pedro pedrihno pedaliando

A day, ahhh... the life

2009-06-25T18:18:00.000-07:00

So as it turns out, everyone visits me. I have friends from out of town, out of the country, from the Valley, from SLO, from the Bay Area, Reno, Tahoe, Seattle, and places I can’t even locate on the map that come for visits, bike rides, food, wine, illicit drugs and other activities I can’t readily admit to. And all this, just lately. Why does everyone come just to see little ole me?

Sense of humor, wit, intelligence, humility? All unlikely… But one of the sure fire reasons anyone ever comes to my house or agrees to spend any amount of time with me is on a bike ride, for a bike ride, to get to a bike race, cycling event or just for maintenance and mechanical needs on their two wheeled machine. Of this, I am certain. And unlike many riders, who only do this ride or that ride, or only train alone, or who like these riders or that club but definitely not the others, the Bobas or Norcal or Nexus or Art’s or whatever the fuck, I’m a cycling HO! I’ll ride with anyone.

And because I have such low standards (as does apparently she), last night Trac-Trac, blogger and heavyweight extraordinaire came to town for a mt. bike ride. Now I am all for clowning and riding with hot chicks, but to ride with the hottest clown in town was a lifelong dream come true. I was expecting some cupcakes from the cupcake but I bet she was all out of baking soda, or is it powder? Some people take for granted the company of others, especially once they start to get annoying, but not me. I was, am, all about living in the moment. The fact that I have asked her on about 4 rides over the past 4 years, actually been on about 5 rides where she happened to be there, but never one with the sole intent of her coming to ride with me, made this indeed a special occasion, one worth writing about.

As is often the case, I scrambled home after a hard day of making the city a better place to live and got ready for the ride. I tried to ignore my immense lower back pain, my recent decline in immune system stability, prominent outbreaks of unidentified communicable diseases and promptly climbed into my used chammy for a sundowner ride in one of the most spectacular mt. biking parks on the west coast. After agreeing to show up early so as to be able to see all the best trails the park has to offer before the sun sets, I get a text from Trac saying, “running a bit late, traffic.”

Whodathunk it? Traffic, northbound on US 101 on a weekday around quitting time? Startling revelation for all parties, but I was already chammied up, so what is a fella to do? I mounted my road bike and did about a two hour spin. I hear this is good for “opening up the legs.” When I returned, sure enough, the ladies had arrived. While I was all set for a romantic raping in the woods with just a fat chick that I figured I could handily out muscle (she lives near the Ridge trail, in a house surrounded by oaks), instead I got Trac and her “teammate.” I guess teammate wanted to explore the trails in my backyard as well, apparently she is quite the mt biker, structural engineer, architect, man slayer, and party killer, with two thumbs. Somehow she thinks having two thumbs in a distinguishing characteristic? I didn't ask any questions and besides, as most of you know (what, like two of you?), you have to get up pretty early in the morning to pull one over on Pedro.

Clearly, as clear as the day is long, Trac brought her wingwoman (no, NOT a D.U.F.F., by any means!) to advance her chances of slaying yet another stallion. Or, could it be that she was genuinely afraid of being alone with me? Not so much for physical harm, but more for what if I was totally annoying, or sarcastic, or incessantly coming on to her all night. Well, either way, and for whatever motivation, the dynamic changed, we were now like Jack, Chrissy and the brunette. 3 was company indeed. And just for good measure, just so she knew she was safe and if she was entertaining any ideas of attempting to jump me (sexually) that I wanted to thwart, I said something like, "gee, have you put on some weight since I last saw you?" Women, even waify ones it turns out, don't take kindly to this. And if I decreased my already non-existent chances of my bones being jumped, I certainly upped my chances of being pepper sprayed, not out of self-defense, but out of joy at bringing me pain.

The ride was actually noteworthy as well. We rode over to the park and entered at the dirt crits at Howarth Park, looped through the single track around Spring Lake and climbed up to Cobblestone to get the game started. Orchard and Live Oak took us to the top of Rough Go and a rest at the lake. I asked an innocent fella if he’d mind taking a picture of me and my two girlfriends together, since I finally convinced them to come out on a ride with me instead of making me work so hard in the bedroom. He was all over that shit. And as one of the gals pointed out, it’s a good thing I have such small penis because otherwise those red shorts would be way too revealing!

After seeing the wingwoman's skills, I realized that sweet and funny though she was, and great to have along, we wouldn’t be doing the prize trails in the park and still making it back by darkness. So, easy enough, a rerouting kept us closer to sunset grub yet still with plenty of just plain perfect trails to explore. The crash tally, for those that are keeping track (Emily!) was Pedro 2, Trac 1, and Teammate O (that I know of). The most spectacular superman spill of the night was a superman effort by the Ms. red crotch herself. I got to see all of that. Oh yes, back to the park and the trails; it's technical enough to keep you sharp, steep enough to make you work, and fun enough to ask yourself why you ever ride on the road at all.

It was time for dinner and we finished up a lap around Ledson Marsh, the Ridge and down Marsh to Canyon and spilled out of 3 hours of doing it, “dirty style,” to quote Trac herself. Yes, she did say that. Ask her.

I was ravished, Trac was full of female luna gu's and strawberry clif blocks that she’d been pounding all evening but the more refined of us, Teammate and Pedro, were starvin marvins. Our anti-yeast change of clothes backpack awaited us at East-West and grub we did. Soooo good, if you haven’t mixed the beat puree with the hummus, you must. Of course, with a chance to look at each other's faces rather than asses, this where the conversation got interesting.

Trac would not stop talking about how she didn’t want to be talking about what were we talking about (her “va-jay-jay”). Teammate wanted to know if “the carpet matched the rug” and I said, “of course, it has to, I can totally verify that!” And I can, not because I have dreamed about it or have photos or because Trac would even consider sending me any in a veiled email message, but rather my father was Irish, and his father was Irish, and I have known a few redheads. I mean truly redheads, the few that I have known in my day, (even dated one - so sweet she is, Hi Amy! Love you, can’t wait to meet your new beau!) and those people have red pubes. It’s just a fact, jack. Whether they trim, shave, maintain or otherwise fertilize and grow them, that is an individual choice, but the color, now that is part of god’s divine plan.

We froze our asses about off pedaling home as the fog and cool temperatures rolled in. A hasty collection of boom boxes, skirts, thongs, and text messages was followed by a packing of the car and a nearly 10 pm departure for the wingwomen. I managed to shower and throw myself in bed for an extremely pleasant night’s sleep, surrounded by my ever present bed-time partners… a male and female, and of the 3 of us, only the males are recently shaven, in case you were wondering.

Terrorists... a Problem or a Reaction to Sad Reality?

2008-12-31T13:42:00.000-08:00

Names of correspondents were not changed and no one's identity is protected because no one reads this blog and even if someone did, they wouldn't care...

Dana (Israeli),

Thanks for your insight, from an insider. Here are some things to consider from an outsider.

On the one hand, you suggest that during the truce, Hamas didn't "stop bombing Israel" - just did so less frequently? I haven't heard of any credible news sources making this claim. It seems that both sides honored the truce and that only after efforts and negotiations failed (Hamas wanted more freedom of operations within Gaza, a more open border for supplies, medicine, food to be imported and Israel rejected this out of fear of weapons and terrorists being brought in..) did rocket attacks begin anew.

First of all, Hamas does not have the capacity to "bomb Israel," as I understand it, rather the launches are of a fairly primitive variety at a town or two within their reach. Something like a few killed and 16 injured?

Secondly and much more significantly, you say that an "increase in security and control over 'Palenstine', including the West Bank, by Israel, has been in direct response to terrorist attacks within Israel by Palestinians." Do the terms "security and control" include aircraft bombing raids? (http://www.indybay.org/newsitems/2008/03/03/18483319.php) Yet at the same time you say that Israel's tactics have reduced suicide bombings? Which is it, aggression by Israel toward Palestinians has reduced suicide attacks or is in response to them?

You may be keen to the fallacy here, and the same is true with many U.S. politicians who don't distinguish between acts of terrorism on the part of people around the world and the capitalistic, imperialist system that concentrates power and resources in the hands of the few at the expense of the many, including the planet's natural ecosystems. Terrorism exists because people are desperate. They are willing to kill, be killed to achieve things like freedom from oppression and occupation, food, water, land, control over their own resources, etc. Until the "developed" nations of the world recognize this, every single effort to "Stomp out terrorism" and every "War on Terror" will do nothing but add fuel to the fire. It gives reason and cause for more suicide attacks, not less. The U.S. is a prime example - by definition this country was started by terrorists, willing to defy, kill and wreak havoc on the British who were occupying, over-taxing, extracting copious resources and oppressing citizens of the colonies.

The international community is making a different point from what you say - "these actions have been directly instigated by violence against Israelis, within Israel." That is, the response by Israel is greatly disproportionate, extremely aggressive and effectively killing (either directly with bombs or indirectly by cutting off supplies, food, water, medicine, etc.) primarily innocent civilians in Gaza. The three-day death toll in Gaza climbed to 345 with more than 1400 injured. Do you think this will stop attacks from Hamas, reduce chances for attacks from others, like Iran, or somehow quell suicide bombers? Do you think it's an appropriate response to the rocket fire by Hamas in southern Israel?

Barghuoti makes this point and offers what I believe to be true; the feeble rocket attacks by an starving, desperate people is a symptom of a greater problem - the oppression and occupation of Palestinians by Israel and the lack of a truly autonomous, contiguous land for Palestinians. I also agree with him that much like in the film "Wag the Dog" or in many U.S. political maneuvers, the politicians of Israel are attempting to "look tough" in defense of their nation-state at a time of elections. I'm sorry, but all the lives - even one of the lives - lost and shattered, on either side, to me are more precious than political advancement.

Until the Zionist movement is silenced, a proper nation-state is awarded to the deserving Palestinian people, the same basic tenants will persist. In my opinion, what Israel should fear more than anything, certainly more than Palestinian rocket fire or the loss of some of "their land" to Palestinians or the creation of a nation called Palestine - is their overly aggressive actions unifying the Arab world against them. That would be devastating for all parties involved.

Thanks for considering an outsider's point of view,

Pedro (Californiano)

On 12/31/08, Dana Shapiro wrote:

For records sake, after the truce ended two weeks ago, Hamas (Palestinians) were the ones to reinstate violent behavior. During the truce, Hamas didn't actually stop bombing Israel, they just reduced the velocity of attacks. While a nonviolent strategy in reaction to Israel's attack would be morally respectable, as suggested by Barghouti, it is definitely not the reality. Barghouti sounds like a relatively rational politician, too bad he's not representative of the governance in Gaza.

