fortyf15teen

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2010-03-21T12:31:00.001-05:00

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vans in my head...

2010-03-09T18:34:00.002-05:00

To get the most out of this post, hit play before you start reading.

For some, it's all about Chuck Taylor. In fact, a good part of my childhood was spent with the ubiquitous star on the inside of my ankles. But for the last ten years or so, I've been a Vans man. Slip-ons to be exact.

Anyway, here's every pair I've ever owned. Chronologically. Starting at 12 o'clock and moving clockwise.

My oldest pair has been through a lot, including spray paint and a Sharpie redesign. But they also show the wear that most Vans slip-on aficionados will be able to identify. The footbed is worn through to the rubber, the collar lining is shredded. Most obviously, the fabric across the foot is torn, propagated from that same spot - you know, where the vamp meets the foxing. When one walks in these shoes, the rubber foxing wants to pull away from the cloth across the foot and the point where your foot bends is where this eventually occurs. All in the game, though.

My favorite ones tend to be the loudest, because, well, you know me. Worn with a sense of irony, but not really.

And these are my "work" Vans. Much more professional than the others, of course.

If you feel like getting me a pair, I'm a men's 10.5. Have some fun with them here.

cure, part 2.

2010-03-05T14:34:00.001-05:00

A little more to cure what ails you.

Ah, the wonders of warm air and sunshine.

My favorite view on my favorite local road:

Four days ago this road was impassable.

palak daal...

2010-03-02T14:16:00.002-05:00

Followed this recipe more or less. A fine meal, though I could use a better recipe for naan than this one, unless my problem was using olive oil instead of veggie oil... Any insight would be appreciated!

RISE MY YEASTLY PEONS!

I think you know where this is headed.

cure...

2010-02-27T12:20:00.003-05:00

As I'm getting tired of this:

I slapped some fenders on the bike, my Performance booties on my feet, and braved the early morning flurries to meet up with fatmarc, denS, Sanford and Chappy for a ride.

Totally cured the cabin fever that's been building up this last month. Record snow still has the trails buried, and snow drifts and ice are hazardous, but things have cleaned up nicely.

And it turned out to be a blue sky kinda day.

Awesome Strap.

2010-02-15T18:20:00.003-05:00

So Michigan Matt, aka No-Buddy, is swimming in a sea of Awesome Straps, and decided I was worthy of trying one - the "Back 40." I just got it mounted on the Niner, and here are my initial thoughts:

Wow factor. At first I was thinking "Jeez, this thing is just a velcro strap. Couldn't I just get that at a fabrics store? Well, it's more than that - it's well thought out, and will hold your stuff in place while putting it on or taking it off the bike. Watch the video on their site.
Was definitely big enough for my 29er tube, a 40 oz CO2 cartridge, and a multi-tool with tire levers.
I found set up with ALL of the above to be kind of clunky. While everything did fit in the allotted space, it made the whole package too wide - thighs would have bumped while pedaling. Ultimately, I decided to pull out the multi-tool, and everything was much more neat.
Ease of access: I think it's a great way to keep a flat repair kit locked, loaded, and ready to go, and is easy enough to load and unload. However, I think the decision to remove the multi-tool is the way to go for two reasons: a neater package, but more importantly, my multi-tool will remain in the jersey pocket for easy access. I feel like one will need the tool more often than tube/tire levers/CO2, so it seems silly to pack it all up in the strap where you have to unpack the whole thing to get to the tool.

So, thanks to Matt and Backcountry Research. I'll give it a try and if I like it, I'll probably buy a 2nd for the singlespeed! It's DEFINITELY a step up from the seat post mount for the GI 40 oz CO2 Cartridge.

snow...

2010-01-27T16:03:00.005-05:00

tough cookie said it best, quoting Edward Abbey: ""one final paragraph of advice - do not burn yourselves out. be as i am - a reluctant enthusiast, a part time crusader, a half hearted fanatic. save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure."

This week's adventure brings us to Snowbird, Utah, to play in the snow. Here are some videos, as I lost my camera in a gnarly crash.

ripping some groomers.

finding the last remaining powder on the mountain.

more carving on corduroy.

and crashing.

silencia...

2010-01-07T20:39:00.004-05:00

It's hard to be sorry for the lack of updates. My blog silence has not been in vain. I've been enjoying myself outside of the internets and have been less than motivated to write about it.

