skin. In some cases, way too much in my opinion. In other cases, while folks were still technically dressed, they weren’t really covered. And a joy to behold. But that’s not the point really.

One woman in particular aimed to walk down the street alternately tugging and lifting her dress. First tugging it down in the back, then lifting it higher in the front. Then tugging, then lifting. All while trying to walk and carry shopping bags.

I’m not sure what herd instinct caused her to put that dress on when she was clearly uncomfortable with what it revealed. And while some would argue fashion, I would say that it becomes a “fashion don’t” when you can’t walk down the street without adjusting coverage with every step. It’s just ridiculous.

So ladies and gentlemen, if you can’t wear something revealing without being able to ignore or feel comfortable with the amount of you revealed, consider wearing something that does make you comfortable… and to hell with fashion and what others are wearing. This public service announcement has been brought to you by the letter C and the number 4.

64.4

I play a silly game in the car on my morning commute: Without making a traffic hazard of myself, how far up can I push the gas mileage? (3 minute minimum duration.)

64.4 mpg on the commute this morning…

#ifIcantbeonabike

Noah learns to skate

And it looks a little like this. Added in this case Bartelby, the class bear, who is given to the child of the day to take home. The accompanying journal entry is left as an exercise for the parents, or in our case, Mommy. I don’t need no stinkin’ homework.

As I mentioned not that long ago I remember learning how to skate. So seeing this picture, and that pose, brought back that whole scene again.

I’m hoping to catch a little ice time this Friday. But it’s the heart of the Memorial Day weekend getaway, so I may chicken out for another week. We’ll see.

Skyline Drive

The Wikipedia states:

Skyline Drive is a 5.76-mile[1][2] long road in Northern New Jersey, between Interstate 287 in Oakland, Bergen County and County Route 511 in Ringwood, Passaic County, passing through Ringwood State Park in the Ramapo Mountains. It is a major route for those in the Ringwood and Wanaque area to get to Interstate 287. The road offers a brief view of the Manhattan skyline, 20 miles (32 km) away, while heading southbound. The steep and narrow road is often impassable in winter due to ice and snow. The alignment of Skyline Drive was first designated as a state highway in the 1920s, as an alignment of State Highway Route 3.

[I can imagine… but as to major route notice above… if you are not comfortable riding in traffic, do not follow this route. It will make you very uncomfortable.]

But I’ve already gotten ahead of myself. I ran into Rich the other day. Rich owns a local food place called Back To Earth Natural Foods and every so often I run into him when I stop by to pick up some stuff. We’ve ridden together both on and off road… but mostly he mountain bikes and enjoys the woods, and I rarely have the extra time that takes for me. We chatted, and it got me thinking that I should throw my Jones on the rack and get over to Ringwood and tool around a bit. And that led me to consider that I could probably ride the fire roads without full on fatties, and in doing so, bring other folks that only ride on the roads with me… hmmm.

So while all that heavy duty conspiring was going on, I ask Jenni if she’s riding, and oddly, she says “yes”. And more oddly she even has a suggestion for where we should ride. “We should do Skyline.”

Jenni immediately notes that I may have broken a record for sandbagging as I remind her that I just spent a week crabbin’ about my left knee. My rejoinder was that I’ve had sandbaggin’ excuses lined up much further in advance than that… I do try and excel in all things.

Naturally, neither of us had a clear idea how to get there and far be it from us to look up it before we leave. I admit to having glanced at a map a few days before and seemed like if we just go straight on this road here, we’ll see it. I was right, but lacked enough confidence to overcome the confusion and general worry about where we were going.

Down 202, above 17 and up and over the first hill. I recalled nearly collapsing on that hill a bunch of years ago. The day was humid but cool, with a threat of rain and darkened clouds the entire time. One of two drops fell on an occasion, but we got fairly lucky that the showers stayed away. We got pointed to Skylands Road which did not seem like it was Skyline Drive, but seemed close enough to warrant celebrating by getting off our bikes for a picture. We don’t often ride in a fashion that makes for a lot of photo taking. It feels like pace killing and not in a good way (hey, were touring!) but in a bad way (we’re never getting home). But occasionally we’re in that place, and yesterday seemed to be one of those times.

