ladyvelo, high priestess of the 27-tooth cog

when bike dorks get married

2007-07-08T22:42:00.000-05:00

monkey on the loose

2007-01-19T15:43:00.000-06:00

OK, guys. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure there was a medium-sized monkey on the loose in my neighborhood last night. Take a look:

I mean, seriously, y'all. That ain't no dog. It had LONG TOES.

Ode to my Prizm

2006-11-09T15:28:00.000-06:00

Dear Car,

I thought you were a good idea. My old pickup truck was always trying to kill me in the winter, which seemed like a rather unhealthy relationship, so I decided to move on. Consumer Reports said you were a good idea. That MSN car review site said you were a good idea. The mechanic who inspected you before I bought you said you were a good idea. You get twice as many miles to the gallon as my truck did, and never once in our eleven months together have you tried to kill me.

But I fear that you harbor a secret hatred of me. Either that or someone, somewhere, has a voodoo doll in the shape of a 1998 Prizm and a big bucket of pins. It should have been a bad sign the first time I tried to fill your gas tank, and you were like a cranky baby that refuses to eat. I blamed it on the gas pump the first time, but it turned out it was your fault, and unless I buy you a whole new gas tank it will always take 20 minutes to fill you up. Then you got a flat tire. Then you got another flat tire. Then it turned out that the second flat tire was because you needed a whole new wheel. Then I had to buy you a solenoid. I don't even know what that is, but at least yours is shiny and new now. Then I backed you into a parked SUV and made you ugly, and no offense, car, but you were no great shakes to start with. Then your air conditioning started making loud gurgling noises, and every day all summer I wondered if this was the day it was going to die. It's not dead yet, but I'm not optimistic. Then your left turn signal went wonky, and I had to learn how to finesse it just right so that I could change lanes without people honking. Then your check engine light went on, but a couple days later it went off again... only to come back three days after that.... and then turn back off in two days. By this time I was too mad at you to take you in, so it's a good thing the light didn't come back on. Then the Jiffy Lube guy informed me that you had burned up all the oil I gave you. Now you are at the repair shop again because, kind of like when all the lightbulbs in the house burn out at once, most of your spark plugs wore out all at once, making you do a funny little dance when I was trying to drive. I did not think your dance was all that funny, car. Mostly I just think you suck.

So, car, I have a song for you. You may have heard it before. A guy named Adam Sandler wrote it, and I think he may have written it just for you. It goes like this.

Here we go

Piece of shit car
I got a piece of shit car
That fuckin' pile of shit
Never gets me very far

My car's a big piece of shit
'Cause the shocks are fucking shot
And my seatbelt's fucking broken
I got to tie it in a knot
(It's a piece of shit)

I can't see through the windshield
'Cause it's got a big fucking' crack
And the interior smells real bad
'Cause my friend puked in the back
(It's a piece of shit)
(Piece of shit car)
Piece of shit car
(He's got a piece of shit car)
It sucks royal dick
(That fuckin' pile of shit)
100% crap
(Never gets him very far)
Oh fuck you car

It's got no CD player, it only got the 8-track
Whoever designed my car can lick my sweaty nut sack
(They can bite his ass too)
And I got no fuckin' brakes
I'm always way out of control
Eleven times a day I hear "Hey, watch it asshole"
(You fuckin' piece of shit)

(Piece of shit car)
I got piece of shit car
(He got a piece of shit car)
Diesel gas sucks my ass
(That fuckin' pile of shit)
That pile of metal shit
(Never gets him very far)
Oh what the fuck did I do
What the fuck did I do
What the fuck did I do
To get stuck with you
You're too wide for drive-thru
And you smell like the shoe
But I'm too broke to buy something new
Oh fuck me

Well the engine likes to flood
The car always fuckin' stalls
And the seat cushion's got a big rip
So a spring always pokes the balls
(Ouch, ouch, ouch)
Plus the door locks are busted
I gotta use a fucking coat hanger
(What a pain in his ass)
And if a girlie sees my car
There's no chance I'll ever bang her
(He never ever gets da pussy)
Hey shut up
(Piece of shit car)
You piece of shit car
You piece of shit car
(Piece of shit car)
Bald fuckin' tires
(You got a piece of shit car)
No rearview fucking mirror
(Piece of shit car)
Seven different colors
(You got a piece of shit car)
Fucking rag for a gas cap
(Piece of shit car)
Tailpipe makes the sparks fly everywhere
(You got a piece of shit car)
(Piece of shit car)
(You got a piece of shit car)
(Piece of shit car)
Oh the whole town thinks I'm a loser
(You got a piece of shit car)
Cabby give me a push
(Piece of shit car...)

y'all still readin'?

2006-10-30T13:37:00.000-06:00

Gilby says I'm about three weeks away from getting de-linked for not posting, so in order to appease Gilby, I bring you this picture:

legs? LEGS? ........where did you go?

2006-08-28T15:07:00.000-05:00

Race Report: Gluek Road Race, August 26, 2006

So yeah, there was a race this weekend. Personally, I pretty much checked out of training after the State Road Race—my training log for July shows that I got on my bike exactly eight times in the entire month—but what the hey, I like road races, so I went.

The thing with not training, though, is it makes you suck, which was readily apparent when we hit “the hill” on the back side of the 12-mile course. Smart positioning could have saved me on this one, but smart positioning is not something I do well, and all the contenders were in front of me. So instead of "doing the drift" like a smart little bike racer, all the backwards drifting I did just opened up a gap. By the time I crested the hill, a group of seven had gotten away.

GW Julee and I worked our asses off trying to catch back on, and for the next half lap the gap at least didn’t get any bigger, but it didn’t get any smaller either. After a while we let them go. By that time, though, we could see that Idaho June had been dropped from the lead pack, so we had a rabbit. We chased her for half a lap…but behind us, a group of three was chasing us, and they caught us. And then we were five.

The five of us (which included my teammate Jess) sat up for a while after that and had a leisurely second trip up the hill, then went back to work chasing June. We caught her halfway through the third and final lap. She was cooked from riding solo in the wind for almost two laps, so she was only with us for fifteen or twenty minutes before dropping off again. The same group of five was still together as we approached the finish.

We could see Penelope riding solo in the distance, but with only two miles to go we had no chance of catching her. I don’t think I had the energy left to chase anyway, even if it had been reasonable—stupidly, Gabriella and I had ridden a WHOLE LAP for warmup, which was excessive for a road race and put my mileage for the day over 50. Fifty miles was perfectly reasonable earlier this spring, but I haven’t done anything over 35 in months. Damn that “not training makes you suck” thing. What a load of crap.

The finish line was a mere hundred yards after the final corner. I may have mentioned my feelings about corners before, no? Well, if you’re just joining us, I corner like an eighteen-wheeler. (Caution: this vehicle makes wide right turns.) I went way too wide on the corner, panicked about the centerline, overcorrected, and lost valuable seconds. By the time I got my shit together and started sprinting, my teammate Jess had a huge gap on me. I very nearly made it up—see the uber-dramatic photo, below—but she got me by a good 8-12 inches. Which was cool, she’s improved a ton this year, she deserved it. Even if she did call me a mean name when she saw how close I was.

So I got 8th. Out of 19. My rockstar teammate Cam took the win AGAIN, cementing her ownership of the cat 4 ROY for this year, and Alix and Maria got 4th and 5th. With Jess in 7th, we still snagged five of the top ten. And it is a pretty darn good thing that so many people are upgrading for next year, because the women’s 1/2/3 race in the afternoon had a grand total of five participants. Don’t worry, guys, we’ll save you!

And now I’ve shaken off the slump and am all rah-rah-let’s-race again, but it’s almost cross season and I don’t have a cross bike so I have to wait until April. The good news is, that gives me almost eight months to get the legs back. (Eight months?! Holy shit. Why did I do that math? Now I’m just sad.) On second thought, maybe I’ll just load up on pumpkin pie. That’s right, folks, Pie Season II is coming very very soon……

taking the "estate sale" concept just a little too far

2006-08-24T12:08:00.000-05:00

Weird things happen to me sometimes. Today's weird thing: through no fault of my own, I ended up on eBay looking at human skulls. Yes, you can buy human skulls on eBay. Also entire skeletons if you want to spend a bit more. If any of you are interested, the prime skull store on eBay can be found here.

The guy claims that all his skulls "came from medical school" and are presently located in California. Sounds great, but being the intrepid detective that I am, I read all his feedback and apparently the skulls are shipped with a return address that is mysteriously located in China, and are often crusted with grass and dirt. Plus his store is called "Tibetan Secrets." Medical school in California, my ass. Gotta love eBay.

Anyway, I guess it's not my business if some dude wants to dig up some cemeteries and sell the bones on eBay. Gross and wrong, but not my business. From where I sit, the real entertainment is in the guy's 76 pages of feedback. If any of you are not familiar with eBay, it goes like this: you win your auction, you pay your money, the item arrives, and you and the seller leave each other little comments like GREAT TRANSACTION SUPER DUPER EBAYER!!!!!!! A++++++++++++++++. These comments are then part of your eBay record and everyone can see whether it is safe to do business with you based on other people's experiences. And you get this stuff no matter what it is you're selling.

Some highlights:

The perfect stocking stuffer!

It's always a beautiful day when the skulls arrive!

Two heads ARE better than one!

thanks, this will make a great centerpiece on my dinning room table

this "item" is freaking great!

nice skull, scares everyone at my tattoo shop

Just what the Dr. ordered

Me like skull much. Very enjoyed happy guy.

Outstanding. One for each member of the family.

Very nice item! Keep this guy away from your family plot.

Shipping takes awhile, but hey, its a freakin' human skull!!! Its great, Thanx!

And buried (heh heh, I said "buried") deep amidst the positive comments is one really pissed-off dude:

WHAT A RIP OFF BEEN WAITING OVER A MONTH GUESS HE CANT FIND ANOTHER GRAVE TO ROB

......yeah. Too bad I didn't find this until after my birthday.

testing

2006-08-19T16:29:00.000-05:00

here, bloggy bloggy bloggy.... where did you go?

it's pickle-licious!

2006-08-17T11:57:00.000-05:00

So here I am, at work, and lunch break is awfully far in the distance still, but I'm hungry. And as I mentioned earlier in certain pie-related posts, I'm trying to drop those few pounds that crept up on me when I wasn't paying attention (because I was too busy eating pie). So in my quest for tasty yet low-calorie snacks, I picked up a jar of Gedney Kosher Dill Baby Pickles. Now, I discovered that these are no ordinary pickles, for two reasons:

1. You pick up the jar and look at the bottom, and what do you see but about half a pound of garlic chunks. These are some intense pickles, folks. If you get the regular "dill babies" they do not have all this garlic. I'm not sure what is so kosher about garlic, especially since my co-worker (Paralegal L) has a jar of the non-kosher kind and it still has the little kosher symbol on the label, but there you have it. Watch out. I just ate nine pickles and those poor people in the BodyPump class I'm going to tonight won't know what hit them.

2. Gedney has a website. Paralegal L and I were vaguely curious about why garlic is extra-kosher, so we both checked it out. We never found out what makes garlic so kosher, but we did find a truly excellent animated game called Pickle in the Middle. You operate a little pixelated hand and throw a ball back and forth with a little pixelated dude that looks like Carrot Top, while an exuberant pixelated pickle wearing red Converse hi-tops runs around in the middle and tries to get it. That's right, folks, you too can be playing keep-away with an animated pickle. You can find it here. Just go. You'll be glad you did.

cubicle on wheels

2006-08-16T11:48:00.000-05:00

Why would anyone buy this? And why would they buy it in gray? I bet the interior is upholstered in beige and comes with free thumbtacks.

i sure do love that novocaine

2006-07-31T14:47:00.000-05:00

If you are going to eat while half your face is still numb from the dentist, I would not recommend yogurt. I am trying to eat yogurt right now, and while I am doing an admirable job of keeping the yogurt in my mouth, only half my mouth can feel what cold is, and the other half thinks I am eating hot yogurt. It's really disturbing. HOT YOGURT.

On the bright side, I got to see before and after pictures of my own teeth blown up to massive proportions on a big plasma screen.

slow-cooked bacon

2006-07-26T08:39:00.000-05:00

Yes! I am alive! I have stories, I've just been too lazy to blog them. I'll gradually reacclimatize you to my blog with a Random Anecdote. A long post might shock your system too much. Like jumping into ice water. Or something.

Anyway.

This morning I was driving to work on 94 when all of a sudden traffic got really, really slow. Turned out there was a state trooper going well under the speed limit, and by God, if he was going to go that slow then so was everybody else. Every time someone started to inch past him, he would scoot over into their lane to block them and flash his lights for a second, then go back to his own lane. Eventually, to avoid the wrath of the power-tripping trooper, everyone got into the middle lane behind him and paraded slowly down 94. The cop changed lanes; everyone behind him went with him. We all drove sedately down the interstate behind him until he got off at my exit and went to a gas station. Perhaps he was almost empty and had heard that 55mph is the most gas-efficient speed. Or perhaps he just thought he was really friggin' funny.

this is what suck looks like

2006-07-10T15:53:00.000-05:00

Race Report: Hopkins Crit, July 9, 2006

So this one sucked. Partly self-fulfilling prophecy, I suppose, since my teammates and I were discussing strategy on the way over and every time my name came up I was like "yeah, right, if I'm even still there." But I suck at crits, and I know I suck at crits, so I'm not sure how much positive thinking would have helped me.

What would have helped me is not getting myself stuck at the back of the pack from the very beginning. The course was a plain rectangle with nice wide, smooth roads, so there shouldn't have been any sketchy stuff in the corners, but there was. My theory is that since it was so wide open, people figured they could take whatever crazy line they felt like taking. Anyway, I was stuck behind them all, and with people all over the road like they were, I never felt like there was a safe time to move up. Gap after gap opened. I sprinted around people to close them, but after a while I had closed one too many gaps and dang it, I was tired. So I fell off and rode around by myself for a while. It was like last year all over again!

Then June from NV caught up to me at about the same time as I caught a GW girl, and the three of us worked together for a bit. I could see the main pack not too far ahead of us, so I sat on for a couple laps to rest and then attacked hard from the back. Unfortunately I think I picked a prime lap (ice cream primes!) to try and bridge. The pack had been SO CLOSE, it should have been easy to get on after those rest laps, but when I came around the corner expecting to see them, they were long gone. Curses! Foiled again! I tried to TT my way up there for a couple laps, but it wasn't happening so eventually I sat up and waited for my two pals from the original chase group.

The three of us worked together for a few more laps (but apparently we weren't radiating cooperative enough vibes to stop spectators from yelling "WORK TOGETHER!"), until going into turn 3 there was some sort of crazy spaz-move from GW girl and next thing I saw she was stopping at the side of the road. June thought her leg had cramped or something. I didn't hear a tire blow out, so it's possible. Anyway, it was me and June for the rest of the race, and after minimal cat-and-mousing I sprinted around her at the finish and snagged myself the prestigious honor of 11th place (of 17). Woo freaking hoo.

Fortunately, my dismal performance wasn't enough to bump me out of my spot in the CMR series, which had slipped from 3rd down to 6th after I had to miss the Northfield crit. The series is now over--Gilby easily kept her lead with a second-place finish on the day--and I ended up 6th and scored some more schweet schwag. Which got even sweeter when Alix decided that she didn't need her third-place frame pump and traded me for my Pedro's seatbag and pink-striped socks! I just lost my frame pump a few weeks ago (ok, longer ago than that, I haven't actually seen it since the Withrow time trial), so between that and the phat cash ($20) and the two cases of Luna bars, I made out pretty well. All you cat 4 women who elected not to participate in the series, you are now on notice. Show up next year! Look what you missed out on!

And then we all went to Sascha's for a Tour-watching party, and I brought a raspberry pie, and now Sascha, Gilby, Special K, Jojo, Equipoise, and nonbloggers Alix and Holly can ALL vouch for the deliciousness of the pie! Which they'd better, or I'll kick their asses.

Here is a picture of the pie.

it's not just for breakfast any more!

2006-07-07T00:19:00.000-05:00

Guys, I really like pie. I don't know if I have talked about my deep and abiding love for pie on the blog before, but now you know. In college I used to make my roommate who had a car (I didn't) take me to Bakers Square ALL THE TIME to get a big slice of triple-berry pie, warmed up, with ice cream and triple-berry sauce. And if they forgot the triple-berry sauce all hell would break loose. Generally I'm not much of a hell-raiser at restaurants -- I'll eat whatever they bring me even if it's wrong (except for that other time at Bakers Square where I ordered the rhyming Fajita Pita and they brought me shrimp cocktail sauce instead of salsa). But the triple-berry sauce was important. Also, it may be telling that I have about eight dollars in my checking account and will be living on rice, beans, and baked potatoes until my next paycheck a week from now, but I have all the ingredients for pie in my kitchen. Including the ice cream. Priorities, people.

Anyway, one of the best things about the house Nate and I are renting is that there are huge raspberry bushes all along the fence, both red and black. I think they used to get trimmed regularly, but the first time the landlady tried to trim them I put a stop to that right away, and now the bushes are more or less taking over the yard. It's fabulous. I already got one pie out of them before I left for Vermont last Thursday, but when I got back on Tuesday night they had exploded. You can pretty much hold your bowl out and shake the bush and instantly have enough for a pie. So many berries have fallen off the bushes that my dog leaves raspberry-juice pawprints in the kitchen when he comes in from outside. Wednesday night I picked berries until I couldn't stand it any more, leaving millions and millions still there. Thursday night I baked a pie (instead of riding my bike) and put the rest of the berries in the refrigerator. There could easily be two more pies before the weekend is over. And no, they are not for you. I am not going to tell you where I live.

On a related note, I am REALLY FAT right now. I weigh the same as I weighed in JANUARY, which even noncyclists know is not a good month for fitting into your pants. The difference is that in January nobody expects you to pedal your big ass up hills at top speed.

I'll start my diet after ~~pie season~~ raspberry season, though.

TTFN, or whatever

2006-06-28T14:04:00.000-05:00

Today's required reading.

Very very early tomorrow morning, so early it will still be dark even though the summer solstice was only a week ago, I'm getting on a plane to fly out east for a friend's wedding. I think my boss has forgotten this, so won't that be a pleasant surprise when he comes in tomorrow and I'm not here.... heehee. Anyway, I won't be back until Wednesday, and I promise exactly no blogging between now and then. If you need entertainment... just go read that article I linked to. No, really, go read it.

there should be a law against races WITHOUT lemonade

2006-06-26T11:10:00.000-05:00

Race Report: State Championship Road Race, June 24, 2006

Friday night Nate and I drove down to Plainview, a little middle-of-nowhere town about half an hour north of Rochester. Both of us started at 9:30 sharp, so we figured we'd get more sleep if we went down there the night before. The registration and staging area for the race were in the parking lot of a campground, so we planned to stay there.

