Checking in

Obviously, I haven't written in a while. My mind has been abuzz with all kinds of random associations though most are political in nature. It doesn't seem appropriate to include them here. This should be a politics-free zone. Immediately the idea that there are no politics of the self jumped to mind. Not sure if that's true, but it was the very next thought as I finished writing the previous sentence. Now I have something new to ponder. I'm not sure what the next couple of months will look like as training goes underground (my basement really, but "underground" sounds much more mysterious). Happy Holidays to everyone. May you find adventures that bring back the "kid on Christmas" feeling.

AML - Day 2

Redefining the challenge
     Saturday morning broke cold and overcast with threats of rain and dropping temperatures. My first attempt to clear my throat was a complete failure. With more force I cleared the congestion to reveal a raw throat. Great, I thought with an excessive amount of sarcasm. Urgent bodily needs forced me to dress and get down the hall to the shared bathroom. Reacquainting myself with the slightly damp lycra didn't bring the desire to get up the road I was hoping for. Quite the contrary, if I'm not mistaken my next thought was "please let there be a friend of Nelson's heading to Blacksburg." I'll save the suspense and just tell you now
there weren't. Nelson and I discussed potential routes back to Blacksburg on the bike. At first I wasn't enthusiastic, but I warmed to it as we discussed roads and the climbing that would have to be done. Several homemade mochas (coffee and a packet of Nestle's hot chocolate mix) and scones later, I had dutifully recorded all 39 turns on a small blue scrap of paper. Unlike yesterday, I would not be following a track on my GPS. My success would depend upon the accuracy of directions scribbled on a little scrap of blue paper stuffed into my Gas Tank.
     After unpacking every piece of cold-weather gear I had brought with me, I made a brief stop at The Dirtbean to grab some food and water to get me into Covington, 40-some miles away. The first leg, West Virginia 39, is a beautiful, smooth, wide road through a fortuitous gap in one of the many Appalachian ridges I would see today. Like the Greenbriar and Big Stony Creek I rode against the flow of water gradually climbing out of the valley. The slight right on Douthat Creek (in Google) or Douthards Creek (in real life) had me questioning the route, but I decided that the names were within the margin of error as the directions from Google and the distance from Marlinton were both correct. Worth noting here is that I did not confirm my supposition by talking to any locals. Whatever the name I enjoyed the rolling farm road until it turned into a climbing forest road (read gravel). At around 2800 feet the climb topped out and the descent was a challenge but thrilling. The road continued to deteriorate until it was crossed by a metal gate with an unequivocal "Private Property" sign. It was quite the opposite of Google's assurance that Douthat Creek becomes Public Road 96. Twelve miles down this dead end had me searching for a way out of the negativity
threatening to envelope me. Not now, I pleaded with petulant child inside. You can have your say when this is done, but for now I need you to stay quiet. There is work to do, and now it is more than I was planning. Amazingly, it worked. The truth was that I did feel reasonably good now that the muscles were warm, and that gave me confidence.
     Once I returned to West Virginia 39 (fully two hours after I began the valley road to nowhere) I simply rode to West Virginia 92 and south to pick County Road 14. Really Google?! This twenty miles of perfect pavement lost out to the unimproved dirt track figment of your imagination known as "Public Road 96?" All right, stay positive.
     Since I was now off-route I had plenty of time to calculate how many miles I would travel before seeing my next turn, County Road 14. Today, my GPS had become an expensive speedo and odometer to track the mileages from the all-important blue scrap of paper. Each turn was a time to recalibrate and predict the odometer's expected mileage at the next turn. Being off-route without a map forced me to consider extremes and I was happy to see I still remembered high school geometry. For example, let's assume Douthat Creek and Public Road 96 cut a perfect diagonal across West Virginia 39 and 92 as the worst case, and the identical distance as the best case. If the original route was about 17 miles, my alternate route could be anywhere from that same 17 miles up to 25.5 miles given that the worst case would add miles at the rate of 2 for every 1.414 miles of the original route, or about 50% more. Thankfully the alternate was very close to the original route. At 17.5 miles I spied a left turn towards Sherwood Lake matching my directions...and here were two cyclists chatting just off the road. My luck was turning. They were pretty sure that the road I assumed to be County Road 14 was not. No, this road goes eleven miles to Sherwood Lake, they said. Are you sure, I implored. This says I just need to follow it for 3.5 miles until I reach Rucker Gap Road. RUCKER GAP, they exclaimed. Yes, that's the road. Yippee. Then Janice said something interesting. We were never much for road signs around here, she said. Then 9/11 happened and the road signs started appearing. Fascinating. It's like a riddle. Try to figure out the linkage that ties the proliferation of road signs on the Virginia/West Virginia border to a terrorist attack in New York City, Washington DC, and Shanksville, PA. I'm sure it has something to do with emergency services, but I'd love to trace the path of that legislation from its inception.
