Having had a first-rate experience with the staff at Ridley’s Cycle in my pursuit of a Ridley X-Fire, I was anxious to get back to them and get sized up.  So anxious in fact that I showed up in my jeans and steel-toed shoes.  Not exactly the ideal footwear for the sizing but Ridley Cycles owner Ron Uhlenberg rectified things by finding suitable shoes for me to borrow.

The fitting made one thing perfectly clear – bicycle sizes are some combination of dark secrets, marketing and perhaps tradition.  They are not transferable nor comparable.  They only possible way one could purchase an unfamiliar bike via the internet or any other not-in-person experience would be to take advantage of the appropriate dealer and use them to figure out the size, otherwise the fit is almost a complete gamble.  I’m quite comfortable on my XL-sized Rescue Bike, but only a 54 in the X-Fire line while Adam who is slightly shorter than I is a 54 in the Stevens, which is too small for me.  Worse than sizing pants.

It didn’t take long for Ron to determine the correct size and a reasonable on-the-fly fit.  I left them a deposit – which they accepted – and we made a date for a proper test ride a few days out.

Test ride day.  I’m nervous and excited.  I haven’t ridden an all-carbon or even a carbon fork bike before.  I haven’t ridden drop handlebars since I was 10 or 11, borrowing my neighbour’s much-to-large 10-speed.  Apart from its inappropriate size and it’s orange colour, I recall being handily beaten by my father on his three-speed commuter bike.  I don’t know how to use the indexed shift levers on the X-Fire I’m about to ride.  Will I fall off it in an uncoordinated disarray of clipless pedals, foreign riding position, alien controls and unfamiliar territory?  Am I going to embarrass myself such that the staff at Ridley’s snicker about me, remember that guy, long after I’ve slunk away in shame?

I rode the Rescue Bike down into Kensington, more aware of the tight-fitting jersey around my mid-section than I wanted.  If nothing else, standing around a bike shop clad in paper-thin, skin-tight (and immodest) clothing is socially tolerable and the one place you don’t feel completely in the eyes.  Ridley’s was humming with activity, the weekend crowds browsing through the large selection of bikes and accessories, staff trying to make sure everyone was being looked after.  This meant standing around all sweaty amongst a sea of casually clothed couples and much fitter lycra-clad triathlon types, none of whom were perspiring on the floor.  As luck would have it, Ron appeared within a couple of minutes and didn’t bat an eye at my dubious appearance, instead grabbing the X-Fire and making sure it was ready to go.

I wheeled in the Rescue Bike so they could pull its Crank Brother’s pedals to install as my fancy shoes wouldn’t work with their standard range of pedal offerings.  One of his mechanics noticed my pedals and offered up a set he’d been given, rather than R&Ring the ones from the Rescue Bike.  Bonus!  Within moments the bike was ready and I was heading out the back door of the shop for my ride.

I had no choice but to admit to Ron that I had no idea how to operate the gear selectors, adding to my general feeling of trepidation.  He responded as if my question were the most natural in the world, explained their function and sent me on my way.  He managed to do this while displaying a confidence in me that I didn’t feel.  I headed towards the 19th street hill to test the gearing.  Well…really, to test myself – am I capable of making the 6-block, 7% grade without horking up a lung or resorting to pushing?  I’ve been hauling my Clydesdale self around with the knowledge that salvation was at hand in the form of the triple crank and it’s granny Clydesdale ring.  The standard configuration for the new bike is a double – no bull-low gear for slogging up steep hills – and the rear cassette size is limited by the derailleur capacity.  With the Road to Tibet as my season-end goal, the ability to get up and over those 5 hills is heavy on my mind.

The 105 group shifted nicely and the close spacing of the rear cassette was a nice experience having ridden only my widely spaced 32-11 in recent memory.  The bike proved to be very responsive to pedal input which I attribute to the larger diameter tires (and their increased willingness to rotate).  It was the first time I’d tackled the hill and I found myself boggled pondering the performance of the Grand Tour riders where a 7% grade barely ranks despite going on for miles, not blocks.  No lying – it was a full effort to make the climb without getting off for a push but I made it to the top with both lungs still inside my chest cavity.

Traffic along 14th Ave was busier than I would have liked but the X-Fire accelerated rapidly and settled into a rewarding cruising speed despite the hill we’d just climbed.  A dodge and weave through the SAIT/ACAD grounds and out to Tenth street where I managed to spin it into high gear.  The short descent was swift and stable, the bike quickly proving comfortable despite my novice skills.  I navigated back to Ridley and with much reluctance, gave them back their bike.  Ron chatted with me about the bike, my comfort level, the gearing, the setup.  He proved eager to examine different build options while ensuring I was aware of the cost implications.  I was still (and am still) on the fence about the gearing but it’s reassuring to have Ron and his operation willing to work with me to make sure it’s right.