It's never a good sign when they spell it "kampground," because kamping is not at all the same thing as camping, but all we needed was a place to stay. Unfortunately, this particular style of kamping was pretty heavy on the beer. Nate and I rolled in around 10 p.m. and went to the "lodge" where we were supposed to check in. This "lodge" was painted in peeling seafoam green and had neon Budweiser signs in the window. We opened the door, fearing the worst, and yep, it was a bar. The kind of bar that serves only Bud and Bud Light, with a jukebox pounding out Gwen Stefani's Hollaback Girl. Country boys and girls gittin' down on the farm, I guess. I paid for our campsite--excuse me, kampsite--at the bar, didn't have to provide our license plate number, any ID, nothin'. And we didn't get an assigned site. I'm not entirely sure why I even paid, since I don't think the bartender would have noticed.

Not long after we crawled into our sleeping bags, the drunk people began stumbling back to their sites. One woman apparently could not find her husband and began bellowing "Joe! Joe! JOOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEE!!" After a while it turned out that Joe had been right there the whole time, because he started bellowing right back. "God damn it, I'm right here, what do you got to be yelling Joe Joe Joe for, god damn it!" Then, despite their obvious drunkenness, they began discussing how they had to move their truck and where they were going to put it. Nate and I were both fully awake by then, and more than a little concerned that Joe was going to run over our tent. Fortunately he didn't.

The steady stream of drunk yelling people didn't let up until at least 4:30, and we had the alarm set for 6:30. It was one of those nights where I was actually relieved when the alarm went off because it was just too frustrating trying to sleep. So after we packed everything up, registered, changed, and lined up at the start line, I made sure to warn everyone that if they saw me starting to swerve off the road it was because I had fallen asleep and pretty please would they wake me up.

But I didn't fall asleep. Fifteen of us took off at the whistle, all cat 4s (my favorite kind of race!). We had a neutral start of about three miles, which took us to the start/finish line halfway up a mile-long climb, then we de-neutralized for the second half of the climb. Three girls fell off the back right away, leaving us with a pack of 12. Yeah, I know, you men think that's pretty funny, but there are a lot less crashes when your pack is that small, so nyah nyah.

The rest of the course was pretty flat, with some gentle rollers but nothing that wasn't big-ringable, and then a monster descent back to the bottom of the river valley. We more or less stayed together for the first of three thirteen-mile laps, with one exception: my rockstar teammate Cam, who soloed the entire Avon course for the win a couple months ago, attacked hard halfway through the lap and no one went after her. It helped that Birchwood had five of the remaining twelve riders so we were pretty much in control, but there was never any organized chase. Later I talked to a couple girls from other teams and it turned out they were thinking no way can she stay away for 35 miles, she'll be back, but my teammates and I were looking at each other and laughing, knowing we were racing for second.

Cam disappeared into the distance, but the rest of us stayed together until the end of the lap when we hit the Big Hill again. I didn't look back, just made my way to the front of the group and stuck on the leaders' wheels until we got to the top, looked around, and saw that only six remained. Four of those six were ours! The unlucky minority was made up of Penelope (of course) and a GP rider whose name will be.... uh.... dang, this pseudonym-inventing stuff is hard. Maleficent, there we go. Evil yet ultimately doomed. Tee hee hee.

We went around again, then up the hill again. We did what we could to shake Penelope and Maleficent, attacking over and over and forcing Penelope to chase and then forcing Maleficent to pull the entire way up the hill, but when we hit the bottom of the hill for the last time all six were still there. I was laying low at the back of the pack, waiting for someone to jump. We passed the 1k sign, then the 500 sign, and nothing. Then we came around a curve and the finish line was in sight, and that was it: Penelope stood up and went, hard. I sprinted after her with everything I had, but it was like Lance passing Ullrich on the Alpe d'Huez in 2001, with my tongue hanging down to my knees and her flying like she'd been slingshotted. All that was missing was "the Look." A second later Gilby came around me, charging hard. I stood up again, looking for more power, but my legs seriously would not hold me up. I sat back down and just spun as fast as I could trying to hold the others off, which I did, crossing the line in fourth just as my hamstring cramped. My legs nearly gave out as I climbed off my bike, but fortunately our awesome crew was there to instantly shove a cold bottle of water in one hand and an icy lemonade in the other, while pushing a chair under my butt at the same time! Talk about the rockstar treatment. Plus Dylan was there, being the official Race Dog, and he was pretty happy to see me.

So after Cam's superstar solo victory, Penelope was able to hold Gilby off for second, then Gilby in third, me in fourth, Maleficent in fifth, Alix sixth and Maria seventh. I then corner-marshaled for the afternoon races, ate Chipotle on the way home, and slept for twelve solid hours. Dylan slept for 15.

Notes:
1.Yeah, that flag photo really is from the campground. Nate took it. You just can't make this shit up, folks.
2. Notice Gilby in the yellow MWCMR jersey, which she still has after her third place finish. I am presently holding down third in the series, but I have to miss the next series race for a friend's wedding and that'll be the end of that. Oh well.

open wide.....

2006-06-23T09:15:00.000-05:00

Well, Shawn wins the prize for guessing the number of cavities I have. I don't yet know what the prize is. I was thinking he could dictate the topic of my next post, but if any of y'all out there in cyberspace have better ideas for a prize, let me know. But be NORMAL AND DECENT. My PARENTS read this blog.

Anyway, despite it being at least five years (maybe more, possibly even since January 1999) since I last saw a dentist, it seems that I only have one cavity! Go me! I guess it was a good thing that the Communists put that fluoride in the elementary school drinking fountains. The dental hygienist wasn't even mean to me, although she did poke my gums with a sharp stick many times, supposedly to "measure" my gums, which is not something my old dentist ever thought necessary, so I am suspicious of her actual motives. Maybe X Bunny was right. But it may have helped that the first thing I said to her was "I haven't been to a dentist in at least five years, so HAVE FUN! HAHAHAHA!" She was probably expecting to be confronted by a reeking horror with little monsters snarling at her from between furry, festering brown teeth. If they expect the worst, they will always be impressed, right? Hey, it worked for George Bush. At least for a while.

Also, it seems that this was my very first visit to a modern dentist. Perhaps they have invented lots of nifty new stuff since I last got a checkup, or perhaps my dentist in Indiana was behind the times, but instead of rinsing your mouth by swishing water around then spitting it out, they now spray water directly onto your teeth and then SUCK IT BACK OUT WITH A VACUUM. Nate was astonished at my astonishment, because apparently all dentists do this, but holy crap, guys, having a vacuum hose stuck in my mouth was quite possibly the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me. The first time it sucked up my tongue. In fact, there may be a hickey on the end of my tongue now, I haven't checked. After that I figured out how to keep it away from my tongue, but then it sucked all the air out of my lungs! Twice! The hygienist nearly peed her pants laughing. I'm glad I could provide some entertainment, but jeez. I kind of needed that air.

So that's my dentist story. I have to go back on July 12 to get that cavity filled and to get one of my old fillings (which is apparently falling apart) replaced. Hopefully I will not have any more stories, but if they bring that vacuum hose back out you never know what might happen. Seriously, it might eat me. I think it had fangs.

help me, i'm scared

2006-06-22T12:23:00.000-05:00

Folks, I am about to go to the dentist for the first time in at least five years. I've never been scared of the dentist before, but this time I am. Place your bets as to the exact number of cavities I have. First person to guess correctly gets a prize!

miscellaneous

2006-06-16T13:30:00.000-05:00

Rob is now in Kansas, having ridden 1300 miles from California to get there. 1300 miles since Sunday morning. Holy saddle sores, Batman.

I'm volunteering at the Birchwood booth at the race tonight. If any of you are downtown, stop by and say hi. You can buy ice cream from me. It'll be tasty.

And because I've been unfairly picking on the men lately, here is proof that bad taste in cycling clothing knows no gender boundaries:

You know, ordinarily I'd make fun of the panties-under-the-shorts thing, but good god, just imagine if she hadn't!

eye candy

2006-06-14T14:25:00.000-05:00

Wow, you people turned out to be awfully passionate about those pink shorts. Well, I aim to please, so:

it just ain't right

2006-06-12T12:19:00.000-05:00

I hope the guy who designed these shorts never works again. Really.

wouldn't want you to have too much excitement on a monday

2006-06-12T10:55:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I know, I promised you a race report from Hutchinson, so here it is.

DNF!!

good luck, rob!

2006-06-10T19:26:00.000-05:00

While you're all waiting in anticipation for my Hutchinson Crit report, why don't y'all take a moment to send some positive thoughts in the direction of Rob Lucas, as he gets his last few hours of sleep for a very long time. You see, early tomorrow morning Rob is setting off to race his bike across America. Yes, the whole thing.

You may have heard of RAAM. You get on your bike and you ride as fast as you can from California to Atlantic City. Yes, that is over three thousand miles. And no, you don't sleep. (Not much, anyway.) Don't try this at home, kids.

I don't know Rob very well. I mostly only know him through the internet, having come across his blog sometime last fall, and then there was that day at Hell Week where I rode with him for 20 miles before putting two and two together and asking "Wait a minute, are you Rob?" I then rode with him for the rest of the day. He was a pretty cool guy, very mellow yet very motivated. Yet obviously a touch insane!

Anyway, send good thoughts Rob's way, because all the RAAM racers will need them and as a first-year racer Rob could use as much positivity as he can get, whether positivity is a word or not. And as I line up at the start line tomorrow for a measly 30-minute crit, I will be sure and think about the difference between a half-hour race and a ten-day race. It ain't me who is the badass here.

Good luck, Rob!

2006-06-08T14:50:00.000-05:00

Hooray! I just bought my tickets for BodyWorlds! I told Nate I would take him out for a steak dinner afterward, but he was not interested.

or i might just take up smoking

2006-06-05T15:57:00.000-05:00

One of the secretaries added up all the time the receptionist spends on cigarette breaks per day, and it comes to nearly 40 minutes. Yes, there is a secretary sitting down there timing the receptionist's cigarette breaks. That's how bitter you get when you sit in a cubicle suing people all day. Apparently these cigarette breaks last an average of just over seven minutes. Nobody else at this office smokes, but in the interest of fairness we are thinking that every hour or so we will all go mill around outside doing nothing for seven and a half minutes. Fairness, people.

fat lady singin'

2006-05-31T12:55:00.000-05:00

Race Report: Opus #7, May 30, 2006

Yeah, look, I'm still alive. I tried to post on Friday but it wouldn't let me (update: when I posted this post the one from Friday magically appeared. Stupid Blogger. You can't fool me), and then I went camping and there is no internet in the woods, and even so I got shit from Andy last night because apparently I had eight whole hours at work in which the most important thing on my calendar should have been blogging, despite little speedbumps like not having anything to say. I mean, I guess I could have posted this: "Went camping. Drank a lot of beer. Went another whole week without touching my bike." Yeah, you read that last part right. Didn't ride 5/18-5/22, went running and made my legs hurt, did Opus, did the hill ride, didn't ride 5/25-5/29, did Opus. That is a good way to get legs o' wood, and that's exactly what I had last night.

Which brings me to my race report. Paula P had twisted some arms and gotten all the 1/2/3 ladies to stay home for this one, so this was a special cat 4 only Opus. Still there were 18 of us at the line, seven of which were Birchwood. Karla pretended to be scared when she saw us but I think she was just trying to psych us out, and it didn't work. You go ahead with those mind games if it makes you feel better, Karla. All of us who saw you wearing blue and silver shoes know the truth.

(No, I don't know what that means either.)

Anyway, off we went, and the Blue Train went to the front immediately. Gilby had been making some noise about wanting the first sprint, so we let her sit in while the rest of us pulled for the first two laps, only to have her take off at the beginning of the third lap. I guess she changed her mind. That confused me enough that I momentarily forgot what I was supposed to be doing, and by the time I remembered that the first sprint was not our only goal for the race, I was two thirds of the way back in the pack. Whoops. Then there was some sketchy stuff where Maria stuck her handlebar in my left butt cheek and gave me enough of a shove that I also bounced off of Karla, who was on my right, but if you have to go bouncing off of people those two are a good choice because they both kept riding steady and nothing came of it. Thanks, guys! Then there was some more jockeying for position. I suck at that. It is apparently really easy to push me out of line because it happens ALL THE TIME. I was in a shitty position going into the sprint, and what with the aforementioned legs o' wood I found myself on the wrong side of the gap when all was said and done. Up ahead a group of four had formed -- three of 'em ours, and one of 'em Karla. It wouldn't have been too hard to catch them, but I figured three out of four was too good of a situation to waste by accidentally towing the whole field up, so I sat up and moved to the front to block. Gilby joined me there and together we controlled the pack for a few laps and kept the pace low to allow our girls to get further up the road. It was going great until out of nowhere Penelope went rocketing past us on the outside to bridge to the break. Three out of five still seemed like decent odds, so we let her go (but not without swearing).

Gilby and I took care of the pack for about half of the remaining race, covering the few small attacks that happened, but really it was quite uneventful because the Bellas had their two strongest riders in the break and weren't any more motivated to chase than we were, and none of the other teams had enough riders to mount any sort of chase. With five laps left in the race it was getting boring. Apparently Gilby was thinking the same thing because suddenly she attacked and instantly opened a huge gap. I looked around and nobody seemed that interested in chasing her, so I figured what the hell and jumped after her. It took me about half a lap to catch her, and then we started working together to try and bridge to the break.

Long story short, it didn't happen. But the field behind us never got organized enough to catch us, and there was a prime (not to be confused with the points sprints) for a 30-minute massage gift certificate that only the two of us were in contention for--while we appreciated it, what exactly were they trying to do by pitting two teammates against each other? How vicious a fight did they think they were going to get? I said to Gilby, "You want it?" and she said "Sure!" so I faked a sprint and let her have it, cuz we're a shiny happy communist team and share our prizes anyway! And a couple laps after that we were done. I actually did try to outsprint her at the finish, but you wouldn't have known by watching. Again, those legs o' wood. I gotta start riding again.

Up ahead, I guess the sprint points were getting divided pretty evenly. My teammates later came to the forehead-smacking realization that sharing points is not the way to get the win for the team, and indeed they wound up with third through fifth. Oh well, live and learn. Gilby and I at least had lots of fun playing the tactical game, and you know what I found out? Blocking is awesome, because you don't have to go as hard! Which makes it a great job to have when you haven't been on your bike in two weeks.

Afterward we had a pizza party, courtesy of MWCMR, and watched the men's 1/2/3 race. As the pack passed about halfway through, Hollywood yelled "Do the wave!" at us. This seemed like a good idea, so we all lined up and the next time the pack passed we did the wave. Hollywood loved it, since it was his idea, but everybody else was like "what the fuck, freaks," which nearly made me pee my pants laughing. (I said nearly, you ass, yes you, I did not have to ride home in wet chamois.)

And thus concludes Opus for 2006. I got exactly no points despite Gilby constantly threatening me ("If you don't get at least one point this week, I will start a rumor that you were seen doing a brick workout!" -- IT'S NOT TRUE, PEOPLE), but I did get the First Cat 4 title for four of the six weeks that I was there, and now I can return triumphantly to the Tuesday Night Betty Slugfest, the real world championships.

Thanks again, Loon State. You guys rock.

2006-05-26T14:52:00.001-05:00

OK, folks, here's the deal. It is Memorial Day weekend, and I am going camping. There is no internet in the woods. Therefore, there will be no blogging until at least Tuesday. That is the "damn holdup" and there is nothing you can do about it. Don't even check. It ain't happening.

lance-like

2006-05-24T16:10:00.000-05:00

Race Report: Opus #6, May 23, 2006

Well, I didn't race for a week and a half after that time trial, and on top of that I didn't even ride my bike for five days, and on top of THAT I went running for the first time since the stress fracture incident in January and it made my legs sore, so I was not exactly in tip-top racing shape for Opus last night. Plus it was HOT. My Texan teammates thought it was funny that I thought it was hot, but we're not in Texas and it was 40 degrees last week, so 83 is hot.

Yes, those are "excuses" you see.

And then most of the Fast People&trade showed up too. (Someday I will be a Fast Person&trade too, dammit!) I think the total number of women was 16, although I also heard 18 from somebody. The whole thing busted up on the first sprint, and I found myself off the back with a lot of slower people in between me and the rapidly disappearing lead group. I got around most of them, but then I was tired, and then I found a couple of my teammates so I thought "Oh, here are some teammates, I'll just ride with them." So I did. We also picked up a girl from Idaho and the four of us worked together to try and catch the lead pack. Every time we went past the start/finish, somebody yelled "Way to work together, ladies!" I think it was one of the officials, actually. And every time, Maria and Alix and I cracked up, much to the bewilderment of the Idaho girl.

About five(?) laps from the end we caught Penelope, who had stuck with the lead group longer than we had but who had been floating in no-man's-land for a while. Right as we got to her I picked up the pace a bit to see what would happen, but she wasn't tired enough for that to work so I slowed back down. The five of us kept rotating together until the end of the second-to-last lap, when lo and behold, there were riders ahead of us! They were pretty scattered, so I thought the pack must have blown completely apart (there were only ~seven of them to begin with), but I figured at the very least I could move up a couple slots if we caught them. But the other four weren't going. Fine then, I thought, I'll do it myself. So I attacked from the back of our group to try and bridge to these others. It went great. I got to look all fast and stuff in front of the finish-line crowd just as the bell rang, and I quickly caught my targets......

........only to discover that they were lapped riders. D'oh! But I figured what the hell, less than a lap left, so I put my head down and kept going. A minute later Alix pulled up next to me and said something that I couldn't quite hear, which I interpreted as "Get on my wheel, I'll lead you out!" Alix, if that is not actually what you were saying, I apologize. But I decided to roll with it, so I got on her wheel, and she pulled for the last half lap. I was the first one to jump when we approached the line, considerably later than the sprint usually starts when the whole pack is there. It's nice being in charge! Going later meant that I didn't have time to fade, not that it mattered since I had at least two bike lengths on the rest when I crossed the line. For what, I'm not sure. Seventh or eighth, I think -- I think there were six or seven in the front group.

The best part was the Lance-like crust I had all over my mouth and chin by the end. I told you it was hot. And yes, I do realize that crusty mucus is probably the only way in which I will ever be Lance-like.

"what's the damn holdup" indeed

2006-05-23T15:32:00.000-05:00

yeah, still got nothin'

2006-05-19T09:04:00.000-05:00

Well, you were supposed to get a race report this morning, but tough tortillas, suckers, it rained. I skipped Opus this week with the intention of racing at the velodrome on opening night. That was last night, and I did indeed go.

But first I went to Culver's, because I really wanted a frozen lemonade, and once I got back into my car with lemonade in hand, the first thing I did was back straight into a parked car. Damn, I'm good. My defense is that the rainstorm was moving in so the sky was dark gray, and the Suburban I backed into was also dark gray. The good news is that I picked a giant fucking tank to hit, so nothing happened to it; the bad news is that my car is not a tank and now my taillight is all bashed in. The other bad news is that apparently I was a better driver when I was 16 than I am now.