Almost all the increase in security and control over 'Palenstine', including the West Bank, by Israel, has been in direct response to terrorist attacks within Israel by Palestinians. So, while I agree that many if not all of Israel's actions over the past 2 years have created major problems (except for reducing suicide bombings, which it has success achieved), these actions have been directly instigated by violence against Israelis, within Israel.

On Wed, Dec 31, 2008 at 7:21 PM, pedro <slopedro@gmail.com> wrote:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=98861148

check this NPR story out! Mustafa Barghouti says the ones benefiting from the violence are Israeli politicians, much the way Bush benefited in public opinion (by a vast majority of Americans) by striking in Afghanistan and Iraq in the eyes of the US public, at first at least...

this one is decent too...Scott Lasensky of the U.S. Institute of Peace

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=98861151

--
Dana Shapiro
Department of Man in the Desert
Social Science Unit
J. Blaustein Institutes for Desert Research
Ben Gurion University of the Negev
Sede Boqer Campus - Israel 84990

Successful Rides

2008-12-15T10:35:00.000-08:00

SLO - town was amazingly warm, well attended (about 60 riders per day). Chris/Trish Black did a great job. Info and photos from that ride below.

SR - was equally impressive, highlighted but a feisty group of 45 on Friday and an epic Sweetwater Springs climb, a massive group Saturday of 0ver 60 in cold temperatures heading out Coleman Valley to the coast - photos from our super SAG and photographer Ronnie Lenzi:

(http://www.veronikalenzi.com/data/PedroBrown/index.html)

The Saturday group was antsy, tough to contain despite my begging, pleading, and manhandling riders! Once we split the group at the 50 mile mark after lots of climbing, most went home and 12 crazy fast riders chased Nick and Dirk around the county for a 6 hour ride. Ouch.

Sunday saw ride temps to start, in the rain, at 29 degrees. 18 riders showed! Wow. Most of the group was pretty gassed, with sore legs, and enjoyed skies clearing after the first 20 minutes and 3 hours of great, rather epic riding. We head south (due to black ice and hail at the top of Trinity and Spring Mt.) to the rolling hills between Tomales and Sebastopol and had a wet last 30 minutes.

Thanks to ALL who CAME OUT! The rides, the dinner, the training, all make the whole charade worth while! Total of 206 miles, 13,000 feet of climbing and ONE RIDER, only one, showed up to complete all the miles for Santa Rosa. Congrats to MADDOGGGGGG, seen here riding next to his gay lover.

Pedro

From Chris last weekend---

Today we had a total of 57 riders and slightly cooler temperatures for a great ride south to the Nipomo Mesa. Walter Ajanel from Wally's Bike works provided support for today's ride (so Trish could rejoin the ride after driving support yesterday).

The weekend was a big success; thanks to all who attended and contributed to lots of fun and sore legs. Total distance was 204 miles and just shy of 10,000 feet of climbing.

I hope many of you will attend Peter Brown's camp next weekend in Santa Rosa; it should be a blast!

Saturday photos at the bottom:

gallery.me.com/cblackride

Chris Black
Morgan Stanley/24 Hour Fitness/ Specialized Cycling Team
San Luis Obispo, CA

December to Remember - Happy Hills x 2!

2008-11-05T12:47:00.000-08:00

Roadies!!!

So much to get excited about, including two amazing training camps starting
in one month. Arrive early, the rides leave on the hour, not 10 minutes after.

San Luis Obispo - meet at Black Horse ( 1065 Higuera Street, 93401)

Friday December 5; Ride leaves at 1:00 PM, heads south (Huasna) 3-4 hours.

Saturday December 6; Ride leaves at 9:00 AM and heads "up the coast,"
to the infamous Santa Rosa Creek (aka "The Wall") climb.80+ miles.
Returning Old Creek and Hwy 1.Plan on 5-6 hours and a "B" group
that may skip the climb and head back early.

Sunday December 7; Ride leaves at 9:00 AM and heads south to the
Nipomo Mesa, 75+ mileswith bail out points for those who need to leave early.
4-5 hours.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Santa Rosa - meet downtown at 4th and D Streets (Peet's/Starbucks)

Friday December 12; Ride leaves at 1:00 PM and heads north - Windsor,
Guerneville, Graton loop 3-4 hours.

Saturday December 13; Ride leaves at 10:00 AM and heads west to
Coleman Valley (reverse route of Tour of California), back through Russian
River,Occidental and the hills of Sebastopol. Returning through Cotati and
Sonoma Mt. Plan on 6 hours and a "B" group that may head back early
the second time through Occidental. 87 miles, 6 hours.

Sunday December 14; Ride leaves at 10:00 AM and heads east to
Trinity Grade. Regroup at Cavedale firestation and head to Napa Valley for
the last climb of the weekend, Spring Mountain. 5-6 hours.

DETAILS!
________________________________________________________________________________________________

A. The Santa Rosa Camp will include a 6pm Saturday night dinner party at
the Riviera Restaurant. Space is limited to the first 50 riders who email me
(with the subject line "Riviera" - slopedro@gmail.com) they are attending
how many people in their party, AND willing to pay (about $30 per person)
for an exceptional multiple course Italian meal from the Pesce family.

B. We'll see the likes of many teams represented at the Happy Hills,
but two hometown teams will be expected in full force.
The team (BOBA vs. NORCAL) which shows the most colors,
does the most miles, and represents Santa Rosa the best will receive an
incredible prize fit just for them - to be given out at the opening night of
Tuesday Night Twilight's - 2009.

C. See links to google maps below for detailed route descriptions.

FRI RIDE

View Larger Map

SAT RIDE!

View Larger Map

SUN RIDE!

View Larger Map

The basic facts remain the same.

1. This is a free winter endurance training camp. Rides usually
generate between40 and 100 experienced riders (Pro's, Olympians,
National Champs,weekend warriors, etc.), you must be able to
handle your bike well in a group and always be prepared to fix
your own flats and find your own way back to the group/home.
Several of the days, however, will have sag support. 
At least one water/pee stop can be had each day but bring all the food
you need with you.

2. This is not a race, and while the routes are hilly and the
workouts are hard, December champions are frowned upon.
Both the SLO and SR camps will have some hard climbs where
folks can be "turned loose" to regroup at the top.
Other than that, we will try to stay together.

3. Chris Black is the ride leader in San Luis Obispo and
I'll take the reigns in Santa Rosa. While there will
be bathrooms available at the start, please take care
of nature's business before arriving. Rides leave on
time, so arrive a half hour early for coffee.

Looking forward taking over county roads as a 
massive group, getting fit and having a blast!

It's that time of year, again...

2008-10-20T19:34:00.000-07:00

Below is the final notification from last year's training camp. Funny how I mention that the SLO riding is world class, much like where I grew up & into cycling - Sonoma County.

Well lo-and-behold, here I am again, made the big move from SLO back to Santa Rosa. Many questions have been asked and answered about life, work, joy and pain, but most of all, what to do about the 5th Annual Happy Hills Training Camp come December 2008?

The SLO camp was (is?) traditionally held the first weekend in December, conveniently situated to burn turkey (for you Republicans - no, not the country - let's assume the terrorist threat there is not an imminent one!) and stuffing yet not too close to clash with Judeo-Christian Capitalist birthday traditions...

I also blogged after the ride about traditions, starting one of your own, etc. The Browning of Happy Hills may be Blackening, Chrisply, and Happy Hills looks to be dividing, growing, like mitosis of a cycling cell... nothing could make me happier, ok, almost nothing.

Word on the grape vine is SLO Happy Hills will go off December 5th-7th and SR Happy Hills is coming together for December 12th-14th. Book now, you're not gonna want to miss this.

Details on how to have the some of the best 3 (6 now!) days of long, slow, gorgeous riding can be found here, it's just a matter of time. You'll see familiar faces, make new friends, and your legs will be so glad when it's all over.

--------------

Boise, I'm yer ho

2008-07-09T20:38:00.000-07:00

Westward we march.

Leaving Cini in Fort Collins was bittersweet. Coulda put that prof in the van and hauled her on the bike racing adventure. She-da rocked it. The drive outta the rockies, via the Snowy Range of southern Wyoming was full of so many vistas, I had to close my eyes. I slept at least 3 of the 7 hour drive back to Park City. I'm a good sleeper, and I'm a good kid when I'm sleeping.

There wasn't much time in PC before it was off to the Tuesday night world championships - SLC own crit on a car racing track. Great workout, if only amid some very strong yet poorly skilled riders. Not only did they like guttering every one in the crosswind while trying to bring back breaks - then wondered why no one would pull through - but with two laps to go the second bloke of the night tossed himself to the ground in front of me. Forty five minutes of intervals was enough of the crit for me, I watched the last two laps and licked my still weeping wounds.

Aside from getting a burger in a pita (ever heard of that? I mean where am I supposed to put the mayo, mustard, lettuce, onions, tomatos...), dinner was swell with Kirsten and Nate - fine upstanding young citizens. Only thing is Kirsten can grate, like on your knuckles when the cheese is down to the knub and ya slip. Nate is a brave man. And not only did I find this out at dinner as she was unrelenting towards me (I did the awful deed of sending my burger back to get a real bun around it), but in the morning I fed Pow-dog a some scramble egg juice and just about got hung in the town square. Wowza. The hostess with the mostess took super swell care of us in the PC palace, so no complaining at all. At all. Can't wait to have those two out to Cali.

This morning the travels continued. Another climb up Royal Drive above Deer Valley to start the day with a 30 miler, at altitude with high heart rates, and then the pavement moved beneath us. I-84 doesn't offer much, but Boise sure does. Great city, so many outdoor play grounds and OMG, they's some pretty folk here in this town, and some ugly ones, but the purty ones sure is purty. And there's good conversation to be had in Boise, like at dinner when these two made up late 30's ladies sat down next two us, talking about being tipsy, having mouths like sailors, and then, the volunteered data;

"My husband of 15 years left me 3 months ago for my best friend!"

"Um, wow, no, that's terrible!" I managed to mutter.

"We have 3 kids, he's got them tonight so I'm out getting hammered with my friends, I'm so fucked."

"No you're not, you don't want him anyway, he did you a favor, made it easy on ya," I consoled.

"You're right," she said, "I'll try and keep that in mind. Oh, did I tell you he bought her a new rack?" she said as she glanced down at her own sagging self.

Without much else to say at this point, Craig and I managed to stand up and bid our farewells.

"Where you two going," she and her made up, equally losing equilibrium friend questioned, "we're just getting started?"