Got out for a little ride tonight led my Michigan Matt and joined by others - Fatmarc, Dennisbike, L-web, J-bag, TedLogic, C3hris. Felt good to use my legs to propel a bike for the first time in a month. But the kibosh on riding beyond Middle Run at night and the leaking rear tire I kept refilling eventually sapped my motivation and I cut out of the ride a bit early.

Instead of riding, I've spend the last month enjoying the non-bike life. Two weeks were spent in the motherland, New England. A visit to Maine to see family, friends, the ocean, the mountains. All the things I truly love. A trip to Boston with Tough Cookie and friends for the New Year celebration. In true Brazilian tradition, I ate 12 raisins as the clock struck 12, one for good luck in each of the next 12 months. Then a hop up to Jackson, NH for more time in the snow and hills.

I caved and bought a new pair of telemark sticks. They were on sale, and despite the unplanned expense, the fact that the twin-tip design makes me look like some park-rat poser, and the ugly top sheet design, I am digging the way they allow me to keep my bad habits and ski like I sorta know what I'm doing.

So anyway, here are a few pictures to let you in on the action. Enjoy.

Sand.

Sun.

Cold brothers.

J-nice and Tough Cookie.

Spread: pomegranate seeds, toasted almonds, deviled eggs, stuffed figs, scallion pancakes.

More spread: cheese, fried plaintain, corn and cilantro dip.

TC, the Law, and B-RAD.

Blue and white and white and white.

Ugly new sticks on the left.

Sleep.

And your moment of zen:

Homebrew!

2009-12-11T21:27:00.001-05:00

Poor man's 3rd hand.

2009-11-27T17:32:00.000-05:00

Best way I've found to set up cantilever brakes.

this is my 300th post, or, send Jeb to Belgium

2009-11-13T09:09:00.005-05:00

But the number of my post is not important. What is important is helping a brother out. My friend and teammate Jeff "Jebbagger" Bahnson is trying to get to Europe to race some cyclocross at the highest level of the sport. Why is that name familiar you might ask?

Courtesy of cyclingnews.com

That's Jeb winning his 2nd National Cyclocross Champion title. That's right, his second title. So yeah, he's pretty talented, and is trying to see how he stacks up on the international scene. But, as you know getting to Europe is pricey, so he's looking for help to get there.

You should go here:
http://dccofd.org/jeffbahnson.htm#goreraffle.

There are some sweet helmet cam videos from some of Jeff's recent races. And there's an option to donate to his race fund to get him to Europe to race with the big guns wearing the Stars and Bars. Just to sweeten the deal, Gore RideOn Cables has donated 5 sets of their Professional System Derailleur Cables that will go to some lucky winners who have given generously to Jeff's Euro-campaign! These are the cables the Cannondale-Cyclocrossworld.com riders are using to dominate races...

monsters of folk...

2009-11-10T10:38:00.002-05:00

Saw the Monsters of Folk last night at the Academy of Music. They were a treat to see live. For four guys from three different bands, they had one cohesive sound, and they could have fooled anyone into thinking they had been playing together for years.

They played original MoF tunes, my personal favorite played last night was "Man Named Truth" (sampled below), as well as songs from the catalogues of M Ward, Bright Eyes, and My Morning Jacket.

It was spectacular to watch them switch from perfectly synced rocking out to solo and duet acoustic performances (crappy cell phone video below).

If you get a chance, go see them!

austin...

2009-11-01T21:26:00.006-05:00

Last weekend, I traveled with Tough Cookie to Austin TX to participate in the liveSTRONG ride for which we both raised money. It was a nice chance to see a part of Texas I've never seen, and is always fun to ride my bike somewhere new.

The weekend began with a walk around Austin, the Texas state capital city.

Some of the best facial hair I've ever seen. I wish I had the cojones to take a picture of this guy in his line of sight.

We visited the capital. There was a monument to the soldiers lost in the "War of Northern Aggression."

I told GW how I feel.

We also visited Mellow Johnny's bike shop. The place was PACKED busy. The most exciting part for me was seeing the "Shack's" HQ - all those bikes are rocking my bike cables.

US Service Course.

The next day, we got up bright and early to participate in the ride. These charity rides, while taking riders through some beautiful, scenic areas are terrifying. For at least 3 days after the ride I was having nightmares about several things:

Horribly ugly charity ride-specific jerseys... though I kind of liked this one for several reasons.