     Off again and climbing towards Rucker Gap which eventually topped me out just above 2600 feet. A very sketchy descent dropped me on Ogle Creek Road and down I went. Mile after mile I flew along at around 22 mph. The altimeter dropped below 2000 feet then it dropped below 1500 feet. Uh oh! This is going to mean I have to climb back up to Blacksburg. (How prescient those words would be.) After many miles of steady descent, a gas station near I-64 was the perfect refueling stop. Chocolate milk, Hot Chunky soup (Oh yeah!), beef jerky, and lemon pie. Topped off the water bottles and descended some more into Covington, elevation 1300 feet. A stray Verizon signal allowed me to check in with my better half as she trekked through the shoe stores and outlet malls of western PA and northeast Ohio. A small part of me was hoping she'd say that she was in Covington to pick me up after she saw me backtrack earlier in the day. Not gonna happen. She was having trouble tracking me on her phone. I was on my own until Blacksburg. I could have stopped in Covington, I suppose. They did have a hotel. But I had already decided I was getting back to the car tonight. Tonight...a night that was less than three hours away now. And still 65 miles to go before I sleep. Gotta get moving.
     Up became the most consistent direction leaving Covington. Pizza Hut on the outskirts of town smelled wonderful though I wasn't foolish enough to eat there. Soon enough I was beyond its draw and back into the countryside on a road beside flowing water; again. The only noteworthy event was a frightened deer attempting to scale a twenty-foot-high stone wall, and crashing spectacularly back to earth before bolting back into the woods on the other side of the road.
     When I reached the point which VA616 should have been, a sign indicated VA615. The road's alternate name, Blue Springs Road, was nowhere to be found. I decided to trust the mileage and the accuracy of my directions and began to climb alongside the ubiquitous oncoming creek. Once again I was bailed out by the stray athlete. A runner was able to confirm that I was indeed on Blue Springs Road. Hooray, onward and upward. 1600 feet and climbing. My next turn was a right on VA617, Jamison Mountain Road. A mile before I was to reach it, VA616 diverged from the road I was on, and I had a decision to make. Continue on for another mile and come back if there was no sign of VA617, or go right on VA616 and look for VA617 a mile up that road. I gambled on the road I was on as the grade was milder. This time it was a farmer that confirmed I was on the right road. Yes, this is Jamison Mountain Road. (Note: the name of the road will often indicate the geographic formation that features most prominently. Guess what I'm about to do.) Ugh. A thousand feet of climbing delivered me to a 2800-foot perch overlooking two barking dogs. Out in the road and unfriendly to boot, I had only the gift of gravity with which to evade them. They were not coming to me so I took the opportunity to eat and drink, and allow my legs a few minutes of recuperation. The dogs, perhaps losing interest, retreated to their yard, but still eyed me with suspicion. I was probably not the first cyclist they had seen. Out came the rain jacket as I needed something to break the wind. The sun was descending fast and the temperature with it.
     Like a stone I descended, picking up speed ridiculously fast. The dogs, pursuit animals at heart, had no chance. If one of them had sacrificied itself by darting in front of me, I would not be typing this. But true to their nature, they expected to chase me down. I expect they were satisfied to have run me off. For me, I turned on the NiteRider and dropped 1200 feet over the next eight miles. Left turn. Bathroom break. Right turn. New Castle. Just two big chunks left; 9.8 miles on VA311S and 17.6 miles on VA624. Traffic was a bit heavier on VA311S than I expected but after looking at a map I see that it leads to Roanoke. OK, not so surprising. There were some moderate climbs but still well within my ability as I was now setting a new personal best (two-day total) with each turn of the pedals. Then came the turn onto VA624, a ridge road that might be a wonderful drive some sunny weekend. And while it was a weekend the sun had long gone down and I wasn't driving. The darkness added an interesting, soul-crushing aspect to this final leg of the return trip. My light provided about 400 lumens evenly split between the spot and flood LEDs. This was enough light to see 200-300 feet up the road with reflective surfaces viewable at much greater distances. The centerline reflected back as it rose up and up but with no corresponding distance perception so it was impossible to anticipate the climb. All I knew was that I was going to go up, and I had to conserve (read go slow) as much as possible since I did not know how long or how steep the climb would be. This went on, mile after mile, as I climbed through 2500 feet. I knew the elevation of Blacksburg was around 2000 feet so eventually I had to go down. So the miles slowly dwindled and I waited for the long downhill but all I got was the short teaser that delivered me to the bottom of yet another climb. Soon I began verbally challenging the climbs. I'm sure I sounded like a complete fool; beyond tired, beyond caring. I don't care what you put in front of me I'm going over it. Don't you get it. You can't beat me. To my credit, the road did not beat me though in fairness: it's a road. I'm sure if it cared it could have squashed me like a bug. The climbing finally did end, but not until I was within Blacksburg city limits.
     In retrospect, I'm glad events unfolded how they did. I don't think I was capable of the full 400 miles. I am smarter, and I will be ready to challenge it again in the spring. I hope this was enjoyable read.