"No sure, maybe to bed, together, it is our honeymoon afterall!" The looks on their faces - priceless.

But no, I didn't say that. I only blogged it. But that makes it somewhat real.

It's late and I'm sleepy. I won't get into the conversation we had with the gal who, while strolling down the pedestrian mall, lined with lively music, bars and restaurants - a hopping Wed. night in Boise - wanted to (and did) show me how well her abscess healed, and where it was. I guess they lanced it or something? She was inspired by my arm bangages and figured we were abscess siblings.

Bend better not disappoint.

Colorado Imprecionado

2008-07-07T18:15:00.000-07:00

I wasn't thinking too much about this state in its overall roll on this trip. Utah, Kentucky, Oregon were where I thought the good times would roll. Colorado has much to offer, in people, places, things and rides.

First off, it was a huge relief to leave Kansas. Lucas Euser was awaiting our arrival in Denver on Friday, the 4th. The plan was to arrive at our lovely hostesess Bree's place and head out for a ride. Lucas is still recovering from a nasty fall, nastier than mine, so a couple easy hours was all we wanted. The fact that none of us knew where to ride and that it was 95 out, did not deter. Every community should have bike paths, and lots of them. Los tres amigos explored the S. Platte River trail, leading south of the mile high city. A vibrant Latino community was present, all celebrating independence in their new, or not so new home country.

The ride was swell, and it ended it beers with lemonade inside at John and Jill's place. Lovely. The evening was filled with sushi (in Denver, I wondered... I guess it was fairly fresh, but...) and Sapporros. Bombs happened to be bursting in air. I didn't like it too much. Fireworks for fun. Although I was compelled to burst out with "DOWN with the British!", I couldn't help but think of many Iraqi families, and what they might think of us Americans watching explosives for fun. Jill and John are engaged, and loving life. It was great to meet such fun loving folk. I hope I get to see more of them. John will be at Cascade, running and rubbing for the Garmin-Chipotle team.

Saturday was Mt. Evans, 14,200 something feet. As a sprinter, I loved that ride. Mostly a gradual gradient, the first 3rd of which I kept pace with the little pro and roempile, but they left me behind. Before we were able to summit, as has been the case each of the last 3 days in the monsoon rockies season, the thunder rolled and we descended. I flew off that hill, even as the rain started to fall, passing cars and racing the precip hoping I could get back to the car before getting drenched. Mission accomplished. My confidence was high for handling in the rain. Dag gummit.

Post Evans, it was pack it up for Boulder. What a cool town. I could live there. Well planned, full of athletes and progressives, a veritable liberal island amid an ultra conservative state. A stroll down the famous Pearl Street entertained, and a falafel dinner went down well. The next morning it was up Canyon. Craig made me do a couple of hours before the crit. That is supposed to "open me up" for the race, but I just feared it would make me tired. I bet had I not crashed in the Master's race (which I got back on my brake rubbing, magnet clicking, banged up bike to finish btw), I bet the Pro race woulda sucked it outta me. All I really wanted (and feared) was to scrub the hell out of my wounds. Dr. Brown to the rescue. She gave me her key and after a stop at the farmacia to pick up the Tegaderm, we landed in Ft. Collins and took care of business. I got cleaned up, then dirtied the blood stream with a beer and 4 strong margaritas. Funny how that first night of sleeping with painful open and weeping wounds (poor Cini's sheets, I oozed all over them) wasn't so bad. Dr. Hassel and Dr. Brown were great dinner company. Craig had some UC Davis stories to share, as all 3 are alumi and seem to know many of the same folk. Too bad these gals don't live closer, I'd see more of them.

This morning it was all about Estes Park. An 85 mile mile round trip from Ft. Collins, this is a beautiful ride. The climbs around Horsetooth Reservoir were short and steep. But the ride up Big Thompson Canyon and up to Glen Haven was gradual and stunningly beautiful. Craig took the ride nearly to Estes Park, but my hip was begging for mercy. An Americano at Leah's was just what the doctor ordered. We booked it home though, losing elevation nearly the whole way. All in all, we did 70 Rocky Mt. miles in 3:45. Not too shabby. The evening is closing with a great stage of the Tour at Diana's. What a gracious hostess. Aside from killing a horse today, she's been so kind to us. I may have to seek some help with my biking problem.

Tomorrow, we'll do Salt Lake City Tuesday night world championships and spend one more evening with Kotval in delicious Park City. Then, it's off to Boise for a night, and the grand culmination of Cascade in Bend. Yahoo!

The Male Liz Hatch! Biatch

2008-07-06T16:45:00.000-07:00

Niwot has a great crit course. Technical, two 120 degree turns, and super fun. I rode agressively, at/off the front and saw my opportunity to bridge up to a lead rider, take a $125 prime, and get him to come with for the final 5 laps. I was dreaming of winning, riding like I wanted to, right up until the rainy wet pavement told me that I can't lean that hard into the corner. Off the front, solo, I went down. And it hurts.

Off to tacos and margaritas (lots of 'em) now though, as soon as I finish this beer. Looking forward to some Ft. Collins riding tomorrow.

Oh and Bubba, I need a new skin suit, this one only got two races.

Nats and Adios Louisville, Hola Kansas

2008-07-05T20:46:00.001-07:00

I’ve been meaning to write, really I have, but, I haven’t. Too much going on, not much time for sitting and hunting and pecking.

I’ve narrowed it down to two things, it has to be one, or a combination of the two that explains how it is that I got dropped at nationals road race; too much lube on my chain and/or a faulty pin job on my number. Either way, both can be attributed to Craig. After all, I am a bike racer, and anything I fail to accomplish on the bike, or any race I don’t win, or any bad thing that happens to me must be due to circumstances beyond my control, or at least, as a result of something external, like this is only my 5th race of the year, and it was the heat, the cold, the meal I ate, the pressure in my tires, the over training and lack of riding I’ve been doing. But alas, none of that applies here; it had to be the liberal application of lube (by Craig)! Yes, I was over T-9-ed, I sprayed too heavily and wiped too little. Don’t let this happen to you. The null hypothesis could be that those guys were freakin’ fast, faster than me even (gasp!). But we don’t talk like that, we’re too proud, we’re bike racers.

As I imagined, the course was spectacular. Fast, tough, technical and full force with lots of former pro’s who can pedal, handle and maneuver their bikes. I was thoroughly impressed with Team Specialized. They were savvy, aggressive and competitive in every category; a fun, talented group of guys to train and race with. Rob Anderson got away in his race with one other, for 5 grueling laps, dropping his fellow escapee with 8 miles to go and stretching his lead out to 25 seconds over a shattered field. The grittiest ride I’ve seen in a while and only to be caught, heart breakingly in the final 150 meters, losing the national title by seconds. Billy Innes showed some amazing talent, bridging up to a pro-powered 5 man break away and racing perfectly into a silver medal. His only downfall was the national title went to a 4 time national champion Paul Martin, who had a slightly bigger engine at the end. Kevin Metcalf, Craig Roemer, Wyatt Weisel, and Dean LeBerge all rode like pros. Kudos to them.

Louisville is a decent town, fairly well planned and full of history. But as soon as our race was over, we were over it. Boulder was calling our name and our great pal Lucas Euser, as it turned out, was to be awaiting our arrival in Denver, fresh off the plane from a half season of racing in Europe with Slipstream Chipoltle. Turns out he had a rough go when he got clipped by the medical car in a race there, going down and breaking a scapula. He’s on the mend now, and rumor has it there’s a chance he could be spotted at the San Luis Crit on July 20th. But let’s wrap up with some travel tales.

Life on the road is always boring, until it gets unbelievable.
We knew we’d end up in Kansas, we’d hoped for KC, MO, which is like Kansas, just a tad shy. Of course one of the only ways to get there from KY, is through St. Louis. That’s the way we went. We filled the tank again for way under $4, and hit a drizzly, flooded waterfront city just before 5pm. We got some close ups of the Rio Mississippi and the Arch, both were larger than can be imagined. It was also fascinating to see the old riverfront warehouse district, now defunct and abandoned, and think about what it looked like in its heyday. From there, it was rush hour, pre-4th of July, get outta town west on I-70 along with several million others to get to some destination where we’d be sure to be blowing up some fireworks. It was an LA-ish traffic jam. So I slept through it, awakened by the occasional Craig-curse at an obscene mobile gesture. Our dinner stop including a conversation with a hostess that wanted to steer us in the right direction, after all, she had gotten such a great deal, $500 worth of explosives for just $200. Hard earned money up in smoke?

My chauffer was a trooper, blowing through KC, MO and lighting out for Lawrence. We were ready to sleep by then, but the exits for Lawrence (home of KU, I had imagined a happening college town on Massachusetts Ave.) were closed and we couldn’t get off the highway. It was strange. But we figured Topeka is just down the turnpike (toll road, cost us all of $2.15 end to end). West of Topeka, we debated throwing sleeping bags down in a corn field for an 11pm to 6am snooze, but instead we opted for a much stinkier, dirtier, noisier, and completely revolting Motel 6. The non-smoking room smelled of bong water, the carpet was soggy wet with a dripping compressor, the downstairs neighbors were just getting started emptying vodka bottles into themselves – which they had completed by the time we left in the morning – I could tell because they staggered about the lawn with those empty bottles cursing other guests for looking at them, and best of all (not counting the cigarette burns in the linens or the cockroaches on the floor), the car alarms kept going off all night which kept me leaping out of bed and imagining $30,000 in bikes/wheels being stolen. I stayed in better kept places for $2 in rural Burma, where squatting over an open hole was the only way to relieve one self. Dog bless the capital of Kansas. From there, we knew we’d make Denver by the afternoon, and couldn’t wait to get the freak outta dodge.

Manhatten seemed like a logical stop for coffee and breakfast on the morning of the 4th. The Kansas St. university town likely caters to lovers of coffee and breakfast, if not a quaint bar and restaurant. So I thought. I can be wrong sometimes. Turns out getting kids into sports through Jesus is much more their style. The place was dead. It was a holiday, and summer time with school out, but even at its best, that place sucked. We left soon after arriving, and thought the flat lands of Kansas for the next 300 miles would be much more exciting. It was. Tales of riding with the pro-kid, meetings with stellar folk, and being surprisingly impressed with sushi in Denver and pedestrian planning Boulder, forthcoming.

