Kyson putting the FU in FUN !

Kyson sucks his middle finger. Talk about endless photo opportunities..

I was updating my travel profile for work and one of the questions was when my drivers license expires. I didn't know so I pulled it out and checked. It expired three months ago. I looked at it for a minute as my brain filter kept trying to say, "no way," and my eyes kept saying, "way." Before anyone accuses me of a senior moment, I'll step up and take credit for just being dumb.

Hottie and I watched Kyson for a few hours Saturday. This Grandpa gig is cool.

I have the ultimate ringtone

Last week I was lamenting the fact that I didn't care for my ringtone. I was scrolling through the sounds on my phone when I was startled by a call from my friend Kevin. All he said was, "Davo, listen to this." He was working completing an upgrade on his bike, but I didn't know that. I just listened to "the most distinct sound in the peloton." Within five minutes I had a new ringtone. No, actually I had THE ringtone.

Oh yeah baby..

I can’t catch up, I’m so far behind

I remember the sunshine....

RAMROD

Back in April, my name was drawn in the lottery and the ride is next Thursday. Six training days left. Climbing is all about strength to weight. Since there isn’t enough time to get any stronger, I’m trying to lose weight. Hank on my cycling team was also among those picked to ride. We had planned two big training rides, one was on the Fourth of July and that was fun. The other was set for last Sunday and we delayed the start of the ride by having a cup of coffee and waiting for the rain to let up. The rain kept coming and completely washed away our resolve. After an hour in the corner coffee shop, we bagged it.

SICK

After the ride on the forth I had a great week of eating light and training heavy, but it was a lousy week for sleep. On Friday afternoon, I felt my body going to war. Headache, warm, throat getting dry; this isn’t good I thought to myself. The battle was on and I lost. I missed a solid week. Then the rain last Sunday capped it. I resumed just this Monday. I hit the weights yesterday and tried to keep the same weights (pounds) and just do fewer reps. My quads are absolutely screaming.

DEUCE OF SPADES

My old Single speed ride has been reborn as my commuter bike. I put a Cane Creek Drop-V lever on the left side of my Cross racing rig and pulled the SRAM shifter and put it on the commuter. Now it is a two speed bike. It is as black as the ace of spades, but because it is a two speed it is the Deuce of Spades. Big fat tires, fenders, a rack, and more lights than a Christmas tree.

Le Tour de Crash

These riders aren't striking a pose to look good, they are trying to minimize the pain.
Graham Watson is full of crap. The pretty pictures we have in our minds of the riders going through fields of sunflowers is a lie. It is my belief that a more appropriate image would be that of a rat in a cage on a treadmill chasing a piece of cheese. Really good French cheese, but cheese none the less.

Last year we attended two stages of the Tour of California. There were bike riders to be sure. The riders were squeezed in between motorcycles and cars and vans in a procession that was nothing short of ridiculous.

In 1984 I happened to be working for the Los Angeles Olympic Organizing Committee when the Israeli athletes arrived for the Olympic Games. They closed down the freeway and the bus had a humongous escort that included US Army Huey helicopters flying overhead with doors open and trigger happy soldiers manning the Gatling guns who were whispering to themselves something to the effect of “make my day.” Since I am digressing I will say it made me proud to be an American and proud that we support Israel. The escort these riders get, while very different, is equally as impressive and/or ridiculous.

As we watch the TDF we forget that every picture comes from a camera on a motorcycle, or a helicopter, or some other unnatural object that is intruding on the riders. Yesterday I watched an official TDF car hit a rider at 40mph and two cyclists went down hard. One hit the pavement, the other landed on a barbed wire fence.

A bike racer shouldn't have to look between his legs and take inventory before continuing..

The commentators said it was unprecedented. I could only believe it was inevitable considering the narrow roads and aggressive nature of the whole spectacle. In the world that is professional cycling in 2011 there are so many players with so much money and so much power it seems as if the ones who have been squeezed out are the cyclists.