The rim brakes?  Scared the crap out of me.  I’m sure that the very best rim brakes are much better than the standard offerings on a stock bike, but I’ll bet the most basic of disc brakes from Shimano outperforms them with ease.  The first words that pop into my mind when I think of rim brakes?  Vague, ineffectual, quaint, traditional.  Terrifying.

The real test of course would be to ride the Rescue Bike along the same path and compare the results.  The thought of going back up 19th wasn’t enthralling admittedly, but the masochist in me thought it might be fun.  It wasn’t, but it wasn’t the end of the world either.  I was slower on my way to 19th, but climbed it slightly faster having the benefit of a lower gear and greater familiarity with the bike.  It was still enough work that the thought of completing the entire test-ride loop back down Tenth, only to have to climb back up Tenth (or 19th…again)  to go home overwhelmed even the masochist.  I cut it short and headed for home.  I had no doubts about the choice I’d made.  I still liked (like) the Rescue Bike, but now I know what I’m missing.

For the first time ever, mid-September can’t come soon enough.

I’ve got a bug in my throat and I can’t breathe – figuratively and literally.  Okay I’ve dealt with the literal one – would be awkward for all of us if I hadn’t.  I was jamming along, minding my own business while attempting to induce cardiac arrest or a cyclist’s high – whichever came first – when I was attacked.  I don’t know what else you might term it when a large, lumbering object is suddenly subject to lumber-interuppting interference by a small, quick object.  Domestic terrorism maybe…

At any rate, while I was heaving and panting and sweating along, a large-enough flying insect of some sort thought it his (or her) duty to fly directly into my epiglotis and lodge itself there, thereby interuppting the heaving and panting.  Maybe not interupputed all together but there was a sudden lack of airflow, a lot of choking and coughing and perhaps a bit of wretching.  This – of course – took place in front of an audience of amused joggers.  I blame them.

Figuratively…despite all the best intentions paving my road to hell, I haven’t written anywhere nearly as often as I’ve ridden.  Having logged approximately 2350 kilometres this year outstripping last year, but somehow all of that time in the saddle has produced little at the fingertips.  This is not limited to my own ranting-space either as, after a single article was solicited and published on another site, I turned down further requests.  It’s like there’s a great big monkey-wrench jamming the noggin-works.  Fuel in, fart jokes and blank stares out.

I’ve wanted to write about my not-yet-arrived new bike but have been waiting for something – perhaps the bike itself – but wait no more!  After my somewhat unsuccessful attempt to give a local bike seller a large amount of money for a Stevens Vapor Disc cyclocross model, I conceeded defeat to their superior no-bike-for-you! tactics and looked elsewhere.

I spent a lot of time pondering a self-built bike.  Components like seats, drive-trains and wheels are, like the automotive world, available any and everywhere and inexpensive full-carbon fibre frames from China are starting to take hold in the DIY market.  Initially I had philosophical issues with buying a frame made in China.  I prefer not to send my money out of the country, especially for what is ostensibly a luxury item necessary transportation device however research quickly showed that bicycle parts are made in Taiwan and China, full stop.  Really?  Just China and about-to-be-China?  That’s all?  In a word, maybe.  If you ignore the outrageously expensive hand-built, artisanal, bespoke creations available from a handful of builders, then the word is yes.

That carbon fiber Colnago that cost you 5 figures?  Yep – frame is made in China.  That Trek?  Yup.  Cannondale?  Offshore.  Specialzed?  Oh yes.  Giant?  Well that’s actually an interesting story.  Giant was an offshore supplier for the big OEMs and decided “wait a minute…we build the skeletons for everyone else and all they do is buy stuff made at our neighbours, bolt it to our skeleton, slap some decals on it and sell it for a fortune…we could do that!” and so Giant was born.  Virtually every single bicycle in your local bike seller, and positively every bicycle in your local hardware, sporting goods or mega-retailer, has a Chinese-manufactured frame.