Then I went to the track, got dressed, got registered, got my bike, and got rained on. After standing around for fifteen minutes or so it was officially called off, because unlike road racing, you really can't race on the track when it's raining. The wood gets too slippery to be safe. So I took off my helmet and wandered over to where Gilby and Andy and Smithers were standing around talking. It all looked very innocent, but too late I realized that Smithers was not as innocent as he seemed -- he was mid-audioblog, and it was too late to escape. So my ten seconds of fame can be heard here.

And then I went home. What an exciting day.

2006-05-18T14:52:00.000-05:00

OK, guys, I got nothin'. If you need something to tide you over until I come up with something to write about, go here. Helpful hint: if he gets stuck, you can drag him out with your mouse.

i love the smell of lactic in the morning

2006-05-14T11:56:00.000-05:00

"Race" Report: Withrow Time Trial (Bike Club TT Challenge), May 13, 2006

Well, after all my whining about it the day of the time trial finally came. Sascha picked me up at 6:45 and we went to pick Gilby up, then headed in the general direction of the race. Sascha was going by memory rather than having the directions written down, though, so we ended up going out there on 94 rather than 36 and of course we got lost, and by the time we arrived all our planned warm-up time was gone.

Starting a time trial without warming up is not a good idea, in case anyone was unclear on that point. Warming up is good. I started without any warmup at all besides the quarter-mile between the parking lot and the start line, and within two minutes of starting, I had a side stitch, a shoulder cramp, and cramps in both quads. I slowed down for several minutes to try and uncramp. By the time I was feeling better I don't know how much time I had lost. Ugh.

It turns out that time trials suck exactly as much as I thought they would. The only motivation I had was to chase my thirty-second person, which was my teammate Gilby, but her body apparently handled the lack of warmup a lot better than mine did because she disappeared up the road and I never saw her again. I caught and passed two other riders though. And no one caught me, and I was feeling pretty pleased with myself until I thought about it and remembered that nobody had been in line behind me at the start.

When everyone was done we waited around for the results. Gilby won! When Paula showed up with the results, Gilby was in the middle of telling us how she had gotten confused about the finish line and thought she was done before she actually was, but despite not even pedaling for the last few hundred yards she squeezed out the win by three seconds. Karla came in second with her own tale of woe -- she had flatted halfway through, but after standing around for a bit her very own Super Domestique rode up behind her and said "Here! Take my bike!" Karla rode the rest of the TT on a bike that didn't fit with pedals she couldn't clip into and still finished second, and I guess if you can pull that off you deserve to keep the yellow MWCMR jersey. I hate to apply the word "rockstar" to anyone other than my own teammates, but....

I was fourth, and the prizes went 5 deep, so that was pretty cool. Whoopee, another water bottle, right? Not quite. I don't know how the race promoters weaseled their way into this deal, but NOW Sports donated the prizes, and for my lousy fourth place I got a spanky new pair of Shimano 151 shoes! Gilby made out even better with a pair of Dura-Ace wheels. Talk about your schweet schwag! I'm going to try and get over to NOW to pick them up this afternoon, so I hope they fit. But new shoes are probably worth dragging my sorry ass out of bed for. Even if I have to do a time trial.

Then I went home and rode for another three hours with Nate and one of his cat 4 teammates (in the rain), and I was very sleepy that evening when we met up at a bar with a bunch of folks from Velo Bella as well as our own teammates, and a one lonely representative of Peace Coffee and one from Flanders (and Andy, who made a fine showing on behalf of Nature Valley by appearing to be asleep the entire time).

Here is a picture of Gilby on her way to the win. Check out how fast she looks! Now, scroll back up and look at the picture of me, in which I do not look very fast at all. I gotta get me some of them there aero bars.

holy bloggin' bellas, batman

2006-05-12T08:56:00.000-05:00

Well, folks, BlogWar 2006 is on. The Bettys' big bad archnemesis, Karla Kingsley, formerly known as Bella K, now known as Special K, has started a blog. And I suspect that she has done so exclusively for the purpose of laying verbal waste to her racin' opponents. Guys, I'm gonna have to get a whole lot wittier here. Anybody have rap battle experience?

All right, all right, I'm kidding. Welcome to the blogosphere, Karla. But you watch out tomorrow. It's gonna be cold, it's gonna be rainy, and there's gonna be free beer afterward. If that isn't an incentive to go fast, I don't know what is.

yawn

2006-05-10T15:13:00.000-05:00

Race Report: Opus #4, May 9, 2006

Well, you all saw my last post. Some days you just don't feel like racing, especially right after work, but once you've made enough plans you can't really back out. My teammate Maria met me at my house at 4:45, and as soon as I saw her I said "Man, Maria, I do not feel like racing tonight." She laughed and said "I was just thinking the same thing." But there we were, so we headed out.

Then we rode over to the parking lot of Punch Pizza to meet the other girls. We were the first two there. Each time another person arrived, she said "Man, you guys, I do not feel like racing tonight." Every single one of them.

Then it started raining. We all ducked into a loading dock to stay dry while waiting to see if anyone else would show, and while we were standing there we seriously discussed skipping the race entirely. Ultimately, though, we ended up going. Hence this race report.

17 women showed up for the women's open race, six of which were in blue. We actually had seven there but Catie is a stud and raced with the men instead. It had stopped raining by the time we arrived, and the sun had come out, and it was actually a pretty nice evening for a race. And no geese. Whew.

Overall the race was pretty uneventful. The same people got all the points that always get all the points, but no breaks escaped and except for the usual assortment of riders getting shelled off the back, the pack stayed together. I continued to be unenthused about it for pretty much the whole race and even considered quitting after only a few laps, because even though I was in the MIDDLE OF A RACE, I still felt like taking a nap. But the whole thing is only twelve laps, so I sucked it up and stuck it out and even managed to get fifth in the final sprint. Now if only the points went five deep... but at least I got my "first cat 4 across the line" title back. Whatever that's worth.

(This BLUE TRAIN picture would be a lot cooler if my tongue was in my mouth.)

(There are many more excellent pictures, some more flattering than others, at SkinnySki. Check 'em out.)

pep talk please

2006-05-09T15:55:00.000-05:00

Dang, you guys, I'm starting to get tired of bike racing. This twice a week thing is wearing on me. Fear not, I will still go to Opus tonight and you'll still have a shiny new race report to read tomorrow, but I did catch myself looking at the weather radar and thinking "only blue? Crap, that's not a good enough excuse, why isn't it orange!"

Sigh.

colonel mustard, in the ballroom, with the lead pipe

2006-05-08T15:24:00.000-05:00

Race Report: Avon Road Race, May 6, 2006

Last year I hated this race. It was windy, horribly windy, so windy I could barely control my bike, and on top of that I got dropped very early on and rode the whole thing by myself. The good news is, I wasn't last. I was second to last. But needless to say, I ended up feeling rather bitter toward the whole idea of racing my bike in Avon, Minnesota, so I hadn't been looking forward to this year's edition of the race.

This year it wasn't looking much better. The wind was only 20 mph instead of 30, but it was still chilly and overcast. I pulled on my hat and my long sleeve jersey, went to the bathroom about eight times, and lined up to wait and wait and wait. While we were waiting at the start, all the clouds burned off and suddenly it was warm and sunny, but too late, my number was pinned to the long sleeve jersey.

Finally we started, about half an hour late. The course starts with a 4+ mile neutral rollout, which was good since any warming up we had done had worn off while we were sitting around at the start. The Blue Train hung out at the front and chatted until the pace car pulled off and the race started. We picked up the pace somewhat but kept it pretty easy for the first few minutes, until one of my teammates got frisky and attacked on a flat. It was a short attack though, and I don't think it shelled too many people. There were several more short attacks like that, all from Birchwood or Velo Bella girls, but for the most part the pack stayed together until the one significant hill on the course, about ten miles in.

During this time we were also leapfrogging with the juniors pack a bit, as they had started right behind us. We would slip by them on the right, but then our pace would ease up and somebody in their pack would take off and they would go zooming by on our left again. As we approached the hill, though, they passed us for good.

When we hit the hill, the whole thing blew up. Fortunately the Blue Train was still at the front of the pack, so we didn't get caught behind too many of the slower riders. My rockstar teammate Cam rode away from the rest of us like we were standing still, then realized at the top of the hill that she had a huge gap and took off. Shortly after that, I reached the top with my teammates Maria and Gilby and my archnemesis Penelope, formerly known as Bella P. We looked back and saw that we had an enormous gap as well, so off we went.

Meanwhile, a girl who had been riding with the junior pack had been dropped from their pack, and she grabbed Cam's wheel as Cam went by. The four of us could see this happening, and we got worried. "I hope Cam knows she can't work with that girl," we said to each other, "because if the officials see that she might get DQ'ed." It later turned out that Cam knew this, and was trying to shoo the other girl away, but the girl was now claiming to be a cat 4 even though she had started in the junior pack and had been working with them all along. Eventually Cam dropped her, but the four of us still thought she was a junior, so even though we could have easily caught her we didn't bother. Instead we worked on trying to get rid of Penelope. Unfortunately, while we had the basic concept of tag-teaming down, we came up a little short on the actual mechanics of it, and Penelope played it smart, so when we rounded the last corner onto the finishing straight she was still with us. Gilby did all the work into the headwind, hoping to get me and Maria across first and thus sweep the podium, and as we started to sprint she pulled off and let us go. Maria took the sprint easily, and Penelope and I came across together--I thought I edged her out at the end, but the officials are the ones with the cameras and they thought differently. Gilby came across right behind us.

At this point we thought we had swept the podium (we didn't find out until late last night that Penelope had actually beaten me). Our joy was pretty short-lived, though, as it turned out that second place had gone to "now I'm a junior, oh wait, now I'm a cat 4" girl. Ordinarily when you work with a field other than the one you're in, like say you're a cat 4 and you work with the juniors (ahem) they call that CHEATING, but when we went to raise hell with the officials the guy took the position that it was one field scored separately and that it was okay to work together. Which is all well and good, but if they wanted the women and juniors to work together they could have told us that at the beginning. Except for the one girl, everyone in both fields was under the impression that working together was illegal, and except for the one girl, the two fields operated completely separately. Certainly nobody else piggybacked on the other field to their advantage, cause, y'know, it's CHEATING. And if it wasn't cheating, it would have helped all of us to know that. It certainly would have helped the four of us to know that just because she started in the middle of the junior pack and then rode in the junior pack for half the race, didn't actually mean she was a junior. Walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, gets a cat 4 result. Grrrr.

Deep breaths. Okay, I'm over it.

Despite all the intrigue and skulduggery, it was an awesome race for the Blue Train, given that we had four of the top six. Cam, of course, stayed away the whole time and soloed in for the win. Fake Junior got second, Maria got third, Penelope got fourth (but her race number was 666, and when she does not have the Powers of Darkness on her side it will be a different story!), I got fifth, and Gilby was sixth. Plus we had three others further down in the results, and since the whole field was 18 riders, that means over a third of the field was blue. Choo choooooo!!!

Oh, and I am no longer harboring any ill will toward the town of Avon or its race. This was some of the most fun I've ever had in a bike race, and it turns out that when you take away the hurricane-force winds it's actually a pretty cool course. So my grudge has been cured. Or at least shifted back to Ken Woods.

with friends like these...

2006-05-04T09:47:00.000-05:00

So there I was, waiting peacefully at a stop sign while out riding by myself last night, and some asshat in a car behind me starts honking at me. I'm thinking "What the hell is your problem, asshole, I'm at a stop sign," but he keeps honking, and then when the traffic clears and I go on through the stop sign the car pulls up beside me and I hear "So what, you think you're Lance Armstrong or something?" I shoot an evil glare through the window of said car, and who do I see but.... Andy Kruse. "Aw, jeez, Andy, I thought you were some random asshole," I yell back at him, and he drives off, cackling.

This, of course, is less than 24 hours after him hollering "Work together!" at me during a race, then nearly falling over laughing when he sees me shaking my head in disgust. And here I thought non-cyclists were the problem.

i thought getting "goosed" was something else

2006-05-03T13:46:00.000-05:00

Race Report: Opus #3, May 2, 2006

It did not rain last night, for the first time in ages. I had just been suggesting to Gilby that since you can't ride the velodrome in the rain anyway, perhaps afzalia wood might be good ark-building material. However, we seem to have been granted a reprieve. Hallelujah!

The Birchwood girls all rode over together and arrived during the Cat 5 race, looking quite fearsome now that we all have the new kit. Not that we weren't fearsome before, but we looked a little ragtag. We registered, warmed up, and then I watched the last half of the Cat 4 race. There were two geese also watching the race from the other side of the road, sitting on a patch of grass between the road and a building. Dangerously close to the road, I thought, but I didn't see any viable place to chase them off to, and didn't want to accidentally chase them into the road. I didn't like it though.

The men's Cat 4 race finished without incident, and 16 women lined up for our open race. We got off to a good start, but on the third lap the goddamn geese were suddenly in the road. People started hollering "GOOSE!" and somebody panicked and braked and swerved and my two teammates Maria and Alix both went skidding across the pavement. They are okay but both need new helmets, and Alix could use a new jersey. (And nobody from other teams crashed, what's that about? Unfair. We had the only crash on Saturday too!)

That split up the field pretty good, with a lead group of 6 followed by me and Teammate Allison chasing, and everybody else strung out behind. Nate says the people behind us formed another pack eventually. At some point Bella K got dropped from the front group and Allison and I caught her on the last lap. Bella K latched onto Allison's wheel, and Allison, having been warned that Bella K was a prodigious wheelsucker, tried all sorts of evasive maneuvers but K stuck to her like glue. I didn't know what to do so I decided I would just stick on K's wheel and let Allison take one for the team, and at the end Bella K and I sprinted it out for 6th. She and I were no more than a tire-width apart at the line, a photo finish with no photo, and I don't know who got it. I thought she got it, a couple bystanders thought I got it, and nobody asked the officials (who probably weren't watching anyway since no points were at stake).

And that was it. My "streak" (if 2 is a streak) of being the first cat 4 has ended, but my teammate Cam was in the lead group so she got that honor for the week, and I was either second or third. We regrouped to rehash the race and inspect our fallen comrades' wounds (Maria bounced over the curb and onto the grass, but Alix wound up with huge bloody holes in her shorts and jersey), picked Nate up from Caribou, and then we rode home with lightning flashing all around us. But it only rained for the last five blocks, so the track can keep its boards for now.

yes, i ride the short bus.

2006-04-29T19:54:00.000-05:00

Race Report: Ken Woods Memorial Road Race

Today was the soggiest, windiest, nastiest colder-than-a-witch's-tit hellhole of a day anyone could have asked for. And I hope nobody did ask for it, because if I find out who it was, I will kick their ass. That sucked. When I peeled off my clothes afterward I squeezed about a gallon of water out of them. But despite the meteorological nastiness, 38 women showed up for the cat 4 race. Thirty-eight! That is absolutely a new record. I did not know there were that many women in the entire metro area that rode bikes. Hopefully it'll stay that way, because how cool is that?

My race, however, was not cool. Not at all what I had hoped it would be. I made the stupid stupid rookie mistake of lining up near the back, and what with the crazy sketchiness of the other women that were near the back, by the time I finally made it out of the parking lot alive (seriously, ladies, learn a few pack riding skills before jumping into a race... I'm glad you're enthusiastic, but please?) I was at the very back of the group. Then I made the stupid stupid rookie mistake--and this one was extra retarded, jeez, I still can't believe I did this--of just sitting there, even though I knew it would string out as soon as we went around the corner, but in the past it hasn't been that hard for me to get back to where I want to be even as people drop off, so I didn't make much effort to get to the front.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. When we did go around the corner it didn't string out, it exploded. Suddenly there were 50 foot gaps everywhere. I had to put everything I had into leapfrogging group to group, half of which was solo bridges into the wind, the other half of which was dodging slower people who were obviously not expecting anyone to go whizzing by them at twice their speed. It was nuts, and I was burning matches I wouldn't have had to burn if I'd been smart in the first place and moved up before the corner.

So there I was, five miles in and still not on the lead group, but making excellent progress... and then one of my teammates crashed in front of me and went sliding across the road (she's ok, she got up and finished the race), and I lost my momentum. I never did get on that lead group. I passed all the other groups, but then I was alone in the wind and as hard as I was trying to get up there, the group was busy chasing down a solo break so they weren't exactly lollygagging either. I was cooked. Fortunately, Alix pulled up behind me at that moment and we started working together to catch them.

We didn't get them while they were still a group, but eventually we picked up Penelope (formerly known as Bella P... I warned you, P, and you didn't object!), who had been shelled off the lead group, and then Sarah and one of my former GP teammates, and at this point we were so pleased to get a chance to rest that we just let the leaders go. Another stupid mistake -- after we caught our breath we should have attacked and gotten rid of the other three and gone after the next few, but we didn't. We stayed in our little group of five until the main hill at the end (we only had one lap).

I thought we were all going up the hill in a group, and we were going a pretty easy pace, but at some point I looked back from my spot on Penelope's wheel and the other three were gone. Penelope and I traded pulls the rest of the way up the hill, and when it seemed like a good time to sprint I took off, and Penelope didn't really put up much of a fight, so I rolled in alone in tenth. Which isn't bad, I guess, but it wasn't what I wanted, or what I would have gotten if I hadn't been a moron at the beginning. Live and learn though, eh?

Three of my teammates were up ahead, though, including Gilby, and they were seriously kicking ass. I heard later from the girl who came in 7th that those three totally controlled the race the entire time, and no break ever had a chance. This girl was shocked that Cat 4 women could be so organized! In fact, when I was hanging out during the afternoon races I talked to three other women who had been in the morning race, and when we were all introducing ourselves, I said I rode for Birchwood, and the three of them all let out a collective "Ohhh!" in this most impressed and awed tone. I warned you. The Blue Train is gonna be unstoppable.

Of course it had to be a Bella who took first, after all my trash-talkin'--Bella K, who I was in that chase group with last weekend at Durand, outsprinted my teammate Maria to take the yellow jersey in the MWCMR series, and yes, there was really a yellow jersey. But it ain't over yet, Bellas. We will be back. Next weekend, in fact, at the Avon Road Race, where we again have a separate cat 4 field, and hopefully I will be able to keep my retardation in check long enough to get on the front group this time. The suspense is killing you, I know it is.

not to give away our secret weapon for ken woods or anything, but...

2006-04-28T11:36:00.000-05:00

So while perusing the internet for my super awesome new profile pic, I found some even awesomer things that I couldn't not share with all my nice readers. Check it out, yo.

public service announcement

2006-04-27T11:21:00.000-05:00

OK guys, yesterday I was warned that if I trash-talked too much more I might be mistaken for Sickboy, but it seems that it is too late for that. This morning's peek at my statcounter revealed the horrifying truth.... the entire Velo Bella team is talking about me behind my back! Dang it, I hope I don't get a frame pump in my spokes now. For clarification purposes, because I would like to live to see another day:

1. If you are a Bella and you are cat 3 or higher, nothing I have said was aimed at you.
2. If you are a Bella and you don't know me from Adam, don't take it personally.
3. Races are more fun when there's a "showdown at high noon" element, and holy crap do we have a huge cat 4 team this year, and you guys are the other team with a lot of cat 4 women, so I want to see all y'all on the start line at Ken Woods for the cat 4 showdown of the century. Come out and play! Please! It'll be fun, I swear. But trash-talking is way more fun than abject begging, y'know?

