Author Archives: Andrew

Inspiration

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It was 6 degrees and raining with a 24km/h wind so I didn’t ride today.  I must admit to being somewhat relieved after yesterday’s adventure.  In future, if I’m to attempt the Big Ride or some variation thereof, it ought to be on Saturday, or if it must be on Sunday, then a long weekend Sunday.  I need a day to recover – I was only marginally more functional than a flat tire today.  That’s probably not fair to flat tires.

This does bring into question my commitment to ride as late and long as possible.  If I’m not prepared to ride when it’s marginally above freezing, where am I going to be when it’s well below and everything is covered with snow?  You know what really sealed the deal though?  That wind.  As summer is slowly turning into fall, the normal wind direction has changed.  It’s no longer a predictable from-the-northish in the morning to push me to work and from-the-southish to push me home.  It’s windy more often and it’s stronger.  At least that’s my perception and my perception is never wrong.  Ever.

Wind is my nemesis.  A foe that cannot be predicted, calculated or practiced.  You could go and find yourself a climb and ride it repeatedly until you’ve tamed it.  You can plan your route around the hills or pick the easiest ones if you’re in “recovery” mode.  Not with wind.  It doesn’t care if you’re late for work and feeling sluggish – it’s happy to push you backwards requiring precisely 3 times your maximum sustained output to pass a speed-walker.  It cares not one whit if you’re already struggling up one of those aforementioned climbs-to-be-tamed and will gleefully add to your miserable struggle. It delights in changing directions such that you have a headwind at all times.

Despite my best (okay maybe more like passing effort) I haven’t convinced myself that a headwind is like a snap-quiz for climbing.  The best that can be said of the wind is that I endure it…when I have to. Forecast for tomorrow? 3 degrees at departure time. With a (light) headwind. But no rain :D

Something more inspiring:  It’s not my style of riding – my style is grunt-n-puff – but it is stellar. Best described as bicycle parkour.  Enjoy.

Danny MacAskill, Long Way Home

Excuses

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Let’s start with the premise that this is entirley about excuses.  The excuses you formulate in your head to questions that aren’t asked, scenarios that aren’t in play and situations that are wholly unlikely to ever play out.

I re-traced my Big Ride route today and added a detour into downtown Calgary to add some extra mileage.  I didn’t want to find myself short of the 80km target I’d set like last time out.  I was looking forward to having an excuse to chow down the Shot Blok’s Lemon-Lime flavour and the Crunchy Peanut Butter bar I had lingering around.  I got a late start but at least I had a reasonable temperature at that point.

The wind was blowing from the south which comprised the bulk of the route out.  I hate wind.  A lot.  Immediately I started making excuses about my speed to nobody in particular. I cranked up the tunes and started at my front wheel while I pumped away trying to get lost in the journey.  I’m starting to despise this part of my route lately, especially as part of the Big Ride route.  I’m getting bored with it, which doesn’t bode well for a winter on the fluid trainer or the rollers or both…or neither…I could go back to slothful fatness, hibernating the cyclist portion for the season.

I wasn’t feeling particularly pumped to be out.  There’d been a string of late nights and early mornings (they’re always early with 3 monsters on the go), last night no exception as Trace and I hit the town to watch my cousin’s Calgary debut with Static in the Stars (good show).  I’d “forgotten” my dietary restraint at the post-corporate golf supper Friday and had more than my share of roast beast, not to mention a number of trips to the dessert trays.  ”Oh, but they’re just little desserts” I’d said to myself “and all that meat is protein”.  Last night’s entertainment included a lousy meal at Chili’s (but with exceptional company) and yet more dessert.  ”I’m going to need these easy carbs for tomorrow”.  Excuses.  I felt fat, slow and more than a touch unhealthy.

The ride out consisted of nothing but the wind.  The excuses began again.  ”Yeah I know I’m slow today but it’s a recovery ride” or “my trainer told me zone 2, nothing harder” and my favourite “I had an ice cream at McKay’s in Cochrane before I left and am looking forward to a second one when I get back”.  Excuses. (Cochrane to Chestermere via the canal route is 74km one way.  150km is a good ride, a believable ride – heck, it’s not even a century – 100 miles.  Next summer’s goal)

I am pedaling along making excuses for my performance in a headwind to nobody in particular.  And they’re blatant lies.  I mean really…who am I lying to and why?  Why do I care what anyone else thinks?  That’s just it though isn’t it?  I can talk about not caring all I want, but when push comes to shove or rabbit comes to chase, I’m formulating excuses to use in conversations that will never happen.

I had to spend most of the ride staring at my wheel, my knees and the path at the leading edge of my helmet visor (while positioned to stare at my knees).  To look up at the path would mean suddenly knowing how far there was to go before the next corner might turn the headwind into a slight crosswind and relief.  About 14km out of Chestermere, the route starts to head northwest again, bringing some respite from the accursed headwind.