Life on the Ohio, in Kentucky and Indiana

2008-07-01T13:58:00.000-07:00

Sunday was a travel day, but the shortest leg yet. All we had to cover was the 3 hours from Mt. Vernon, Illinois to our eastern most destination, Louvull, KY. Aside from a burning semi-tractor trailer on the side of the I-64, a man asleep? passed out? drunk? slouched upright on his pick up tailgate that was parked just on the highway median a foot inside the number one lane being approached by an officer with weapon drawn, the family picknicking in the grassy median in what looked like a 3 car pile up, and the motorcyclist doing wheelies, taunting a following truck by dropping his pants and wheelie-ing some more – it was an uneventful drive. Right up until some kind folk were trying to help some other stranded fellas change a flat tire – on the other side of the highway. Rather than wait for the lane to clear, or even to take the next exit and double back and park behind those in need, they just pulled over on the opposite side, sauntered across 4 lanes of 75 mph traffic, rolling a spare truck tire and causing braking, swerving and 4 near collisions. Dem dars some kind harted folk doin’ some dumb deeds. Darwin awards await.

First order of business was to preview the TT course, and ride the TT bikes. I know there are harder, longer, hillier races, but the TT is the most painful version of racing. I don’t care if it’s a 1 km pursuit, a 112 mile iron man leg or a 40km national championship, that f-in race is all about pain and suffering. The course was windy, rolling, and right along the Ohio River in southern Indiana. Roads narrow, pavement smooth, rollers rolling, we had seen enough to know what to expect the next morning. So it was off to the check in. The Galt Hotel is a splendid house high on the river in downtown. It’s home for these 4 days in Louie.

The next morning Craig popped outta bed as though he has missed his start (I made mine with 15 seconds to spare). And we arrived at the course with plenty of time to true wheels, place numbers and warm up nervously. Metcalfe and Innes of Team Specialized are here with us, each looked to have a good day and a shot at the stars and stripes. As it turns out, they had two very fast times and each earned bronze medals as the 3rd fastest soloist in the country in their age groups, impressive rides with podium finishes. I was more out to suffer for the camaraderie aspect and perhaps to set a time to beat in future years. In my particular case, my glute was hurting like nobody’s business. That muscle is simply not well developed enough for hard efforts in the TT position. I rode as hard as I could, for an hour, in the rain and stiff wind and finished not last. I couldn't walk after the race, literally.

As for Craig, he put in a great ride, a PR to be exact. And no one can say he doesn't put safety first in the shower. In the TT he put out a consistent high amounts of power, averaged 30 more beats per minute than I could muster and put a good ten minutes into me. Ouch. His great ride, however, was good for no better than 7th. Turns out about six fellas in his category were just faster yesterday. That’s the way it is some days. The afternoon focus was a coffee stop and a road race course preview. Some words and descriptions for Thurdays epic RR; this course is classic (pdf to course map), and for those (me) who aren't pure climbers, it is a blast. Not a single flat section, fast, technical descents and sharp, short power climbs - trust that the winners of RR Nat's may not be the purely strongest riders in the country, but to win on this course you need an excellent combination of power, savvy, patience, descending and bike handling skills. It should be fun, fun, fun.

Having pedaled for all we were worth in the morning and an awesome recovery ride slash road race course preview in the afternoon, we were 50 miles of calories burned and all set for a pub feast of beer, seared ahi, curry chips, salads, codfish and chips, Sheppard’s pie and tall tales of the day’s seconds lost.

Tuesday was a true vacation day. After breakfast, we had ride plans. But at breakfast, Sharon was pure entertainment. She asked what I wanted to drink, oj, coffee... I asked if she had any bourbon (this is Kentucky after all), and she was thrown off.

"It's a bit early, dontcha think?"

"Well it's 4 o'clock somewhere."

"Where?"

"London."

"Is London that far away?" she wondered. She asked where we were from and proudly let us know that she knows California, it cost her $200 in gas to drive her Geo Prism out there one time... to Riverside. I let her know that Riverside was not representative of California. That took us to a lively discussion about what we were doing here.

"Ya'll came all the way out here, to ride bicycles?"

"Sure."

"Don't ya'll have to work?"

"No, Craig's taking 6 months off, I'm taking two."

"Well, ya'll must be rich, I dunno how ya'll can afford to do that." I think she's right.

Another 50 mile spin along the Ohio River. We did most all of it single file due to l ack of shoulders, presence/speed of cars and perhaps less than stellar route choice.

But when all you have on your agenda for the day (Billy also had digging for gold on his agenda) is sleeping in, eating breakfast with coffee, riding, showering, having lunch, having another coffee and laying around the pool reading a great book, then you know it, you know it is a great day. .

"The last clear definite function of man – muscles aching to work, minds aching to create beyond the single need – this is man. To build a wall, to build a house, a dam, and in the wall and the house and the dam to put something of Manself, and to Manself take back something of the wall, the house, the dam; to take hard muscles from the lifting (riding!), to take clear lines and form from conceiving. For man, unlike anything organic or inorganic in the universe, grows beyond his work, walks up the stairs of his concepts, emerges ahead of his accomplishments. This you may say of man – when theories change and crash, when schools, philosophies, when narrow dark alleys of thought, national, religious, economic, grow and disintegrate, man reaches, stumbles, forward, painfully mistakenly sometimes. Having stepped forward, he may slip back, but only a half a step, never a full step back. This you may say and know it and know it."
– John Steinbeck

All you feminist out there don’t fret a second, the heroine of this story, the strongest, wisest and lovingest person, is, as we might expect, a woman.

Fireworks (6 for 1), Roadside Porn (or tractor pull) and Needing an Arc

2008-06-29T06:48:00.000-07:00

Saturday morning was TT practice. Craig can TT, I can TTT, but somehow, when forced to go it alone, the race of truth tells me lies about my cycling ability. We left the Inn for a couple hours of being in that awkward position. It was my 3rd day in the TT position this week, and the 3rd time since 2001 as well. My ass cramped up on me, but no one cares about the pain of others as we all have our own. I took a bunch of shots of the landscape, us assuming the position (bent over) and of course, of some midwestern (organic corn?) farming.
Other than the impending thunderstorms, we were unconcerned with the 30 mph wind gusts. A quick loop around Maloney Lake and a shot out Brown Road was enough to tire me out. Back we marched into North Platte to pack up for the haul to, well, we weren’t sure where. We were on our way, but didn’t know where we’d end up. If we wanted, we could have stopped every mile for fireworks, every other mile for XX porn (I guess XXX would be too raunchy), and every 5th mile for roadside liquor and church services. After seeing the Fireworks Emporium, Outlet, Warehouse and many signs for "6 for the price of one" (is the one that marked up, or is this just the mother of all bargains?). We later saw a guy with a stand claiming 2 for 1, and wondered how can he possibly compete? In Missouri along I-70, they have life figured out. If you're not at the tractor pull, you can blow things up, get drunk enough to not care what you’re doing, and then get excited enough to touch yourself. Once complete, simply cross the highway overpass to the where Yahweh’s word is being handed out – and bingo, repent, rinse, repeat.

I was thoroughly impressed with the might, mass, and majesty of the Missouri River. Wow. It is filled bank to bank, levee to levee and flowing with alacrity. We crossed before and after Kansas City several times. And all I could think was this is a tributary of the Mississippi. Once into St. Louis, the Mighty Mississippi was earning her keep - pushing Amazonian volumes in late June. The pillars of the RR bridge were barely holding their ground and both upstream and down from the Gateway to the West, she is spilling her banks and causing billions of dollars of damage. Nature bats last and while the banks haven’t been split like this since 1993, the folks along the river might think about backing up again. But naw, this is the U.S., instead, we’ll likely pump out all the mud and water from hundreds of towns, and claim that all we need are stronger, bigger, taller levees. That will do the trick. Go for it.

The day ended an hour east of St. Louis in lovely Mt. Vernon, Illinois. We were knackered, all we could muster was a Roadhouse Saloon dinner, margaritas and another night in an air conditioned haven. The continental breakfast will likely be the same, bagels, oj and a cup of coffee that can be described as “worse that licking the oil pan under a Ford Bronco.” Tomorrow we’ll be in Louisville, riding the blustery TT course and getting ready for Monday’s National Championship TT. My goal is to not finish DFL and if I do, break the hour mark. Craig’s wants to win, conquering his past TT demons. He's got a shot, I'm not an oddsmaker, but if I were, I say he'll have to have a perfect day and his very strong class of competitors will need to be less than perfect. I've got my fingers crossed, he deserves it. Especially after finding this turtle.

Can you tell how big the Mississippi river is, how full, how powerful?

Hit Me, Byyyy… That Much

2008-06-29T06:35:00.000-07:00

Our sundowner ride was a refreshing way to end a 13 hour day in the car. Emigration Canyon is popular ride for Salt Lakers. The climb was crawling with riders, groups, males, females and triathletes. Shortly after the ride we arrived at Miss Kotval’s palace, where she and Nate had coldski’s and gin-tonic’s waiting for us. We enjoyed the view westward of the valley, but Craig could not believe the amount of development that had occurred in Park City since his childhood ski adventure days back in the 60’s. Development changes landscapes and makes people rich. It didn’t take long for Kotval to ask Craig, “Can you stand him for more than, like 10 minutes?” To which Craig responded with silence.

“He’s unrelenting,” she added.

"I relent," I rebutted. We chatted, played with Pow-dog and Buster and slept peacefully. The peace would relent in the morning.

Instead of riding with us, Kirsten sent us up to old PC, down Main Street and up to Deer Valley. The Royal climb was filled with vistas of thin air and empty green slopes. All that was left was the descent back to the homestead and saddling up for the leg to Nebraska. About 2 miles from home, I did just what the Safety Buffalo (aka K-dog) and balding Benji would have wanted – I took the lane. There was no shoulder so after accelerating up to speed in the lane I pulled to the right to let an aggressive driver pass. She was on my tale and I didn't want to hold her up.

Only problem is as soon as she did pass, she made a hard right, forcing me to make a right with her, braking hard and bouncing off of her passenger door until the pavement gave way to dirt and I lost my front wheel. I reacted by throwing my right leg over the bars and wound up jumping over my bike as it hit the deck for the first time in its two year life. Rather amazingly I landed on my feet and took it into a dead speedplay cleat run to the black Audi, irate at the either oblivious or malicious driver. She stopped and I approached her driver window letting her know she just hit me (not in such polite terms). She responded in denial, asked where did I come from and said she didn’t even see me. She passed me, swerving around me on a narrow road and turned right in front of me. Didn't see me, my ass.