Oh yeah, and Avon too. And all the other MWCMR races. Cuz there ain't room in this here town fer the both of us.... oh wait, there I go again. Whoops.

strap yourself in and feel the G's

2006-04-26T16:07:00.000-05:00

Race Report: Opus Crit #2

Last night was the second of the six-week Opus series, which, thankfully, was not actually shut down after all last week's drama. It did have some changes made, though, and one of those changes was that the women's race is now twelve laps instead of nine. Apparently this extra distance is too much for the Velo Bellas to handle, because not very many of them showed up at all. Bellas, don't you know it only makes it worse when we can smell your fear?

Nineteen women lined up this time, eight of which were ours. Also a good showing by some of the fastest ladies in the metro area, including the fearsome Teresa and pro MTB'er Kyia. Scary stuff. With all the big dogs coming out to play, the whole race was faster and more aggressive than last week's, and no breaks ever got away for very long.

An interesting rule Opus has is that lower-category riders are allowed to bring their coaches into the race with them, as long as the coaches do not do anything to affect the outcome of the race. One girl did this last night, so for at least half the race I got to listen to some dude hollering "Get up there! Get up there!" constantly. His usefulness to his coachee ran out, however, when somebody attacked and the field started to break up. Not wanting to be left out of the front group, I started hammering to catch back on, and behind me I heard Coachie's voice bellowing "Get on her wheel!" Meaning my wheel, of course. I thought, "fuck that," and scooted over to the other side of the road so she couldn't get on my wheel, and I never saw her again. So thanks for that, Coach, cuz if it weren't for you I would've held my line and she could have gotten on.

It got a little more exciting in the second sprint, when Belgian Bella accidentally came out of her pedal and nearly caused a huge pile-up with all her fishtailing, foot-dragging, spark-shooting action. Fortunately everyone managed to keep the rubber side down this time. Whew.

Meanwhile, with the constant attacks at the front of the group, I was getting popped off the back over and over, and having to sprint to catch back on over and over. A few of those times I towed a teammate back up with me, though, so my story is that I was just doing my Super Domestique duty and going back for my fallen comrades. Which means that I was off the back on purpose, obviously. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

After the third prime on the ninth lap shelled a few more racers, the pack was down to maybe ten or eleven. Only three of the remaining racers were cat 4s, and all 3 of them were wearing blue. That's right, Bellas, read it and weep. Perhaps you did not hear the sound of the gauntlet hitting the ground before, so here it is again: THWAP! Next week you have no excuses.

We wound up for the final sprint, and I found myself a nice spot on the outside of the pack near the back and waited. When the time came I hit the gas and charged past a handful of others to cross the line in 7th position. Which I think translates to 8th overall, since Ann H (who had been at the front chasing Kyia down for two laps) sat up before the sprint and didn't even contest it, but she already had enough points for third place anyway. Points races are kind of weird. In any case, I was the first 4 across the line again, followed by my teammates Maria and Alison in second and third. Again, no phat cash for the 4s. This is going to be just like when I was in middle school and they didn't install air conditioning there until the year I started high school. As soon as I cat up there will be all kinds of races with separate cat 4 fields, I just know it.

Next up is the Ken Woods Road Race on Saturday, where there will indeed be a cat 4 field. All I can say is watch out for the blue train.

oh, crap

2006-04-24T10:15:00.000-05:00

Race Report: Durand Road Race

I know, I know, I owe you race reports sooner than two days post-race. What can I say, I was too busy sitting on my ass drinking beer.

Anyway, Saturday morning found me at the start line of a 27-mile road race in rural Wisconsin, freezing my ass off but surrounded by teammates -- eight of us in total. AND, even more exciting than having so many teammates, there were 35 women there! More than 15 is a pretty big field around here, so this was huge. Chicks rule. However, the race organizers had kindly put the women dead last, behind even the juniors and the citizen racers, so we sat on the line for ages while they sent each group off ten minutes apart. At some point I realized (warning, gross personal information ahead!) "Dang, I need to poo," but since I was already sitting at the line, I did not go. This is generally a bad idea, guys, don't do it.

So I took off when it was finally our turn, and hoped for the best. This course was relentlessly hilly -- I don't think there was a single flat spot anywhere on the loop. Plus it was an open field, meaning that the fastest women were pitted against the women who had never raced in their lives. The obvious consequence of this: people started popping off the back the minute the road tilted up for the first time, and more people fell off at every hill. Within half a lap (the race was two 13.5 mile laps) the field was whittled down to half of what we had started with. Then someone in the front attacked and blew the whole thing apart, and I found myself in a group of four -- me, my teammates Alix and Maria, and a Velo Bella girl who shall henceforth be known as Bella K because I am still not any more creative than that. We worked together for a short time, but Bella K dropped off the back and then Maria, who is a former triathlete and therefore a monster time-trialist, bridged easily to the next group while Alix and I were still trying to recover. So then it was me and Alix for the next half lap, trading pulls and generally doing okay, except that my guts were starting to protest my earlier bad decision.

At the end of the first lap, Bella K caught back up to us and brought Bella B along, and at the same time we caught a Peace Coffee rider who had been dropped off the group ahead of us. The five of us started working together, but meanwhile my lower belly was starting to cramp a bit and it was making me nauseous, so my pulls were getting shorter and shorter and even hanging on the back was hard to do. And with half a lap to go, halfway up the steep hill on the back of the course, my guts seized up into one enormous cramp and that was the end of it for me. I watched them disappear up the hill in front of me, and then I watched the most gleeful grin I've ever seen spread across Bella K's face as she looked back and saw that I'd been dropped. Poor Alix.

But I did not hurl, and I did not crap in my pants, and I even managed to keep up a steady enough pace that no one else caught up to me. And I got to wave at all the cute little Amish kids that were sitting in their yards watching the racing. I crossed the line alone in 18th place, 6th amongst cat 4s. My diesel teammate Maria was the first cat 4, closely followed by another of my teammates, and Alix was 4th among the 4s, so you know who kicks ass? That's right, Birchwood. And next weekend we finally have a race to ourselves, and I can pretty much guarantee you that the B-wood ladies will walk away with the phat cash. Hear that, Bellas? The gauntlet has been thrown down.

So my race sucked, but meanwhile, Nate and the other fellas were having a fine time smacking the 4/5 pack around. Unfortunately somebody hooked somebody else's handlebar at the beginning of the sprint and there was a big pile-up, but all the boys in blue managed to avoid it, and my very own boyfriend powered up the finishing hill to take second! And the fella who took first was one of ours too! Nate won a tire. So did Dave, the first place guy. And the 35+ race was also dominated by two Birchwood guys, so all together we now have 4 tires. Yee-haw!

Unfortunately, there was no podium, nor were there skanky podium girls to get their skanky lipstick all over my boyfriend's cheek, but maybe next time. And if I can't win tires, perhaps I can be a podium girl. Yeah, that's it.

Stay tuned for scenes from next week's episode, in which Annie becomes a skanky podium girl.

heinz 57

2006-04-20T14:53:00.000-05:00

More Opus race reports can be found at the Midwest Women's Cycling Made Real blog and Sarah's blog. Good stuff. Chicks rule.

....

The early part of this week was so crazy what with going to trial and getting the jury from hell, Opus starting, and trying to catch up with all the crap that piles up during trial prep, that I never blogged the events of the weekend. And for once, there actually were events. Here, then, is a catch-up (catsup, ketchup) post.

....

Saturday Nate and I went down to the Oxbow Spring Classic, which features mostly dirt/gravel roads and a monstrous 20% hill they call the Oxenburg. I did not race because I don't have a cross bike, but that didn't stop Nate. He slapped some bigger tires on his twenty-year-old Raleigh with the downtube shifters and off he went. While he was getting ready at the start line, I figured I would walk up to the hill so I could see the King of the Mountains prime, so I started walking. And I kept walking. And I walked some more. After a while I figured out that the hill was not as close as I remembered it being, so I stuck my thumb out and walked like that for a while. I must have looked like a pretty shady character in my pink tank top because it was a long time before anybody picked me up. When finally a car pulled over, it was already stuffed to the gills with six people and a Great Dane, but they let me in anyway. I got my ride to the bottom of the hill, walked to the top, and watched the A field go by, then the B field. I was expecting Nate to be somewhere near the front, but he was not. When he did go past he was swearing so much I started looking around for the Hell Week coffee maker.

It later turned out that the braze-on for his downtube shifter had failed and the shift lever had actually FALLEN OFF. He stopped and pounded it back on, but later it fell off again and he had to stop again. Despite all this, he finished the race, and even beat a lot of people whose shifters did not fall off. But he was very happy to get back to his good road bike.

Meanwhile, after the field passed me for the first time, I decided I would hoof it back to the car to put on some sunscreen and maybe change into my bike stuff and go for a little spin, since I had brought my bike with. Once again, the parking lot and the hill were not very near each other, and there wasn't anybody to hitch with this time, so I had a nice little three-mile hike in my flip-flops. And the sunscreen was more or less moot by the time I actually reached it. But I put it on anyway, and changed into spandex and got on my bike and rode back to the hill to see the finish. I must say, slipping around in the gravel was not fun, and riding up the Oxenburg was not fun, and I was not at all sad to have skipped the race. I will stick to normal roads, thank you very much.

....

The next day was also rather exciting, at least for about 15 minutes. Nate and I went riding with some of the team, most of whom had raced the day before, so it was an easy social ride. We were all having a good time until one guy, we'll call him Joe, hit the world's nastiest piece of road debris and crashed right in front of me, so I crashed right into him and Nate ran over my wheel and it was all very dramatic with cyclists piled in the road and bikes everywhere and people in cars stopping to stare. Fortunately for me, I landed right on the most, ahem, padded part of my hip/butt area, so I came out of it okay. (Word to the wise: extra 5-10 pounds come in handy sometimes, don't diet.) "Joe," on the other hand, landed on his shoulder really hard and while the other guys were changing his tires for him -- yes, both, I'll tell you in a minute what it was he ran into -- it swelled up quite a bit. Just in those ten minutes. Not good. He ended up calling his wife for a ride home.

Meanwhile, I had figured out that nothing was broken (except for a little skin) and checked out my bike and helmet, which were also intact except for a bit of bar tape. And one by one, everyone had gone to inspect the offending object. Folks, I have seen some weird shit in the roads in the years I've been cycling, but never have I seen a big chunk of an amplifier cleverly hidden in a plastic grocery bag and dropped in the road. Poor Joe never had a chance.

I also seem to have done something to my wrist/thumb, although lord only knows what, because it got progressively more sore that afternoon and I had to haul out my old Ace bandage to wrap it up for a couple days. It's still sore now, but it no longer hurts to move it. Of course I had a haircut appointment Monday evening, and the last time I had a haircut I was wearing the stress fracture boot, and my stylist just shook her head when she saw me. Calamity Jane, that's me. But she's the one who's talking about getting a motorcycle, so we'll see who's shaking whose head in a few years when she has no legs.

I saw "Joe" at Opus on Tuesday, and while he was still too sore to race, he said he had been thoroughly x-rayed and pronounced A-OK, and had even been back on his bike for a short spin. In case anyone was worried.

....

And today I got a spam email from someone who would like me to "Take just a candy and become ready for 36 hours of love!!" Thanks, dude, but some of us have to go to work.

who needs the thought police when you have statcounter

2006-04-19T08:26:00.000-05:00

I see from my statcounter that my little brother was reading my blog at 2:38 AM last night. Go to bed, dude. I know you're in college and all, but seriously. Go to bed.

opus #1

2006-04-18T20:57:00.000-05:00

Yay, another race report. Tonight began the six-week OPUS crit series, which is supposed to go every Tuesday night until the end of May. Due to the fuzz, the po-po, the (mmmm, I smell bacon!) boyz in blue getting a little crabby about some alleged traffic violations, there are rumors afoot that the series may get shut down. Just rumors though. Tonight's shut-down, just after my race finished, coincided neatly with the onset of some serious thunder and lightning, so I am suspicious of the rumors. We shall see.

Anyway, the women's open field tonight may have been a new record, either 21 or 22 racers. Last year we had between 10 and 15 most nights. I was hoping it would be hard from the gun so the pack would get strung out a bit, seeing as probably half the women there had never raced before, but I was toward the back and didn't have much say in that. And it didn't go that way. For the first three laps the pace was pretty moderate, but OPUS is a points race with sprints every three laps, and the first sprint usually breaks the pack up pretty well. I'm not sure what happened at the back, but from where I sat it went like this: the first three girls across the line, including both Belgian Bella and my illustrious teammate Paula, got a good gap on the rest of the field. I tried briefly to bridge to them but quickly realized that a) I was towing the field behind me, and b) we weren't going to regroup, it was an honest-to-god break, and my teammate was in it. So I sat up.

Nobody organized any real chase, so the break stayed away for the rest of the race. And since the three in the break automatically got all the points in the second sprint, we didn't have a second points sprint. The group stretched and bunched and stretched and bunched and did the usual inchworm thing for the next five or so laps, while I primarily occupied myself with avoiding one particularly sketchy girl whose team shall remain nameless, but she wasn't one of ours. Thank goodness for that. At one point I heard the terrifying sound of wheels rubbing together very near me, but nobody went down (again, thank goodness for that). And then, because there are only nine laps in the women's race, the bell was ringing and it was time to get my sorry ass off the back of the pack and into a workable position. I used the downhill to scoot up to about midpack on the outside edge, then moved up more gradually as we approached the finish, and waited for somebody to jump. The girl who finally did jump went way too soon if you ask me, but too late, game on, so I went after her and so did everybody else. I didn't have a wheel to lead me out, though, so I just had to try and hold it for as long as I could, which wasn't quite long enough -- I held second for a long time but it was a long long sprint and I started to fade, at which point two other girls came around me, and I crossed the line in fourth position for seventh overall.

During our race, thunder had started to rumble and a few fat raindrops were falling, but within a couple minutes of the finish, we ran out of luck. Between that and whatever had transpired with the cops, there didn't end up being any more races, so we went home.

Here are some pictures of the pack sprint (remember the three-woman break had already finished, so this was a sprint for fourth). I am on the left, blue helmet & armwarmers. (Shawn, as promised, I am on my bike yet not smiling. Those races, I tell ya. Something about the burning throat and the tunnel vision kind of wipes the smile right off.)

The pictures were taken by photographer extraordinaire Bruce Adelsman, and there are many more available on his page. Go check 'em out.

for shawn, who wanted to see me smile while eating peeps

2006-04-17T20:06:00.000-05:00

happy friggin' easter

2006-04-16T13:56:00.000-05:00

jelly bean update

2006-04-14T08:14:00.000-05:00

Well, folks, this experiment has been quite the disappointment so far. Either people are keeping their reactions to themselves or they just aren't noticing. Although the boss man hasn't yet taken any, so there is still hope. But the receptionist ate some and said "These are good! Where do you get them?"

So we thought maybe they were defective. Not having purchased the Every Flavor Beans before, I was taking it entirely on faith that the beans are in fact flavored like bacon and vomit rather than just being regular flavors with funny labels. So one of the other paralegals and I decided to taste-test them. She ate a bacon bean and reported that it did indeed taste like bacon. So I ate a black pepper one and it tasted like pepper. Then I ate a soap one and it tasted like soap.

The secretary showed up at this point and figured out what we were doing. "Who's going to taste the vomit flavor?" she asked.

Paralegal N and I looked at each other. "Not me," I said.

"Oh, fine," she said, although I hadn't actually twisted her arm at ALL. Personally I think she secretly really wanted to taste it. So she ate it, and said that it tasted like.... spaghetti!

Whatever. In any case we stopped taste-testing them at that point, because nobody wanted to taste rotten egg or earwax, but it seems that people are taking their jelly beans downstairs and quietly spitting them out without coming back up to inquire as to why we have spaghetti-flavored jelly beans in our candy dish. Perhaps they are sitting at their desks, gazing bemusedly at their jelly beans and wondering if they're finally losing it after all these years. I hope no one ends up in the psych ward over this.

But the black pepper ones were actually kind of good. I might go get another one.

giggle snort

2006-04-11T15:15:00.000-05:00

Our office has three levels, with all the conference rooms and bathrooms and stuff in the basement, most of the offices on the main level, and a secretary and three paralegals (including me) on the top floor. On the top floor we usually have a candy dish, and the downstairs people are constantly coming up here and stealing our candy no matter how many times we warn them. Apparently they think we are joking when we tell them to get their grubby paws out of our candy. Well, no more. We have taken matters into our own hands and stocked the candy dish with Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. We also bought some regular ones for camouflage, but underneath the lemon-lime and cherry and coconut, there are bacon and earwax jelly beans lying in wait. Stay tuned, folks. My very own boss is one of the worst candy-stealing offenders. Heh, heh, heh.

you want excitement? read somebody else's blog.

2006-04-10T09:23:00.000-05:00

Happy Monday, y'all. And welcome to road construction season. At least on I-94, it officially began today. Whoopty freakin' doo.

Friday I interviewed for what was obviously the coolest job in the whole wide world, and of course I stunk it up so bad not even I would hire me. When I was done they gave me a coffee mug to "thank" me for "taking the time to see us today." They also said it was "to remember [name of organization] by." That is not something you say to someone you are planning to ever see again. Oh well.

At least things are livening up around here as much as they ever do. I'm "doing" my first trial next Monday. Most lawyers have a second lawyer sitting next to them in a trial, but at my firm the second chair is filled by a paralegal. I'm not sure if this counts as "second-chairing" a trial, because I'm not exactly sure what it is the second lawyer does, but I might call it that when I want to sound important in public. I guess I better get my hair cut before then, lest anyone mistake me for Luke Skywalker.

And I am still fully capable of eating an entire Chipotle burrito in one sitting. Thank God for that.

warning: graphic, disturbing imagery

2006-04-05T10:42:00.000-05:00

boop boop a doop

2006-04-04T09:50:00.000-05:00

So Bella S has posted her race reports from this weekend, and in the same way that I called all the Velo Bella girls Bella P, Bella S, etcetera, she's now calling all the Birchwood gals Betty A (that's me), Betty G (Gilby), etcetera. The problem with being the Birchwood Bettys (which the women's team does call themselves) is, well, see above. The other problem is that at least half our team has names starting with A. This could get messy. Bella S uses her real name (Sarah) on her own blog, so I'll just go with that until I hear otherwise from her, but if you race and you read this blog, this is your notice that you need to make up a snappy pseudonym for yourself and tell me ASAP. Or give me permission to use your actual first name, since when I told Alix to make up a snappy pseudonym she said "what, Alix isn't a good enough name for you?"