← An aside: While the tifosi often paint or chalk delightful support of their riders on the roads of the great climbs, Jenni and I find this in the road… repeatedly. Sigh. So it goes.

Having poked around we found our route, and proceeded to climb Skyline. It’s a decent climb, and we stopped in the one place where you could see a view (although it was too hazy for anything but a back view of the Ramapo Mountains) and have a drink.We made the decision to go over the other side and not just turn around at the top despite us not being sure of the route home. The payoff for a climb is view and the ride down the other side… which was excellent, although since we were not familiar with the route, concerns about traffic and lights kept our max speed in check (42mph).

Jenni then played games with her GPS until it began buzzing at her in a useful manner, and while we couldn’t find a pretty way home we started off. As is the way with an unscoped route, we were directed to a wall of a route. A father and son were gardening at the bottom and Jenni asked whether the hill was long (she thirsty, out of water’ish, and in a rare moment, not interested in a long climb) His answer was a snickered “long and hard”. I ignored him because he was failing to be cute, or manly, or suggestive, and climbed what turned out to be a short if steep hill. Jenni walked the steepest section, but could have ridden it if she hadn’t assumed the clown knew what he was talking about.

The rest of the ride home was fairly uneventful. I did notice a lot of road kill deer, which, of course, were almost entirely on the slow uphill side of the road to maximize the odor.

When we got home Jenni picked some bands to be given out to donors, got a bowl and a pile of plasticwear back that she had used to prep food for a friend with cancer, and received a yummy pecan pie which was left from the great pecan pie snafu of May 2010 wherein my mother dropped off a giant pecan pie just after we had procured a personal size pie as part of a multi-dessert finale to the last Shavuot holiday meal. There was probably another 10lbs worth of calories left over in addition to the pecan pie which we’re now distributing widely enough as to not impact any individual too greatly (and yet saving ourselves from our love of deliciousness which is antithetical to hill climbing ability).

I love this line from Jenni’s post: “I intentionally hadn’t asked Daniel how long we were going to ride- I enjoyed letting the day unfold.” If it’s not entirely clear, I wouldn’t have known how long we were riding, as it was her suggestion, and I had barely glanced at a map. It’s a shame she didn’t ask—her vicious rejoinder to my response would’ve been worthwhile.

44 miles and change, 2000+ ft of climbing, lots and lots of fun.

Skates!

A long time ago in a boyhood far, far away my parents taught me to skate. The scene would have looked a bit like the one above, only somewhat less idyllic. We got together with a friend of my mother’s (the Fishman’s) and in that classic arms forward stance (to keep your weight on your toes), I’m sure I stumbled all over the ice. Maybe one of the advantages of learning to skate on a lake rather than a rink, is it eliminates that awful starters parade of kids hanging onto the sideboards for dear life, shuffling slowly around the perimeter of the rink. There was no choice out there… if you wanted to move you had to figure out the skating thing. The skates were no doubt a Chanuka gift from my parents, and must have been just good enough. And while I have no specific recollection, I’m sure the swoopy, flying, gliding effect—that effortless forward motion caught me. From my current vantage point, it is easy to see why biking caught and stuck as well.

Jump forward a few years to a family friend (Stacie!) who had studied figure skating. Since I enjoyed skating, a party was planned that included going skating some Saturday night. As is common, halfway through the session the ice is cleared and the infamous Zamboni reset the ice. All slick, smooth, and wet. This being the 70’s I’m dressed head to toe in light blue (just don’t, OK?). Just after the ice is reopened it’s “couples” time. Stacie grabs my hand and says “Let’s go!” and before I could say a thing, I’m out on the ice being pulled along by the hand. I knew it was a mistake, but I was afraid to start skating, and I couldn’t shake her loose. As our crowd of friends sees the two of us out there an “oooh” rises as a collective commentary on our holding hands, skating “together” (as if) and general tween teasing. Sure enough seconds later one of my blades catches on something, and I’ve now mopped up a nice swath of ice with the aforementioned light blue clothing that turned an instant navy blue… no hiding that error, either in that few of us were on the ice, or the darkened clinginess of my soaked clothing for quite some time after that. You’d think that would of have been it for me and skating… but the gliding speed always pulls me back.