AML - Day 1

     As I mentioned in my previous post, my senses were overloaded for the 40 hours I wandered around western Virginia and eastern West Virginia. I've had to step back and recall some of the early moments of the ride as they were buried under an avalanche of new. Without further ado, here's my Day 1 of my trip report from an abbreviated Allegheny Mountains Loop attempt.

Packing
     I arrived at the hotel around 9:30 PM and began loading the frame bags...for the first time. Yes, the night before the ride was the first time I attempted to load all the equipment I thought I might need during the race into the seat and frame bags. It became obvious that I was going to have to make some tough choices. Rain pants? Out. Second spare tube? Out. And so it went until I had every bag stuuffed to capacity. Surely I can do better once I have a couple of these under my belt, right? Sleep was hard to come by and I finally rose at 4:00 AM when it was obvious my brain was not going to rest. I had purchased two "5-hour Energy" shots if my legs felt like riding through the night. Now I might need them just to get through a single day of riding. Yippee.
     After I swept the room and did a final check of the bags I rolled to the car, and let go of the last bit of normalcy. I was a cyclist, period, from this moment forward until I came back to this point some 400 miles from now. To be clear, this is a shift in mindset. I always consider myself a cyclist but now I was ONLY a cyclist. This ride would not end at home this evening. My wife and daughter would be voices on the phone, full of love and compassion, but unable to lessen the physical demands now before me. My body and mind were charged with a lone directive: go.
     Rolling to the wrong Starbucks ate up what would have been time spent obsessing so mybe the mistake worked in my favor. I finally met Chris Tomkins, an affable, high-energy guy, and enabled the SPOT Tracker to begin tracking my progress. The next several minutes were spent swapping introductory info with a dozen other riders. We were friendly and sincere, but I think we were all slightly distracted, like firefighters in the path of an oncoming wildfire. We were trained and ready, but you never know quite what to expect.

And they're off...
     The actual departure was anticlimactic. Conversations trailed off and the roll-out began. The Chris's, Tompkins and Arndt, made the light at Prices Fork along with Taylor Kruse, and were seen no more. A few minutes of riding and we were quickly out of town. A dense fog enveloped the surrounding farmland and my specs quickly became a liability. I could stop to clear the condensation, inside and out, only to have to do it again a few minutes later. What a drag. The eTrex GPS had also decided to be unhelpful. For whatever reason, the screen would not follow my current position. Every few minutes I had to use the "joystick" button on the face of the GPS to advance the map. When I had finally tired of that I stopped and restarted the device. This time when I clicked the "GO" button to start the route the device began behaving as expected. Yay! Now I can focus on riding. Whoops, missed a turn. OK, NOW I can focus on riding. I settled in to a reasonable pace, 13 mph or so. The uphills were slow but easily cleared. The downhills were ridiculously fast what with my mass and the smooth-rolling Small Block 8's. A couple of short, steep climbs away from the banks of the New River gave me a preview of the challenges still to come. Ten percent grades are hard to come by in central Ohio as I've stated in previous posts.
     Before moving on from the New River area, I want to mention that rather permanent-looking campsites that dot the north embankment. I get the sense that some people have checked out of conventional society, and have adopted a simpler life. Whether that's by choice or necessity I do not know. It's one of those questions I'm not sure will ever get answered.