Moving on. In other news, Gilby gave me her cold, so all my plans to learn how to sprint in the next two weeks may be shot. I started to get a sore throat on Friday, then woke up with a horrible mucusy sore throat on Saturday, but apparently the virus feared my wrath because it waited until Sunday afternoon after all the racing was over to hit me full force. And now I'm stoned out of my gourd on Sudafed. I know I posted about it last time I had to use the stuff, but let me just state again, I do not understand why anybody bothers making meth out of Sudafed when it fucks you up so much straight out of the box. One day it would be nice if they could make a cold medicine that didn't turn people into jittery lunatics.

On the bright side, no matter how loony this medicine makes me, I will always be saner than most of our clients. At least I have that.

photographic evidence

2006-04-03T12:20:00.000-05:00

So Nate and Andy both have race photos, but they're not coughing 'em up just yet, so the best I can do is blatant thievery. Amanda, the girl who won on Saturday and took fourth on Sunday, has a blog, and on it she posted race reports from both Saturday and Sunday as well as this lovely picture from Saturday's road race.

Look closely, way in the back. See the blue helmet? That's right, folks, what you see here is a pixelated immortalization of the precise moment when I lost contact with the pack. Sad, I know.

pancake flat and only one corner, that's my kind o' race

2006-04-03T09:31:00.000-05:00

Race report: Waterworks Park Criterium, Des Moines, IA -- April 2, 2006

Yesterday morning I had stumbled halfway from the hotel room to the lobby (where the free breakfast is) before I noticed that it was raining. Fortunately by the time we got out to the race course it had stopped, and except for when the 1/2/3 guys got sprinkled on for about 30 seconds, it stayed dry during all the racing. Whew.

It looked like about the same number of women lined up for the crit as for Saturday's road race, but the results list is less comprehensive this time so I can't be entirely sure. In any case, I lined up near the back behind my teammate Alix. Good thing, too, because when we started I couldn't get clipped in to save my life and ended up having to sprint just to get on the pack, which is never the best way to start a race, but at least I wasn't in front getting in people's way.

Right away a two-woman break got away, less than half a lap in. We let them go because it was only the first lap, and who the heck gets away on the first lap and stays away, really. The main pack got loosely organized to chase, but apparently there weren't enough people willing to share the work (which I heard later from someone who had been at the front -- I was just sticking on the back, not sure what was going on up there), so after a while we backed off and just assumed the break would eventually wear themselves out and fall back. And eventually we did reel in one of the girls, but the other just kept going and going and stayed away until she won. Oh well.

Meanwhile, women in the main pack launched short attacks over and over, not enough to start a break, but enough to gradually whittle the pack down to eight or nine and leave me teammateless. Two laps from the end there was a prime (noun, preem, an intermediate sprint for some lame-ass prize that you didn't want anyway) for what turned out to be free entry to a race I won't be at anyway. Nobody wants to sprint two laps from the end, so it was pretty half-assed, and we all regrouped immediately afterward and took a couple easy laps to rest up for the final sprint. I somehow got confused and thought we were on the last lap when in fact it was only the second to last, and found myself in second position behind a girl who obviously didn't want to be in front any more than I did. Thus ensued a match-sprint game in which she would slow down to try and get me to pull through, and I would refuse to pull through and slow down even more, until we came back past the line at about 13 mph and the announcer made fun of us.

Finally the others got sick of it and the pace picked back up with someone else in the lead. Whew. I sat in and tried to position myself decently, but I pretty much never made it to any bunch sprints last year what with getting dropped and all, so I really had no clue what I was doing. Andy pointed out to me later that I forgot to even put my hands in the drops prior to sprinting. Whoops. If anybody wants to teach me how to sprint before the Minnesota season starts on the 18th, I could obviously use the help. Anyway, despite my utter lack of a clue, I managed fifth in the sprint and sixth overall. Once again, if they had scored the 4s separately I would have gotten the phat cash, but what can you do.

Then we all stood around and watched the rest of the races, where the 4/5 race was also won by a solo break who stayed away for the entire race. After that the masters and 1/2/3s wised up and didn't let any of that monkey business get by them. Once Andy was finished we packed up and headed out in the Molester Van, stopping at Baker's Square for a lowbrow but tasty feast. While we were in there the heavens opened up and delivered a thunderstorm of Biblical proportions. We ran back out to the van, hoping that it hadn't flooded while we were in there -- one of the many problems with the Molester Van is that the windshield isn't sealed very well and it drips when it rains. (Travelin' in style, people, what can I say.) We got on the highway and joined the parade of people who were crawling along at 20 mph with their hazards flashing, but that didn't last long before the rain turned into hail -- HAIL! -- and we were forced to pull over and wait it out, mopping the top of the windshield nonstop to keep as much water as possible out. The bikes, of course, were on the back of the van, and I am afraid to inspect my top tube. Hail damage is one thing that I never thought would happen to my poor bike.

But we made it back okay. Apparently there were tornadoes around there, but we didn't see any (we couldn't really see anything, so that doesn't mean much), and obviously I am back at my desk instead of in Oz so it turned out all right. Now all I have to do is get a lot faster in the next three weeks. I can do that, right? .......right? Guys?

first 2006 race report!

2006-04-01T17:18:00.000-06:00

Altoona Road Race, Altoona, IA (not to be confused with the real Altoona)

Last night Nate, Gilby, Andy, Alix, and I hopped back into the same bigass broken-down van and drove to Des Moines for the first races of the season. This morning was the road race - 5 laps of a four and a half mile circuit (the boys' races were longer) with a short but steep hill coming up to the finish. 21 women started the race, 19 finished. It was an open field, too, which can be a little demoralizing. Seeing as I'm a lousy Cat 4, I feel like it doesn't count when a Cat 2 beats me, but in an open field in a foreign place (yes, Iowa is foreign, you should come here sometime) it's impossible to tell who is what. At home, of course, even in an open field I generally know what category everyone races and who I should worry about beating, but apart from two Bellas and my own two teammates I'd never seen any of these women before. My plan is to google everyone who beat me and see how many of them really count.

Anyway, we lined up and rolled out, and not much happened for a while. I've been in neutral starts that rolled out faster. Nothing at all really happened until the end of the first lap, when we hit the hill and the field started to break up. I stayed with the lead pack until the third time up that hill, then I found myself trailing a little and unable to recover enough to catch back on. After a while I gave up and waited for the two behind me to catch me. One of those two was my teammate, Alix. The three of us worked together for the fourth lap but when we hit the hill again I shelled them both and found myself alone for the entire last lap.

Which is never fun. I was glad when I came around the last corner and started up the hill for the fifth and final time, but of course the men's 4/5 field chose that moment to catch me -- they'd started just a minute or two before we had -- and I was trapped on the very edge of the road behind some other dude who had gotten lapped and who was going obscenely slowly. I wasn't in any danger of being caught by the next girl back, nor was I close enough to the front pack to be particularly worried about them, but I really wanted to pass this guy anyway. No such luck though; I was apparently invisible to the 4/5s and so I had to crawl up the final hill and just pray that they would finish passing me before the finish line so that the officials would at least see me.

And they did, just in time, and I waved at the officials just to be sure they knew I wasn't a 4/5 being dropped, and that was that. The orange-clad girl I'd worked with for Lap 4 crossed a bit later, and then Alix after that, and Alix and I turned back and started doing a slow cool-down lap going backwards so we could see where everybody else was. Gilby came in a few minutes later and apparently went straight to the van to wrap herself in a blanket and shiver. We finished our cooldown lap in time to watch the 4/5s come in, with Nate in 10th.

When the results were posted it turned out I came in 8th, out of 19 that finished (2 DNFs). No idea how many of the first seven were cat 4. If I ever get that information I will, of course, share. Otherwise known as "tooting my own horn."

Then the men's 1/2/3 race went, and the rest of us stood and watched that. We also had the outstanding pleasure of watching some dumbass in an SUV drive straight through the wheel pit and wreck four or five pairs of wheels. Sarah Stratton caught it all on camera, and Sarah, if you're reading this, I highly encourage you to post that picture. The cops were called and a report filed, and hopefully everyone whose wheels were destroyed will get reimbursed. Otherwise, we all know the driver's license plate number and they will be hunted down and killed, I'm sure.

Anyway, I'll let Andy tell his own story, but he did well and came away with some actual Phat Cash (not to be confused with the "phat cash" I won last year, which turned out to be a water bottle). We went back to the hotel to drop off the bikes and get cleaned up, and then we stuffed ourselves with Mexican food and I was naughty and had a margarita even though we're racing again tomorrow. (Last time I drank the night before a race, I got dropped in the first two miles and rode the entire race alone. I did, at the time, say I would never do it again, but... but... but margaritas!)

And now we're sitting here doing nothin'. Sit tight; barring tornadoes there should be another race report tomorrow.

Update: after mucho googling, it appears that (apart from one woman who appears to be a fairly high-level triathlete, but not much bike race info available, so who knows) only one Cat 4 woman beat me and Alix. And that one happened to win the whole thing, and her days as a 4 are obviously numbered, so I don't feel too bad about that. So way to go, me and Alix.

and they're off

2006-03-31T15:39:00.000-06:00

Well, as soon as I make like a hockey player and get the puck out of here, a bunch of us are going to Iowa for the first two races of the season. Race reports will be appearing here in the not too distant future. But don't hold yer breath or nothin'.

git in mah belly!

2006-03-28T17:08:00.000-06:00

Gilby just ended an IM conversation because she needed to eat some food, since otherwise she will not be able to propel herself to the Birchwood tonight to eat more food. I then decided that I, too, needed to eat some food -- not because of any difficulties in getting to the Birchwood, but so that when I do get there, I will be able to choose my meal by what menu item is tastiest rather than what is the biggest. Not that it is my habit to always order the biggest thing on the menu or anything. Heavens no.

share the road, y'all

2006-03-27T00:08:00.000-06:00

This week is that strange but cool week, the only one of the year, where I can reasonably go for a bike ride before work. My employers are flexible enough that I can work 9 to 5-something during the winter and 7:30 to 4 during daylight savings, and the week before the change is the one week where I have nearly an hour and a half of light before I have to get ready for work. It's kind of cool. I get to see the sun rise, and (less cool) I get to see rush hour develop, from nobody but my crazy ass out on the road at 5:45 to sheer gridlocked madness by 7.

I also got reminded of why I avoid bike paths. Mostly I avoid them because of rollerbladers zooming side to side with their headphones on, erratic little kids with training wheels, and (yesterday) an entire pack of teenaged Boy Scouts wearing enormous backpacks. But in the absence of those things the paths still suck. This morning I used the path that runs parallel to Shepard Road, which is not so different from a sidewalk in that it crosses all the side streets and, as such, puts you at the mercy of any traffic that might wish to make right turns into your path without looking. And pretty much everyone in a car does this constantly.

Noncyclists tend to gasp in horror, "You ride your bike in the ROAD? With CARS? Isn't that DANGEROUS?" Well, no. No, it isn't. Riding on paths and sidewalks next to the road is infinitely more dangerous, and the accident statistics clearly reflect this. When you're in the road you're a known entity. You are visible to drivers, and (presumably) you are following accepted traffic patterns, so you are predictable. When you're on the sidewalk they don't see you, and sidewalks are a Godforsaken lawless wasteland where anybody can do anything anyway, so even if they did see you they wouldn't know what to expect from you. It ain't safe, people. USE THE ROADS.

Unless you're an erratic moron on a Huffy, then you can stay on the paths. We won't miss you.

new hell week photos

2006-03-25T09:29:00.000-06:00

There are some more Hell Week photos at Nick Gerlich's Zoto page if you're interested. I appear in exactly one of the pictures, but other people including Nate, Sascha, Scott, Bella M, and Belgian Bella got much better camera treatment. It's like playing Where's Waldo. Go check 'em out, what else have you got to do today?

the one picture I appear in:

The true Where's Waldo test -- I can't find myself in this one, but this is the pack I was with, so I must be in there somewhere... (and the front guy here is Nate, who -- what'd I tell ya? -- was obviously much more photogenic than I)

i'm super, thanks for asking

2006-03-23T16:52:00.000-06:00

Yesterday in the mail I got one of those "four years of tuition was just the tip of the iceberg, sucka, send us more money please" letters from my fine alma mater. Those guys are getting quite sneaky there in the money-grubbing office. For the peer-pressure angle, they listed the names of everyone in my graduating class who has donated money in the last six months, as well as the rough amount that they donated. Two of the guys that lived on my floor freshman year seem to have made it big, judging by the fact that their donations each roughly equaled one of my paychecks, and while one of them was clearly a computer genius from the beginning (but he borrowed my fishnet stockings once, and wore them, and I have photographic evidence), I cannot figure out for the life of me what this other doofus did to get himself that much money. I mean, this is the guy who occupied himself by wandering into my friend's dorm room uninvited and opening her underwear drawer to see what was inside. The world is just not fair.

Anyway, apparently they were concerned that the peer pressure angle wouldn't be enough, so they came up with a second incentive: Superhero Status! In order to be a Superhero, you have to a) donate twice as much as you donated last year, and b) put the little superhero sticker on your donation form. Now, I wouldn't mind being a superhero. Hell, I spend enough time in spandex already, all I need is a cape and I'm good to go. And last year I donated exactly no money, and twice as much as zero is still zero, so I am considering putting the sticker on the form and mailing it in with no money. Super!

Superhero this, assholes. I ain't donating a cent until my annual salary exceeds your annual tuition.

2006-03-21T10:39:00.000-06:00

Work sucks. I want to go back to Texas.

that's all, folks

2006-03-18T19:56:00.000-06:00

Well, we're done. 501.39 miles, 30 hours 26 minutes on the bike. No crashes, no major saddle sores, no major sunburns, nobody got lost, and out of the four of us in the non-Bella crew, no flat tires. And 25 hours in the van still ahead of us.

This morning I woke up to a faint drizzling sound. In my half-asleep state, I figured Sascha was already in the shower, since she has a strange habit of showering before going on a sweaty bike ride, but a minute later I looked over at the other bed and she was still sleeping. Only one other thing that drizzling could be. Yep, it was raining.

Sascha took one look at the weather and said "I can ride in the rain in Minnesota. I'm not riding in the rain in Texas." So Nate and Scott and I got all our rain gear on and headed over to the start, where we met up with.... one guy. What a crowd, eh? Nick Gerlich came out, having not gone on the A ride, and when I asked he said there hadn't even been an A ride -- nobody showed up. I guess seven days is enough for most people. So Nate and Scott and I and this Ben guy rode off in the rain and fog.

Ben stayed with us for the first thirty miles, but he was a local and had some sort of responsibility that afternoon, so he went back to Fredericksburg and the three of us went on. The rain let up for a while, then came back for a while, then let up, then came back, off and on all afternoon. When it wasn't on there was a thick, oppressive fog that just sat on the ground. I've ridden in nicer weather, but my feeling on the matter was that I came here to ride, so dammit, I'm going to ride, and it turned out to be a great ride anyway. We rode moderately hard for about the first sixty miles, then Nate started getting silly and stopping to take pictures of everything. At one point we rode past a cow pasture, and the cows all ran to see what we were. Nate stopped to take pictures of the cows, and more cows came to check us out, until there was a whole crowd of cows pressing against the fence, staring. Scott said "So are you going to go pet them?" Nate thought this was a good idea, but the cows did not. Nate is apparently a pretty scary thing with all his orange spandex. The cows backed away fast. So Nate gets some grass and tries to offer that to the cows, who had lots of grass in their pasture and were not fooled by this, and Scott is standing next to me singing "Here, cowey cowey cowey," and I'm hollering at Nate that if he gets mauled by a vicious Texas cow I am not toting his sorry ass home on my bike, and nobody was pedaling anywhere. There are many pictures of these cows on Nate's picture page if you like cows.

The ride was supposed to be 85 miles, but somewhere along the way we took a wrong turn that turned out to be an accidental shortcut, so I ended up with 80.13 for the day -- just enough to break 500. Yes, even after the cow incident we eventually got back to the EconoLodge. Sascha was waiting with a fresh pot of coffee and extra towels, which was pretty cool. Maybe we should leave somebody behind on every ride. Then we cleaned up fast -- I washed my legs and my washcloth turned BLACK -- and booked it downtown to the salsa store, where there is a sample bowl of everything they can sell and you can eat yourself into a salsa coma if you're so inclined. And for dinner we went back to the brewery for a third time, and I ordered the exact same burger for the third time, and since we had spent so much time there we had the waiter take a commemorative picture.

So that's it. Tomorrow morning we hop back in the van and head out, just the four of us this time since the Bellas all took off today. My next post will probably say "work sucks, I want to go back to Texas."

pictures!!

2006-03-17T21:34:00.000-06:00

Scott has posted a bunch of photos on his blog, so check 'em out.

whoops

2006-03-17T18:26:00.000-06:00

For everyone's information, I just bonked while sitting perfectly still in my hotel room. One minute I was just fine, the next minute I was so hungry I was light-headed and shaking and cold-sweating. Perhaps Cheez-Its are not the best post-ride food.

thursday and friday ride reports, and 421.26 miles if you're counting

2006-03-17T16:52:00.000-06:00

Thursday morning my legs were nice and fresh after a whole day of not touching my bike, so I decided to go on the "A" ride. The day before had been the infamous Leakey Death Ride, so the crowd was pretty thin at the start and I figured I'd have to ride alone all day. Sure enough, soon after we took off about half the group rocketed past me at about 30 miles an hour, but I did find two guys who were going at a nice steady pace and I latched onto them. I ended up riding with them all day, actually. One was a Texan named George, and one was UltraRob. They set a solid pace and the miles flew by pretty fast. I did try and take my pulls, but apparently I was not fast enough because every time I got in front I got the privelege taken back away from me pretty fast. I decided not to care. These Southern guys are still bent on chivalry and didn't seem to mind one bit that I was wheelsucking all day long.

About halfway through we stopped at an apple cider mill with a store and cafe attached. I ate a giant piece of apple pie and chatted with George about racing for a while -- this was the sort of ride where when you're riding, you just ride, and you don't talk until you stop. When we left the pie stop, we picked up some more riders, including the director of Hell Week, Nick Gerlich. That guy can sure put the hammer down. I think we went 24-25 mph the entire way with him in front, and then when we got away from the gently rolling stuff and into the monster hills again (can't escape them for too long), he damn near killed us all. I hung on until about mile 90 but then had to drop back. George and Rob also dropped back, though, and I rode with the two of them until we passed Rob's campground, and then George and I fought the headwind the rest of the way into town. The course was officially only 98 miles, so just before we got to the finish I turned to George and said "As perverse as it is, I'm going to go up this road for a bit and make it an even hundred." George looked at me like I had just sprouted antlers, shook his head, and said "okay." I thought that was the last I'd see of him, but he turned off with me and rode the extra two miles too.