Guys on aero bars trying to weave through tight charity ride traffic at mach 0.9.

I was trying to capture this guy's heinous pit hair, but there are so many horrifying things in this picture, I'm not going to bother going into detail.

Cattle guards. They didn't bother me particularly, but a lot of people were going down on them. I just wanted to cross them alone, with no one around to crash me.

There were some beautiful moments as well:

The rivers were swollen.

Tough Cookie scopes out some alpacas.

Cock shot.

Fat Tire Ale and a shot of espresso at mile 50.

65 miles is now the longest single ride I've completed on a fixed gear.

A welcome surprise in Austin!

2009-10-25T17:45:00.000-05:00

IMG00001-20091022-2027.jpg

2009-10-22T19:47:00.000-05:00

My friend didn't know...

2009-10-14T18:57:00.000-05:00

this was in his fridge, and he's "not a big pale ale guy." And now I am going to drink it.

railing on my saddle...

2009-10-13T08:40:00.006-05:00

This past weekend I traveled north to visit by brother in lovely Saratoga Springs, NY. This is my brother, Eric:

My brother is not a hipster.

He may be looking guilty because I may have been chastising him about his fixed gear bicycle. It is an undersized Miyata with the original hot orange bar tape. I was not chastising him, as you might assume, for attempting to be hip with his fixed gear; really, I was disappointed he did not get orange DeepV rims to match the bar tape.

Here is his not-a-hipster bike.

My brother is cool: he went out and bought some good beer for my visit. And then we went for a nice bike ride out to the Saratoga Battleground. There were some beautiful views of the Hudson Valley and the fall colors in the leaves.

On the way home from 'Toga, I decided to race day 2 of Hudson Valley CX in Newburgh, NY. The NYCross Series, while growing, is definitely not quite at the level of competition seen in the MAC series, so it's always fun to jump in their races. While not a big fish in a little pond, I'm at least not the opposite, and in the past have done fairly well in the B races.

Anyway, I arrived at the venue, which was held in a park on the side of a hill. There was a lovely view of the Hudson Valley, and the course was pretty fun. After a preride, I noted several things: short lap, 4 dismounts per lap, and the last third of the course was all uphill. We would do a lot of laps, and that climb was going to hurt.

The ladies about to start with the Hudson in the background.

I got to the start line early, anticipating a scrum start, and I was rewarded with a front row starting position. The race started with 25 meters of asphalt into a 90 degree right turn onto grass. I was on the very inside of the front row, and the dude to my left arrogantly gave me a lecture: "Hey, just so you know, if I get a good start - and I will get a good start - I'm going straight for that corner. And I'd hate for you to be right inside of me, because I will have to chop you." I smiled politely and remarked that I didn't want to crash him as much as he didn't want to crash me, and that everything was going to be alright.

The race promoter comes to the front and dangles a pair of Maxxis Raze tires in front of us. "First one across the line after the first lap wins these!" And then, the official gave us the "GO!" I let d-bag take the hole-shot and jumped right on his wheel. We got a decent gap, and I just stayed glued to him. Through the second set of barriers, I got a little gap, so I thought: "Screw it, I probably won't win, may as well try to get some tires I can eBay." Plus it didn't hurt that I wanted to make d-bag suffer for his start line commentary.

The scene of the crime.

Held on to take the Lap 1, and at the end of the second lap I still had 10 seconds. I see "6 to go" so I sit up and wait for d-bag, figuring we can work together. He agrees, and off we go. Going through the same set of barriers I had attacked earlier, I feel something go horribly wrong on my remount, and eventually discover a few things:

There's a reason Bad Andy wants me to be smoother on my remount,
If you're going to put your saddle all the way back on the rails, you should probably just spring for a set back seatpost, and
I should probably lose some weight.

The damage to my otherwise awesome new rig.

You see, my saddle rails had folded under my bloated carcass, and that, my friends was the end of my race. It's awfully hard to put any power down with a saddle poking your prostate. I did finish the race, going backwards the whole time, because I didn't want to lose the tires to a DNF. After the race, a more friendly d-bag was perplexed by my disappearance. I pointed to the saddle, and we had a laugh, and he's not so bad after all I guess.

So to recap:

$60 USAC license
$30 race entry fee
Broken saddle, and need for a new seatpost
But I won some clincher tires!