I rode until the path stops, did a u-turn and stopped for a quick drink and a note to let Trace know I’d at least made it here, and then started heading back.  The path was now full of casual bicycle owners, seniors trying to stay active and families out with the kids.  I passed them all with a flurry of shouting, jeering and pointing.  Okay, maybe not.

I got tangled up behind a senior couple and their dog in a trailer, trying to negotiate the barricade across the rural highway when two cyclists got tied up behind me.  I took advantage of the senior’s decision to walk their bikes across the highway and passed them, not wanting to end up behind the two cyclists.  Why?  Uhm…well…if you’re reading this and don’t understand why I couldn’t permit myself to be passed without a fight, then I’ve not been doing my job here.

I lowered my head until I could only see 3 or 4 meters in front of me and started to hammer away.  I stayed in lower gears trying to keep the cadence up and had to concentrate with every stroke to avoid slacking off.  I put some distance between us but they weren’t going away.  Each time we headed into the wind I’d drop a gear and fight to keep the cadence high, shifting up when the wind died down or our course changed direction.  I prepared my excuse “it wasn’t this windy when I rode in a few minutes ago”.

At the next crossing only one of them was visible with a quick backward glance, 10 maybe 15 meters behind me.  ”No way” I thought “not going to happen” but even as I said it, I continued to ride to the right of the path giving him lots of room to go around me.  I focused on each contraction, marveling at the leg’s ability (and willingness) to continue pedaling as hard as they were.  By the next crossing he and they were gone – I’d successfully ridden him off my wheel.  But I was going to pay the price.

I’d already made up my mind to head west into downtown hoping to put on enough extra clics to get the 80km.  I got lost – not actually lost but no solid idea how to get from where I was to where I wanted to be.  Sure, I could ride it like I would drive it but that seemed foolish.  I still managed to find myself in the middle of downtown Calgary on 5th ave crowded with afternoon traffic.  I made my way to MEC and was in the process of texting Trace to suggest she bring the kids when she pinged me asking to meet at MEC.  Tah Dah!

She was going to be 15 or 20 minutes getting there so having no bike lock and not finished my ride, I headed back out to put some more miles on.  I did  a quick loop, going up to 11th street, down 9th ave to 5th street, up to tenth ave and back to MEC.  I had little gas left.  I waited for Trace to arrive and stashed the bike in the van while we went inside, empty water bottles in hand.  I wasn’t sure yet whether I was going to complete my ride or take the right-there-easy-already-loaded-going-my-way lift home.

I was torn between wanting to go out to put in another 30 or 40km, whatever it would take to hit 100km, just finishing the ride with the original planned 80, or throwing in the towel and going home with the kids. There would be no shame or judgement in the van, in fact they’d be happy – but I’d know.  After stocking up on a fistful of Shot Bloks and bars and some Honey Stingers waffles, we headed back to the van, me still unsure of what I was going to do.  Here’s my excuse.

I couldn’t.  I just couldn’t do it.  There was no way, so I unloaded the bike, put my helmet on and bid the family adieu.  I made it half a block before realizing I hadn’t turned Strava back on and pulled over to the curb just as the family went by, smiling and waving.  I had a flash of “what have I done?” as they disappeared up the road leaving me and my salt-crusted face to pedal home.  I bobbed and weaved through the city until I could get back on the path, heading east towards my original route.

As I made the turn from behind the zoo (hello muskox!) and started heading north, I was greeted by an evil surprise.  The wind had changed and was blowing from the north.  A headwind in and out is so not cool.  Wiped from not eating enough, riding people off my wheel and getting lost downtown, the headwind blew off the last of my tattered spirit.  I shifted down and once again stared at the edge of my visor as I pedaled .  Slowly.

“Almost home free” I thought as I wheeled onto the last climb having spent the previous 20 minutes in the middle ring, barely pedaling.  I passed a woman heading up the same route “always one killer hill” I said.  ”it’s the top that kills you” she replied and she’s right.  The last couple of meters of the climb to Centre Street get steeper and steeper.  As I crested the hill at the stop sign, I could hear her not far behind me but with a gap in traffic and an overwhelming desire to not be on the bike anymore, I wasn’t waiting around.

I soft-pedaled home, let myself into the yard and stared around trying to figure out what to do.  Put bike away?  Get drink?  Sit down?  Where would I sit?  What would I do with my bike?  Dazed and confused I stood there staring blankly at the yard, happy to be home and not sure what to do about it.

Some observations gleaned from my 83km ride (yes – I hit and marginally exceeded my goal):  

  • Despite riding almost daily and logging over 1200km this summer, 80km is still a considerable ride for me.  100km might have actually killed me.
  • Lemon-Lime Shot Bloks are very, very sweet.  Tasty once but I don’t think I could have them as the only flavour on a long ride.
  • Clif Crunchy Peanut Butter Bar – not so peanut butter…or crunchy.  I’ve not yet determined what it tasted like.  It’s not my favourite.
  • I didn’t eat enough on the ride and ate way too much the two days prior.
  • Sleep matters – lots and I don’t get nearly enough.
  • Despite all of the excuses I made, getting lost-ish, a persistent headwind and a chain squeak that drove me out of my mind the last 25km, I still did it.