So I ended up with 100.26 miles for the day. Now nobody can use the "But it's the first century of the season!" bullshit on me when it comes time for the Ironman, because it ain't gonna work. I can say "I did that shit six weeks ago, foo', I'm sleeping in."

That night we met the whole Bella crew at an outdoor biergarten and drank way too much sangria, then wandered around town trying to find ice cream, which is none too easy when the whole town shuts down at 5:30 sharp. But we did eventually find one place that was open, and then we met up with some people Sascha and Scott had met on the road and chatted with them at their picnic table for quite a while. We got back to the room after ten and I promptly passed out.

Friday, day 7

This morning the alarm went off, Scott rolled over and smacked it, and we all fell back asleep. I was reawakened by Scott swearing at the coffee maker again, this time because it was overflowing. That thing is nothing but trouble.

We met up with the Bellas at the start, then cruised out with a chilly wind blowing and small drops of cold rain smacking our faces. It never did warm up much. Not to complain, considering 60 is still pretty balmy compared to home, but I preferred the sunny, 80 degree days we had earlier in the week. The group seemed to split up into two huge packs -- the group I was in had at least 50 people in it -- and I stayed with my pack until we came to the first rest stop. After the stop the pack broke up and for the rest of the day Nate and I were with Bella S and Bella A and two other people, one of whom had been in yesterday's hammerfest. It was a fairly uneventful ride. I was kicking around the idea of doing 20 extra miles so that I could hit an even 500 for the week, but when we got back we found out that tomorrow's ride is 85 miles and that'll be enough to get me there. Which was good. I didn't want to get back to the motel room and go back out to ride more.

And then I ate most of a box of Cheez-Its. Mmmmm, Cheez-Its.

shift this

2006-03-15T14:45:00.000-06:00

Well, we found a shop in Kerrville that had an ancient Dura-Ace shifter that they're willing to loan me for the week, but after a lengthy inspection we ultimately just went with the Tim method. Tim, if I can't shift tomorrow, it is now your ass on the line. But that Dura-Ace shifter is still there if I need it. Apparently they have loaned this poor old shifter out to many Hell Weekers in the past, so I am not the first one to have this problem. And I will still be in the market for a new set of shifters when I get back, but hopefully the Tim Method will keep it running for the next 200-250 miles. If it'll go until the next paycheck I may just switch the whole damn thing to 10-speed and get with the 21st century already.

Then we went to Buzzie's Bar-B-Q for lunch. That's a picture of it up there. No tourists there, baby. Buzzie's is a dirty old shack with picnic tables inside, Heimlich maneuver instructions posted on the walls, and about five options on the menu. And if you asked for lemonade, boy did you get lemonade. They only have one size cup there and that is LARGE. It is three hours later now and Scott is still working on his. I think the boys are still digesting their all-you-can-eat ribs, too. Sascha and I practically had to roll them out of there.

Now we're all comatose in the motel room. We take our rest days very seriously here. Although I did take some time to clean my bike, since I had sweated so much sunscreen onto it that my entire top tube had developed a greasy film. Gross, huh?

lurking on the dark edges of town....

2006-03-15T09:20:00.000-06:00

The local hospital is just down the street from our motel, so it seems like an ambulance goes by every ten minutes. Very loudly. I've never lived by a hospital before, so I don't know how much that skews my perception, but it sure seems like Fredericksburg is a DEATH TRAP. Where are all these ambulances going? What is happening to people in Fredericksburg that they need so many ambulances? I think there is something unsavory going on in the north end of Fredericksburg, guys. If we never make it out alive, you'll know why.

hell week day 4

2006-03-14T22:11:00.000-06:00

4 days down, 4 to go. This morning I awoke to the sound of Scott swearing loudly at the coffee maker, which had apparently decided that three days was about as long as it needed to work and it was break time now. None of us could figure out why, but it wouldn't start. So we packed it back up into its box -- none of us ended up bringing ours, despite earlier plans to do so, so we bought a new one at WalMart when we arrived -- and drank EconoLodge lobby coffee instead. Walking to the lobby was probably a good thing anyway, since I otherwise wouldn't have known how FRIGGIN' COLD it was. The weather report claimed it was 35 degrees, though I'm not sure it was really that cold. Chilly though. I wore arm warmers and my wind jacket and was still cold for the first half hour.

All ten of us started together this time, but quickly broke up into smaller groups. Nate took off for a faster ride, as did Belgian Bella (they ended up riding together, I think), and Sascha and Scott dropped back, and I rode with the rest of the Bella team all day. It was a much more leisurely ride than the last few days had been, which was fine with me. I'm ready for a rest day for sure. It was by far the best weather we've had, though, so it was a great day for a long easy ride. After the first half hour it warmed up enough that I took my jacket and armwarmers off, and the high was in the low 70s with almost no wind at all and no clouds in the sky. I am starting to get a wicked glove tan to show off when I get home. You'll notice in yesterday's pictures that my natural state this time of year is glow-in-the-dark white, so "wicked" is a relative term. You Californians won't be impressed.

The route was fun too, with larger rollers than we've had the last few days. It took longer to crest each one, but the descents were longer as well. Nothing like we had when we did the Great Arizona Bicycle Adventure tour in 2004, but long enough to be a nice reward.

Now, before I even left Minnesota, my right shift lever was starting to poop out a bit. I would try to shift to a bigger cog and my lever would just flop around uselessly, not catching anything. I could get it to catch if I braked and shifted at the same time, which is rather counterproductive in a paceline, but it only did it some of the time and I didn't have time to mess with it anyway, so I just brought it to Texas and kept my fingers crossed that it wouldn't get any worse. And it hasn't, really, not that way. Shifting to a smaller cog, on the other hand, is now a problem where it hadn't been before. As the day wore on it took more and more effort to get the damn thing to catch and shift, and about 45 miles in I found myself at the top of a huge hill and completely unable to get the chain off my 27 cog. (For non-cyclist readers, that is the "going up really big hills" gear, thus not a good one to be stuck in when you have half an hour of descent ahead of you.) I coasted for a long time, but on shallower parts of the descent I really needed to be pedaling. The best I could do was a 53/27. My bike didn't like that much. Rowr, rowr, rowr, rowr, it said, and went 14 miles an hour while my pals disappeared into the distance. I pedaled harder. Rowr, rowr, rowr, rowr.

Some guys passed me, chuckling. "Dropped you off the back, did they," they said. "Heh, heh."

The road tilted up a bit, so my rowr-rowring bike and I finally caught up, and I asked if anybody knew how to manually force a derailleur onto a different cog so at least I could be stuck on something reasonable instead of a 27. They didn't, but everybody stopped to try. We all failed. A couple random people stopped to try and help, but they couldn't figure it out either, so they eventually took off, and I decided to call Nate and see if he was back yet. When all else fails, call the sag wagon. But he wasn't answering his phone, so I got ready to rowr-rowr the last 16 miles at 13 mph. Right then, another group of people rode by.

When you're on a ride like this and you see people off their bikes at the side of the road, you holler "Got everything you need?" as you pass. Generally you don't mean much by it, since it's almost always a flat tire and everybody has their own tire changing stuff, but it's the polite thing to do. So as this group rode past us, they hollered "Need help with anything?" and we hollered back, "Not unless you're a derailleur expert!"

And one of the guys said "I am!" and pulled over. And he listened to my sob story, and he grabbed my lever and wrenched it sideways in a really violent way that I would never have done to my own bike, and it worked again. "You just got to get a little rough with 'em when they get like that," he said. "I've seen 'em like that before. Your shifter's about to wear out though, honey." All in a deep Texas drawl, of course.

I sighed and said "Yeah, I know." Because one of the GP guys had said the same thing. Plus the shifters are pretty old -- the Salsa, you may recall, is a mishmash of parts thrown onto a new frameset, and I don't actually know how old the shifters are. The bike I got them on was a 2002, but I'm pretty sure the guy I got it from had put older components on that frame too. So lord only knows how old these things are. And while the guy on the road got it to work for a bit, it didn't last long before it was feeling pretty arthritic again, so I'm not too excited about riding with it for three more days.

But I got going again, and a minute later Bella P turned to me and said "I've got some extra energy right now, want to go hard for a while?" I can't pass that up, so we took off and hammered for about ten minutes until we missed a turn and had to turn around. Then we met back up with the group and cruised the last ten miles back to the EconoLodge, where Nate was sitting outside the motel door in his sweaty kit, having forgotten that he had no room key when he took off for his faster ride.

Tomorrow was going to be my rest day anyway, either completely off the bike or a short 25ish mile ride, so I guess I have time to figure this out. The shop in Fredericksburg doesn't happen to have a nine-speed Ultegra lever laying around, so we may have to go to Austin, but only if we can find a shop that does have the part and is willing to fix it ASAP, since I need any and all work to be finished by tomorrow night. Or hell, San Antonio would be okay too.

Still, as problems go, it ain't bad. There were a number of crashes yesterday on the A ride, all at a slick water crossing, and while no details were really given out, injuries included at least one concussion and several broken bones, and apparently somebody had to have some surgery to "put stuff back where it belongs." So when water goes across the road for a long enough time that algae starts to grow, get off and walk. Now you know.

Oh yes, and we exchanged the coffee maker at WalMart, in case anybody was concerned about that. Whew.

quick note

2006-03-14T16:05:00.000-06:00

We have to go to WalMart yet again, so this'll be short, but today was 66.15 miles for a total of 251.88 so far. And my right shifter has completely pooped out, so my main mission tomorrow will be finding a shop somewhere in Texas that can replace it for me. It was causing trouble the last couple times I rode the Salsa, but I was keeping my fingers crossed that it would wait until after Hell Week to die. No such luck. Fortunately, tomorrow was going to be the rest day anyway, so if I miss the 25 mile ride that we were going to do I guess I'll live.

I'll try and find time for a full ride report tonight. The group banquet is this evening, so if it turns into an all-night party you might not get a ride report, but at least then you'll get a party report.

that's all, folks

2006-03-13T23:08:00.000-06:00

OK, all the posts from "well, we're in texas" to now have been updated with photos. All photos are courtesy of Nate, the dangedest camera-slinger this side of the Rio Grande. And for good measure, here is a picture of me writing HELL WEEK OR BUST on the van with soap, before we left Minneapolis.

look! i'm caught up!

2006-03-13T22:21:00.000-06:00

....otherwise known as that Monday ride report, which means that dang, I've written a lot of blog today, so none of you can ever complain again.

Anyway. This morning, Day 3, dawned cool and cloudy. Cool enough that I really should have been wearing arm warmers, but didn't want to have to carry them with me when the clouds burned off, so I sucked it up and shivered. The entire Bella team, minus Belgian Bella (of course), had decided to rest their legs a bit and do the "C" ride (there are three distance options each day -- one 100ish [A], one 60ish [B], and one 40ish [C] -- we've been doing B's), so at the start we were down to me, Nate, Belgian Bella, Sascha, and Scott. The latter two were doing their own thang so we waved goodbye and took off.

Now, I had been planning on not riding with Belgian Bella today, given how wasted my legs were at the end of yesterday, but with the other half of the crew bailing on me, I found myself hammering to keep up for the third day in a row. However, without the snap in my legs it wasn't as fun as the last couple days, so after 14 miles I decided to drop back, and Nate dropped back with me. Belgian Bella stayed with the group that we'd fallen in with and went on ahead.

Today was the windiest day yet. For a long time we were buffeted by cross winds, but once the clouds burned off it was sunny and 70 and the wind almost didn't matter. Almost. I kept thinking to myself, this would be a perfect day if I wasn't riding a friggin' bike. Then we turned into the wind, and it definitely mattered. A lot. The thing about a strong steady headwind like that is that you can't move no matter how much you want to. For two solid hours I was desperate to stand up, stop pedaling, and stretch out a bit, but every time I tried my bike just stopped moving, so I stopped trying. I was ready to kill someone by the time we got to the gas station. Fortunately, there were a number of triathlete-type men with tree trunks for quads who were suffering just as bad as I was, and you know what they say about misery and company.

At the gas station I inhaled a king size Snickers (my second in two weeks, if anybody's counting) and stretched my back a bit. Belgian Bella was there too, having arrived just five minutes ahead after her group blew up in the wind, and she waited for us to finish eating so we could all leave together. A guy named Jeff joined us, and since the course was a long thin loop bearing a suspicious resemblance to an out-and-back, we got a tailwind soon after that. I still found myself working harder than I wanted to, so after 20 or 30 minutes Nate and I let them go again. They must have been really flying, though, because between the tailwind and the slight downward tilt we were going crazy fast. It was great. After a while it even made up for the two hours of misery on the way out. But like climbing and descending mountains, the fun part is always so SHORT compared to the crappy part! We were back to the EconoLodge in no time.

Now, personally, the second I walk in the door after a four-hour ride, I'm tearing clothes off and flinging them everywhere as I run straight to the shower. Nothing in the world is a higher priority than the shower. But when Sascha and Scott rolled in about an hour later, Scott was far more concerned with beer than with bathing, and I'm not sure what Sascha was doing but she wasn't in any hurry either. So now you know, guys. Those two are dirty. (I joke. They both showered eventually. But I think their priorities are messed up.)

Then we dilly-dallied so long that the front desk actually telephoned to see if we were ever going to leave so that the housekeepers could get in, so we had to leave, and the boys went to a coffee shop to play with their computers and Sascha and I wandered around downtown Fredericksburg trying to find some fun. Fredericksburg, it turns out, is a pretty crappy little town. It's very touristy in the sense that the buildings are styled Old West but everything inside the building says MY GRANDMA WENT TO FREDERICKSBURG AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT. Along those lines, anyway. Ultimately we ended up at a winery sampling shit that tasted like it came from a box, then at a salsa store sampling about forty kinds of salsa. But Fredericksburg, besides being lame in the first place, also shuts down entirely at 5:30 P.M., so Sascha and I got kicked out of the salsa store and Nate and Scott got kicked out of the coffee shop and we all went out for Mexican food. You'd think there would be good Mexican food in Texas, but no. Nothing of the sort. We ordered a pitcher of "top shelf" margaritas, then watched the bartender dump some tequila in the bottom of the pitcher and fill the rest with some greenish stuff from a water cooler. I'd hate to see the house margarita if that was top shelf. We may continue the quest for the good Mexican later in the week, but we may have to leave town. Fredericksburg is too proud of its German heritage to serve anything but sauerkraut.

And now we're sitting in the EconoLodge with the door propped open to get some fresh air, which means that everyone who walks past stares at us. As well they should, since all four of us are sitting in a line on the two beds typing on laptops, looking like the biggest nerd squad this side of Austin. I'd stare too.

Nate's trying to get the photos somewhere useful so I can post them here. All 3 of today's posts should be updated with photos by tomorrow night at the latest.

belated Sunday ride report

2006-03-13T20:59:00.000-06:00

Sunday morning I woke up before the alarm several times and checked my cell phone obsessively to be sure we wouldn't sleep past 7:30 again. Our motel room is tucked into a corner and the windows face a brick wall, so the amount of light coming through the windows is the same whether the sun is up or not, making this a valid concern. But the alarm went off anyway and all was well... until 8:57, when I was ready and standing in the parking lot and certain roommates of mine were still fighting over the map. The ride was supposed to start at 9 but apparently it got going a little early, because all of a sudden they all went by. "I see people LEAVING," I bellowed, and Nate yelled back to just go, so I went, assuming he was right behind me, but he wasn't. I jumped into the pack a little behind Bella S and we quickly got into a whole Bella group, although Belgian Bella upped the pace as soon as we hit the edge of town and most of them blew off the back. I looked over my shoulder for Nate constantly for about half an hour but he had elected to wait for Sascha and Scott and I didn't see him again until we were both back at the EconoLodge.

Saturday had been hot and sunny and windless, a near-perfect riding day, but Sunday was overcast and muggy and windy as hell. In fact, all of Texas seems to be windy as hell. Fortunately, after Belgian Bella had us passing people by the dozens, we eventually found a couple men who were going at a pretty good clip and tucked in behind them. Somewhere along the way we picked up a woman from Florida who was there by herself and thankful to find some fast women (wait, aren't "fast women" something else entirely? oh well...). At one point I hollered to Bella P (you had to yell, the wind was pretty loud), "I thought this was a vacation, not a stage race!" And I'm not gonna lie, I'm hurting on the hills right now. The spring races should be interesting. And while I was patting myself on the back for being able to hang with Belgian Bella, later questioning revealed that she's still doing base and barely breaking a sweat while I redline to stay with her. But whatever. I only have to worry about the other cat 4's, right? ....right?

The wind picked up more and more until 25 miles in, on a long descent, we were pedaling hard to maintain 15 mph downhill. At the end of the descent was the only gas station on the route, so we stopped for a bit to refill bottles and that sort of thing, and most of the other Bellas pulled in a few minutes behind us, so we had a nice chat and all set out together again. It didn't take long to break back up into the same groups though. For the rest of the ride it was me, Belgian Bella, Bella P, and Kelly from Florida. We had a nice tailwind for a few miles but then the wind shifted and I don't think we had a tailwind again for the rest of the day. Naturally, this was when it got hilly. Not that it wasn't hilly before, but after the break there wasn't a single flat spot. It was a good time, but by the end my legs were completely wasted.

Nate, it turned out, had stayed with Sascha and Scott up until the gas station, then taken off ahead of them. He very nearly caught me -- I was still standing in the parking lot chatting with Bella P when he pulled up. Later that afternoon, once everybody had returned and showered, we passed an exciting afternoon at the laundromat and then found a brewpub for dinner. I ate a HUGE hamburger with bleu cheese, fried onions, and fried mushrooms, and a giant heap of wedge fries with habanero ranch, and two mugs of red ale, and promptly fell into a huge coma. They nearly had to carry me out of the restaurant. Of course we had to go to WalMart then, where I paraded around with my distended belly and prayed that everyone would just assume I was pregnant.

And that was Sunday. I will do my best to edit some pictures back into these last couple posts, as soon as I can get them off of Nate's computer. Sit tight. It's not like you have anything else to do anyway if you live in Minneapolis, what with the ten inches of snow and the "do not leave your house for ANY REASON" advisories they've apparently been broadcasting. We picked a good week to be gone.

belated Saturday ride report

2006-03-13T15:53:00.001-06:00

Gilby has been all up in my grill for not blogging, or at least as up in my grill as anyone can be when they're two thousand miles away. So here ya go, Gilby.

I left you last with the bikes still locked to the rack and no way to get them off. That night I missed all the excitement because I was so wiped out from 25 hours in the van that I just passed out with the lights on and missed all the excitement. When I woke up in the morning (an hour late, incidentally, because nobody thought to set an alarm) all the bikes were in the motel room, the rack having been thoroughly dismantled. Two bikes, however, had giant U-locks dangling from them. As mine was not one of them, and because I'm a selfish bastard like that, I went ahead and left at 9 with the group while Nate, Sascha, Scott, and the unlucky Bella whose bike had been on our van (I should ask them about using their names on the internet, so no names for you yet) waited for a locksmith to arrive.