After cursing her out, I was pounding with adrenaline, as was Craiger, so we rolled away, there was nothing left to say or do. I picked up my banged up bike and not long after, there she was. She had followed us, was trying to take our picture with her phone and was veering into the bike lane, forcing us to brake and swerve to avoid her. Hello? Psycho bitch! I turned around on a two lane road to ride back to Craig and she pulled a U-ee, stacking up lines of cars and city buses as she did so. Twice. She was hunting us down (on the road at the top picture) so we split up, Craig back to the house and me up into Kotval’s hood. We made it out of there, barely, in time to shower for the majestic drive through southern Wyoming and into Nebraska.

I must have slept half of the drive. But what I saw of the Continental Divide, the Red Desert, and the Snowy Range was impressive. A stop in Rock Springs, Wyoming was enough to convince us that we were blessed not to live there. Much the same feeling we got when we rolled into North Platte, Nebraska to have our "supper" at the Whisky Creek Steakhouse Grill and Saloon. What a cultural experience that was. We were the only two men (on honeymoon) out together. The restaurant was filled with families, robust adults, well mannered children, and a few courting couples. Absent were any same-sex tables, any blacks, any Mexicans (not even in the kitchen or bussing tables), or any other non-anglo, non-Christ loving persons. The pulled pork, the briskets, coleslaw and bake beans (that’s twice now!) were tasty and filling. The Hampton in was calling our name and we got a king bed to share and prep for time trial practice on Saturday morning.

Chasing Pussy, Getting Stiffed

2008-06-26T21:20:00.000-07:00

I wanted it, I couldn’t get it. If I was to get it, I couldn’t decide between spanking it, loving it, or leaving it. I searched, I hunted, I cat called, but that pussy was elusive. I was getting desperate and blue, like the Pacific over Malibu.

I knew not to let it happen. I corralled Che when I was about an hour away from departure. The previous month was filled with big time decisions, the previous weeks with life’s transitions and the past few days with backbreaking hauling, cleaning (spank you black hammer) and condo improvements (spank you gym rat and Isaacs). All I really wanted was to be done with home and on my way to wine country to start the bike racing adventure of 2008. What I got was a beyond frustrating day of testing my patience (I have none) and figuring out if the trip would even happen. He's a good kitty, when sleeping.

Up ahead lies roads not traveled (I’m 72 miles from Winnemuca as I type), behind me the best group of peeps within the first real community I’ve ever been a part of. The future holds a promising planning career in the resplendent wine country of Sonoma County with its proximity to both the city and the rugged Mendocino Coast – that place has culture galore and rides to die for. The trade off has been letting go of landscape, rural roads, perfect weather, and an utter absence of traffic, crime or pollution. But in this moment, none of that mattered. The car was packed with three bikes, all the goods needed for 10 races in 4 states, a gimpy dog and work clothes for the first few weeks in Santa Rosa. What was missing was Che el Rey, el gato revolucionario. He smelled the departure and like all good revolutionaries, he rebelled. So there was no way to leave. I had to wait, and wait, and wait. One, two, five, six hours went by. No pussy kitty.

For ten years, the most predictable, loving, caring and smelly (pussy breath - ewe) creature in my life was gone and not coming home, not with all the landscaping leaf blowers, paint guns, and construction around the complex. Because I was dumb enough to let him out, I was paying the ultimate price. The irony! I was imprisoned in SLO town, the place I most hated to leave until the very moment I was ready to go. Much like the time I forgot to set the parking break on my car in my steep driveway and let it roll into my neighbor’s kitchen, thus prompting a $30k “remodel,” I was once again reminded how expensive it is to be dumb. Many of you know, others can only imagine, stupidity is so spendy… need any proof, look at our national economy!

Miss Hernandez to rescue. I found a lovely lassy to, in the event the pussy returns, keep Che fed and watered until mid July. So off like a prom dress – after six hours of dancing and cat calling, the spaghetti straps were torn and the silk hit the ground as fast as gravity would accelerate it (9.8 meters per second, per second).

A sundowner ride awaits in the Wasatch, an evening with Kotval in Park City. Craig is in good spirits (shown here with a message of sorts and the backdrop of the Bonneville Salt Flats) and despite Karen’s farewell dinner of baked beans and coleslaw, he’s not too gassy so far. The minivan has two racers in the front, five steeds in the back (Clapper!) and the adventure has begun. The motif of the trip, as we cross out into this great nation of ours – liberal, progressive, conscientious (that’s the hypothesis) – is that Craig and I are “on our honeymoon from San Francisco, courtesy of Gavin Screwsome, Mayor extraordinaire.” You should have seen the looks on the faces of the gals at the counter in Reno, Nevada when I let them know such. We about died of laughter. One turned bright red, giggled, and said, “Yeah, I guess with the new ruling in California, we’ll be getting our share of San Francisco honeymooners up in the Tahoe area.” Wildfires aside, Craig quipped, “It’s all about a smokin’ good time this trip!” The lady to the right had a cartoon caption coming out of her head, “OH MY gOD, dem dar’s some gay folk!” She didn’t look at us, didn’t laugh, didn’t smile. All she could muster was a nervous manning of her computer screen. She was as anxious for us to leave as I am to try our skit out in a diner in Lincoln, Nebraska.

And by the way, the rides up East Canyon, Emigration Canyon, along with the sunset in Park City come highly recommended.

Keep it Simple

2008-02-11T11:01:00.000-08:00

Simply put, i have an amazing dog. Actually, I have two amazing dogs, but they cause amazement for very different reasons. As complicated as life can be at times; refi's, redo's, relationships...to slash and scoop or to drive and dish? How much should I train, for what purpose? Who and what should I invest in? How we spend our days, is how we spend our lives. Ah yes, all of this and more is why sometimes, it's so nice to stick to what we know for sure - Eddy is a sheppard/chow genius and Merckx is pointer/lab instinctual hunter and prolific runner.

Eddy knows what she wants, how to get it, and makes everyone fall for her in the process. She likes affection, her way on her time. A scratch here or there, but no cuddling. She loves swimming in the surf, herding anything on the move (cars, bikes, dogs, cattle), and of course her greatest pleasure (also one of mine) - eating. She is kind, caring, very much in touch with all human energy and extremely patient and tolerant.

Merckx, um, er, not so much. He is more anxious and demanding than she is calm and enduring. He's kinda dumb. He is bred for a singular purpose; to flush game (birds and small mammals) in the field for hunters. He is a true field dog; tireless, unbridled and knowing no distraction when on course. He won't come when called, he won't tire when run, and he won't stop whining until he is turned loose to be the dog that he is. He can clean a 6 foot high fence like a low hurdle or a 12 foot wide ravine as though it were a stepping stone. He'll scale any slope and occasionally slams his face into the ground while descending hills and misjudging the dips in the terrain. But this does not stop him. A shake of the head to regather, and off he dogs.

Eddy is an Alpha, she will let you (other dogs mostly) know that she thinks she should be in charge. If you disagree, prove it! I lost a lot of blood one time, breaking up a true dog fight (as opposed to a loud barking and dancing match) between her and a ripped pit bull. I had to save the pit from the jugular hold it was under. The great thing about dogs (and most people don't know this) is their language is deep and complex. Full of statures, smells, glands, pheromones, postures, poses, and showing of ass or teeth, their communication speaks volumes to one another. Most humans don't recognize this and feel the need to intervene. But neither dog wants trouble - the alpha doesn't want to risk injury or loss of status and so signals to others - I am the one, you are at least two or 4 in the hierarchy. The others signal, belly open, or head or tail down - "ok, agreed." It is only when there is a disagreement, rarely, that things must be worked out. And even then, a shouting match is about all it takes before the dance settles into play.

Merckx and I will partake in one of our favorite pastimes for lunch hour - Mt Biking. He'll do 20 miles and I'll do about 10 on the same route. The only thing he enjoys more is a wide open beach full of birds and the only thing I enjoy more is, well, not part of this post. We are keeping it simple, remember. As a rescue project last summer, he has come a long way. Extremely demanding and far from ideal, it is time to accept him for who he is, all his wonders and all his shortcomings. I am learning to appreciate both, and it feels good. He will never be able to calmly stroll about on voice command, unleashed and focused on me. He will never be secretive about where he drops his doggy bombs, nor will he leave the room to pass gas. He will simply be himself and the truth about that is, he brings lots of laughs, companionship and smiles to anyone who experiences him just being himself.

Eddy is due for some surgery, soon. The queen has a torn cruciate ligament. She has had a hard time with the lack of mobility and lack of opportunities to herd Merckx. She knows she's hurt, but doesn't care, would rather just run till she can't anymore and limp there after. I struggle with doling out $3000 for a canine, when so many of my own species are struggling to eat, breath, survive. What would that Burmese family I stayed with say if they knew I was going to spend that much money (more than they make in a year!) on my dog's knee? They would have me committed.

Probably not a bad idea.

the arm was re-attached

2007-12-21T11:22:00.001-08:00

i guess i'm not having such a rough day afterall. a vet was trying to remove some tranquilizer darts... oops on that dosage!

Pants on FIRE

2007-12-12T13:02:00.000-08:00

I'm as big a flirt as the next guy, but I try and make sure that what I say, can be pass the significant other test.

Some time ago after (guess what?) a nice 2 hour bike ride, my riding partner for that day and I decided to end the morning with coffee shop stop. Hmmm... deep rich bitter black brew for me, some sugary foamy non-fat milky desert-like drink for her. Gross. The place we were staying was close enough to the cafe to afford a shower and change before getting high on caffeine, even though going to coffee shop in the shammy and cleats feels like vacation - to me anyway. Oh and what else do you need to know? She's a looker.

So we funnel in like cattle, line up for our fix and decide to divide and conquer. I'll order the drinks and get a table and absent any readable newspaper, she'll walk to the drug store next door and get an LA or NY Times to peruse while the jo begins to flow.

We get the drinks, and I head over to the bar as she makes a pit stop and then runs the errand. I'm at the sugar/cream bar polluting her beverage with "in the raws" and this attractive lady is scolding her 6 year old, "Johnny, you have to start eating something that's good for you, waffles and bagels everyday isn't cutting it." (Maybe she should start feeding him something different instead of giving in to his constant beggings for maple syrup and cream cheese depositories?)

I chime in, glancing both mother and son a smile, "She's right, gotta eat those fruits and veggies to be strong." She winks a thank you and whisks him out the door for patio time and I settle into a table awaiting my mainstream media indoctrination.

Back comes my hotty with a paper and, "you won't believe what just happened!" "Sure I will," I say flippantly, "go for it."