In high school there was a small park and rink down the block. Skating sessions were one of the few nighttime activities that fit into the schedule, and where we could get permission to go. Combine that with the on again off again nature of the small ponds freezing and we had a winter’s delight. A touch of freedom from oversight, a touch of freedom from gravity, and the odd whack at a puck with a stick… kinda playin’ pick up hockey on the little ponds behind the rink. I can clearly remember hearing the booming cracks one January morning during the thaw.

After high school skating sessions became far and few between. I was busy learning to be a musician and going to school. And while there might have been the occasional Saturday night skating deal, it certainly had no regularity. Kind of like my skiing “career”, it all kinda went and died out with the focus on music and the lack of funds that went with that. But then… some friends were working at a bike shop and the winter keep busy deal there was hockey gear, skates, sharpening and the like. That winter they started playing pickup hockey over at Playland and before you know it they dragged me out, although I wasn’t in a hockey mood. It was quite a show though. Sadly, I learned that my skates no longer fit me (they *really* hurt that last time…) so I stuffed them away, and the next time my sister asked I gave her my skates (she asked for one of her growing kids). I’m sure they’re stored there somewhere (and worn on occasion I’d guess).

Since Noah been old enough we’ve tried to have him try all sorts of sports. He’s been swimming, karate classes, obviously has been around bikes, trikes, etc., and now ice skating. And he really wants me out on the ice. And, of course, it appeals to me as well… so I went and found me some skates. Skates have changed quite a bit with lots of new tech, and even some changes in how people seem to approach wearing skates (thin socks now, not so much back then). Skates are often made of moldable material and are “baked” (200 degrees F for 4 minutes in my case) to soften them so that they mold themselves to your foot. And they are of course, lighter as you go up in price (and man can you get stratospheric if you care to). now I’m looking forward to playing with him on the ice. His teacher suggested a couple more weeks, which is cool, because it gives me a chance to get to a rink and glide off some cobwebs before that moment. One of the cool things about his teacher is that she was one of Lisa’s babysitters and taught her how to skate as well. My chore will be getting her back out there. It would be nice to turn this into a family thing. Makes it far more fun…

A designer I’ve worked with in a couple of places plays hockey in a league. I wrote him note to see whether we can get together for some some getting started again tips, and help me clean up my technique a bit before I case harden some new bad habits. It would be fun just to hang with him… but skating would be really great.

Updates, as I get back to it… I wonder if Chris still skates?

Five Boro Bike Tour 2010

You’d think that the start of the 2010 Five Boro Bike Tour with it’s 32,000 entrants would look grandiose and wonderous. And you’d be mostly correct. But in actuality, for those of us who worked as marshalls (the helpful folks who line and ride the course) it actually looked like this:

But I’ve already gotten ahead of myself. The day really started the night before, maybe not technically, but for me it certainly is the “night before” when I have to get up at 4:15am. And waking would’ve been harder if I ever fell asleep in the first place. But I got into one of those obsession cycles about various details of my planning and never got there.

No matter, I got up 15 minutes earlier than I had planned when I went to sleep, and everything promptly took longer than I expected and I wound up leaving 15 minutes later than I planned. I hate that.

I did my standard commute, dragged the bike out of the car, threw my little bag over my shoulder and headed toward Times Square which of course, was recovering from an attempted bombing. I rode down 7th, caught a little pave down by Varick, salmoned past the riders on Church getting to their fixed positions along the course and made my way to the castle in Battery Park. Signed in and found a quiet corner to begin waiting, the key element of the start of any large ride.

