Epic Commuting

So this past Wednesday was Bike To Work Day. I have biked in part-way a couple of times in the past few weeks. But never the full distance. The full distance is 15 miles. My first commute on bike was to drive in about 1/2 way (7-8) miles and ride in with friends through a state park. I avoid most of the traffic, and don't get too winded going in. I had a great time...
The second (and maybe third) time I biked in, I would bike to the light rail station -about 11 miles away- and take the light rail to work. This was a good distance, and I was a little worn out after the ride. But still not too bad. My times door-to-door were around an hour to an hour and a quarter.
On Bike To Work Day, I decided that I would like to go the entire distance on human power. I wussed out a little, and biked to the light rail on my trek into work, but decided to "go the distance" on the return trip. The first few miles flew by. I was going downhill, feeling good, and listening to my exercise mix. --On a sidenote, I need to update my mix. It isn't as inspiring as it was when I first made it. --

The aerial photo shows about 7 miles of my route going home. My route follows the purple or the blue going in a southwest direction, and then the red or brown to the south. The problem is that the trail ends for a few miles and I have to go by street, before connecting to the trail again. I had looked and looked at the route, but not well enough apparently, because I got lost!!! Now I need to qualify my "lost" statement. I knew where I was if I was driving home, but I could not find the trail. I hunted around, hopped a fence, and ended up at our local garden center without any trail going south in sight. This is somewhat discouraging, especially when I have been following the GDR. The Great Divide Race goes along the rockies from northern Montana to Southern New Mexico. Contestants have to be self sufficient the entire time. I have read about how this rider was lost for an hour here, or an hour there, but it is in the wilderness, with no other trails around. I am riding in a large city, and can't find a bike trail. :( Well at least I knew where I was. I ended up taking a heavily trafficked road for several miles, but made it back to familiar territory. This time, the trip took two and a half hours. I estimate I went about 30 miles that day. I was pretty sore the following day. Now I just have to gear up for our alpine loop ride in September of 60-90 miles.

Specialized Helmet Replacement Program

It's a little known fact that Specialized has a helmet replacement program. I bought my first one in 1995 (albeit grudgingly for a mountain bike class in college). It developed several nicks and dings over the years and eventually suffered a fatal blow during a crash. I went into a dealer and they swapped me out my old for brand-new one.

Now things are a bit different. If you own a Specialized helmet, simply call the main switchboard at (408) 779-6229 and ask about the helmet replacement program. They'll get your information and mail you out a 20% coupon.

I'm now the proud owner of a new Chamonix Specialized helmet.

GDR/TD

Here's to the folks riding the GDR and Tour Divide. Helmets off to you folks. Listening to your call-ins and watching your SPOTs fills my mind with crazy notions of following you in your epic of epic rides.

Good luck to Geoff, Mary, and the rest!

Wardsworth Creek, Revisited

Riding Time: 1.15.01
Actual Time: 1.54.41
BPM Avg: 155
Miles: 6
MPH Avg: 4.7
Elevation Gain: ~1100 feet

In an effort to recover my lost pump from my last foray on Wardsworth, I decided to invite my brother-in-law for a quick ride. Maybe, I thought, I'll not only get in a great ride, but recover my awesome pump.

Yes on the former, no luck on the latter.

I'm not entirely sure my numbers were accurate on my last ride. I had some issues with my HRM and my computer (inadvertent button pressing, etc.) One thing for sure was the distance. I was seriously this close to the top last time when I turned around - only .15 miles away.

Maybe it was the fact that I was with another rider, but I felt I pushed myself a bit harder this time than last. It was validating to be on a ride with someone who bikes a whole heck of a lot more than I do and, for the most part, keep up with him. I still have tons of work to do before doing an epic, but at least I know where my starting point is.

Me earning the climb.


Riley tries to hold a line on the uphill.

Riley on top of Everest Wardsworth. 

This time I made it!

Though there was still some hike-a-bike areas, I was on my bike much more than last time.

A little ridin' fun

On Saturday, I went for a fun ride. Most of the trail in my neck of the woods is concrete, but there are a few stretches that are dirt road and/or single track. On this particular ride, I had about a mile or so of dirt road. It was out a bit in the country, and I thought of where I grew up. It was a relaxing ride. While driving south I saw two pheasants running within 20 feet of the trail, 10-15 cottontails hopping around, a bunch of prairie dogs, and water fowl whose name escapes me at the moment.

I had left about 6:30 am, and made it about 8 or 9 miles. It was getting close to the time when I needed to turn around when I saw my single track. I wish I could have had my camera there with me. The trail led off the path, had a little dip, and then climbed up and over a small hill. Time to go off the beaten path...As I headed down the little slope, cherry creek stood in the way of me and my single track. I was listening to U2's "In The Name Of Love." I geared down and started to plow through the sand and the six inches of water. However, the sand bogged me down and before I could clip out, I tipped over and shorted out all the elecronics I had with me. That was the last song my Ipod played. Sigh.