All of that is to say – I quickly dispatched the philosophical argument, for if I wanted a new bike, the frame was coming from the far east.  I poured over the hundreds of pages on internet forums discussing the trials and tribulations of home-built bikes using Chinese no-name carbon fiber frames.  Most of the stories were good, excellent even.  People who had quality control issues had them resolved with no more hassle than dealing with any other manufacturer, deliveries were late but generally complete, the service was totally sporadic but the price was unbeatable.  Full carbon frame, fork, seatpost, clamp and 2 water bottle cages shipped to Canada for under $800.  With more than a couple of hand-built custom motorcycles under my belt, I figured this would be a walk in the park.  How could I say no?

By finding exactly what you want, at a price you’re prepared to pay, from a fantastic local reseller.  What do I want?  Simple – cyclocross bike (think fatter-tired road bike), with disc brakes.  That’s it.  Disc brakes on a ‘cross bike.  You’d think it would be easy, but no.  Specialized makes a line of them one model but frankly the bike was ugly.  Stevens makes one – $2750 was the local quote – aluminium frame, carbon fork BB7 brakes, Ultegra drivetrain.  Seemed like a very steep upgrade over the aluminium frame, carbon fork, no-brake brakes and 105 drivetrain for $1700.  Plus there was that whole “we’re not going to order that for you” thing.

I kept my eyes open, looking at different models, watching for rumours – Raleigh is set to dump a gorgeous disc-equipped ‘cross bike this year, but I suspect it’s going to be priced somewhat higher than I can afford and at last look, there was nothing official on their site.  Colnago introduced 2 new disc models – one road and one ‘cross, but the local seller is the same that wouldn’t sell me the Stevens and really, the price is beyond the purchase-without-divorce limit.

Enter the Belgians.  Cyclocross is Belgium.  We are Belgium.  So is the proclamation on the inside of the chain stay of the Ridley X-Fire Disc.  As it happens, Ridley Cycle is the local Ridley dealer.  (Sounds obvious but Ridely Cycle was actually opened by Mr. Ridley in 1945 with no association to Ridely the bike manufacturer.)  I headed to their shop in Kensington to get the story on the X-Fire.

I spied the 2012 X-Fire on the floor and headed straight for it.  A beautiful piece of bicycle art, a shame the 2012 wasn’t available with discs – I’d likely have purchased it on the spot.  I poked around for a moment before Jared offered to help.  I quick inquiry as to price and expected delivery on the 2013 model brought mixed news.  “Ridely tends to ship late in the year or even next year so we may not see the 2013 model until December, maybe January.  I think the boss just arrived so I’ll check with him on the pricing and see if he’s got information on delivery“.  December?  NEXT YEAR??  Oh man, I want to ride it this year.  I want to ride it now.  I put my inside pout on while nodded in agreement.

Jared arrived back with much better news.  “Ron expects them mid-September and the price is $2650″.  Wahoo!  In time to ride this fall, cheaper than the Stevens and…it’s full carbon.  I jumped up and down with excitement (on the inside) while casually breaking into a face-splitting smile.  Moments later the boss – Ron Uhlenberg – shook my hand, introduced himself and handed me the spec sheet for the 2013 model, followed by an invitation to fit for the right size and a test ride.  “Give me a call when you’ve got some time, we’ll get you fit to make sure we order the right size and if you’ve got time after that, we’ll get you out on the 2012 model to see how you like the gearing”.  I’d expressed some reservation about going away from the low gearing of the triple crank on the Rescue Bike – I’m fitter, but I still fight my way up the hills, slopes, grades and hummocks.  He grabbed a business card, scribbled something down and handed it to me, “I wrote my cell number too – give me a call” and shook my hand again.

I’ve been back since but that’s for Part Two.  Tomorrow.  Maybe…  At any rate, I can’t recommend Ridley Cycle enough – fantastic friendly staff, first-rate customer service and  – go figure – a desire to put me on a bicycle that I want to buy.  Credit to Dr. Larry for the nudge to find a new bike shop to deal with.  This is his fault - Thanks Doc!

Where were we?  Ah yes – I’d donated blood for the first time and was subsequently told to avoid any physical activity for several hours.  This presented complications for the ride home.