Rescue Bike!

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Back in Please Dad I blathered on about how I found myself riding a bike in my late 30′s and introduced the Canadian Tire distributed Supercycle BurnerAL that got me started. That is the best thing that can be said of it.  That and it’s shiny…ish.   I logged 40km on it before it committed suicide, almost taking me with it.  Fine payback after replacing the tubes, cleaning it up, adjusting all the mechanisms and trying to bring it back from a state of neglect.  Perhaps it knew I was already looking for a replacement.

It was during one of my I’m working up to the commute distance rides when it happened.  Riding through the Max Bell area, I was coming down from the parking lot, standing up and pedaling hard.  It broke, according to the GPS, at the same moment I hit 30km/h and started to sit back down.  What broke?  Well the seat of course!  It was pure luck that it simply gave away the moment I touched it.  Had It happened while I was actually planted on it, things could have been rather disastrous.  The break happened right at the end of the tube gussets, in the weld zone.  A close inspection showed clear embrittlement of the tubes where they’d been up against the weld bead.  That’s just poor manufacturing.

For four days I jonesed without a bike, no outlet for my new-found passion. Thomas had recommended a cyclocross style bike – put simply a road bike designed for changing terrain – grass, gravel, pavement, mud, snow.  He’d found a couple of Canadian-made Devinci Tosca SL2s for co-workers and they confirmed they were pleased with their purchases. Being of marginal means, I found an older Tosca listed on Kijiji and sent of a text to the seller (do people actually talk on their phones anymore?).  It quickly became evident they were not a bicycle enthusiast, clear they had little idea what kind of bike it was, what model, year or even it’s size.  ”It’s orange” they said.  I asked if it was sized for a woman  - which is admittedly vague and totally  without standard – they were pretty sure it was a woman’s bike.  I responded that it was too bad as I was looking for one for me.  They were pretty sure it was sized for a man now.  I hemmed and hawed but couldn’t stand being without a ride so made a date to head over and have a look.

To get to the seller, I had to pass by a large pawn shop and thought “couldn’t hurt – who knows what might be in there”.  I headed straight for the little collection of bikes and found all manner of BMX and children’s bike, but nothing for me until <cue halo glow and angel choir> there it was.  Spit-polished (maybe not actual spit…then again maybe, this is the ‘hood we’re in) glossy black frame with sharp white decals.  A MEC brand, Chinookmodel mountain/hybrid style.  Disc brakes, suspension forks, twenty something speeds…Ich muss es Habin!!

Rescue Me...please!

I looked at it for a while, looked at the price, looked at the components.  I don’t know anything about components – I’m not sure what I thought I’d learn by looking at the derailleurs and the cranks.  I checked the MEC website to little avail – the Chinook was apparently no longer available (though it is again now) so not a lot of information available on it.  I did find a price – $850 retail.  About half the cost of a Tosca SL2 so maybe half the bike….but I’m a new rider and I can trade up next year using my employer’s generous $600 per year fitness credit and have this year’s credit to pay for this used one here…now…in front of me.

I got a clerk to free it from it’s zip-tied state and tried it on for fit.  Hmmm…fits nice.  Which is to say I didn’t feel cramped or like a child on his dad’s old 10-speed.  I had no idea if it fits.  I know I can ride it comfortable for good distances today so…maybe?  I’d pretty much made up my mind to buy it by this point so I sent Best Wife a message looking for a little SST – sober second thought.  Here I am supposed to be looking at a cyclocross being hawked by a seller with no clue and I’m about to buy this bike that Thomas didn’t recommend because I’m sucked in by the paint and my desire to have it right now.  Trace did her best but I was hell bent on leaving with it.  I must rescue it from this pawn shop!  I bought it without knowing whether I could even get it in the car.  As I tried to stuff it in unsuccessfully, a helpful patron pointed out the quick-locks on the wheels so in the trunk they went (the wheels, not the patron) with the frame wedged into the back seat.  Chain grease on the leather?  Bah – I don’t sit back there.

It was perhaps not the smartest buy and unquestionably impulsive.  I occasionally wonder if I should have bought the Tosca but I see it’s still for sale, months later.  I’ve added some new street slicks which are as the name implies, slick.  Any detour into the grass and particularly loose climbs are a lost cause but thus far I’m spending most of my time on the pavement.  I pulled over the $30 Plant Bike seat I’d put on the broken bike (before it was broken clearly) and added bar ends for want of somewhere else to put my hands, some variation in position.

With an official 1170km on it now, the Chinook has performed without complaint, it’s lone flaw being that it threw me off as I attempted to corner it like a moto-gp bike.  While still pedaling.  I suspect this is not a flaw so much as the cycling version of a PEBKAC error. All hail the Rescue Bike!