I must confess that I laugh when I see the tape of Chris Horner after completing the stage as he is the absolute definition of “dazed and confused.” “Did I finish?...I don’t understand, do I have a bruise?...did I finish? He asks in a sincere tone, his questions repeating in an endless loop.

While we fancy ourselves as discerning fans, we behave as if we are attending an event at a Roman Coliseum. We cheer as they carry off the fallen, only to then turn our attention to the survivors. While we would believe that cycling is bigger than any one rider, is it so big that the riders don’t matter.

I follow cycling enough to know the riders by sight. When I see the riders broken and bloodied it bothers me. I will admit I don’t like Vino and Alberto, but watching Vino break his femur as he flew into, and over, a guardrail makes even the most cynical Evo feel sympathy. Images of Jens, DZ, Levi, VDV, Chris Horner and others with broken bones reminds me this is a high stakes sport.

When a baseball player (like Ken Griffy) or a soccer player (like Steve Zakuani) breaks a bone in competition it is often front page news. In cycling, where theoretically there is no contact between contestants, it happens every day and nobody blinks.

The amazing thing is if you don’t crash, you just ride your bike until your body screams and you see who can suffer the most and then you find out who is a fraction of a percent better.

These guys are warriors. I just hope the battle is worth it.

Ride Evo, Ride

I'm going to put my finger in my mouth and blow until my hair stands straight up.

Hottie and I had been debating for a couple of days where to ride on Saturday morning. When the day dawned as promising as we had wished it would, Hottie felt emboldened and suggested we take off from our driveway and go around Lake Washington. That would be 56 miles and a 2,500’ of climbing. We rolled out and the warm sun felt good on my bare arms. After an endless winter of full fingered gloves; my fingertips almost caressed the bar tape as I rode.

Construction on the Burke Gilman trail made our ride an "adventure."

Hottie climbed with ease and soon we were in Kirkland where people on wide surfboards were sweeping the lake.

We rolled through downtown Bellevue on our journey.

Hey, is that Rainier in the distance ?

We stopped and ate bars and topped off our bottles.

With forty miles behind us, we stopped for a treat before the final climb up from the lake.

Hottie was tired afterwards, but not debilitated. She is well on her way to a great summer of riding.

Sunday dawned grey and cooler and I did the usual morning ride with my team. Initially I felt no after effects from the four hours in the saddle the day before, but on the later part of the ride my legs told me it would be really smart to just back off a bit. Sensing that my legs would win any ensuing argument, I relented and backed off. Dave F was happy to join me, and we had ourselves a small groupetto.

An afternoon visit by my daughter and our grandbaby, my mom, and Hottie's sister, rounded out the day.

My mum and Kyson (Kyson is on the right)

A little birthday celebration for Hottie's sister

Last week, Hank had proposed a RAMROD training ride for the 4^th and it seemed like a great idea.

My alarm went off at a reasonable hour and I had plenty of time to fumble with my bike stuff and not be rushed. The roads were deserted as I made my way to Hank’s place. We loaded up his van and in no time we were through Enumclaw and on the way to the Crystal Mountain turn off. We were in a line of seven or eight cars and they all turned off highway 410 toward Crystal to squeeze in some late season skiing. This seemed to indicate we would have light traffic as we rode up 410.

Two guys who should know better...

Soon we were underway and we were in the shade riding on the western side of a long, high ridge. Although the climb was steady the cool air kept our temperature down. Views of Mt. Rainier to our right got better with each mile. I watched my Garmin tick off the elevation and in little time we were turning at Cayuse and heading up to Chinook. We had passed some riders on the way up who were going really, really slow.

The short section from Cayuse to Chinook had snow piled up on both sides of the road, and the retaining walls were made of granite blocks the size of microwave ovens. The sky was a deep blue and the bright sunshine made the snow look like it had just fallen. The whole scene had a Disney castle feel to it.

Evo is going to Mt. Rainier..

The snow was thiiiiis deep....

Riding in the sunshine we could peel off arm warmers and bask in the beautiful views in every direction. The air was clean and crisp, so we were neither hot nor cold.