"This guy just followed me into the drug store, practically stalked me in the isle to come up to me and say 'WOW, I just wanted to let you know you have some gorgeous legs.'" Not so terribly surprising, given the actual legs, but wait. "Get this," she adds, "he had a wedding ring and a kid with him, and look (out the window of the cafe), here they come back from the drug store! What an ass!" She didn't respond to his flattery and went about the Sunday deforestation purchase. Got it? Get it? Guess it?

Yeppers, it's little Johnny, this time with daddy. I let her know... "I think I know you suitor's wife!" I look outside to see the milfa and sure enough, she's out there yapping away to some girlfriends and I seize my opportunity, the ground work for which was laid with fruit and veggies.

I stroll on out and ask her, "Excuse me ma'am, but is that your husband standing there in the t-shirt and blue shorts (me pointing to the jerk with kid in hand)?" Surprised, confused, she says, "What?"

"I said, I'd like to know if that's your husband."

Cautiously and perhaps cringing at the thought of an unwanted come-on or insult, "Yes, why do you want to know?"

"Because my lady friend and I would appreciate it if he didn't follow her into the drug store into several isles towing your son, staring at her "features" and compliment her on how amazing her legs look, he made her very uncomfortable."

"Um, why don't you tell him that," she replies angrily. "Oh, I don't want to start any trouble," I lied, "I just thought you'd like to know." As she moves toward pops and Johnny, I calmly stroll back in, calculating that my coffee is just about perfect drinking temperature.

As I am recapping the outside-the-cafe tom-foolery to my gal, in comes MILF, laughing awkwardly, cowering and apologizing, "I'm SO sorry!" she says, "I just wanted to apologize, I am SO embarrassed."

Um Yea, no kidding!

"It's just that my husband just shaved his arms and legs, and he was talking about his legs, not yours."

"Ya know what," I wryly reply, "That sounds highly unlikely, but we'll just let this one go."

I know we can let it go, but I do wonder how the rest of their day went or if he'll continue chasing down gals to flirt with while out with his wife and son. And if she is that willing to buy that SHITE from him, little ole Johnny's gonna be eating pussy for breakfast as soon as he figures that one out.

Such an Idiot!

2007-12-10T11:46:00.000-08:00

Passing by one of my coworker’s cubes, I see this picture from a distance. It looks like a wedding picture, so I ask, “May I have a look at that? Wow! You look beautiful. I really like your hair long like that,” I tell my attractive, middle aged, mid-length hair coworker. Mistake.

The next morning I hear her going off to our fellow coworkers about “if Peter doesn’t have anything nice to say…” and how she was up last night thinking about it, that she likes her hair as it is now. What a jerk I am.

So I ask Diddles, “What the F?” He says, “Look Peter, my wife will come up to me and say (pointing to herself), ‘How do I look?’” Diddles replies without much thought or hesitation, “Um, ya look fine.”

“WHAT!” she exclaims, “WHAT’s wrong, why do you think I’m so ugly?????”

I guess if he doesn’t do back flips, she’s not happy. I guess he should have said, “You look gorgeous, unbelievably sexy, I have to have you right now (in that old baggy t-shirt with the stain on it from that team building exercise you did for your old work several years ago)!” Can’t she look in the mirror and decide for herself how she looks? I mean he married her; he must like or even love how she looks. How will men ever be able to please women? And given the choice to try, it becomes clearer to understand why one may choose not to.

Take for example my buddy Izzo. He is no longer with his girlfriend; sweet, smart, athletic and cute though she is. So instead of hanging with her yesterday afternoon as I would have easily (stupidly?) chosen to do, after an epically fun and icy ride (i don't mean cold, I mean 3 inches of ice), he decides to go out with some idiot kid alcoholics. Mostly 21 year old boys who can’t believe they can now drink in public but also including a stick figured smoker gal with tight slacks and heals who says things like, “That turkey is SO cool, like amazing, you don’t even know!, I've never met a live turkey like that before”… to get plastered on wine and vodka with them. They were wine tasting, but at $10 a taste, some decided, “Let’s just go get a bottle of vodka.” Cut to the chase.

At least with that group, you don’t have to worry about offending or pleasing anyone. There must be some logic there. Apparently Izzo is smarter that he appeared yesterday.

It’s Just a Ride – Life, Death, and Tradition.

2007-12-03T15:23:00.000-08:00

Traditions

What do you expect from yourself, your life, your future? How will you make that happen? Unmet expectations can be terribly painful and trying; exceeded ones joyous. Yesterday wrapped up 3 days of stellar riding in great weather with quality people. It’s official, Happy Hills SLO Training Camp (formerly known as Camp Peter Brown) is a local tradition. Expectations exceeded.

I love some of the traditions from cultures far away – celebrating the lives of lost love ones not by dressing in black and feeling bad for ourselves (necessary mourning notwithstanding – funerals and death need not be just about the pain of those still alive)... But by throwing parties in their honor thanking them for all they brought to our lives. The party can incorporate their favorite things – like a camping, dancing and drinking party for old Ed Abby in the desert southwest.

However, for the most part I am not big on traditions, not in my culture anyway. Fueling capitalism by buying gifts that people don’t need (or even want) to show you “care” on the anniversary of a religious figure’s birthday… for example. The more expensive the gift, the more you care? I’d rather show my friends and family they matter all year round through shared experiences, rather than exchanged pittances. I’d rather make them a meal, take them on a bike ride, backpacking, or to the dog park! I’d rather make them laugh. I like fun time with loved ones as much as the next guy. I am accustomed to the dysfunctional family gathering as it seems much more “normal” than a group of primates of shared inherited genetic molecules all getting along merrily. But I usually go for a long solo bike ride that morning. The roads are deliciously empty.

One of the ways to “build community” is to start a tradition and I am so proud to have begun one here in little SLO town. Communities and happiness have little to do with money. The GNP, GDP, consumer confidence and retail success are on the line this month, what ever will happen? Well, if measured by smiles and miles, the SLO Training Camp was a huge success. No dollars needed. With our newly rekindled SLO Criterium getting flack from short sighted and misguided downtown decision makers, next year maybe we can alert the local media and the downtown association to highlight some coverage – run a story, take some pictures as Happy Hills rolls out of town, surely to return. That way, the residents can see how a healthy, active lifestyle can be promoted in our town. The community can rally around cyclists and not let the closure of the a couple blocks of downtown streets for 1 day… be a reason to complain. Heaven forbid people have to park farther than right in front of a store, or maybe even walk, ride, or bus to downtown one day. We should dictate our own civic lives in the ideal gathering place, the city center. 100 riders, all together, looks impressive.

Happy Hills

Sure, there were folks who thought it was too fast, too slow, too hilly, not hilly enough, too short, too long – but that speaks much more to the big diverse peleton of 45-65 riders we had rolling happily (grumpily?) around the county than it does to dissatisfaction. I’d rather be all inclusive than too selective about who attends. I’d rather make fast people slow down in early December than give them a place to show off. Show me something in a race. Show me how you can help a teammate win, sacrifice. I think opportunities to split and rejoin the group by ability level keeps all happy. Fast folks go right and climb that steep biatch, if you’re taking it easy, follow them to the left and we’ll see you in an hour or two. I loved looking over my shoulder from the front and seeing the tail of the group cresting a quarter mile back as we reach top speed. I like giving relatively new riders a chance to ride with some of the best racers in the country in a large group, practicing their skills, gaining strength and endurance – all while seeing what a beautiful gem this Central Coast is. I like to see people making friends. I’d guess everyone, without exception, had some sore legs and happy hearts.

I cherish effort, the pace lifting, the pack growing quiet, concentrating, breathing, wondering how much farther to the top. How about the view from the top, worth it? The energy is literally palpable when a mob of happy, healthy, bundled hairless chimpanzees (been reading too much Jared Diamond lately – so convincing) roll around together hunched over two wheeled efficiencies transporting themselves while ensuring their own (and their planet’s) longevity. They could be riding to work, riding the kids to school, or riding to pick up something from the store. But they might just be riding because they love it. The wind is in their face and they feel alive, aware, awake.

But with NRC race winners and national champions riding along side weekend warriors through steep, challenging terrain – what can be gained? Experience has no substitute. What can be more beautiful than a cancer survivor riding beyond himself, knowing more than anyone else what it felt like to work hard, to face death, to live and to ride again? And while local doctors crack femurs descending sandy steep twisting mountains (Doc and Mrs. Collins were in GREAT spirits - morphine? He’ll be on the trainer soon, back to work in few weeks, and out on the ride by February) – who is to say what matters most in life? To each their own.

And lastly since no one read the description of the camp or route details (previous blog post below), next year’s invite will be short and sweet. It will look something like this…Comments and suggestions about this and future camps, more than welcome. Can’t wait to see ya at the 5^th annual.

Come ride for 3 days, Dec 5-7 – 2008 in Happy Hills San Luis Obispo. Bring warm clothes.

Day 1 – Leaving at 12 noon - 3-5 hour ride. UP the grade to Creston. All stay together. “B” Group – easy route back to SLO via O’Donovan and rollers on 58. “A” Group - via La Panza and 58.

Day 2 BIG DAY – Leaving at 8:30am, - 5-6 hours. Up the Coast to Cayucos. All stay together. Entire group climbs epic Hwy 46. “A” riders regroup at the top and are off to Peachy Canyon, Paso, Templeton, Atascadero and down the Grade. “B” riders regroup at top, and come down Old Creek, back the Coast home.

Day 3 – Leaving at 8:30am. Huasna Townsite out via Orcutt, back via 227. “A” group returns via Printz and La Teena, chasing back to “B” group on 227. Ride ends at Uptown Café.

SLO Happy Hills Winter Training Camp

2007-11-21T10:54:00.000-08:00

Just a reminder, the SLO "Happy Hills" Training camp has received a great response as is ready to roll out in about a week! The weather should be perfect. The hills have gotten hillier as riders have lobbied for more options, but ride plans will accommodate all. Don't be afraid. But bring enough food for long days in the saddle. One water stop will be had per day.

All new routes planned, new roads, new climbs, epic tales to be told. See below. Part of the revamped plan will allow some riders to "stretch their legs" while the rest of the group rolls on at a slow winter pace. If you are not from the Central Coast area, you'll be amazed at the riding here! World Class, reminds me of where I grew up riding, Sonoma County, endless options, quite roads, varied terrain and great weather.

Roadies!

Mark your calendars, get your hotel reservations or book a spot on the floor somewhere...The FOURTH ANNUAL SLO Training Camp is BACK! Severe rain cancels, anything less we ride. Wind does not change route plan. :)
Come one come all! The more the merrier, I always say.