Settling in
     Climbing away from the New River we arrived in Pembroke and my first resupply stop. I topped off all water bottles as I had started with only two bottles filled. Look at me, being strategic! I threw one of the one-liter water bottles at the shopkeeper as I tried to hold three slippery bottles in one hand. She jumped back with unexpected quickness and a yelp at the clumsy attack. No one drew down on me so I considered that a win and decided to push my luck a little further. Venturing on to the shoulder-less death corridor known as US460 was just the sort of challenge I was looking for. Supersonic semis intermingling with all other manner of commercial conveyance made the short three-mile stretch seem far longer. Several lungfulls of partially-combusted diesel fuel had me celebrating the right turn on to SR635. Also known as Big Stony Creek Road, this quiet road ushered in the solitude of rural Virginia that would typify the next 250 miles. Big Stony Creek flowed towards me for fifteen miles as I climbed into the mountains. The stratified rock exposed and patiently eroded by the flowing water gave me a feeling of smallness faced with the eons seen by these children of the mountain. I didn't feel excluded though, as can so often happen among groups of people in a civilization. Rather, I felt welcome to dwell there as long as I wished; a tempting offer but I had business up the road.
     After a beautiful, fast descent eventually delivered me to Waitesville, I began the steep slog up Limestone Hill Road and put the first real hurt in my legs. Twelve-hundred vertical feet over two miles will certainly benefit me from a training perspective, but it did not make the rest of the day easier. Due to short sightlines, sketchy road conditions, and some very technical cornering, the downhill also didn't do much to reward the time spent climbing. Rolling along the valley road through Gap Mills I completely missed a bakery and a prime opportunity to refuel.
     As a consequence, my water began to run very low over the next mountain pass. A pit bull with designs on my lower right leg sought to take advantage by giving chase well beyond the yard from which he began. Add sprints to "disciplines exercised" on today's ride. Whether it was the energy expended or the mass moved, I must admit that I walked sections of the final climb before Caldwell. Perhaps I had bitten off more than I could chew. Regardless off the method I did get over that bump. The sign signifying the road's intersection with the Allegheny Trail was followed by a man partially extruded from the driver's side of a luminescent green Jeep offering us a beer. Maybe some other time. The descent was technical. Without even meaning to I traced a pretty solid line through a hairpin. There weren't many opportunities to "smell the roses" out there, but this was one of them. I have no explanation why it stood out. In my mind as I write this I can feel the feedback from the front wheel as I brake approaching the corner. I can see the contour of the outside shoulder of the road as I pick my line. I can hear the voices from the Allegheny Trail parking lot up and to my left. I can feel the wind shift around to my left as I move through the corner and see the valley below in my periphery. Then it was gone, joining all of the places I've been. Several 90-degree turns with almost no visibility forced me to brake excessively, and I started to wonder about brake pads. How hot are they? How hot can they get? What happens when they get too hot? What year will it be when I wake from my coma? Then the road rolled endlessly, and I trespassed a campground and procured enough water to get me to Caldwell.

Subway, the beginning of the end
     I love the BMT from Subway, so much so that I ordered two of them at the Subway in Caldwell along with an endless fountain of Coca-Cola, my first soda in over five months. Eating at Subway while training has never included a BMT (topped with vinegar and oil) and perhaps I need look no further since my stomach is knotting up at the imagined smell of vinegar as I write this. Whatever the reason the sub consumed did not deliver the energy I needed. The Greenbrier River Trail became a slog of unendurable length. Mile markers hid amongst the trees for six, seven, even eight minutes before finally acknowledging that another mile was indeed complete. The darkness crept over the the trail and into my mind. All of my positive thoughts snuffed out like a candle. The rushing of the water which originally sounded like a beautiful version of traffic now mocked me as I looked around for some vestige of civilization. I was alone. Fear was starting to wear down my defenses and overwhelm me. I choked another half of my sub down without any satisfaction whatsoever. Marlinton became an obsession. 30 miles to go. Lights on. 25 miles to go. Passed by Ruth. 20 miles to go. Passed by James. 15 miles to go. Chased lights. Chased anything to take my mind off the mile markers. Surprisingly, the falling leaves obscured the trail and played tricks with the light my headlamp produced. More than once I found myself near the edge of the trail but thankfully no painful consequences resulted. Finally, I reached Marlinton. My energy stores were near empty as I'd flirted with the dreaded bonk for at least three hours. I was hungry but could only stand the taste of a Sprite. A little human kindness from Brittany, the lone Subway employee, located for me the Old Clark Inn and the biker-friendly proprietor Nelson. He hooked me up with a room and within minutes I was blissfully asleep. What a day! Truth be told, I think I was probably already decided that my AML was over, but a part of me knew how my mental state can vary; mercurial, some might call it. Things could always look better in the morning.