The grade was steady, but our enthusiasm kept our legs spinning as we took in the setting.

Does this snow make me look fat ?

We stopped near the top and snapped some pictures and soon we donned our arm warmers and began the rapid descent back to the Sunrise turn off.

Organic bike racks !!

The twelve miles of climbing had gotten us used to a slower cadence and the eight mile descent gave us a chance to spin out our legs.

After passing the toll booth, we began the gradual climb from 3,100’. With little perceived effort I noticed the terrain dropping off to our right and our views to the valley floor just got better and better. At first the valley was a hundred feet below, and then it was a thousand feet as the road bobbed back and forth. The sunshine felt good and I unzipped my jersey to keep cool. The grade lessened and I picked up my pace. I was in a rhythm and not suffering at all. My legs could feel the miles and elevation of the long weekend, so I wasn’t about to sprint out of the saddle, but I felt surprisingly strong. The road has three major switchbacks with the last one being at 6,100’, only 300 feet below the parking lot at Sunrise. There is a turnout with a viewpoint at this final switchback and it was populated with people snapping pictures of the view we had been enjoying for a couple miles. From this point we had 360 degree views and we paused to take it all in.

The final mile or two was a victory lap and we enjoyed it as we began licking our lips thinking about getting some real food.

We made it !

We each had a deli sandwich and cold drink. It felt good to relax. We had almost twenty miles to go back to the car, but the fact that the car was 3,800 feet lower than where we were sitting meant the trip down would be an easy roll.

Dressed for the descent...

We put on all the clothing we had and braced for a chilly descent. The road surface was rough with chip seal, but there were few potholes or other potentially catastrophic impediments. We were soon leapfrogging each other. We saw a handful of riders struggling to climb uphill as we flew down at thirty-five miles an hour. When we saw a bear on the side of the road we grabbed a handful of brake and I captured it in digital format.

That is a bear !

We continued to slalom the turns, only occasionally braking, and whooping as we went. After finally reaching the valley floor we enjoyed the short climb back to highway 410 as it warmed us up. Four more quick miles and we sprinted (at least what we old men will call a sprint) for the park boundary of a huge log across the road. I came around Hank and he sped up. Neither of us could be sure who won, but it was probably better that way.

After toweling off and changing it was time to head back home.

A cooked Hank..

The Road to Hell

The Road to Hell may be paved with good intentions, but I have no doubt the bike lane is full of glass and all kinds of crap.

I feel almost unworthy to complain about commuter bike lanes when I only commute a day or two a week. I do, however, feel I am exceedingly qualified to complain, so here I go.

One minute I love the urban planners who laid out the bike lanes. The next minute as the lane disappears, I wonder if the planners thought I could just fly now that the lane is gone and the road has narrowed. I am wondering how bold I should be in challenging a dump truck for the single lane. I yield. Then a couple minutes later I again have space and I can think about how much I love my fellow beings.

My bliss doesn't last long as I realize the bike lane is full of glass, gravel and last winter's rock salt. I also see bolts, trash and parts of cars. Not only did the county clean only the part of the road where the cars drive and not clean where the bikes go, but it APPEARS the crap from the auto lane has been swept INTO the bike lane.

I find myself recalling riding in Davis, California where they treat bikers like their lives depend on it. It was spooky how nice they were. Maybe the adrenalin will get me in the mood for Cyclocross season...

Frostbite TT 2011 Race Report

Flying Evo !!

How fast could I ride under perfect conditions…

This event was originally scheduled for early March. On that cold March morning, despite snow flurries and better judgment, Hottie and I drove to the start where the medical team was bandaging up the bloody face of someone who had tried to pre-ride the course. The race director prudently cancelled the event due to icy roads and said it would be rescheduled.

Fast forward to last Sunday when the rescheduled event was held. Under glorious blue skies and enjoying warm temperatures, Evo partook in a nine mile race of truth.

My previous TT efforts had yielded disappointing, though consistent, results. One of the secrets to peacefully growing old is constantly lowering your expectations. Despite taking this pearl of wisdom to heart, I secretly harbored hopes of an improved mph average.