As that scenario played out in my head, I decided that I wasn't a professional biker, and I really valued my Ipod. I hit my brakes before my tires touched the water. The single track was still beckoning to me, so I pulled off my socks and shoes, and forged across. The water was a little chilly, and I think that scenario would have come true had I really tried to bike across Cherry Creek.

On the other side of the trail, I put my socks and shoes on, and headed toward that hill with the single track winding its way up the side of its face. There was a small bowl about 10 feet down, and then 10 feet back up again. It was a little steep, I lost momentup, coaasted backwards, and tipped over. Stupid clips....I am still learning how to clip out quickly.

I brushed myself off, and headed toward that enticing single track. Again, I am not too good at technical, and had to walk my way of the hill. After those couple of hiccups, I had a good ride up and down a few hills. Coming back, I came to the top of my hill again, and decided it would be fun to ride down. My best guess is that this hill had about a 30-45 degree slope and a length of about 100 feet. About 1/2 way down as I was fishtailing and trying to stay upright, I decided this was a very bad idea. And then suddenly I was down the hill.

Good ride. I need to get a camera. And take it a little slower... =)

Wardsworth Creek

Riding Time: 1.25.01
Actual Time: 1.38.00
BPM Avg: 157
Miles: 5.7
MPH Avg: 4.6
Elevation Gain: ~1100 feet

Sometimes I wonder what in the schmack are we thinking attempting an epic?

I love the idea of an epic ride. I love to read about people doing the impossible. In my mind I see myself finishing the CT or, eventually, the GDR and totally bask in the idea. I want to be that person who fine-tunes their body, bike, and gear and then spends 5 days sleeping in the mud and eating twizzlers for breakfast. What could be cooler?

Then, my poor desk-jockey body slaps me back into reality and I seriously wonder what it will really take to do an epic ride. Certainly more than just dream about it.

Saturday afternoon I took a few hours and headed up towards Wardsworth for a ride. This was somewhat of a litmus test for me; I wanted to get an idea of where I was after years of riding a Herman Miller.

Here are the some of the findings:

• I'm out of shape
  
• After years of not riding, I'm still at a roughly intermediate level in my technical skills (it's kind of like riding a bike...)
  
• My bike performed much better than expected. I'm getting the hang of the new geometry and the 29er effect
  
• Having a heart rate monitor is both useful and distracting ("Okay, I'm coming up on my max BPM, better slow it down....Wait, that tiny hill caused my BPM to spike!?!)
  

Though it was a heavy dose of reality to find that an hour, 1100 feet, and 2.85 miles of uphill could be such a challenge, it wasn't all bad. If I had read the trail guide a little closer I would have made it to the top. I was only .75 miles and 300 feet from the finish. Though my BPM was a quite high, 157 isn't a bad average, right?. And while I did have to stop a lot more than I am proud to admit, was on my bike far more than I was off it.

It's a far cry from the 78,000 vertical feet of climbing the CT will demand, but let's just take this one step at a time.

All-in-all the trail was a lot of fun. It's intermediate-level rating, showed me that I need to work a little harder before I feel confident in placing myself in that range. I have to say that, fitness-wise, I'm on the lower end of intermediate; technical skills, somewhere in the middle.

The trail can be ridden as a loop or as an out and back. After an hour of granny gear and not knowing exactly where I was, I decided I'd better turn around. Before turning around I let my BPM return to ~100 before changing my mind and recommitting to finishing the ride.

Maybe I could go a little further.

I turned the bike uphill only to find that the trail had, again, turned into a stream. Nevermind, it was time to turn around.

The downhill was a lot of fun. Virtually all the creek crossings that had challenged me on the uphill were not a problem coming down. The single track was fast, but not too much for my disc brakes. I had ridden part of this trail last fall (beware of cow guacamole...) and found my rim brakes to be severely lacking.

At one point, I hit an unexpected uphill and lost momentum before I hit the top. I tipped over, rolled off my bike, and slid off a log into a bunch of sharp sticks. Without tearing my lycra, they scraped a chunk of flesh right off my bottom -- right on my sit bones. Consequently, sitting on my saddle was less than comfortable. I suspect in that crash, rather than at any other bone-jarring section of the downhill, is when I lost my brand-new $30 mini pump. Grrr.

With the exception of the small chunk of flesh I left at the crash-site, I came off the mountain none the worse for wear. I'm proud to say that my quads and calves aren't in the least bit sore. There are a few little-used muscles that are complaining (especially around my IT band, but other than that, I hope my body was reacting more to the altitude than the actual exercise.

Maybe I'll go back next week and see if I can find that stinkin' pump...



Springtime runoff would have made the first two crossings tricky had it not been for the "bridges."



A downhill section. It looses some threat in the photo. In real life those rocks loomed large.


Several small straight-aways made for a fun singletrack experience.


Too bad I didn't study the trail guide a little closer...


At times it got pretty technical on the uphill.


The "trail" to the left wasn't really the trail. The real trail was under the stream. The actual stream bed lies where the downed logs are. 