It was a pretty good weekend.

assault on the southwest, 2009 edition...

2009-10-03T16:49:00.022-05:00

A little while while back, I sent in a little entry form to the D9 crew. Well, I was accepted to contend a second time for the title of Single Speed World Champion. Despite the fact that I had ridden my singlespeed all of 3 times this summer, a plan was formed: ship bike, head to Flagstaff, AZ. Rendezvous with the HBar Sandwich Crew. Shred the Southwest. Drink some beer. Then head to interbike for work.

Checkpoint 1: Flagstaff

Met up with Nathan and unpacked my whip. We headed out his front door for a little ride up the local mountain. Trails of note: Schulz Creek and Little Bear. Turns out climbing to 9000 feet on a singlespeed you haven't touched all year can be a little painful, but the descent was well worth it - rocks, flow, drops, sand, amazing views and switchbacks. Nathan dropped me like the low-land dwelling out of towner I am, but it was a great ride. Later, a reunion with some good college friends brought us out for some Thai food and some 80s themed dancing at a local drinking establishment. Flag is a cool little town, with some serious riders and some even more serious transvestites.

The view from Little Bear.

Checkpoint 2: Durango Colorado

I peeled myself out of bed and jumped in Nathan's car with Rocco and Chris. The goal was to drive across "The Res," surviving the Res Wind and chasing Res Dogs and make it to Durango with time to ride before the darkness and drunkenness set in. A few false starts, for instance one to turn off an iron that was already off, prevented us from arriving in time to ride. But drunkenness did ensue.

Sipping on a Res Soda on the way across Northeastern AZ.

New Belgium Brewing hosted a killer party with a band, dirt jumps, a bunny hop competition, and plenty of beer to go around. The perfect warm up for a World Championship Race. We slept like true Pros, wedged in the only open floor space in a condo with 18 other racers.

Also hung out with Chris and Kate of Albany fame, see also www.blk13.com.

Dirt Jumps.

Checkpoint 3: The Race

The race was scheduled to go off at 11 am, giving us plenty of time to get some coffee and sign in for the race. One of the organizers brought his childhood baseball card collection as give-aways, and I hoped that channeling a young Randy Johnson and Roger Clemens as spoke cards would only help my chances.

Here's my race report: 1000 racers. Lap 1: 6 miles of road / fire road climbing. 45 minutes of hiking, pushing your bike uphill in a long line of racers. Ridiculously rocky technical fun ridge riding that was partly unrideable because of the traffic. Fast descent. Lap 2: Much more flow. Just as much climbing / hiking. More sun. Bacon, whiskey, beer - none of which I was in any condition to consume. Super fun descent - I saw a girl puncture her thigh in a nasty crash. Then, 3 hours, 18 miles, and 3500 feet of climbing later, it was over.

2009 Hike-a-Bike World Championships.

Durango as seen from Raider Ridge.

The riding on Raider Ridge.

MJ pumping away. Soon he'll be a doctor.

Post party ensued, the centerpoint of which was the basketball game between "Italy" and "New Zealand" for rights to host next year's race. I use quotation marks because there was only one local - a Kiwi - between both teams. The really is nothing funnier than watching a bunch of skinny cyclists with little coordination playing ball for 45 minutes. The other highlight was the art show inside of Ska Brewing - featuring all of the entry forms sent in. 10 of the entry forms were selected to be photographed and framed and auctioned off. I was delighted to learn that I was one of the featured artists.

Beards represent.

White men can't jump.

Tattoo trophy time.

Gollum looking for "his precious" in the river.

Later I learned that Greg "Hball" Herbold was gifted my artwork after the show was over. Ironically, I learned this only hours after talking to HBall on the phone for a work-related project, so I called him back to let him know he knew the guy behind his priceless new art. Small world.

The artist celebrated with his masterpiece.

Checkpoint 4: Phil's World

On the way back to Flagstaff we stopped for a little shred in Cortez Colorado, on a trail system known as Phil's World. It is the home of the 12 hours of Mesa Verde, and we got in a nice 2 hours on some of the flowiest, rollercoasteriest, fun desert singletrack I've seen. Thought we were going to get bowled over by a vicious thunderstorm, but the rain passed just in time to rip through "the Ribcage" - the greatest collection of over-sized pump track I've ever ridden.

Riding along cliffs is fun.

Riding through an old burn.