After briefings were given and materials handed out, our group headed out to a small park near the start to… wait for it… wait some more. We gave the waiting our full attention. Jamieson disappeared on some marshall related chore, only to reappear just before we started out. That was cool, although it set a pattern that was to repeat the entire day. One second he’d be ridin’ with us, and the next second he’d be gone. After a long disappearance it turned out that he worked on two “medic” stops. He caught up with us as we worked with a Westpoint cadet on a flat tire after she crashed. She called me “Sir”. I suggested she not call me that (“They tell us to”) and added “Cadet, drop and give me 20…” Fortunately she laughed, because had she even begun the process, I would have been embarrassed beyond belief. Shortly after that he disappeared for the final time this ride…

Anyway after waiting so long that folks began to get know each other, the show got on the road. A stripper on a pole biked by and so did the the hoards of cyclists of every kind and stripe. The folks reflected the City—there was a bit of everything.

Two things stood out as bad amidst an extraordinary ride (for someone born and raised here, riding a bike on the FDR Drive, BQE, Gawanus Expr., Verrazano etc. is more than a little strange, and disheartening in that I rode many of the sections faster than I would traverse them in a car on the average trip…). One was the walking of Central Park. Too much congestion led to almost walking the entire park. It was not a pleasant stroll, though Jenni ran into a student from a recent bike class (unfortunately in need of help with a flat which we could not exactly provide due to equipment failures). The second was that onramp inclines led to large backups because people seemed intimidated by the ramps. Without even trying they would bounce off their bikes and start pushing as if there was no other choice. I think some encouragement might help.

Since I rode down from midtown and Jenni decided to join me for the trip home, we chose the West side cycle path to get back to the car. With that and other minor detours I rode a bit over 60 miles including the distance to the ferry in Staten Island. I can’t comment on general food and services as I we didn’t venture into the rest stops, this was not a particularly long ride for us and the sheer number of people at the stops was intimidating (Do you really want to wait that long for a banana?). We also didn’t have to wait for a ferry—there was one there loading up when we got there.

A lot of folks asked me if I would do it again… and the answer is sure, if you give me a reason to do so. The ride is nice, the number of people involved stunning, but there’s nothing so incredible that I would look to do it again. But if the right person asked, or Lisa wanted to do it, I’d happily go again. I’d hope for cooler weather (a decent chance most years) but other than that things were nice.

As you’ll note from the back of this guy’s shirt, traveling with a medium sized parrot has a downside on a trip like this. But he did get style points… I first saw him just before we stopped for a nature call, and then over and over again throughout the day. This happened with a few folks which I didn’t expect because we did stop quite a few times to help folks. I would have thought that we’d be “off the back” of any particular group, but nope. We saw folks over and over again. Fun!

So I talked about waiting? Here’s what it looked like…

And then the start looked like this from the back… that’s looking north toward the park…

I left my camera home because there was a party planned for Noah, but there was amazing juxtapositions of cyclists and the NYC skyline… and the oddness of seeing bikes where there’s usually cars as in this view from off ramp of the Queensboro Bridge…

Thanks
to the
folks
whose
images
I
abused
to
help
tell my story.

For those of you who asked… I rode the MootoX, with 27c Challenge Parigi Roubaix tires, its YBB, and pedals for walkable mountain shoes. The walkable shoes were an especially good choice. Early in the morning while it was humid, it was cool and I wore arm warmers (Smartwool), knee warmers and a rain cape (both Rapha) over my jersey (Swobo). All of them were packed into the Carousel Design Works Escape Pod seat bag before we started riding (along with extra rubber gloves, plastic bags, and other “assistive” technology. I love that thing… I carried a tiny messenger style bag as well which was part pain and part joy. Yeah, I had to sling it around quite a bit, but it made access to paperwork, maps, food, etc. organized and easy. I would have preferred a frame bag… but I haven’t ordered one yet, and it might have been overkill (I didn’t have that much to carry) but it would have put it where I wouldn’t have to fuss as much. Toss up. I thought about finding a document bag and clipping it to the Pod, but I couldn’t find anything lying around the house… but it would be something to consider for the next ride where I have that much stuff to carry.

