Tag Archives: MEC

This is Not a Dream

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Before we get started, I’d like to alert you to a new term.  I created it in honour – it’s clearly an honour to have me bestow a term in reference to your actions – of a former co-worker and ardent cyclist who’s stretchy pants and stiff-soled shoes provided some level of juvenile amusement to the rest of us.

Ever since Best Wife surprised me with a Birthdayish celebration and gifted me a new set of MEC Roubaix stretchy pants, I’ve been anxious to try them out.  Unfortunately the weather has been unseasonably hot though I’m not in any way complaining.  Fortunately for me, fall is now officially upon us and Mother Nature has kindly delivered the required morning temperatures to make donning the stretchy pants appropriate.

Wednesday was my first ride and you know what?  I like them.  No really, I do.  It’s hard to put my finger right on it but the difference is nice.  How nice?    I might step up to stretchy shorts next summer and leave the cargo shorts and my modesty at home.  They feel…sleeker, like there’s less stuff going on.  I wouldn’t have guessed there was anything going on before but its absence is noticeable.  There’s less friction between my legs and the seat now, again – I wouldn’t have said there was any until it wasn’t there.  Subtle little things.  I need to adjust my seat again now – it’s no longer positioned just right with my new slippery pants.  I’d said to nobody in particular that I planned continue riding in my cargo and other non-stretchy shorts in pseudo defiance of the cyclistas who would proclaim my non-conforming attire an indicator of my ability and I would ride them off my wheel when I found them.  This has not happened.  To date, I’ve only been dropped almost exclusively by cargo wearers so perhaps the I can outride you in my work clothes while riding my grandfather’s cast-iron bike is way over-done anyway.  The stretchy thing is good – really it is.

Of course the overarching benefit of my great new stretchy pants is that they make me look good.  No, the real benefit is keeping my knees warm.  The last couple of 5°C rides were not entirely uncomfortable but caused me some level of concern just the same.  Given the importance of my knees in day to day life what was that?  uhm no…that’s not what I meant <ahem>.  Considering how dependant we are on functional knees, I am keenly aware of keeping them healthy and happy.  And warm.   So now I have nice warm knees, even when the temperature hits the (literal) freezing mark as it did this morning.

I didn’t think to bring along my cargos for the journey home so, as I did yesterday I rode home with my stretchy pants in the 18°C sunshine.  I would say this exceeds the comfortable temperature for these pants if you’re putting any effort into your ride.  By kilometre three I was debating whether I should doff them and go in my supposed-to-be-under-your-cargos chamois-equipped stretchy shorts – finish the ride in my shiny grey padded underwear.  In the end I opted not to traumatize fellow path users that way and rode home too hot.

This morning however I arrived to find work in full swing already and before I could get out of my stretchy pants and sweaty shirt I was on the phone and answering emails.  Or was I meeting with my team in an emergency huddle tackling some tough issues.  Maybe I was sitting with my feet on the desk talking to a co-worker about riding.  Regardless I was clearly very busy, too busy to follow the cardinal rule of chamois shorts – don’t stew in your sweaty pants.  Half an hour later I finally opened my clothing stash drawer and had one of those moments.  Hey…uhm…wait…ohhhhh…aw crap…and I have an off-site meeting…<sigh>.  I’d been Thomas’d!  You ever had one of those dreams where you show up at work and realize you aren’t wearing any pants?  It was like that only I wasn’t dreaming.  The drawer was as bare as a roadie’s calves save for a lone t-shirt – I’d forgotten my pants.

Go forth and spread the good word – when you arrive at work with nothing but stretchy pants (or their length-challenged brethren stretchy shorts) to wear, consider yourself Thomas’d.

PS – no, I did not subject my fellow meeting participants to the wonders of my stretchy pants, I did what any man would do – I asked Best Wife to rescue me.  Her Bestness knows no bounds.

 

A Beautiful Finish to a Freezing Start.

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This week started off miserably cold with Monday’s 6 degrees & rain giving way to Tuesday’s 3 degrees. Not the kind of weather a guy looks for heading into fall. Mother Nature had a trick up her sleeve though as today’s banner image greeted me this morning with a nice 17 degrees. I rode home (slowly) in 27 degrees and they’re calling for 30 all weekend. That’s my kind of weekend.

I rode my heart out this morning, chasing down Thomas who turned out not to be Thomas despite the matching backpack and shorts. Being as it was not Thomas I did the next logical thing – bid the gentlemen good morning and gapped him as hard as I could. I can’t lie – it felt good to be able to do that. I don’t care what his reasoning is for getting caught and gapped by a guy in runners on a mountain bike either – I’m taking it as a win. Fully in the groove I rode the rest of the way to work at full-steam, thinking about how hard I’d been dropped the day before. Converging from different paths and heading the same direction, I was only a few meters behind him – 15 at the most. We headed towards the Memorial pedestrian overpass and it was there that he looked over his shoulder – him at the top of the ramp hitting the bridge, me coming around the corner to the bottom of the ramp. By the time I’d made it to the top of the ramp, he was over the bridge and heading down the other side (which requires he go up the ramp off the bridge before going down…who designed that?). When I’d made it down the bridge, he was literally out of site. Returning the favour to someone else does a body good.

After taking this morning’s picture (which you can only see as the header by going here) , the subject of my darker and darker morning departures came up. As we head into fall, the sun sleeps in a little more each day so where before I was dealing with sun in my eyes on the horizon as I left at 6:30, it’s still dark at 7:00. Soon I’ll be riding in the dark for most of the commute and there’s no streetlights on the path. I mentioned needing a light and was promised that Santa might bring some cycling goodies. “By Christmas we start getting lighter” I complained. Your birthday is coming up I was reminded. Yes…a week before Christmas –“the shortest day of the year falls between my birthday and Christmas” I moaned. “Stupid December birthday, all the cycling stuff will be gone from the shelves” I continued “and I’m going to freeze to death if I don’t get some winter riding gear before then”.

How do you know when you’re married to the most incredible person in the world? When I came home, the three monsters greeted me with a “Surprise! – Happy Birthday dad!”. I wassurprised! Trace grinned a mischevious smile as I changed out of my sweaty cycling gear and got ready for dinner. When I (finally) sat down at the table, the monsters each came bearing a gift, itching for me to unwrap them. First was the Homeland Security approved wrapping from my the middle monster hiding my favourite flavour of Shot Bloks (Cran Razz thank you). Perfect – never have too many of those.

MEC Headlight and Taillight

Next was the headlight/taillight combo set I’d put on my wish list. They’re both LED of course and have 2 modes of operation – steady and disco-strobe flash. Supplied by MEC they’ll bolt right onto the Chinook so the next time I make a sundown departure, I won’t be (as) worried about being crushed under the wheels of some sleepy commuter on his way to Tim Horton’s.

MEC Roubaix Cold Weather pants!

Last but by no means least, wrapped in a blue and orange paper were the MEC Roubaix winter riding pants I’d been going on about for weeks. “Need those pants. Boy it’s cold out this morning, sure could use those pants. Froze my knees solid this morning, going to have to give up riding soon if I don’t get some proper pants”. No opportunity to remind anyone who was in ear-shot that I really wanted needed those pants was missed. It worked!

My awesome wife – Best Wife – took it upon herself to celebrate my birthday in September so she could get me to stop whining feed my cycling addiction! How cool is that? And. AND! She made me cinnamon buns for dessert. My life is profoundly excellent.

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.