So I took off in a huge crowd of cyclists, wearing just a sleeveless tri-top and shorts -- not a scrap of neoprene in sight -- and we got all of three and a half miles before Bella P flatted rather dramatically. Our group all stopped to wait for her to change it. Well over a hundred others blew past us as we stood there. We had been in the front group, but by the time the flat was fixed even the slowest stragglers were long gone. P thought something was wrong with the replacement tube so she decided to head back to the motel and ride later with the people that were waiting for the locksmith.

That left me, Bella S (Nate, Sascha, Scott and I hooked up with a crew from the Velo Bella team who was also coming down, so there's a total of 10 of us), and Bella L, who is an 18-year-old Belgian exchange student who is on the Belgian national team and who finished in the lead pack at Worlds. We hopped into a line with Belgian Bella in front and hammered like hell to catch up, and after a bit we started passing people left and right. We let up and got into a looser, more social formation, but continued passing people left and right because we were at the tail end. We never did catch the lead group again, but we were passing people all day.

Ultimately it's a cool thing that Hell Week is so loosely organized, but we were expecting gas stations where we could refill water bottles and load up on Clif Bars. No such luck. The only stop all day was a bar -- yeah, a bar. Not just any bar, though -- an outdoor biker bar (the other kind of biker) where cheap beer and greasy food was served from barns and all the seats are picnic tables around a bonfire pit. Feel free to do a Google image search for "Luckenbach, Texas" if you want to see it. It could've been a pretty happenin' place at night with the bonfire, but for mid-ride fuel it was a bit of a letdown. I ate a giant pickle and a crapalicious hamburger, and once we hit the road again I regretted them both. Belgian Bella has pro aspirations and did not partake of the hamburgers, so Bella S and I had to tell her to slow down pretty frequently over the next five or so miles. I recovered; Bella S didn't really, so when we pulled into the parking lot it was just me and Belgian Bella left. I showered and waited for the others to trickle in, and as they did I chatted with them, thinking Sascha and Scott and Nate would be showing up any second, but I guess I overestimated the locksmith because they didn't show up until a quarter to six, by which time I'd read half my book, painted my toenails blue, and bought a huge tank of apple-cinnamon hammer gel, which I will probably also come to regret.

Then we stuffed ourselves with pasta and I discovered that Fredericksburg does indeed have Fat Tire beer in abundance, so I will be bringing it back to Minneapolis in abundance, as well as drinking it in abundance while I'm here. God, I love Fat Tire. It makes me happy.

Thus concludes Saturday. I know, I know, it's Monday afternoon, and I'm behind. I will try and blog Sunday and Monday this evening if I get some computer time -- my laptop doesn't work very well so I didn't bother to pack it, which puts me at the mercy of everyone else's computer habits. I'll try to catch up! But for those who are counting (Gilby) the Saturday mileage was 63.76 and as of this afternoon the three-day total is 185.73.

well, we're in texas

2006-03-10T22:44:00.000-06:00

Quick note before I pass out. We have arrived in Texas... well, we actually arrived in Texas this morning, but Texas is an entire country unto itself, so we had to drive for another seven hours after we arrived in Texas. But now we're in Fredericksburg. And we have no bikes. Somehow the keys to the locks that are holding the bikes to the rack got lost. So the bikes are locked to the rack with a cable lock and two Kryptonite U-locks, and all 3 keys are on the same ring. Sascha and Scott went to Wal-Mart to buy bolt cutters. To be continued.....

i'm a real minnesotan now

2006-03-08T10:33:00.000-06:00

So last night, against all better judgment, I went for a bike ride. Pete already posted a pretty good description of the weather, so I won't bother, but for the link-challenged amongst you, here's a synopsis:

COLD
WET
WINDY.

So when I got back home, it turned out that I had honest-to-god frostbite on my toes! Now, despite living in Minnesota, I am not actually a frostbite expert, but when your toes are solid white and waxy-looking and hard to the touch and completely numb except for a vague tingling deep inside them, I don't know what else it would be. Andy doesn't believe me, but the internet says it is "real frostbite" even without the gangrene and the amputation, so somebody here has been reading too many Jon Krakauer books. "It's not real frostbite till shit turns purple," indeed.

Anyway, frostbite sucks. I sat on the couch and held onto my toes for about 20 minutes, waiting for them to get some feeling back, and then I got sick of waiting and got up to go take a bath, and of course the stupid toes chose then to unfreeze and it hurt so bad I had to sit back down and squeeze my toes and try not to cry for another ten minutes before I could get back up. They're not lying when they say that shit hurts. But fear not, an hour later they were soft and pink again. No gangrene, no amputation. Whew.

I don't get it though. It was 34 degrees, which is a lot warmer than the 19 degree rides on which I do not get frostbite. Call me crazy, but I did not think the chemical toe warmer thingies were necessary when it's 34 degrees. Fortunately, the next time I swing a leg over the bike, it will be 80º and there won't be a scrap of neoprene in sight. It's less than 24 hours now.

.......Oh, and speaking of neoprene, I have some neoprene gloves now. When you squeeze them they have the exact same texture as marshmallow peeps.

random tuesday

2006-03-07T15:27:00.000-06:00

Today's statcounter fun: "half marathon trampled to death." If I didn't have proof that it was someone in England, I'd think it was my dad looking for anti-running arguments to present. I am number 6 in the results list for this search, and I haven't even been trampled to death once!

In other news, Yanni was recently arrested for a kicking, screaming, hair-pulling, name-calling fight with his girlfriend. The police report claims that he whined about a hurt finger; his manager, naturally, denies that anything ever happened. But if nothing ever happened, where did this mug shot come from?

O Yanni, wherefore hast thou lost thy flowing locks of yore?

Not that anyone thought particularly noble things of this guy before, but still.

Don't worry, guys, this'll turn back into a bike blog in a couple days. Day after tomorrow, in fact, when the Hell Week Molester Van peels out of the driveway like a bat out of hell. Just you wait.

and yet I watch every year anyway

2006-03-06T16:09:00.000-06:00

So the Oscars were lame as usual. I only watched the first half, so I missed most of the big awards, but I did see the stupid, stupid song "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp," and then I even saw the same stupid, stupid song actually win the category. And I saw Ben Stiller's green unitard. Thank God for that.

From the vantage point of my couch, Stiller's timing was impeccable. I was reading the City Pages while half-listening to the TV, and when they announced that Ben Stiller would be presenting the next one, I said to myself, "Well, self, there's no reason to look up now, since all the men wear the same thing anyway." But I looked up anyway. Let me just say again, THANK GOD. That was the stupidest thing I've seen in a long time, and unlike the pimp song, the unitard was stupid in a good way. It made me feel a little less bad about wasting my evening in front of the TV.

Unfortunately, all the other people out there seem to be taking this business a little too seriously. If you go to MSN's Oscars page and vote for what you think the highlight of this year's Oscars was, it turns out that Ben Stiller's green unitard is in LAST PLACE with a paltry 8% of the vote. Which is obviously a grave injustice. At the moment, tied for the lead with 31% each are Jon Stewart's wit (not in evidence while I was watching, sorry to say. I like the guy, but he was just out of his element here) and the mere fact that Brokeback Mountain didn't win. That is not a highlight, that is just a bunch of people jumping in perverse joy that the gay cowboys didn't win, because gays are bad, m'kay? Lame, lame, lame. So we need to take this back for what was obviously the real highlight of the show. Quick, everyone go to MSN and vote for the unitard. Help me out here.

Also, I looked at all 17 of People's "best dressed" photos, and the green unitard was totally shut out. It's wrong, I tell you. Flat-out wrong.

MY pepsi bike is still in the basement, but....

2006-03-03T11:12:00.000-06:00

Someone recently found my lil' blog by searching for "Pepsi Bike." Out of curiosity, I clicked on the search to see what else they found, and got this. Now that is cool.

night rider

2006-03-03T09:52:00.000-06:00

Last night I rode with Gilby and Andy, as mentioned, while those crazy runner people were doing their crazy running thing, and you don't have to think too hard to figure out who had the better time. Plus I discovered that night riding is much better for the yellow bike than daylight riding is, because I can't see my speedometer, and I can't really see the surrounding stuff go by either, so it's essentially impossible to gauge my speed. This is good for the yellow bike because the yellow bike goes much slower than expected for any given effort. Much slower.

Andy hadn't actually seen the yellow bike in person before, so of course the first thing he did was pick it up to see if all my bitchery had been exaggerated. (Come on, people, would I lie to you?) "Holy shit," he said, then stared at the yellow bike, perplexed, for a long time. Gilby couldn't pass that up, so she picked it up too and was equally perplexed. I should take my bike to some high-school physics class somewhere and see if they can figure out how that much weight can be packed into a 50-cm frame. It's a mystery.

Anyway, I never found out what the average speed was because when I got back to my garage, my computer claimed that I had ridden 72.33 miles. Which, if true, would put the average speed around 50mph. So who knows. I did attempt to reset it before we left, but I guess it didn't work, and since it was dark I didn't know that. Probably for the better. You know that thing about all cats being gray in the dark... well, all Calois are Madones in the dark, I guess. I'd rather not be disabused of my illusions.

Gilby already blogged the highlight of the evening, which was when Andy managed to pee, while riding, with a skinsuit on. He was very proud of himself. Given that he did this while riding across the Highway 55 bridge, I imagine at least 60 or 70 passers-by are also proud of him. Way to go, Andy.

EDIT: Forgot to mention, there is one place where the darkness does not turn the Caloi into a Madone, and that is Ramsey Hill. No amount of blackness can accomplish that.

countdown

2006-03-02T13:24:00.000-06:00

One week from today, we will stuff seven people and seven bikes into two vans and leave for Hell Week. One very, very long week from today. In anticipation of this event, we have:

1. looked up the mythical Texas open-container laws (it used to be true that passengers could drink beer as long as the driver wasn't participating, but alas, about five years ago the Texan lawmakers turned that from gospel truth into urban legend. Sorry, folks.)

2. reserved a Super 8 in the happenin' town of Oklahoma City (Sarah says: "By the way...I'm bringing wine for all of us for our first night of vacation...wine and the Super 8, a match made in heaven! Texas seems like more of a beer-drinking kind of place, so I figured I'd get most of my wine drinking out of the way before we get to Texas." And Oklahoma is a wine-drinking kind of place? Who knew...)

3. perfected the Velcro system that will affix our cowboy hats to our helmets

4. obsessively checked the Fredericksburg weather forecast eight times per person per day (at this moment it is "fair" and 79º)

5. stocked up on Chamois Butt'r and Bactine

6. compared music collections... Scott apparently owns everything the Suicidal Tendencies ever did, Nate claims Vanilla Ice, and I publicly admitted to still possessing the Paula Abdul cassette which was the first album I ever bought, back in third grade. Although before that I did get the LP (yeah, vinyl) single of Kokomo. Did I have refined tastes back then or what?

So I'd say we're ready. Although none of those six things actually have anything to do with cycling, so who knows if we're ready for that part of it. But I am riding tonight, with Gilby and Andy, before meeting the running group (you know, the ones that got me the stress fracture) at the Chatterbox. My question is, why didn't I think of this before? Fake an injury, get out of running, ride instead, and still get beer! It's perfect! Damn, I'm slow.

Oh, and on the subject of the injury, the boot came off today. I am now living the boot-free life. Actually, I figured twelve hours didn't matter much and took it off last night so I could walk the dog. My calf and ankle muscles feel ridiculously weak just from those four weeks! Which makes me appreciate the plight of the truly injured, the people who are on bedrest for months and probably have to learn to walk again because their whole body has atrophied into a wet noodle. (Cue Dad: "And if you want to avoid that fate, quit that gol-durn bike racing." Not that my dad has ever said gol-durn, but, y'know, poetic license.) Anyway, the good news is I still can't run for a few more weeks, how sad. The bad news is I can't get out of doing lunges in bodypump any more.

But I'm wearing Superman underwear today, so it's all good.

Departure: 6 days, 20 hours, and 52 minutes

First pedal stroke: 8 days, 20 hours, and 24 minutes

end of an era

2006-02-28T16:36:00.000-06:00

Saturday, some Birchwood boyz and I were riding through St Louis Park on our way back to Minneapolis, and some guy at the side of the road hollered "Go Olympics!" Nate pointed out that it's definitely the end of an era when the random guys at the side of the road are no longer yelling "Go Lance!"

this just in: leader of the free world unable to walk and chew gum at same time

2006-02-27T10:58:00.000-06:00

George Bush fell off his bike AGAIN. This time he didn't even have tricky terrain as an excuse, as he was riding on a road, and the "tricky" part was trying to wave to some people while simultaneously navigating around some other people. The other people, specifically, were Scottish policemen.

The entire article is found here, and I highly encourage you to read it. It's hilarious. But for your convenience, here are some pertinent sections:

As the President passed the junction at speed he raised his left arm from the handlebars to wave to the police officers present while shouting 'thanks, you guys, for coming'.

As he did this he lost control of the cycle, falling to the ground, causing both himself and his bicycle to strike [the officer] on the lower legs. [The officer] fell to the ground, striking his head. The President continued along the ground for approximately five metres, causing himself a number of abrasions.

This happened a number of months ago, and apparently the poor hapless policeman was injured so badly that he was unable to return to work for 14 weeks. That is over three months. The cause of his injury was officially recorded as "hit by moving/falling object."

Interesting that this was not made public until now. I can see why Cheney waited to disclose his hunting accident until he'd had time to sober up, but seriously, guys, this happened on July 6, and no matter how soused the President was back then, he HAS to have gotten it out of his system in the nearly eight months since then.

Poor prezzie. It must be tough to have so little control over your entire body... legs... mouth... brain....

advertising is weird

2006-02-24T22:11:00.000-06:00

Am I the only one here who does not want to make friends with my fast? That thing scares me. I certainly would not bring it into my house where it could stare at me while I was innocently trying to order food. Eff off, fast. I'm not interested.

if you have to spew, spew in this

2006-02-23T15:33:00.000-06:00

As of today, I have been at my job exactly one year. For some reason that makes me want to puke.

this just in: gym membership encourages antisocial tendencies

2006-02-21T09:25:00.000-06:00

This morning I went to BodyPump class, and I must say I was quite relieved to see that it was back to pre-January attendance. For some reason the resolutioners held out longer there than they did in Spinning classes or on the treadmills. Anyway, they were finally gone, so there was literally twice as much space available as there was a month ago.

This must not have been obvious to everyone.

I set up my bench and went back into the storeroom to get my weights, and when I came back, some lady had set up her bench so that it was actually touching mine, end to end. I figured I could work with this, so I didn't say anything, but then she insisted on doing stuff sideways so that when it was time to do pushups, her FEET were in MY SPACE. Specifically, my FACE's space. Jeez.

When I left there was frozen vomit on the sidewalk outside. Now, I'm all in favor of tough workouts, but if you have to go outside and blow chunks when you're done, you might want to back off. Just sayin'.

pepsi bike update for tim and andy

2006-02-17T11:05:00.000-06:00

I moved the Pepsi bike from the living room to the basement, and now I am eating chocolate covered pretzels.

all right already!

2006-02-16T15:41:00.000-06:00

Jeez, you'd think you people had nothing better to do than obsessively check my blog eight times a day. I'm sorry it's so upsetting, but haven't you heard of RSS? Gosh.

For those who have not been harassing me, thank you for your patience. We now resume regularly scheduled programming.

Here's a story for you. I don't remember if I blogged about it a couple months ago when I ran over some scissors in the road -- SCISSORS(?!) -- and got a flat tire, then spent a good 20 minutes trying to get my spare out of the trunk because it was frozen down. Note to self: in the future, dry spare very carefully before putting it back in the trunk, at least in the winter.

Then, a week or so ago I hit the world's largest pothole on my way to work. I thought "Whew, good thing cars don't pinch-flat." The fine city of St. Paul was kind enough to fix this pothole a mere day and a half after it appeared, which tells you how big this pothole was. This pothole was like the car-sized version of the one that took Sascha out last spring on Delaware Ave. Anyway, despite all my gloating about cars not pinch-flatting, I discovered that night that my hubcap was missing, so now my car is all ghetto-looking. Stupid pothole.

Anyway, long story short, cars do pinch-flat. It just takes longer. Today I was leaving to go to lunch when a lady from the office building next to ours came running out to tell me that my tire was flat (it's on the passenger side, so I didn't see it). So I had to change my tire in the parking lot, which was fun because whoever changed that tire last put the lug nuts on so damn tight that even jumping up and down on the wrench didn't loosen them until I'd been jumping for a good ten minutes PER NUT, and then once they were all off and the car was jacked up the wheel was -- wait for it -- FROZEN ON, and wouldn't come off. Fucking Minnesota. Pieces of my car should not FREEZE TOGETHER every time I need to change a tire.

So I yanked on it so hard I pulled a muscle in my shoulder. I felt it. It went RRRRRRRRRRRIP!! So now I have a gimpy leg AND a gimpy shoulder, and I am quickly running out of athletic activities to do. I can't run, or ride my bike, or use the stairmaster, and now I can't lift weights either. Lame, lame, lame.

Ultimately it seems the way to un-freeze a tire is to ninja-kick it a few times, so good thing I watched so many Ninja Turtles cartoons when I was a kid. Even though it got me mocked mercilessly because I was "too old" for Ninja Turtles, seeing as how I was in fifth grade and Ninja Turtles were for third graders. Whatever dude, I knew it would come in handy one day. Anyway, I got the tire off, put the donut spare on, and off I went to get it fixed.

But no! Foiled again! Not only did I pinch-flat very slowly, that pothole actually bent my rim, so I left the repair place with the donut STILL on, and I have to go back tomorrow and pay them one meeellion dollars to straighten my rim. Perhaps I should kindly request that the City of St. Paul pay for it, since they're the ones with the three-foot-diameter pothole in the middle of the on-ramp.

On the bright side, at least this time around I know how to change the tire, which wasn't really the case with the truck. I also got two flats in six weeks with the truck, back in 2003, the first time halfway up a jeep trail on Purgatory Mountain in Colorado (I left the giant metal bolt sticking into the tire and hightailed it back down the mountain, praying that the air would leak slowly enough that I could find people before it went totally flat), and the second time at 2:00 AM in the middle of Albuquerque when I hit a clump of barbed wire (in the middle of the highway) and tore a ten-inch gash in the sidewall. That one was even better - I flagged down some random old dude and begged so pathetically that he had no choice but to help, and as he was fixing my tire he told me that he was a Vegas lounge singer doing an old timey cowboy act, and not only that, he had a box full of demo CDs in his car, and when he was done with the tire he gave me one of those demo CDs. I still have it. It was terrible.

I went to WalMart to get the first one repaired, because WalMart is all there is in the middle of rural New Mexico. I handed over the truck, told them it was the right rear wheel, and sat in the waiting room for an hour and a half. Finally I was just fed up, because how long can it really take to fix a flat. I asked about it and the doofus at the desk said "oh, that one's done. It wasn't flat." I said the hell it wasn't, and the guy showed me my perfectly good, not-at-all-flat SPARE. No shit the spare isn't flat. Never go to WalMart, guys.