Three days of long, slow endurance miles on the beautiful back roads of the sunny Central Coast at winter pace. Most riders are very experienced so even "slow" miles for them will seem fast for others. The group is always big and your bike handling skills must be high. This is not a race. There are chances to cut the ride short if you need to. I'll be taking $5 donations on Friday and Saturday so we can have SAG support all day Saturday, but always be prepared to fix your own flats and find your way back to the group or home.

All rides will begin at Uptown Espresso (HMMM, Coffee - 1065 Higuera St., SLO-town 93401 ) and leave on time, not 10 minutes late. There is a bathroom at the coffee shop, and one across the street at Higuera St. Cafe or down a block at Peets, but try and do your "stuff" before you get there. Pee stops will be had on the ride.

Friday 1pm - Head south for some rolling terrain, SLOWLY Up tough climb of Perfumo, REGROUP at END OF SHORT DIRT ROAD atop See, then down See Canyon, south to Pismo Beach, OPTIONAL WADSWORTH CLIMB lead by Dirk Copeland, CHASING BACK TO THE GROUP DOWN Price Canyon and REGROUPING at the top of Ormonde , Printz to Arroyo Grande, water stop at AG Park, then out toward HUASNA and back to SLO on 227. 4.5 hours - 70 miles.

Saturday 8:30am (come at 8:00 for coffee) - BIG Day, Going North. Hilly terrain, but slow climbs. Alternative starting point at Santa Margarita/Hwy 101/58 Park and Ride lot at 9:40. Up Cuesta Grade - slow neutral climb, after Margarita PnR regroup, out Park Hill Road, SLOW climb there also. BLACK MOUNTAIN will be the toughest climb of the week (month? year?), to the highest paved road in the County. Everyone should plan on doing it. Option one - KOM - all the way to the tower at the top for "leg stretchers," 10 mins wait and descend. Stragglers should turn around if group is descending. Option two, slowly up to the top of the saddle and don't make Left turn. Enjoy the view. Descend with caution back to Pozo Rd, LEFT TURN and regroup for water/food at the POZO fire station. Back Pozo Road to 58, down grade. 6 hours - 85 miles, it will feel like 100.

Sunday 8:30am (come at 8:00 for coffee) - Headed South on 227, just like the 2006 Tour de California departure route; 227 to Corbett Canyon. After that out to Lopez Lake restrooms/water stop, (some riders wanting a flat easy day will turn around here for about a 40 mile ride) otherwise it's HILLS around the lake to French Camp (short dirt section) and onto Lopez Canyon, OPTIONAL LEFT TURN on UPPER LOPEZ for EXTRA CLIMBING, otherwise RIGHT TURN on UPPER LOPEZ, steep climb then descend to High Mt. Road, LEFT Turn to head out High Mt. to the end of pavement. Chasers will catch up on High Mt. road. From there it is flat (finally!) and down hill for 25 miles back to SLO on Orcutt Road. 5 Hours - 70 miles.

ABSOLUTELY NO HWY 1 TRAFFIC on this year's camp. "Up the Coast" may come back by popular demand in 2008.

Any questions, let me know, otherwise get ready. Ride.

Peter Brown

805.440.4968 (slopedro@gmail.com)

PARTY???? Oh yes and Saturday at 5pm-10pm, I will cook my famous Turkey/Veggie Chili, Couscous, Rice, and Bread feast at my condo (2250 king ct. #89, 93401) - Park in the King Ct. Cul-de-Sac and walk on up to my unit, it is the last one on the Left side before the 2nd driveway- don't enter any driveways, you'll be lost forever, the unit is on the street. Complete with music, fire pit, the beer and wine , sodas/water, salads, appetizers and desserts that you bring, and tall tales of the day's heroes and goats.

Flight of the Conchords - Business Time

2007-09-20T17:33:00.001-07:00

It's business time baby... nough said

Bad Rusty! That was a $600 carbon wheel!

2007-07-18T17:31:00.001-07:00

But great to see the tail still waggin! Goooooodddd DAWG~

Road Trippin w. the Leipheimers

2007-07-16T19:25:00.000-07:00

As a car less (and careless actually) 25 year old kid, I would do the group rides out of Dave's Bike Sport in Santa Rosa on Wednesday mornings because to train with Peters, Sayers, Levi, Odessa, Nancy Vallance, Roemer, Divine, Hagenlocher, Julian Dean (love the way he delivers Hushovd), Roberto Gaggioli and the occasional Julich, was about as much fun as was possible on the bike. I also would forage around to look for rides to the races. Sayers and Levi were always, shall we say, a bit uptight on the rides, they basically liked to go hard and would chew you out if you didn't pull through as hard and long as they did. "Sorry Mike," I throw out sarcastically, "we all can't be big pro Mercury studs like you." We'd do the Tuesday night twilight's and tell stories of horror and glory on our long endurance days. Those were the days.

So Nancy and Odessa, neither very shy, get to voting on who has the nicest ass and legs (separate vote) and I begin to overhear. Any guesses, tallies on who was the top vote getter were? Have you seen John Peter's legs? I am getting away from myself here, but if you ever get a chance to overhear cycling chixs talk about guy's bodies... take it, pure entertainment.

Turns out Levi and Odessa are driving down to Visalia that weekend and have room in the Nissan.

Odessa, "Awesome, come with us!" Me, "Super, what time we leaving?" Levi, "What? Why to do we have to take him?"

I get picked up on Friday, Blondie is at the wheel. I toss my bike on the rack and we're off, all the way down I-5. Beautiful country. Uneventful trip, except when we stop for gas and baldy takes over the wheel. The rest of the way we are doing 55, his hands are at 2 and 10, and Blondie is constantly on him about how he can possibly be going so damn slow, on a four lane highway, two lane road, cars stacked up behind us, no matter. 2 and 10. If you can believe it, and I know you can't, I just sat in the back and stayed quiet. A bike racer driving to a race like a grandma, slow and barely able to see over the steering wheel.

We get to the Holiday Inn at Visalia and the Saturn team whisks baldy away for his massage. So that leaves me and his hot girlfriend...

"Well, let's get a room and go for a ride," she says with a huge smile. Words I'd been wanting to hear (still want to hear) all my life.

Me, "Um er, ok, I am down to share a room, I couldn't afford one on my own anyway, not here."

We get our room, one of the last ones and we're in, shackin' up. She calls up skinny, and says, "Hey, Peter and I are in 206."
Baldy exclaims audibly through the phone, "WHAT, you're sharing a room with him????!!"

Blondie, "What's the big deal, it's just Peter... besides, what are we supposed to do, fork out over a hundred each and have rooms next door to each other? Come on, relax, we're going for a ride and we'll be back so we all can eat."

"Just" me, hmmm, flattering. Stories follow from both her and me about riding, racing, training, and sex - she brought that last one up.

Ride was fun, although I don't remember any of it. We get back, shower up (she went first), towel off, and end up in the prone position, each of us on our own concaved, well used queen beds 10 feet apart and here it comes... "Levi trains so hard, and when he gets done, all he wants to do is eat and go to sleep. He never wants to have sex. And when he does want to, it's over so fast i don't even get anything out of it." (sorry buddy - but you have bigger fish (sausage?) to fry, go get 'em in the TT and Pyrenees, just stay with Moreau, the Chicken, or Valverde - quit marking Vino, he's got nothing this year)

Me to self, "Oh my god, please, please, don't ask me to help this situation." I turned out to be a good friend, faithful, consoling... offering, "Hey, look on the bright side, he trains less in the off season. Try him then... or you should throw yourself at him early in the week, before interval Tuesdays. Besides, he's all big on getting to Europe, doing the tour, but so are lots of guys, he'll probably only race a few more years and then you can take him out to pasture, the stud." We talk some more and doze off, in our own beds, dreaming of... yes that is it, the Rocky Hills RR the next day. Nothing else.

Tailwinds and Tail waggin'

2007-07-09T10:11:00.000-07:00

I often say "the wind is your friend, it's either making you stronger or getting you there quicker." I hope this weekend it's both.

So looking forward to the long hours with just the Pacific off to my right, the occasional riser, the weighted descent, the rig between the legs and of course, my whole world for four days in a couple of panier bags, half empty. Not a care in the world outside of getting enough tasty calories and a little bit of car dodging.

Merckx, the new menacing, cat-eating, untrained-peeing all over himself-barking-whining-lanky-barfing-running around the hood, into the street and through the park as I write this (what I am supposed to do? he doesn't come when called - and he's faster than me by several orders of magnitude) - is beginning to win my heart. He loves freedom, more than birds, more than food-which he can do without, and who can blame him? He's built to run, has the endurance of an iditarod dog and has never been off leash. So I am saying f-it, freedom first, nose to the ground my friend, go! Sniff away, chase that bird, run, run some more, but be alive. Live your life the way it was meant to be lived, the way your evolutionary biology dictates. He is no longer a basement bound hound, and he loves it.

If he gets hit, I'll hate myself. But it's a calculated risk (and I love calculated risks), and he does come back, eventually. But I figure, give some one, even a dog, too much of what they cherish, and it becomes passé. As the door is always open, running free becomes less novel. Thus, a "trained" dog emerges, one who knows what hand feeds him, and rather than looking longingly out the window - barking at what moves or passes by, he simply trots out with confidence from time to time, returning happier, and with less urine than when he left. He gets to know the neighbors, and he does so much more sincerely and avidly than any of the humans on the block.

Tailwinds

The feeling that the wind is at your back, or better yet has changed direction and whipped up, is something to relish. Things are, despite the long days and short nights, despite the stress, the workloads and the commitments, really seeming to come together. Work is flowing and facilitating, racing and relationships are getting easier, and becoming more of who I want to be seems to actually be happening. Great people are in my life, and others seem to be strolling in. Perhaps above all the "life is good" crop, I am actually living and loving all of my days and dreading few. How we spend our days, after all, is how we spend our lives.

When I want to laugh, I go see Trac-Trac
or MADam's.
And none of us know anyone who doesn't read Olaf's. But "blogs that suck time" is right... This one I barely visit, once a week, and it kills my time. I should be asleep. I am supposed to be prepping a machine not babbling to no one about nothing. So off to do that machine prep since pedro really will be pedaling here before long, for a long while, and no tailwind can blow you down the coast if your biciclette is not rolling due to improper service or care.

Oh the new dog, after I let him roam with "freedom" (he's a terrorist from where Tinker Bob sits across the driveway, all hunched and hissy, ready to strike or more likely, climb a tree. So not funny how the line between terrorist and patriot, murder and freedom fighter is so damn thin) and posted for the world to see that he wasn't coming back, possibly hit by a car, etc... I got out to work on the bike and behold, curled up in his house he lays. Very cool, substantial progress. One day, we all hope, Merckx can be like Eddy. Heck one day, I hope I can be like Eddy. And true achievement would entail becoming the human being she thinks I am.