Lessons Learned

     Epic and humbling. My mind is abuzz with lessons learned and a fresh reminder of what life can be. First things first, I did not complete the 400 miles. There is no way to lessen the embarassment caused by my preparation falling so far short of the challenge. The Appalachian Mountains are unmoved and impassive. They hide nothing and accept no challenge. The shame is that I, a supposedly sentient being, was surprised by an obstacle that should not have been surprising. It has been in its present location for over 400 million years. Simply put, I was not prepared and I have no excuse. Why is this so important? Because this kind of gulf between expectation and reality with regard to an event like the Tour Divide could be disastrous. Clearly, I have some work to do on the mental side.
     Now on to what I learned from this weekend.
1. Do not attempt this again unless I am 100 percent. Considering that I did not train hills and I was too heavy, a healthy me had a razor thin margin of error. Perhaps my heart would still have sounded like a trip-hammer in my ears on the steeper sections of the climbs if I were virus-free, but I doubt it.
2. Do not take equipment without testing it first. My sleep system was a farce. I had no confidence that it would work at all. Consequently, when it came time to consider sleeping options on Friday night, I did not seriously entertain the idea of pitching my tarp and sleeping outside. File this under the heading "train like you race."
3. Don't eat things you haven't eaten during training. My mental focus began falling apart after a stop at Subway Friday afternoon. I ordered two BMTs which I always top with vinegar and oil. I get the feeling it was the vinegar but I can't be sure. All I know is that I was nauseous for the next six hours. Almost all training rides leading up to the AML included Subway, but I would have turkey or chicken breast. I don't know why I changed, and the details aren't particularly relevant. What I do know is I have to train as I will race.
4. Think small or stated in New Age-speak, "be in the now". I have been working on this but I still have work to do. My brain has a tendency to want to jump ahead on the route. This is bad because my body hasn't covered the distance to catch up with my mind, and one of two things will happen without intervention. One possibility is that I will grow increasingly frustrated as my head thinks I am moving too slow. The other possibility is that my body will try to keep up with my mind, and I will burn out.
5. Know the route. I missed a bakery. REALLY?! Without a well-placed campground I certainly would have run out of water, and who wouldn't benefit from some warm, flaky confection. MMMmmmmm...
     As for the ride itself, the 40 hours from the time I left Blacksburg until I returned will take up a lot of space in my memory. Similar to the way eight weeks of Basic Training hold more space in the banks of my mind than some entire years, this ride had so many noteworthy moments and lessons to teach I will be reflecting and recounting them for a long time. I think this blog post has reached a reasonable size so I will write up the trip report and post it separately.

Kit

Here's a couple of pictures of the bike with the kit nearly complete. The seat bag still needs to be added which will require a rethink of the bottle carrier though I think I've got that solved. Nothing I'm using is custom. Without some experience, customizing seemes like a waste of time.

Garmin eTrex 20
NiteRider 1400 PRO
Profile Design aerobars
Revelate bags; Gas Tank, large Tangle, and Viscacha
Seat tube bottle holder
Kenda XC Smallblock 8s (32mm) w/tubes
Pearl Izumi bibs
Spare shorts (to double-up possibly)
Nike Dri-fit (15 years old and fantastically warm on 40-degree mornings)
Long-fngered windproof gloves
Halo sweatband (love this thing!)
Generic lightweight rain gear (from my bike messenger days)
RayWay Quilt and tarp (didn't finish the Net-Tent in time, could be trouble)
1/8" ultralight sleeping pad (cut to 4 feet)
Perpetuem
Aleve
Generic multi-tool, mini-leatherman, tire levers
two spares tubes
Pump and CO2
Assos chamois cream
Vaseline
Baby Gold Bond powder (for the nethers at sleepy time)

