Tag Archives: cycling

To Cover, or Not to Cover. That is (not) the question.

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Warning – this post contains a graphic photo of my legs.  There is also a fresh flesh wound.

I wear a helmet when I ride.  It’s one of those things that happened not out of planning but happenstance.  With three kids on the go, all of whom at least appear to enjoy playing on their bikes – and all of whom fall down – it made sense for them to wear helmets, not to mention they brand you a bad parent and take your money if you don’t.  No amount of coaching a 2 year old on a bicycle is going to instil a sense of caution that isn’t either innate already or life-long debilitating so you eliminate the hazards you can (traffic, hills) and try to protect those you can’t.  I started wearing one when I started cycling to set an example for the kids, besides it would have been odd to wear one before I was riding.  It’s now as routine for them as putting on their shoes – if they’re heading for their bike, they have their helmet on.

When Enthusiasm Overcomes Ability. A Confidence Apogee

I know some folks would shudder to expose their children to harm of any sort, but that’s not us.  Scrapes, bumps, bruises – those are lessons.  Who hasn’t had a scrapped knee or bloody palms as a kid?  Or an adult…

Your head though – that’s a different thing.   Sure, any number of maladies can result from improperly addressed wounds but by and large you grow some new skin, suffer the sheets sticking to your oozing flesh for a couple of nights and then business as usual.  Knock on the head?  That’s too risky for this cowboy rider.

I am on the side of personal choice with these sorts of things.  I think as an adult, I should be the individual who decides that I wear a helmet on my bicycle or my motorcycle or skiing, snowboarding, caving, climbing or any other activity where you might want to wear one.  In anything involving falling objects or movement at speed on unforgiving surfaces however I think you’re nuts if you don’t.  Borders on idiotic.  Why?  Pretty straight forward really.

Your head contains your brain – I realize this comes as a shock to any woman who knows young men but it’s true – and your brain is rather important, however nature saw fit to give you just one.  It’s like nature looked at humans and decreed “if you’re going to be so fool as to mess your brain up, perhaps it’s best you do”.  Big deal – so your brain is in your head.  What ev.  It’s only the thing that controls everything about your very existence after all.  Your personality, your memories, your decision making processes.  Then there’s the more significant stuff it controls like your heart, your lungs, all of your senses, motor control.  Why wouldn’t you want to protect that thing?  It’s the essence of you after all.  Why do you lock your bike up to protect it but not wear a helmet?

The following argument: the safer you make a given activity, the more careless become the participants thanks to the reduced risk.  Full agreement.  Thing is, brain injury takes remarkably little impact, speed or spectacle.

True story time.  When I was in my early 20s, I had a motorcycle accident that totalled my landlord’s custom Harley and put me in the hospital.  An old man with his nurse in the car (not kidding), turned left across the intersection I was riding through and clobbered me.  I still remember the moment after impact and thinking “Holy sh*t!  I’m flying through the air”!  Things got a bit fuzzy after landing however despite the damage to my wrist, my leg and my foot and the complete loss of the motorcycle now trapped firmly underneath the offending car, my helmet never hit the ground.  There wasn’t a scratch on it.  Had I not been wearing the helmet, I would have walked away without so much as a bump on my noggin.   Okay, I wouldn’t have walked as the helmet’s presence had nothing to do with the gaping flesh wounds and exposed bone but you get the idea – the helmet served no function in a rather spectacular crash (that even blew my shoes off – wear boots).

Fast forward a few years.  An employee of Harley-Davidson Canada whom I knew went to work as an instructor teaching other coneheads like myself how the ways and means of Miliwaukee’s offerings.  While fooling around one afternoon, he took one of the program’s motorcycles into the small parking lot behind the classroom, wheelied it at a rather benign speed, lost control and went over backwards - I’ve recently been correct – the front end washed out when the front wheel came back down and he went over the bars hitting his head.  No speed, no drama.  He was pronounced brain dead a few hours later.  Had he been wearing a helmet, he would – literally – have walked away.

Yes….those are motorcycle accidents but they’re true and I’m using them to illustrate that one does not require a “typical” accident to end up dead due to brain injury.

I’ve heard this argument too: “if I’m in an accident with a car, I’m a dead man anyway”.  Okay – yes, in an altercation with a car a cyclist (motor or pedal) is always on the losing end of the deal but death isn’t the inevitable outcome of those accidents (see above).  That’d be like saying I don’t need to wear my seatbelt because if I have an accident with a gravel truck, it’s going to squash me and my car anyway.  What about all the other things that might put you in a situation that involves your head contacting something not moving in the same plane and direction?  An errant dog, unexpected ice, dive-bombing hawks, me throwing my water bottle through your spokes so I can finally pass you…the possibilities are endless.

Here’s what really boggles my mind though – there’s no down-side to wearing a bicycle helmet.  It doesn’t impede your vision like a motorcycle full-face helmet, doesn’t look any different than 99% of the other cyclists (so it’s not like you’re sticking out amongst other riders), you’re already wearing Lycra pants with a diaper stuffed in them – who cares what the non-cycling populace thinks, they’re not hot, they’re not heavy (I’m sure I have toques that are heavier than my cheapo $80 helmet)… The question isn’t why should I wear a helmet, it’s why wouldn’t I.  Why wouldn’t you?