End of my uphill. A few meters up the trail was yet another trail-stream. Time to turn around. I found out later that I was very close to the top.

Letter to My Rockhopper

Last night my little brother came over and claimed my old Rockhopper as his own. After purchasing the Cobia, I really didn't have a need for the Rockhopper and, while it isn't in fantastic shape, it is still ridable.

Last week I swapped out some of the components that I wanted to keep, including seat, pedals, and other accessories, replacing them with new stuff from the Cobia. After I got it all fixed up, I took it out for a little spin. It was a short ride but the entire time I thought about all the fun times I had on that old bike. It's sad, in a way, to give up something that has been such a part of my life.

So, in the spirit of Jill Homer, I write you, beloved Rockhopper, a farewell letter.

Dear Rockhopper -

It was in the Spring of 1995 that I first laid eyes on you. Back then you were a lovely powder blue sitting on the floor of the Specialized dealer in Ephraim Utah. Having a front shock was such a gloriously indulgent idea that I almost felt guilty bottoming out your 60mm of elastomer goodness during our test rides.

As I am wont to do, I visited you often. I became obsessed. I swiped copies of the 1995 Specialized catalog from the dealer to pine after you until I could scrape up enough cash to purchase you. Eight-hundred dollars and change is an enormous amount of cash for a poor Snow College freshman to save. So to show the dealer that I was serious about my purchase and not just coming around for free test rides, I gave a few hundred here and a few hundred there to the dealer until, at last, I could bring you home.

I couldn't have been happier with you. You rode like a thorough-bred, flew like a bird, and climbed like a mountain goat. Others didn't share my enthusiasm and couldn't see how I justified my purchase. In a letter I received from my older brother after I shared with him the news of the purchase, he famously quipped, "An $800 bike!?!? Does it come with rockets?"

Nope, but I still have the letter, Mr. $1100 HKEK.

Our first real trail ride was in Log Canyon and it was there that I realized that my riding skills were sorely lacking. My efforts in developing them while riding my Mt Tek steed were in need of some serious help. It's nice to think that we never once endo'd while riding.

During that first year I took you on many-a-trail. Green Dirt, or Mill Road, being an oft-traveled favorite.

You took me on my first race where I lost. Painfully. But I still enjoyed the ride. I never raced again.

For two years, while I was in Germany, I stupidly hung you by your top tube in the attic. While there I received a letter that sent me into panic. It read, in part, "...Dad's fine after his fall. I guess he just wasn't used to riding your bike." Later I found that it was a joke at my expense and you were fine, still hanging in the attic. I was relieved, but only after the joke was explained a month later.

The two years spent in alternating extreme heat and extreme cold took a toll on your top tube and when I returned home I noticed you'd developed a crack. The subsequent swap-out of components to a new, and frankly uglier, 1998 frame lead to the question: Do old components on a new frame constitute a new bike or was it still the same old Rockhopper I've come to know and love? The latter tends to give me more comfort. For years I missed your beautiful powder-blue frame.

After Germany we rode many miles. I often found myself haunting the old Bonneville Shoreline trail. While it pales in comparison to Green Dirt in both rideability and accessibility, we made do.

As life changed, I turned to you less for fun and more for utility. Your sad whitewall tires began to show some serious wear and were soon replaced with a new pair of hybrids gave you less roll-resistance for the many, many hours we spent commuting but also allowed for some fun off road when time permitted.

Commuting began first to Winger's where I could eat as much as I wanted and never gain any weight, thanks to you. Later to UVSC as I worked toward my schooling. I bought you racks, panniers, and a more comfortable saddle for yet another commute—this time to a horrible job. One thing that I really appreciated about you was that after a long day of work dealing with a ridiculously stupid company and bosses, we could take a 10 mile ride home to blow off some steam. It was a liberating experience. It was therapeutic. It was good for me.

Slowly, commuting with you became less and less feasible; you began long stints hanging upside down from the garage ceiling—this time from your tires rather than your frame. I had less and less time to ride and a job that was an impossible 50 miles away instead of a doable 10.

A few years went by with very little riding.

Slowly, life began to stabilize and a renewed desire to get out and ride began creep in. After a conversation with my older brother about us finally training for our long-time dream of biking across Colorado, I realized that you, my beloved twelve year-old bike, wouldn't be able to make the trip. Though your frame is in fine shape, your once plush shocks are gone - victims of their own outdated technology, your drive-train has seen better days and often will gobble up chains if cranked too hard. In short, my friend, I'm afraid you're a bit long in the tooth. I need to put you out to pasture. You won't be making this ride.

So, I'm passing you onto my little brother. He's getting ready to start college. He needs a good commuting bike. He needs something he can ride and blow off some steam. And, every once in a while, he'll need to hit a trail or two and have a little fun. (Please make sure he wears a helmet—we may have never endo'd, but that's no guarantee for him!)

Last night, as he came by to pick you up, all shiny and clean from your recent tune-up and wash. He said you looked great. We snapped a few photos, commented on our good times together, and watched you walk out of my life forever.

Good luck, old buddy -

Andrew