Checkpoint 5: Grand Canyon National Park

Seeing as I had to travel west from Flagstaff, I figured I'd detour slightly and see the world's biggest hole in the ground. I parked at the visitor's center, and pulled my bike out of the trunk. Riding along the shuttle bus roads, I was able to see the canyon from 5 or 6 vantage points in an hour and half. Descriptors coming to mind include: huge and beautiful, and remote yet accessible. Threw my bike on the shuttle bus rack and headed back to the car to head to Vegas. A surprising highlight of that trip was crossing the Hoover Dam. Pretty remarkable that it was built 80 years ago, and even more remarkable is the bridge they're building across the canyon right now.

Big ass hole in the ground, click for full resolution.

I should have been a civil engineer.

Checkpoint 6: Interbike, Las Vegas, Nevada

Finally, Interbike. What a show. I won't go into it, as the normal rags will have far better coverage than the working man can provide. But I did get Eddy Merckx and Johan Museeuw to sign my Paris Roubaix book. And I got to see my bike cables on Contador's and A. Shleck's bikes. That was good enough for me to celebrate with a little karaoke and a nice sushi dinner.

The Tour de France winning bike, with winning bike cables.

The Cannibal did not want to be there, but he signed my book anyway.

My favorite display at interbike, click through and read the sign at the bottom.

Final Checkpoint: Back to Flagstaff

I headed back to Flag to catch a flight home. With a day to kill we fed Nathan and Rocco's pet spider, and then J-Money took me for a hike in Sedona. We headed 5 miles into the exposed, dry, skin-melting desert to find a glorious oasis: a cool, spring fed swimming hole in the middle of the canyon. The water was so nice on a hot day, and on the return trip we got some malted shakes at an alien themed diner. Sedona is one strange town, but goddamn, they can make a milkshake and fry some pickles.

Feeding the spider.

Hiking by prickly pears.

Oasis, with a dog sniffing my crotch.

cup holder...

2009-09-03T08:32:00.005-05:00

I've rigged up a "trunk" for my motorcycle redneck-style. It's great for commuting, groceries, etc.

This morning I experimented with a bungee-cord cup holder. Worked great, sadly my travel mug isn't water-tight, and I've got a nice coffee stain on my ass...

help liz and win some cool shit!

2009-08-28T14:08:00.002-05:00

Please keep on reading! A little bird tells me the prize list will keep on growing....

Hello and thanks for taking a moment (or two) to read about the raffle I've put together to raise funds for the Lance Armstrong Foundation. First, a bit about me so you know why this cause means so much to me personally:

I was diagnosed with lung cancer on October 24, 2006. I was 26 years old and was an avid runner and skier. I loved spending any and all of my time outside, and as you can imagine, this diagnosis came as quite a shock. Since then I have undergone chemotherapy, had 2/3 of my right lung removed, and went through radiation and chemo once again. Eight months after my initial treatments and surgeries ended, I was re-diagnosed once again and I've been on chemo for the year and a half since. Despite the treatments, I still find time to run, ski, rock climb, hike, and ride my bike. I've found a lot of strength through the community offered by the Lance Armstrong Foundation; it teaches us that we are survivors from the moment we are diagnosed, and we form a powerful army against cancer. The Livestrong Challenges take place all over the country and offer different ways to be involved - from volunteering to riding 100 miles - in order to spread the word about the LAF. My first year, just six months after surgery, I rode 40 miles. Last year, while on chemo, I rode 100 miles. This year I hope to do the same, only this year, I am traveling to the home of the LAF, Austin, Texas, to do it.

I like to think everyone has given me some strength when I have needed it and this year is no exception. So, read on to see how you can have a chance to win some great prizes and take part in a good cause all at the same time.

The event: The LizLivestrong Raffle
The dates: now until Friday, October 2 (Livestrong Day)

The goods: [the good part!]
- a daypack from The North Face
- a Nuptse Vest from The North Face (www.thenorthface.com)
- a gift card good for one pair of Dansko clogs (www.dansko.com)
- a gift card good for $50 at Trail Creek Outfitters (www.trailcreekoutfitters.com)
- a sweet pair of cycling sunglasses courtesy of Henry's Bikes (www.henrysbikes.com)
- a new cable set up for your road bike courtesy of Gore RideOn (www.rideoncables.com)
- awesome goody bags with tidbits from The North Face, Cannondale, Livestrong, and more

What to do:
- go to www.tinyurl.com/lizlivestrong. It will reroute you to my fundraising website
- make a donation. Here's the breakdown:
1 ticket = $10
3 tickets = $25
7 tickets = $50
10 tickets = $75
15 tickets = $100
25 tickets = $150
35 tickets = $200
- once you've made your donation, please send an email to "lizlivestrong@gmail.com". You don't have to put anything in the email - I just need a way to get in touch with you when you win!