Never one to take professional advice at face value, I suited up, saddled up, clipped in and pointed north a few minutes after five.  I’d spent a few minutes at the end of day putting together a chart to calculate the optimum heart rate range for fat-burning.  It would seem that the body utilizes different fuels or different combinations of fuel depending on its exertion level and given I have an excess of fat fuel these days, I figured it would be good to deplete that first.  Turns out, the optimum range is “zone 2″ (of 5) – a level of effort not particularly taxing.  I don’t spend more than a minute or two in Zone 2 unless I’m waiting for Eldest Boy to push his bike up the hill.  Again.  At any rate, I decided my post-donation ride would be the perfect time to cruise in a relaxed zone 2, burning fat all the way home. <it’s not as simple as heart rate x = fat burn – see bottom>

It started out well enough.  A nice easy gear and a casual pace for the couple of hundred meters, but then you need to sprint across the intersection the moment the light turns green to grab your bit of gutter.  The body’s response was positive – we like this it said.  I pedaled on without putting too much into it, wanting to get off the road and onto the path where one can truly relax.  I jumped on the path still feeling pretty good and made my way towards 17th ave and the first effort-required hill.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned this year, it’s to take advantage of any downhill section that will give you momentum for a following hill.  Doing this at 17th Ave is a risky proposition with poor line-of-sight as you head under the road.  It’s not often populated but when it is, there’s usually people splayed all about, not paying attention.  This is not a good recipe for building speed.  I headed down the slope, hand on the brakes, keeping it tobefore hammering away for all I was worth to roll up into Max Bell.  It worked exceptionally well and I was barely breathing.

I carried my <completely responsible, prudent and legal> forward motion through the first half of the section, marvelling at how easy it felt.  A glance at the heart rate monitor (fully Fred geared, except for the power meter – what can I say) suggested I was straying from my fat-burning plan but you know what they say – all good plans have room for change.  I pushed on, again pedaling down the hill to try to carry as much speed as possible on the up-side, once more leaving me surprised with the perceived lack of effort.  I climbed up and over Deerfoot and down onto the canal path feeling stellar but casual.  A rabbit appeared as I crossed the canal and any remaining thoughts of taking it easy went straight out the proverbial window.

Hammer down, mash the pedals, click-click-click down the cassette into high gear and away we went.  I was no longer cruising but working hard, hard.  Heavy breathing, sweat dripping and the heart rate monitor pegged well into zone 5, bumping off my peak heart rate.  I passed my rabbit with velocity and kept hammering away.  I’d been faster along that section but only with a tail wind.  I kept checking the heart rate monitor and was surprised to see it bouncing along in the high 180s, well into the purely carbohydrate burning mode.  I didn’t feel like it was that high.

I kept waiting for the physiology to catch up and shut me down.  Theoretically, one can’t operate long at that end of the heart rate spectrum.  I pushed on, revelling in the effortless speed I was experiencing.   continued to plow headlong down the pathway, speeding up hills and flying down, passing everything and everyone I could I find.  As I got to the end of the path and the beginning of my final leg of climbing, I sprinted as hard as I could making it almost all the way to top of the bus-trap hill before having to drop a couple of gears.

No longer dripping sweat but leaking like a faucet, I ran out of steam at the top, slowing to a crawl.  I burn out here every time, gamed by the thought of the climb that – really – isn’t all that bad.  It’s flat or may as well be flat from there to Centre street, a quick crossing, through the alley and then the steadily increasing grade until 4th street followed by the hill home.  None of it is killer and I’ve slowly beaten parts of it down into submission over the summer.  Mostly in fear of not being able to ride it when my new bike shows up…but that’s another discussion.  I pushed on, tired but invigorated.

In the end, I spent 7.3 of 14.6 kilometers – which was fully 50% of the ride time – above 175 bpm, most of it in one continuous stretch.  When I got home?  I felt like going again.  Donating blood hadn’t sap’d me of anything – it was like being juiced!

So what’s with the Rescue Ride?  That’s what I’ve decided to call this kind of session.  A rescue ride.  A rescue from the slogging, from the legs-of-concrete, the headwinds, the flatting – all of it.  A great big, gigantic reward ride.

——————————-

Fat burning heart rate – this is a new area of physiology for me having vested the bulk of my learning in this area into…well, bulking up and getting leaner as a side-effect, not a focus.  At any rate, your body is like a car with a couple of tricks up it’s sleeves.  It requires fuel – we require fuel.  If you put more fuel than needed into the tank, it spits it on the ground.  Our prehistoric physiology is hard-wired for survival and bouts of fasting – any extra fuel is stored in fat cells.  Every day you will consume X amount of calories going about your life – where those calories come from depends on your level of exertion (and where they go to depends on your body composition – muscle requires energy – more muscle, more energy required, more calories required = more food required – muscle burns fat just by being there – how cool is that?).

I didn’t burn much in the way of fat calories on my ride – 44 seconds worth according to Garmin, but I used a lot of fuel for the ride – 15-20% of my daily food needs.  So food that could have been stored as fat, was used to get me home along with local glycogen stores.  Yay!