When your wife complains…

…that you haven’t posted anything new on your blog, chances are it means you haven’t written anything in a long, long while.

I’ve had a very hectic spring. First there was grand jury duty 3 days a week for a month. Battenkill was next with my attempts to get some miles in, finish the Moots build and the glorious ride itself. Then Passover hit like a ton of bricks. Cleaning, preparing, going away, coming back, having company, etc. Then back to work, full time, with the long commute, catching up on stuff I missed.

So, yeah, hectic. Joyous, glorious, wonderful! But hectic. And I had to prioritize and the blog took a hit. So it goes.

And now that things are settling back into a bit of rhythm, I take a moment to catch up here. So what’s next?

I’m going to continue to work on filling the hole in the driveway, get the gutters repaired (this winter’s huffing and puffing blew them off the house in places), I could well be riding the 100 Miles of Nowhere this Sunday, and be marshalling the 5 boro bike tour on the 2nd. I’m working on a top secret gift for Lisa that she knows all about (naturally), and Noah’s on the verge of celebrating his 5th birthday.

Work got a bike parking program together and I’m trying to find ways to make use of it (starts too late, ends too early, and they strip all rights from anyone who signs up (you pay for damage to the building, overtime for the freight elevator operator, removal of your bike should you leave it overnight etc. etc. etc. all without any agreement baout how much and for what. Damn lawyers.) They’ve not made it easy, or friendly, but it’s a start, and I hope to at least get some exercise out of it even if I can’t use it to help my commute.

Noah has a garden he wants to plant, and I’m looking forward to getting everyone out into the sunshine. It’s been a bit cool until late in the day, and we always have plenty to do, so it hasn’t happened yet, but another few weeks should do it.

There’s some longer term reviews I’ve been meaning to post about and some other stuff. So hopefully now that things are settling in, I’ll get to them. See ya soon!

PS I ganked the picture from somewhere the other day, and now I can’t find the person to credit them. If someone knows, get in touch!! Thanks.

Battenkill—Sometimes you get to be part of something great

We were going slowly. Seriously slowly. So slowly that folks that started long after us passed us before long. So slowly that The Sweep could’ve been our personal team car. Jenni was *not* feeling well, and it showed. Yes, she was happy to be there (as was I) but she could muster none of what I’ve come to know as Jenni’s riding style. Normally she has a unique blend of pushing her own limits and knowing when to enjoy her surroundings. It’s one of the things that makes it fun to ride with her. Today she had nothing; her heart was racing. We knew that going in (that she’d been struggling with her heart), but what we didn’t know is exactly how hard the course was, the other variables that go into a ride, and how she’d be feeling this day.

We loped along by ourselves enjoying the scenery—which is quite spectacular. Hills, rolling farm land, horses, cows (The Belted Galloway or the Dutch Belted, also known as “Panda cows”), goats, dogs, roosters, chickens, fields waking up from a winter’s sleep, coniferous forest, and lots of pleasant folks doing chores. We inched our way up the super steep inclines, bombed the downhills, and settled into our own, personal, groupetto.

A huge part of what made the day possible was Wil. He came along and drove the course with us giving us the near equivalent of a team car. He didn’t literally drive right behind us, but he was never too far, and it made it easier to ditch bottles, have nourishment with us — in fact we never made to an “open” feed station. They had essentially packed up each time before we got there. A special thank you to him for devoting his entire day (driving 3 hours up there, then the 62+ miles of the course, at bike speed essentially, and then driving back for 3 more hours).

My part in this little saga was that I pulled and pulled and pulled through a metric ton of headwind. As I said earlier, Jenni was not feeling well. So I got out in front, and stayed there, boring a hole in the wind. As a tickling annoyance Ivan said that when we hit that stretch there’d be a tailwind, complete with a “let’s see, the wind is coming from thataway, and you’ll be turning thisaway so it’ll be a tailwind, which is good because that stretch is flat and boring”. Yeah, OK. Whatever. Jenni commented later that she didn’t notice the headwinds. That put a proud smirk on my face. (As an added bonus, when you look at the elevation chart, find the flat section… I’m still looking for it). I did make a bad choice of saddle on the day, and from about mile 1.5 a saddle sore got more and more painful. All the seated climbing, the pace, etc. helped annoy it until at mile 40ish I decided I was not having fun anymore. I wasn’t cooked or anything, but every stroke hurt, and the pain had grown wearying. But that’s when it got interesting. (Further proof that I wasn’t cooked—I’m not sore today at all. No weak legs. None of the symptoms of “blasted” that I’ve experienced before.)