- I will draw the winners and notify them over the weekend of October 2, which is Livestrong Day.

- think about making even a $10 additional one for a chance to win. At this time I am trying to raise $2,100 to hit my goal of $5,000 (which I have raised each year so far)

Please let me know if you have any questions! And please join me in a heartfelt thank you to the companies that have made donations thus far. If there is anything you'd like to donate (but not your old clunker, that is a different deal) please send word!

All the best. Be well and Livestrong,

Liz

lizlivestrong@gmail.com
www.blizzardd.blogspot.com

the SHT...

2009-08-25T16:02:00.002-05:00

This is why I trust Henry's Bikes with all of my bike-related problems:

Cottonball is a whiz kid.

wilderness 101...

2009-08-02T19:42:00.002-05:00

Not much to say here. This was the hardest 100 (and one) miler I've done to date. Some combination of a 2 day old hangover, unpreparedness, and the robust trails in State College sent me to a new depth in the pain cave. Still managed about 10 hours (10:09 or so).

The rigorous beating I received from the rocks, the cramps I fought from mile 27 on, and the loss of my favorite (expensive) Smith shades had me frowning and cursing for the entire 2nd half of the race.

Still, crossing that finish line is about as good as it gets.

un peu d'histoire pour vous...

2009-07-24T07:52:00.008-05:00

While I've never had a full picture of my family tree, I'm always intrigued by the story of my ancestry. I know my mother's father and mother met in France while my grandfather was fighting in World War II. My mother's mother's mother was a spy in the French Resistance; it was a moving moment seeing her photo and story in a museum exhibit at the US Air Force Museum:

Adrienne Poirrier was born in 1902 in Mauprevoir, France. Her husband Raymond was killed during the German invasion of France in 1940, leaving her with a young daughter. Working as a bookkeeper in a suburb of Paris, she joined the French Resistance. Her job at a city hall enabled her to steal ration coupons and blank ID cards, which were distributed through the underground network to Jews in hiding. Questioned three times by the Gestapo, she escaped arrest the third time only because her daughter Paulette removed the ration stamps hidden in their home and rode the Paris metro all night with the contraband. Paulette later married an American soldier, Robert Hinders, who brought her and her mother to Dayton in 1947. Adrienne died in 1984 but her daughter contributed her story for this exhibit. (from: daytonholocaust.org/book.htm)

My mother's father's history is a little more fuzzy for me, and I regret never hearing more of it before he died. I do know his family is French-German, and his American roots trace back to Texas. I have a handmade 0.50 caliber revolving six-shooter dated 1858 that belonged to his ancestry that defended the family ranch in Texas.

This past Christmas I had a chance to learn a little more about my father's side of the family. My grandmother pulled me aside at the annual family Christmas party and gave me something that had been given to her. This set in motion a semi-drunken conversation where I scribbled notes and tried to keep track of my lineage.

What I did learn was that my great-great grandfather, Thomas Cochran, was from Halifax, Nova Scotia. He fathered Robert John Cochran, who in turn fathered my grandmother Jean-Anne. She married my grandfather Harold Thomas, and together they named my father John Robert. When I came along, history made Robert John a logical name, as it was shared by my father's ancestry and my mother's dad.

This was Thomas Cochran's watch:

The inscription reads: "NWARC - 1901 - Regatta - 4 Oared - 1st." NWARC refers of course to the Northwest Arm Rowing Club in Halifax. A little internet search reveals that the 1901 regatta was indeed the club's first (books.google.com/books?id=hwpE.....) and that my great-great-grandfather belonged to the right crowd:

On the vacated property next to the NWARC a new club sprang up in 1904 - the Halifax Amateur Boating Club (HABC). It... differed from its neighbour in not permitting alcoholic beverages on the premises. The HABC was quickly nicknamed the Halifax Anti-Booze Club while its members referred to the NWARC as "the rummy crowd" because of their practice of accepting sponsorship for regatts and out-of-town trips from liquor distibuting companies.