Exuberance

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Have you ever had one of those rides where everything just clicks together? The wind (for a change) is at your back, the sun is shining and the bike just wants to gooooo. That was my ride home. Rabbitless as it was, I arrived home feeling jacked instead of beat, a giant grin plastered across my face. Suffering? Not today friends, not at all.

It wasn’t an ideal ride – a pair of dawdling, wandering commuters on the path in front of me clogging the descent off the Memorial pedestrian bridge meant I couldn’t race down the ramp and cut the corner while carrying all kinds of speed. I slowed, I waited, he wandered around the ramp some more, on-coming traffic preventing me from passing him. The instant he was to the left, I mashed the pedals the remaining ramp distance, through the grass and up-n-over the corner-cutting hump, pedaling the entire way. I came out ahead of him but barked out an “on your right!” warning out of some smidgen of path etiquette. He quickly disappeared from the tiny view provided by my Fred mirror.

With no bait to chase and not being the rabbit myself I started to imagine scenarios to keep me spinning away. Thomas is behind me, sure to catch me but no way I’m handing it to him. My Purple Rabbit is just around the next bend. Thomas is in front of me taking it easy and I can catch him if I stay on it. Then the real inspiration came: Lungs? Check; Legs? Check; Brain? Brain? Brain? Err…oh – Check! The ride had been exceptional already – spinning away, almost at the top of the big ring, cadence up, form up, speed up. I was having a great ride and it was a self-reinforcing circle of effort and reward.

The last handful of cars on a southbound train were yet to clear the crossing when I got there, one rider ahead of me waiting patiently. I debated the options: up the switchbacks to 16th, down the sidewalk over the train and back down the trail to the path; up the switchbacks to 16th and onto the side-streets taking me home. While I enjoy the climb up to 16th, it is my least favourite route home. I end up crossing Centre with its four lanes of angry-must-get-home-nowNowNOW drivers in an area that never seems to get a break in traffic. I made the mistake of trying to ride with traffic up Centre one afternoon commute. Not a good idea in the grand scheme of self-preservation. Drivers are all nuts. And angry.

By the time I’d made up my mind to climb up and over, the last car was passing and the arms were lifting. What? Yes, yes it did take that long to ponder it. I was too busy grinning like an idiot to think much beyond “wow – what a great ride – I feel awesome – squirrel!”. I followed the rider ahead of me and waited until it was clear that passing her wouldn’t result in my looking like a chauvinist loser when she passed me back and dropped me 6 seconds later. As I passed I repeated a comment from a rider who’d passed me in exactly the same spot a couple of weeks earlier “nice day for a ride ‘eh” but she didn’t hear, white iPhone buds protruding from her ears. I stayed in my saddle for the grind climb, dropping into the middle ring and pedaling like a man possessed. She disappeared behind me (hey – I just dropped someone on a hill…how cool is that?) not to be seen again.

I kept the heat on as I headed west along 32nd towards the bus barns and the substation path. With the substation path reno completed, it adds an extra little bit to the commute each day and I figure an extra kilometre per day certainly wouldn’t hurt. The other option is to head down the grass curb between 32nd east-bound and the barrier keeping cars and buses off the bike path below. This has been my traditional route for the summer thanks to the path reno. It’s not particularly wide, less than three feet and it’s not flat, sloping into the road. This is not an area to be distracted, particularly as the traffic to your very immediate right is travelling head-on at 70km/h just looking for an excuse to crush a soft cyclist skull.

The path is safer and has some easy bonus-distance, the shortcut has little room for error with what you’d call high exposure on the right and requires complete attention. Seems like an easy choice, so I picked the shortcut. Know why? Of course you don’t. The path transition from along 32nd to the substation area has a very tight right-left with a blind approach – you can’t see anyone coming up the other side or lollygagging in front of you. You have to slow down. I was haulin’ and had no desire to slow down so I bailed out at the last possible moment and headed for the shortcut. I once followed a newer-than-I (or at least more-chicken-than-I) rider along the shortcut – he was horribly uncomfortable and barely moving, the woman on the road bike behind us none too pleased about being slowed down. I sailed through never risking a glance at the traffic – don’t look down. I skimmed through the shortcut, around the corner and waited for the light, the remaining distance to be on the road.

This last stretch is a double-edged sword. The downhill slope along 36th street to Edmonton Trail lets me build up a good head of steam and I can usually hit 45 km/h on the approach, but never, ever have I hit a green light which wastes all that momentum. Once you’ve crossed Edmonton Trail it’s a series of up-flat-up-false flat-up-up…you get the idea. Of course it’s located close to home – great in the morning, daunting in the evening. It’s a real trick to get excited about it…I haven’t figured that trick out yet. There used to be a Dogo and Pitbull near the top of the climb – they’d come running up to the fence barking at me as I went by – my own little cheering squad getting me up that last lip – I rather miss them, though if their owner is anything like my dog’s owner, they’ve been pulled inside for barking at passing cyclists too often.

I managed a very respectable climb home if I do say so, missing a new best by 2 seconds which I’ll blame on the headwind on my brief southbound leg. Stabbing the end ride button on Strava, I couldn’t help but notice the total time – 30:08. Checking my “moving time” which generally, though not always, ignores things like stopping for trains and lights and old men in wheelchairs, I was 29 minutes flat, setting a new 3rd fastest commute time (for me – not everyone responds to commuting the same, your results may differ, there are side-effects, check with your inner-child to see if cycling is right for you).

PS My top 3 commute times are all from September rides. Perhaps there’s a benefit to spending most of your riding with a headwind afterall.

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.