Gear purchases for the AML

     Decisions have been made. Websites have been visited. Paypal has been remunerated. Gear has been ordered. I settled on Revelate for bags. I liked Ollie's TD setup so I stole it. A Viscacha, Tangle, and Gas Tank are en route from Alaska as I type this. For not-getting-lost I chose the Garmin eTrex 20. Again, this appears to be a popular choice amongst the Dividerati. I am a little puzzled as it appears at first blush as if you can attach a bike mount OR a carabiner as a tether, but not both. I need to give it a closer look this evening.

     As I've stated in a previous post, I am going with the RayWay Quilt, Tarp, and Net-Tent. This choice necessitates a sleeping pad as the quilt has no bottom. For that I chose a ProLite Gear EvoPad 1/8. It's 7' long and weighs 3.5 ounces! Pretty cool. Hopefully it's comfortable. I'll cut it down once I've figured out my sleep position and how warm my legs need to be. One final, small purchase that I expect to be very important is a Halo Headband. I've recently gone away from wearing contacts while riding to 'scripts sports glasses. They have two drawbacks; one, they collect sweat on the inside, and two, they fog up on really humid days especially as it cools in the evening. I'm hoping the Halo will fix both problems though the fogging problem may require some spit as well.

     My choice of light was picked a while ago and I've used it extensively over the last two months, a Niterider PRO 1400. It's super-bright, and works great for single-track except that it sometimes comes off its mount. I don't ride much single-track in the dark so I haven't yet figured out what makes it stay on which is about 40% of the time. While the PRO 1400 should be fine for the AML I may need to consider the Mi-Newt for the TD. The time and resources to charge the PRO 1400 8-cell battery seems like it will put some unnecessarily harsh limitations on my lodging options. Finally, I'm taking a closer look at my tires. 235 miles of pavement versus 78 miles of rail-trail, 65 miles of forest roads, 22 miles of easements, and NO single-track has me strongly considering cross tires instead of the standard MTB tires. I hope to have pictures up as soon as I get the bags and pack them.

The deep breath before the plunge

     I am afraid, excited and afraid. I am three days away from the AML and I started developing a sore throat Sunday night. It's no worse today but it is still there. I haven't done any serious riding for more than a week. My sleep system is still not done which means I'll be field testing it during the ride. At least it's not supposed to rain so maybe it won't be too bad. And last but not least, my back has started tightening up. Any cyclist knows how deadly this is as the back is the plane off of which your hips and legs generate their power. Any loss of suppleness correlates to a loss of power. I visited my chiropractor yesterday but the adjustment did little to address the root problem. At this point, stretching is all I can do.

     This whole build-up reminds me of the 1992 Duathlon World Championships. I raced the qualifier on a whim with almost no training though I was much more active than I have been over the last few years, and rarely did I weigh more than 190 pounds. I ended up 13th overall, and 2nd in my age group which got me an invite to the World's. One week before leaving for Germany I caught some kind of living death from a classmate, but I still went, and I still raced. I survived. That's all. All week I woke up in a pool of sweat, and the only thing I could keep down was water. I survived.

     So that's what I need to do here; survive. I have let go of all expectations. Let's be clear; I needed to do this anyhow. The stupidest thing I could have done was line up on the starting line with a finishing time in mind. So many things are going to happen that I am likely not prepared for that adding another requirement (because that's how my mind will view it) will only serve to wreck whatever positive mental attitude I have. Yes, letting go of some baseless goal was necessary, I just wish I didn't have to get sick to do it.

     The race is still 90% likely for me. The potential severity of the cold has me a little unsure of how I should proceed. I have to consider the possibility of getting walloped by this thing on Friday night after I've spent the day draining my energy and compromising my immune system. I cannot be wiped out 150 miles from my car with no transportation other than my bike. Or maybe I can. This whole adventure is an exercise outside of my comfort zone. Just how far outside I go is a question still to be answered.