And those are all my flat tire stories. This is what you get when I have nothing to say but you pester me for blog posts anyway. I refuse to apologize.

and you thought mick jagger's belly shirts were inappropriate

2006-02-10T14:10:00.000-06:00

what a maroon!

2006-02-10T13:41:00.000-06:00

From Monday's hearing before the Senate Judiciary Committee:

GONZALES: I gave in my opening statement, Senator, examples where President Washington, President Lincoln, President Wilson, President Roosevelt have all authorized electronic surveillance of the enemy on a far broader scale -- far broader -- without any kind of probable cause standard, all communications in and out of the country.

The question: has Gonzales lost the ability to make sense because he's been hanging around Bush too long, or did Bush hire him because it makes him feel good to be surrounded by other nincompoops?

woodbury sucks redux

2006-02-09T13:40:00.000-06:00

Well, I'm not going to be on TV after all. My super-secret identity is preserved. Here is why: friggin' Woodbury has no coffee shops with free wi-fi, and since the story is about my blog, I do not get to be on TV if my blog cannot also be on TV. And I'm not about to invite any reporters into my office, no offense to Rick. Now, we all know Woodbury is one of the most soulless of the soulless suburbs, where Chili's is the fanciest restaurant and Chipotle is the most ethnic. Within two miles of my office there are two Caribous and three Starbucks. Starbucks charges for wi-fi and won't let us in, and Caribou does not have wi-fi. There are no other coffee shops. So now, as well as sucking my soul from my body, Woodbury has ruined my chances for fame and fortune.

BUT, the show will go on, and there will be other local bloggers featured (Smithers, I see what you're up to, ripping off my idea of prominently displaying Banjo Brothers stuff at the top of your blog), so everybody watch the 6:00 news tonight. And then go buy a Banjo Brothers bag, they rock.

BANJO BROTHERS ARE THE COOLEST!

2006-02-09T11:30:00.000-06:00

Get that remote ready, folks, because WCCO (that's channel 4 for you call-letter-challenged folks) is doing a story on my favorite bike bag company, the Banjo Brothers. Not only that, they are interviewing lil' ol' me for this story, so assuming I don't get cut for excessive lameness or something, you can tune in to see my shiny happy face as well. But with such a cool extra-credit shill at the top of my page, how could they stand to cut me? Smithers, eat your heart out.

The bad news is that the cat's most definitely out of the bag as soon as this thing airs, so I should probably spend the entire afternoon cleaning up my archives instead of working, because Lord only knows what unauthorized persons are going to be reading this thing. It'll be like when the Washingtonienne got outed, except, uh, not scandalous. Unless Talking Bathroom Lady recognizes herself. Then all hell will break loose. Is there a witness protection program for bloggers?

Anyway, congrats to Banjo Bros for all the publicity, and here's hoping you get a lot of new business from this. Buy local, support small businesses! What's not to love?

And, uh, hi co-workers. Dang it, I knew this was a bad idea.

US lacks clue re: freedom

2006-02-08T15:52:00.000-06:00

So I generally prefer to keep my political outrage off this blog, but you know, sometimes you're just crabby. Yesterday I heard that the World Trade Organization, otherwise known as SATAN, has "declared illegal" the European Union's attempt to ban imports of genetically modified foods. Back in 1998, the European Union decided they didn't want to import the stuff, so they stopped importing it. The US immediately filed a complaint with the WTO. Then in 2004 it filed another complaint, this time demanding that the EU hand over 1.8 billion dollars as restitution for "lost sales." Boo freaking hoo.

European people are deeply suspicious of this technology, as they should be. GM crops have not been proven safe, and there is a growing body of evidence to suggest that they are capable of wreaking all sorts of environmental havoc, including (but not limited to) the emergence of antibiotic-resistant bacteria -- like we need any more of those -- and herbicide-resistant weeds. But our country as a whole tends to pooh-pooh science and leap right into unsafe behavior if it happens to be more convenient than the safe, so naturally the US is where most of these frankenfoods come from. And everyone knows that the US produces vastly more food than it consumes. So, naturally, the US is producing tons and tons of supercorn that it needs to get rid of, and the EU has the gall to say they don't want it. Therein lies the rub.

Now, I'm not surprised that the US went sniveling to the WTO when it didn't get its way. Nor am I surprised that the WTO is stuffed firmly into the collective American pocket. What shocks the hell out of me is that they can do this. I don't claim to understand the inner workings of the WTO or what gives it its authority; I don't know if it intends to enforce this ruling or how it would do so. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what "fair trade" means. But the WTO says on its own website that it is "a system of rules dedicated to open, fair and undistorted competition," and last I checked, competition in the capitalist sense was more or less synonymous with supply and demand. We all remember high school econ, right?

But the new WTO ruling is essentially overruling the law of supply and demand. The EU has said quite clearly, there is no demand for your frankenfoods here. Hence the US (and Canada and Argentina, the other two biggest producers of GM crops) is creating a supply of useless goods, rather like an entire store dedicated to pet rocks. You do that, says capitalism, and you will fail. Go find something people will actually want to buy, and try again. So where does the WTO get off telling the EU that it has no choice in the matter, that it has to accept this potentially dangerous import whether it wants it or not? That's not a free market. I think they call that "rape."

"It seems to send a clear signal that any measures to protect animal, human and plant health have to be based on sound science," said Christian Verschueren, director general of CropLife International, which represents the global plant science industry.

....Trade sources also said the ruling would send a message to other WTO members, including some in Africa, which have been taking or are considering a similar line to that of the EU. [Reuters]

Oh right, sending messages again. Like DON'T MESS WITH TEXAS. See, I don't get how, in a system that purports to be committed to the ideals of capitalism and democracy, the appropriate "message" is that all these countries who do not want America's irresponsible technology wreaking havoc on their populations can't say no. Remember, this stuff has NOT BEEN PROVEN SAFE. The fact that it has not been proven unsafe after a few short years is meaningless. It took 60 years for people to figure out that radiation was dangerous. Given the likelihood of future problems, it's only fair to give other countries the option to reject GM products, but the WTO is now "sending the message" that they do not have that right. It's certainly not the first time the US has foisted its environmental hazards off on unwilling participants -- witness the Kyoto debacle -- but I don't know of any previous instance where an international organization has declared it illegal not to take it up the ass.

The good news is, the ruling won't be finalized for another month, and even then the EU can appeal. The bad news is, appeals are useless. Just ask Tyler Hamilton, still cooling his heels a full month after his 85th hearing. In any case let's hope it doesn't take as long to figure this one out as it's taking to decide whether global warming is real. Meanwhile, I have to get to my doctor's appointment. I'm growing a third ear and I don't know why.

"race report"

2006-02-04T17:22:00.000-06:00

Well, today was the ill-fated half marathon. It was 10 degrees when we left the house, probably 15 during the race, and me with this stupid boot that leaves my toes sticking out. I wore a cycling sock, a big wool sock that's supposed to go with work boots, a plastic bag, and one of Nate's regular white socks. And my toes were quite toasty, which cannot really be said for the rest of me.

I, of course, did not do the half marathon. I saw the others off, then waited around for the start of the 5k fifteen minutes later. And while I positioned myself way in the back of the pack, somehow there were a couple hundred people behind me again by the time the gun went off, and I almost got trampled to death.

I ended up in a loose group of about 10-15 people that were walking. I've never done a walking event before. A few of them had a flask of some kind of schnapps that they were passing around. A couple others were head-butting each other in the stomach as they went. These things don't happen when you're actually running the thing, even if you're looking at a 26 or 27 minute time like I usually am. So it was pretty funny.

The thing I didn't think of, of course, was the difference in height between the sole of the Big Black Boot and the sole of my running shoe. I had a huge imbalance in my hips, and I paid for it. My left hip still hurts. I will not be signing up for any more 5Ks until I can take this thing off. But it was worth it to do it once.

The end of the course features a one-block steep hill, followed by a gradual incline up to the finish. At the base of the hill I figured what the hell, I can pretend it's a race for a little bit, so I motored up that hill as fast as I could hobble. Which is pretty fast if I say so myself. I passed several people on the hill, and then several more on the false flat of the last few hundred yards. Three different people said "Man, the girl with the cast is passing us!" I had a distinct advantage, of course, in that the other walkers were walking because they were too out of shape to run, so it wasn't very fair, but I giggled every time I heard it anyway.

Of course they had an announcer at the finish, hollering out names and things, and this was being broadcast throughout the building where all the other participants were drinking coffee and eating bananas. I entered the finishing chute to the sound of "This is amazing, ladies and gentlemen, this is just incredible! She is crossing the finish line and she is wearing a cast!" I waved like a celebrity, and everyone who was standing around the finish line turned to see me.

I don't know what my time was. I think probably 47 minutes. The clock said 1:02 something, which confused me because that would be a pretty leisurely walk, but it turned out the 5k wasn't even being timed and that was the clock for the half marathon. (The first finisher of that race showed up about five minutes after I did.)

I got some free coffee, picked up my mug, and wandered around being accosted by random people who wanted to know if I actually ran with "that thing" on. Around 1:40 I went outside to wait for Nate and Scott to finish, and they showed up right on their target time of 1:45. And then the three of us waited for Sascha to finish, and then we went to some diner on Lyndale and stuffed ourselves with pancakes whether we had run 13 miles or walked 3. In fact, I ate more than either Sascha or Scott, and possibly also more than Nate. I should probably ride the trainer for a couple hours now to atone for that, I guess, but.... nah.

Uh oh, my computer is making strange noises. Better hurry up and post!

2006-02-02T13:56:00.000-06:00

Oh, and the groundhog did see his shadow. Whatever that means.

cautionary tale (updated, with pictures!)

2006-02-02T11:55:00.000-06:00

Well, to all y'all that told me not to do the half marathon, congratulations. I'm not gonna do it.

Here are some tips from the American Association of Orthopedic Surgeons:

Slowly increase any new sports activity. For example, do not immediately start running five miles a day; instead gradually build up your mileage on a weekly basis. Or, y'know, don't try and train for a half marathon in three weeks.

Use the proper equipment. Do not wear old or worn running shoes. Mine are 3 years old and have about as much cushion as Birkenstocks. I bought some new ones last week, but, y'know, too little too late.

Essentially, my last month has been spent following the Recipe For Stress Fractures to the letter. So I got one. Two and a half weeks ago, eight miles into a ten and a half miler, the top of my right foot started hurting a bit, but we were almost done, so I kept going. By the time we finished it felt like someone was stabbing a knife into the top of my foot, and I could barely walk for the rest of the day. (And I got kicked out of the hot tub too, the assholes. But you already know about that.)

But then it got better, and a few days later it didn't hurt at all. The scientist in me refuses to believe in something unless the results can be replicated, so did I stop running? Hell no. And the shorter 6.5 milers didn't hurt at all. However, another 10.5'er on Sunday brought it back, albeit as a dull pain instead of a stabbing one, but I once again found myself limping for the rest of the day and all the next day. And while I'm stubborn as hell, I'm not retarded, so this morning I went to see a carefully selected orthopedic doctor who used to be an elite triathlete, still runs marathons, and specializes in running injuries. She gave me the tough-love treatment and a huge-ass neoprene boot that goes almost to my knee and makes it impossible to go down stairs. She also told me not to ride my bike for three weeks, and while I dutifully lied and said I wouldn't, she saw right through my bullshit and called me on it. I guess that's what I get for picking a doctor who knows athletes. So then she informed me that it was my body and if I wanted to heal slower it was my decision, but I am not to stand on the pedals at all for the next month. Which is going to suck with a front derailleur that doesn't work, but I guess I'll deal.

So Tim was right. Running is bad for your health!

Now, about this half marathon. My original plan was to go ahead and do it, foot be damned, but apparently this has the potential to stick a fork in my cycling season around mid-May when all the little stresses I've been putting on it catch up to me and "bite me in the butt," in the doctor's words. Here I'd been assuming that if it doesn't hurt, it's okay, and that it was only my running career that was in danger, not cycling. And who really gives a rat's ass about my running career anyway. But, doctor knows best, and as an elite athlete herself I guess I have to believe her. But I'm pre-registered for the race, and dammit, I want my mug, if only so I have something to drink out of at the Drink Out Of Your Mug party that night. So you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to walk the 5k. In my neoprene boot. Wool socks, here I come!

Oh, and I'm going to go to Target and pick up some neon colored paint pens, so if anybody wants to drop by and sign my boot tonight or tomorrow, let me know! I'll be stylin' for sure.

more stickin' it to the man

2006-02-01T12:19:00.000-06:00

This kid kicks ass. Way to go, kid.

Male Student Wins Fight to Wear Skirt

January 25,2006 | HASBROUCK HEIGHTS, N.J. -- A male high school student can wear a skirt to school after the American Civil Liberties Union reached an agreement with school officials.

The ACLU announced the deal Tuesday. It will allow a Hasbrouck Heights School senior to wear a skirt to protest the school's no-shorts policy.

The district's dress code bans shorts between Oct. 1 and April 15, but allows skirts, a policy 17-year-old Michael Coviello believes is discriminatory.

"I'm happy to be able to wear skirts again to bring attention to the fact that the ban on shorts doesn't make sense," Coviello said in a statement.

The Hasbrouck Heights superintendent, Joseph C. Luongo, did not return telephone messages left Tuesday seeking comment.

Coviello first wore a costume-style dress but high school officials told him to go home and change. The district's superintendent then advised the Coviello to purchase everyday dresses and skirts at a retail store, which Coviello did, the ACLU said.

But after a few days, he was sent home with a note from his principal saying if he wore a dress, kilt or skirt, he could no longer attend school.

priorities

2006-01-30T18:28:00.000-06:00

I just got the save the date card for my friend Ali's wedding. They were eating popsicles when he proposed, and they're registered for two -- count 'em, two ice cream scoops. At least they know what's important to them.

and fer chrissakes, try google next time

2006-01-30T14:38:00.000-06:00

Today, while perusing my statcounter, it came to my attention that I would be the number one response if you were to ask Jeeves "Do students like to listen to music when trying to study? If so, what kind?"

Somebody out there has grossly inflated expectations of poor Jeeves. Jeeves will not go out and perform your sociology class experiment for you, no matter how nicely you ask him. In fact, Jeeves is more confused by your punctuation than anything else. Give the guy a break.

Poor Jeeves.

the sporting life

2006-01-29T18:04:00.000-06:00

If anybody was wondering where I was yesterday morning, it's because Nate and I got there 90 seconds too late and didn't quite have the time-trialing skillz necessary to catch the group before the World's Longest Stoplight. But we saw you guys from across the lake.

After we gave up we did our own 48 miler, then came home and ate a lot and took a long nap. Ah, winter. One thing is for sure though. When I get off the yellow bike and onto the Salsa, it's going to be like there's a rocket engine under my saddle, because the yellow bike a) weighs 26 pounds, b) has tires slightly wider than its brake clearance, so the front brake rubs endlessly, c) has tires that are not only wide (28mm) but thick-treaded, heavy, and inflated to a whopping 75psi, and d) is covered with mud, most of which is coating the chain. The latter can be blamed on no one but myself, and I will probably clean it this week (probably), but all together it makes it pretty dang hard to go 16mph. The Salsa snickers at me every time I come in from a ride. Yeah, I keep it in the living room.

And today we did our last long run before the half-marathon, splashing through puddles and accumulating snow on our eyelashes. I'm moving to Tucson, I swear.

Now it appears that I'd better go snag some food before Nate eats everything in the house. Which isn't much, so this is a very real danger. Goddamn grocery store, why does it have to suck so much?

hey, baby, can i anoint those with holy water for ya?

2006-01-27T15:31:00.000-06:00

Waco, Texas, which has never been known as a bastion of normalcy, has made news once again... for opening a Hooters. What's wrong with Hooters? you might ask. I go there for the wings, of course. But a number of religious leaders in Waco made it known that their fear of boobies far outweighs any love of delicious wings they might have. The protests were many, as were the pastorial signatures on the anti-Hooters petition, but in the end it seems God loves boobies as much as the next guy.

That's right, the new Hooters has been officially blessed. By a priest.

The evening before the new Hooters opened, Monsignor Isidore Rozycki, head Catholic priest for the Greater Waco area, offered a "special prayer of blessing" for the restaurant at a VIP reception.

“Blessings are part of the Catholic tradition,” said Rozycki, who is pastor of St. Martin's Church in Tours. “You bless the building so it will be a safe haven, so that the families that enter will be blessed, so the employees will be blessed as they support their families.”

None of the articles specify how thoroughly the priest may have blessed the waitresses.

“The Catholic priest that they had seemed to think that the rest of these ministers, about 60 who signed the letter of petition against Hooters opening, were a little narrow-minded,” says the Baptist minister who started the petition. “But the Bible does say, ‘Narrow is the way’ to life, and wide is the road to destruction.”

Waco Tribune article

Agape Press ("Reliable News from a Christian Source") article

ladyvelo, high priestess of the 27-tooth cog

when bike dorks get married

monkey on the loose

Ode to my Prizm

y'all still readin'?

legs? LEGS? ........where did you go?

taking the "estate sale" concept just a little too far

testing

it's pickle-licious!

cubicle on wheels

i sure do love that novocaine

slow-cooked bacon

this is what suck looks like

it's not just for breakfast any more!

TTFN, or whatever

there should be a law against races WITHOUT lemonade

open wide.....

help me, i'm scared

miscellaneous

eye candy

it just ain't right

wouldn't want you to have too much excitement on a monday

good luck, rob!

or i might just take up smoking

fat lady singin'

lance-like

"what's the damn holdup" indeed

yeah, still got nothin'

i love the smell of lactic in the morning

holy bloggin' bellas, batman

yawn

pep talk please

colonel mustard, in the ballroom, with the lead pipe

with friends like these...

i thought getting "goosed" was something else

yes, i ride the short bus.

not to give away our secret weapon for ken woods or anything, but...

public service announcement

strap yourself in and feel the G's

oh, crap

heinz 57

who needs the thought police when you have statcounter

opus #1

for shawn, who wanted to see me smile while eating peeps

happy friggin' easter

jelly bean update

*giggle* *snort*

you want excitement? read somebody else's blog.

warning: graphic, disturbing imagery

boop boop a doop

photographic evidence

pancake flat and only one corner, that's my kind o' race

first 2006 race report!

and they're off

git in mah belly!

share the road, y'all

new hell week photos

i'm super, thanks for asking

that's all, folks

pictures!!

whoops

thursday and friday ride reports, and 421.26 miles if you're counting

shift this

lurking on the dark edges of town....

hell week day 4

quick note

that's all, folks

look! i'm caught up!

belated Sunday ride report

belated Saturday ride report

well, we're in texas

i'm a real minnesotan now

random tuesday

and yet I watch every year anyway

MY pepsi bike is still in the basement, but....

night rider

countdown

end of an era

this just in: leader of the free world unable to walk and chew gum at same time

advertising is weird

giggle snort