Jenni’s insides had started to awaken. She was feeling like she could finish the route. She had clawed her way up the first two steeps and there was one more left, and she was determined to finish now that she was feeling better. So while I drank chocolate milk and climbed into the car, she continued on. Naturally, the first thing she did was ride off the course. It was classic. So we turned around and made sure she was back, and then moved up the road a bit.

Considering how she had ridden all day, I kept telling Wil to stop and wait, which naturally annoyed Jenni, so after her “suggesting” otherwise we switched to 5 mile intervals… she climbed up and over the hill that most folks complained about which was a looser sort of gravel than the previous stuff. I was thinking about the road conditions as we drove it but my choco-delirium prevented me from acting. I should’ve gotten out and made sure she was riding this collection of marbles well. The Moots was sporting relatively fat 27c tires which would have made it easier for me, but the plan was to meet her just ahead. We pulled over shortly, I got out, climbed back on my bike and rolled back down a short section to meet her on the last section of the loose gravel.

She arrived shortly, cussing about the climb and the decent, picking her way carefully over the tumbling gravel. Once we reached the pavement I could tell that she had ridden herself back. She was tired and flushed looking, but she was riding like herself. And as we completed the last 5 or so miles together I realized how magnificent a ride I had witnessed.

A lot is written about suffering on a bike, and there’s as many types of that as there are riders and roads. But this road was tough. As tough a ride as you could want. 18% grades on gravel roads (at least, that’s the number I saw swimming before my eyes), stair step climbs that mess with your head, and steep climbs with loose gravel combined with a unique relentlessness. And being so far off the back that the desk called wondering whether we had ‘forgotten to check in when we “left the course” since they were closing up’ gives you some idea of where we were at all day long. But it didn’t matter. She was determined to finish what she started that morning, and did so with no lesser glory for the empty lot that greeted us.

It was as magnificent a ride as any I’ve taken part in. My not finishing was not a big deal to me, those 17 miles didn’t represent my goal for the day except most peripherally. Jenni made the Battenkill Preview Ride 2010 a monument to the strength, beauty, and grace that makes cycling so incredible (and yet still a literal pain in my ass).

The ride is great, the volunteers, sweepers etc, were all genuine, concerned, and helpful. The course map sucked, and the placement of things like the first feed station was off by some significant mileage. I had hoped that more “folks” would be there for the ride, but it was really mostly racers who were previewing the course for the races, and so there was a lot of team kit, ass checking, bike checking and the like. Would I do it again? Sure. But I got what I wanted out of this ride and lots more, and there’s lots of other rides to take on… so who knows. But it would be fun to go again.

Check out Jenni’s ride report for more pictures and her own elation. Chapeau to the Cardiac Kid. That was brilliant!

Not shown: The home stretch 5 miles…

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Here’s the elevation of the first 40ish miles of the route.

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“You are my hero” said the cop

So I’ve got Battenkill in a week, and I have very few miles in my legs. Getting out today was imperative. The problem was the crazy huge rain storm we’ve been experiencing. High winds, pouring rain, lightning, thunder, flooding from both the rain on top of the snow melt and saturated ground. It’s quite biblical overall.

But there’s gonna be a lot of riding to do next week and taking two weeks off seemed like the wrong approach. I prepped last night, getting crud catcher and fender in place. I made sure there was a rear light and that headlamps were charged. I found clothes that seemed like they’d keep me warm and somewhat dry.