Check myself before I wreck myself

     Yes, I've been racking up mileage, but have I been climbing? Well...no. This past Saturday was my first attempt to remedy that. With the help of my new eTrex, Google Maps, Google Earth, and GPSBabel, I created a GPX file that would get me to Malabar Farms, home of many short and steep climbs. I still don't think I approached anything close to what I'll see on the Appalachian Mountains Loop. About the best I can hope for within 100 miles of the house is 400-500 feet of elevation change total, and none of the climbs are more than maybe 300 feet of vertical gain. The kicker is that I more or less had my lunch handed to me over 146 miles. Matters were not helped by me forcing my body into a total bonk. It's kind of funny now, but at the time I thought it would be a good idea to see how I would react mentally and physically if I ran out of food and water. It could happen on the AML so why not be prepared, I thought. So how did I react? Uh, not well. The only lesson I learned is make damn sure I don't run out of food and water. My mood could have best been described as blackout. Just guessing but I was probably about 15 minutes away from going feral. Not surprisingly the ride taken as a whole was a bit of a confidence shaker.

     Over the last couple of days I've reflected on the ride and looked at the component pieces that conspired to knock me off my perch, and I realize it's probably for the best. I've been starting to form some unrealistic expectations of what can be accomplished during the AML. As much as I am about the journey and not the destination, I have a bad habit of setting unrealistic goals that aren't based on anything other than mostly wild-ass guesses. Saturday's ride was a Chuck Norris roundhouse to the temple, shattering some of the crazy notions I had about how I was going to conquer the AML. Humility is once again my watchword, and my ego is riding in the backseat with it's mouth taped shut.

Roll with it

     What a weekend! It had all the hallmarks of being an ordinary, "didn't ride as much as I wanted" weekend. Instead, I racked up 205 miles over two days, and got my ass handed to me at Frankenbike.

     The week had been less than stellar, riding just 2 of the five days so I was pinning a lot on the weekend. I rode Friday morning in the hopes of fitting in two rides, but it just wasn't to be. I still want to be a father and husband so I bagged the afternoon ride in favor of a family dinner and the wife and I working our way through season 5 of Dexter. It was a good evening and I was excited about the weekend cycling plans. Keith, a seasoned MTBer and I had planned for Saturday at Mohican with 24 miles of singletrack as our playground. Unfortunately, the threat of thunderstorms forced us to push to Sunday which opened up the day for me to plan a day-long ride. Then came the curveball.

     My wife scheduled an aerobics class for 9:15 on Saturday morning. My daughter had a friend sleeping over and I could not provide adequate parental supervision, or make pancakes, from sixty miles away. Improvisation demanded and delivered. I had a quilt and tent that needing sewing and I needed to learn how to sew. OK, I can adapt. My mother-in-law was hastily called in to teach me to sew on Saturday morning. Fine.

     Except Saturday morning my wife was home from aerobics at 9:30 from a class that doesn't end until 10:15. What the hell?! Suffice it to say, she did not attend. I'm sorry to say that I was more than a little annoyed and was feeling very self-righteous; something along the lines of "does she have no respect for what I trying to do?" I can't change the fact that I thought this, but I am thankful I did not give voice to these thoughts, and with a little reflection I realize just how much she is accomodating me and my lunacy; just another lesson in humility and perspective.

     So the net of all these changes was that I left for a ride around 11:30 with a brief stop at the Westerville Bike Shop to discuss cleat position and knee issues with Mike. And just in case I haven't said it before, Mason and Mike are awesome. Forget Trek, Roll, BicycleOne and BikeSource, if you want good advice that comes from a lifetime of riding and repairing bikes, go see Mason or Mike at the Westerville Bike Shop. They are not interested in getting rich. They just want everyone to ride a bike and enjoy it. Love those guys!
I had no firm plans on my route as I rolled out of Westerville, and I found myself taking the right-hand fork in Galena that leads to Sunbury. Then onto North Old 3C Highway which after two rights and two lefts leads to Centerburg and my old friend, the Heart of Ohio Trail. A few course deviations were required but I ended up riding to Fredericksburg and back, 180 miles and 90 minutes faster thant the first time I rode it. Hurrah! Even better, the cleat adjustment must have been spot-on as there was zero knee pain or soreness. This is welcome news. For the mileage I am planning, my position has to be near perfect. Any misalignment will manifest in a knee, an ankle, my lower back... I know that position is a moving target, and there will be adjustments from season-to-season, year-to-year, and bike-to-bike. It just feels good to be somewhere solid right now. Finally, I arrived home on Sunday morning just after 1:00. I was cold and tired. After 13 hours of riding, I had just 11 hours before Frankenbike started. Yeah, Keith and I settled on Frankenbike instead of Mohican. For me, it was somewhere around the 103-mile point. It was clearly a case of biting off more than I could chew.