So, I have a watch that not only holds some family history, but is a part of the history of rowing on the Northwest Arm in Halifax - a first place prize for the 4-oared race in the club's first regatta.

At the end of the day, very little of this history has any bearing on my day-to-day life. I guess it's nice to know the history behind my name, it's nice to know that my obsession with an endurance sport is not without family habit, and it's nice to know that they liked to party after they raced.

on deck...

2009-07-20T19:43:00.000-05:00

the rules...

2009-07-02T09:30:00.003-05:00

I suppose this is something I've wanted to write for about a year now; I've been sitting on the idea, letting it ruminate and congeal into something solid. The real spark was reading this, from Belgium Knee Warmers' sister site: Red Kite Prayer. I can tell you the moment the seed was planted for this post: I was riding the local Tuesday Night Hammerfest - the People's World Championship - a flat 30 mile course that is completed at redline in a nice double paceline. Sometimes, there are 3 or 4 riders who sit on the back and let the rotation occur in front of them, so if you should feel like you are about to pop, you can drift to the back and recover before rejoining the rotation.

During this particular ride, I was sitting on DenS' wheel, about 4th in the line. Stealthily, Dennis upped his pace and I blindly followed, clinging to his wheel at an already blazing pace. As Dennis pulled along-side the rider in front of him, he lightly flicked his elbow, letting me know that the wheel he was previously chasing was now mine to follow. He then drifted slowly to the back to recover. I was amazed by his savvy, smooth transition out of the rotation - he never left me a gap to close, he never slowed the group, he never gave me a chance to keep him in the rotation; suddenly he had just vanished. Had it been during a break in a race, this move executed at the right time could have given him just enough recovery to win a sprint or attack on a rise to go for the win.

Dennis' move is not something I ever would have learned if someone had explained it to me in words. Yet, in 10 quick seconds he taught me an invaluable lesson, subtle and beautiful. And for that I'm grateful. This got me thinking more about my history with cycling, which when boiled down is nothing more than a string of lessons learned from more experienced riders. The knowledge that I am now - and likely always will be - a small fish in a sea of talented cyclists is both humbling and motivating.

Reflecting back, I remember my first summer of road riding - I can only now imagine how Fred-like my behavior. I remember my first "paceline" with my friend Silas. I would get to the front and I would pedal five hard strokes, five easy strokes, repeat. It was driving him crazy. He got on the front and pedaled even, smooth circles and mentioned that I might try the same. I remember missing a clip into my pedals and falling over in traffic - stopping it for 30 seconds while I collected myself.

I remember riding Susquehana State Park with Peaches and Faticus, watching them descend over 12" water bars at speed with out the slightest hiccup. After smashing a pedal into my shin, I was able to follow their smooth motion to clear the bike over the logs without any more than a kiss of the front wheel to the wood. Now I relish logs and clear them without hesitation.

I remember cross practice at Recreational Park Y, watching E-town dismount and remount on the right side of the bike, thinking "I can never be that smooth on the right side when I already look like a fish on the deck of a boat trying to remount on the left side." Sure enough, at Fair Hill CX last year, I got bumped off my line into the barriers and was forced to dis-/re-mount from the right side. It went smooth as butter.

I remember learning how to prep and glue tubulars from the Angry German. The act seemed steeped in tradition, as much of the procedure (ritual) could have been old-wife remedy as it could have been true science. But either way, I now roll confidently on self-glued rubber.

I can hear Papa Smurf's voice in my head, mocking my mis-matched selection of clothing. Bibs from one kit, a jersey from another. Mountain bike gloves on the road bike with smart wool socks halfway up my calves. Functional, yes... proper? probably not.

All of these teachings have been unplanned, unspoken even. But the sum is greater than the parts. Knowing how and when to pull through, to pull off into the wind, to accelerate over the top of the climb, to lean the bike harder than I ever thought possible... All of these now instinctual actions I owe to someone, and I hope to pass on to someone else.

Part of the joy of riding is knowing you were once the biggest Fred of the group, and knowing that there is no other way to overcome that hurdle than to just ride and soak in as much as possible. Knowing that there is always more you can learn. Knowing that if you keep it up, you will contribute back 10 times that which you have absorbed - just by riding and showing others what you have learned.