So tales of tailwinds forthcoming, coffee shop stops, and meeting new people pedaling in my direction. Tails of cetaceans are a possibility in sight, and trails blazed by millions of other Californians just might lead me to exactly where I want to go. A place where few of them have been, a den of kitty propinquity where I can crawl on all fours with scapula rising, pelvis swaying, and crouch down before lunging forward and pouncing upon a light dose of deep thoughts and adventures taken.

Adventures awaiting.

Stop off at Home

2007-07-05T20:38:00.001-07:00

On line journals abound. I haven't really kept a journal, at least while at home and not exploring a foriegn land, ever. But thinking in writing is healing, soothing. And I am beginning to like it.

I am stopping off this weekend, at home, briefly to feed and love the feline, put in 18 hours for the man, and to catch some good z's in my memory foam matress. I love it how my love of travel near and far helps keep home fresh, rewarding, comfy and well, like home. The racing is pure adrenaline, trying, grueling and humbling. I am just touching home really between visits to great people whom I love and admire. Showering and laundering between start lines and finish lines, between meals and mistakes, between hugs and heriones, between hours lost and wisdom gained.

And at home as on the road lately, I am meeting great people - not nearly as often as I meet idiots. But one passionate, intelligent, insightful human can make up for hundreds of their drugged out, burnt out, worn out, stretched out bretheren. Along with newbees, I am learning to appreciate and admire people long in my life for reasons that before I was too busy to see.

I once wrote, after 9 months in SE Asia mind you (without a bike), that the back roads of Sonoma County were "home." I have never felt more at home than I did in July of 1997, riding out the Russian River Valley. I got home after almost 3 days of travel across the Pacific and first thing in the morning, I put my bike together and rode out to Forestville. What a name for a town! Deserving too, if ya like redwoods and firs.

And now, for the first time, I have a new home, SLO. The trees aren't as tall or green, and the roads aren't as varied or lost. But this place feels like home. Climbing up on Bishop's peak and watching the sunset over Morro Bay and the moon rise over Reservior Canyon is a nice way to end a day, start a night. I bet you'll be with someone you like.

Off to Celebrate the Birth of a Nation

2007-06-28T12:49:00.000-07:00

Columbus day, good day for some, not so good for others.

Rather than explode bombs this next week, can we think of something better to do to commemorate the slaughter of the natives, the stealing and deforestation of northamerica, and the rapid westward expansion of land- and resource-grubbing anglos who used the tears, blood, and backs of red, black and yellow people to build up the most powerful nation in the world?

So the 4th of July, Independence day. I like firecrackers about as much as my cat does. And he likes firecrackers less than baths or stitches being removed from his anus. The day we told the brits, "nuff is enough, Weeze flying solo now." I suppose there is some nobility in that. Freedom of religion, sure thing, speech... a must. But how much of what our country was founded on still pervades our days, still dictates how our people and our nation interact with the planet and its worldly inhabitants?

Not enough.

So this 4th, I'll enjoy a paid holiday as a public servant. I'll burn some fossil fuels on the highways like a good american. But I will also take some time to ride, race, and visit friends. I will do some things just because some one else wants me to. I will be kind to some animals. I will practice free speech, eat some free range chicken, and give some free love.

I'll leave the country... baja calls (so fun crossing the border these days), I'll enjoy america's pastime... tis such a beautiful sport, and I'll think about what it means to be independent.

Ode to the Andes

2007-06-27T16:01:00.000-07:00

A Ride into the Sky

November 15, 2005. Today was an unforgettable day, perhaps one of the best ever for me. Our mother earth, the landscapes, the power, the organisms (all of them) made themselves known to me today.

Arriving in Huaraz, a mountain town at 3000 meters elevation (and about 20 people per meter) in the afternoon yesterday, I quickly felt at ease by the kids playing in the streets, the slow pace of life and the fresh, cool air which blew cotton-shaped clouds over the Cordillera Blanca. The Blanca are a range of mountains of spectacular structures, size, and color. The highest peak in Peru, Huascaran, climbs up to nearly 6800 meters, but surrounded by 10 peaks between 5000 and 6500 meters, one hardly notices it standing out among all the other white capped peaks. The trekking here is amazing, world class. Recently, however, glacial retreat is causing instability and some are predicting that Huaraz could be wiped out by flooding induced from glacial collapse. Climate change may be much more real for these villagers than you. But on this day, all of the Blanca were surrounded in clouds. Not true this morning. The sun shown upon the glaciers and me.

I awoke to a spectacular view, no need to attempt to describe it here. I can only say come on down. After some morning fruit, coffee, reading, errands, it was time for (you guessed it) a bike ride. The road through this valley is narrow and busy, so after asking around, I convinced my pal, Don Pepe, a 70 yr old Peruvian with a similar passion for two wheels, to come with me up a dirt road to the Tallan pass - elevation 4200m. We have ridden a few days together and he is jovial, and strong, making for a good cycling companion.

The road to Tallan is one of the ways back to the coast over the Cordillera Negra, so named for their lack of snow. I guess 15,000 feet summits are not enough elevation to garnish snowfall at this latitude.

Don Pepe made it about 5 kms. of the 32 km climb before realizing that the air was thin, he was old, and his 42-23 granny gear was not going to cut it. I slogged on, spending much time in my 39-28, and occasionally choosing the 32 or 24 tooth rear cog. What does this all mean? Climbing an Andean Mt. at elevation, on a rocky dirt road, on a rigid road bike, for 3 straight hours (there was one, ONE flat section that lasted 5 minutes) into a Pacific driven head wind through Quechuan villages should be a requirement for all of humanity. And I wasn’t doing the most work of the day.

There were little girls hauling buckets of water nearly equal their own weight. I stopped to talk to a group of young men cutting, stacking and hauling firewood (on their BACKS and their mules) up steep inclines. Only 1 really spoke much Spanish, but we all managed a few hard laughs. They asked for my help with the wood. I confessed, I’d die trying after a couple hours. I paid my respects and continued upward.

The Quechuan people I met today are direct descendant of migrants out of Asia some 100,000 years ago. They have no electricity, some modern amenities like pots for cooking, but still live in adobe huts much like their ancestors. They are farmers, herders (of sheep and cattle) and living a simple, grueling life that inspired me to keep climbing. My poor climbing abilities were exacerbated by the altitude. My headache, slight nausea, and weak pedal strokes were not enough to stop me today, however. I counted the kilometers ever so slowly and wanted to turn around several times. But after 3 hours, two cliff bars, two gu´s and two bottles of water, I made it.

Relief lasted minutes. The wind was kicking up to 60 km/hr through the pass and I had to descent in the cold air for another 32km with out any fuel. I had plenty of wind, a terribly rocky road, kids yelling, simply, “gringo!” as I passed with trepidation down the dirt roads that are part of their homes. I was motivated by the thought of making it off the mountain before being blown off, driven off, or falling off. I’ll say this much in all honesty, the climb was the second hardest of my life, the descent was harder.

all the way down....

So much more to say about today, the past few, the ones coming. Ask me about it sometime. Riding a bike from Lima, Peru to Quito, Ecuador is an event that along with a handful of others around the world, will glow in my memory banks for a lifetime and inspire other experiences? Anyone down for trekking across Borneo for 3 weeks? Alas, I have to pay my Sol ($0.35) and go get some more food.

Pedro

Glendale Geezer Tales

2007-06-21T12:56:00.000-07:00

Olaf is my new hero, so cute, so fit, so... Safegay.

Not only that but, eeking into a break with the cagey vet on memorial day (along with Ashe/Juarez) and getting my tale handed to me has inspired some increased training and dedication, along with a commitment to race smart, not just hard.

I plan on actually racing all summer, and having raced heavy from 1997-2001, taken 3 years off, it is only now that my fitness is coming back. But let's stay away from ancient history and stick to how hard the hot Bako RR was, that knowledge gave me comfort because the Glendale crit couldn't be that hard.

Strange course though, 1.2 miles long w. two super long straights. The finish was at the end of the headwind straight. Early on, I sat in, got my warm up in 3 laps and the prime bell rings. Sprinters like primes. With a half lap to go, no one has launched as I role forward. Time to explode, and no one cares. Cool, I put my head down to feel how hard the wind pushes, but get the prime by a good 15 seconds. The bell rings again, this time it's cash. I'm already out there? right? See if I can hold it. Not only that, but this type of solo effort was exactly what I was unable to do Memorial day, when I went from first to worst in 1.5 laps. Test time.

I passed, the gap dropped, but I was clear and with two consecutive primes, it was rest up, monitor counters. Several went, and a few laps later I see a line ripping off the front and gaining ground. This looks good. It has SoCal's premier teams represented... Amgen, 5 Start Fish, Central Coast Magazine. I have to launch now, into the headwind, knowing that I can turn the corner for one last burst to bridge. Several come with and within a lap, we have a 12 man up, 70 racers are 15 seconds back. We motored. Of course we did, we had horses, Chris DeMarchi, Tom Farley, Tim Roth, Greg Coburn.

The pulls took their toll on the less fit (me included) but despite hard attempts to be bring us back by the field, we were solid, half way around the group just 20 minutes into racing. At 30 minutes, we were halfway done and about to lap the field. It was not wanted by all of us, we could be racing against 11, but now we were back in the mixed bag. 20 minutes to go and several more moves are going. Some dangle but I can't be bothered, I suffered in the break and I need to ride position. Luckily for me, nothing sticks, and at 10 mins to go, a field sprint shapes up. From the final corner it's nearly a half mile headwind sprint out of a massive group.

I came into the final corner about 20th? Can you imagine. I stood and stomped, and guess what... riders were moving backwards. One decides that at 300 meters to go he will stop pedaling and pull off, ONTO the sheltered side of the wide straight, where everyone is passing! I curse "Don't you f-ing dare come into me like that!" He hears me, corrects, holds his line. But this is just enough to take me off the gas for a touch.

Breakway mate Farley has a great lead out from field rider Gary Hansen and Allen Richburg is simply the fastest one. Chris DeMarci is always present is these races. I was happy to finish within a bike length of my 4 breakaway companions, all of whom were stronger today, for my best result of the season, 5th. So fun to be back in it again.

Good living, let's ya know yer alive!

Eddy the Girl and Merckx the Menace

2007-06-20T13:42:00.000-07:00

corkscrew

2007-06-06T14:28:00.000-07:00