In what appeared to be a break in the weather I set out on the Moots. The break lasted about five minutes. But no matter, I was prepared (Ha! That was my attempt at foreshadowing). I headed off toward Harriman for the some climbing, and things were going well until the road turns toward the foothills. There’s a car parked on the side of the road, and someone standing in the middle of the road taking pictures. And the road was a mess of gravel based “sand bars” left from the flooding. I slowed and picked and my way through. And just when I thought things were cool I see the “river” that now has reclaimed the road. I looked for a shallow spot, and didn’t find much. I dismounted, found the best section I could and stepped. I got only half a boot full of water. I was thinking that I was under prepped for today’s ride at that point…

At least it wasn’t freezing out, so I shook it off and pedaled off to start the climbing. Things were good for a while and I enjoyed the lower gearing this bike provides. Some of the tributaries were class five rapids but they’re well drained and the mountain side is steep, so all was well with the roads at this point. I climbed up and over the hill, and felt like absolute crud. After cresting, things loosened up a tad, but not a lot. I start making my way around to turn for home and I’m heading down the first prolonged down grade. There’s a hiker or runner on the side of the road sittin’ on the guard rail talking to someone in a car. The car was naturally stopped in the middle of the road, and I soft pedaled to see whether this party was breaking up anytime soon. Naturally a second after I commit to going around the car they decide to move along. I grabbed two hands full of brake briefly forgetting that I have discs on the Moots. It kindly reminded me by locking up the rear wheel until I eased off… in the meantime my flashing and very bright headlamps caught the eye of the driver in his rear view, and he eased up before any real damage was done.

Out on Route 17 things were progressing apace, and I was trying to decide how hard The Transition would be. The Transition is where the cars peel off Route 17 onto I287. It’s often annoying and sometimes dangerous to continue going straight, when so many cars want to pass you on the left and then head off to the right.

Even as I was considering all this I see two marked cars with lights going. Uh oh. Sure ’nuff the road is closed. Folks are turning around or being shunted off into New Jersey. I pedaled up to the first cop, and asked “Wires down?” “Nah, road flooded, but you can ride through if you want. What’s the worst that can happen? You’ll get wet?” Which was somewhat ironic considering how wet I already was, never mind the damp right foot from the river crossing. So on I pedaled hoping it wouldn’t be too bad, and enjoying the rare opportunity to ride Route 17 free of cars.

It was bad. All four lanes covered in water. I tried to sneak through near the Jersey barriers, and when the water got high enough sort of pushed my way through with the pedals evened out, still both feet and the bike got a pretty good soaking. Further up the road I see the other closure, and another swimming pool. But this time the other side was clear. I lifted the bike over the Jersey Barrier and then vaulted over (Cross skills? Who knew). Back on the bike I ride the last closed section, chatting briefly with some folks who were looking for some fishing supplies from Davis Sports. They were walking up the road in the opposite direction. Sportsmen are an interesting breed, no matter the sport. (It occurs to me that I was kinda thinking, “These crazy guys are walking half a mile up the road in order to get some stuff, and then walk back here, get in their car and go fishing somewhere in this weather? Crazy” Of course, the irony that I was out riding 30 miles on a bike never crossed my mind. Such compartmentalization keeps me chugging in the right direction…)

As I wove my way past the road flare and cars blocking the road, the cop opens his window, leans out and exclaims “You are my hero!” with a big grin on his face. I smiled, accepted the “chapeau”, and pedaled off with a wave.

Other than a few more minor river crossings, where I got more wet from the cars who couldn’t manage not to splash me, by, oh, I dunno, waiting a second for me to pass, than the water I was passing through, the rest of the trip was uneventful. By now the common mix of rain, thunder, lightning and junk in the roads caused me no concern. The headwinds were as usual, annoying, and not helping me feel any better about my riding. But you can get used to anything it seems. Alas, I had nothing but heavy legs anyway… it is what it is.

But the ride was worth it. I feel like I worked out some of the kinks. I feel a bit more mentally prepped for next week. And there’s nothing like “suffering” for one’s art. I don’t recommend it, but there’s nothing like it.

turnings :: daniel berlinger

Finest Quality Mayhem :: Reckless Precision

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