I had worked on my flexibility and had spent a fair amount of time in advance of the originally scheduled date working on my position on the bike. Not having a wind tunnel at my disposal, I found a mirror and put it in the pain cave (the room where I do intervals on rollers during cyclocross season). With the TT bike secure on the trainer, I was able to get a lot lower than I thought I would and found I could stretch out and put out what felt like power.

My experience over the last several months has been that when I am out on a longer ride, somewhere between one and two hours into the ride, everything loosens up and I feel as if I could set my chin on my stem and pedal all day long. Getting loose seems to be key to riding in a TT tuck. My hope was to spend a good long time easy spinning on a trainer in advance of the start to get as loose as possible.

The morning was warm and after a hot bowl of Bob's Red Mill steel cut oats, I pulled on a pair of cargo shorts and Hottie and I drove to the race. Big John had just pulled in and we slotted in behind him and I set up the trainer. Plenty of time to get in a good warm up. I ate my traditional Nutella slathered Bagel and sipped some fresh HEED. A nice warm up soon ensued.

Rolling to the start with less than a minute to spare was not in the plan, but arriving just in time hot and ready to go was a good omen. I zeroed out the computer, swigged the last of my drink, tossed my bottle and clipped in for the countdown. My timing was risky, but perfect.

Tom Wick, who rides with us most Sunday mornings, was the race official who was counting me down. Five, four, three, two, one…. go. Crank, crank, crank and I was pedaling. Click, into the big ring. Settle into position and check the speed and HRM. 24 mph and 172bpm, I feel like I can go faster... Meter your effort Davo! I try to pedal easier. I work on smooth circles and keep my speed around 24. Don’t fly and die Davo.

The course isn’t pancake flat, it is frying pan flat. Long sweeping turns and a wide debris-free shoulder made for an excellent course. The route was an out and back that added up to nine miles. My HRM was reading between 174 and 177 and my speed was pretty steady at 24. My hamstrings wanted me to move around, but I stayed in position. I saw big John coming back and he yelled at me expending some valuable oxygen. I whistled back. Three and a half miles into the race the road straightened out and I couldn’t see anyone ahead of me. Maybe I was slow and about to be caught myself? There had been a constant stream of riders coming back on the other side of the road. I saw the 200m to turn around sign and kept pedaling. I finally downshifted and put my hands on the brakes and swung wide to go around the orange cone.

Once around the cone, I looked up the road to see how far behind me my thirty second man was, and I had a monster gap. “Just me and the clock,” I thought to myself. I fought to get my speed back up and my legs were starting to express some real reservations about continuing at the same level of intensity. I checked my HRM and it looked like it said 180, but with the sun to my back now, I couldn’t be sure. Pedal Davo, Pedal.

Keeping my focus was a battle and every time my concentration lapsed I lost a mph or two. I downshifted and increased my cadence. I upshifted and worked on my power. I tried to pedal circles. I tried to scoot forward on my saddle. I tried to move back on my saddle. I tucked my head down and just cranked. I was running in the 23-24 mph range, with occasional drops to 22 or 21. With two miles to go, nine miles suddenly seemed like a long ride.

I had something orange on my mind...

The HRM said 182 as I passed Hottie armed with her camera about one mile from the finish. I could see the 1k to go sign up ahead. I knew from past experience that when my heart rate is this high, pushing for even a few seconds can cause a catastrophic Davo blow up. I already felt like my level of consciousness was in question, so I didn’t dare do anything drastic. Somehow I seemed to just will my legs to go faster. The computer crawled up to 25, then 26 mph. 200m to go. Push it, but don’t get out of position. No out of the saddle burst from Evo. Just drive through the red line painted on the road and coast without crashing.

Big John was astride his machine and he offered a congratulatory handshake. I rode a few minutes to warm down and catch my breath. For the first time in my limited TT career, nobody had passed me. I was pleased and while I don’t have the official results, my computers tell me my average mph was between 23 and 24.

Okay, now what?