     Sunday morning...I mean later Sunday morning, I wake before 7:00. Damn my body clock! Coffee, pasta, bibs into the washer and dryer, swap my rear tire for something with some tread, and off we go for who knows what. We arrive 20 minutes before the race (I mean ride!) begins. We make it in time to be treated to a truly magnificent pre-ride briefing. More f-bombs than you could shake a f***ing stick at put everyone in the right mood for what lay ahead. And oh, what lay ahead! Up or down, no flat for me! I weigh about 20 pounds more than Keith but that does not fully account for the difference in climbing speed. I would wager that he might be the best 220-pound climber you'll ever meet. And he is a gifted descender. He will defer and give credit to his full-suspension Salsa rig, but it's a lot more him than it is the bike. Unfortunately, I was cooked after 25 miles and did not (could not) go out for the second loop. I took a nap while Keith tackled the second 25. Yes, I was tired from the previous day's effort, but the real story is that I do not climb enough and I will pay for that at the AML. That is for sure. Credit to Mason and his crew for a great course and some great entertainment. Finally, Scioto Trails has some epic singletrack, and I highly encourage an excursion if you are in the area.

For the record, 283 miles (new high) for the week and a weigh-in of 236.2 pounds (new low).

Labor Day update

     I have reached a plateau. I knew it would come sooner or later. I've lost right around 40 pounds and the body seems to be fighting my attempts to lose more. My initial response in the past has been frustration followed by ever more desperate weight loss techniques. This time around I'm shooting for a reasonable response. For instance, I had a flat week and indulged this weekend. I shouldn't really be surprised that I continue to hover around the 240 mark. Fortunately, I can refer to spreadsheet tracking my weight loss for a little bit of reassurance and motivation.

     The long Sunday ride (130 miles) was preceded on Saturday by a 56-mile ride where I averaged 16 mph. I am slowly starting to put back-to-back long rides together. Sunday was a pretty important ride mostly because I started out feeling uncomfortable in the saddle and I didn't have the freshest legs. There will be days during the TD where I feel lousy so I need some familiarity. The on and off rain made sure I never really got comfortable. I was constantly up and out of the saddle to give my hindparts a break. I managed about 13 mph but the chafing got pretty bad towards the end and I'm still feeling it 36 hours later. I'm happy to have ridden the distance I intended when not at my best. Clearly though, I'm going to have to find a way to prevent the chafing as it results from pretty much any ride over four hours. I think I'll give Vaeline a try next. I thought Gold Bond powder would be the answer but it's difficult to apply while wearing bibs. Trailside just doesn't seem private enough for a proper application. Not to mention that when the rain is pouring no amount of powder is going to work.

     On the kit assembly, I received my materials from Ray Jardine and have begun making the quilt. I had a heck of a time cutting the material with the scissors we own. Today will include a visit to the crafts store for a pair that can cut fabric. I'm really impressed with the package from Ray. For someone that's a total noob with a sewing machine, I find his instructions thorough and extremely helpful. I'm hoping the results are worthy of the design. More importantly, I hope it allows me restful sleep.

     So here's a quick aside about surprises. The scissors reminded me that surprises are generally not good. The last three or four years I've been working on a list of universal truths. One that's been hard to get a handle on is this; the fewer surprises a person experiences, the happier they are. That's the working statement, subject to revision or complete dismissal. My thinking goes like this. As children we are conditioned to think surprises are good. Christmas and birthday presents are often purchased and held under a veil of secrecy while the child eagerly counts the days. Trips to the movies, the mall, or the playground are surprise rewards for good behavior. These are all parental constructs that manufacture the idea of a good surprise. In reality, surprises are seldom good news. In my experience, surprises often grow out of little things that repeatedly escape our notice until they become big show-stopping problems. Stranded on the side of the rode because the car ran out of gas or broke down due to missed maintenance? No milk for the kid's cereal? Getting calls from collections because a bill is past due? Putting on ten or fifteen pounds a year? These things are not inevitable. They usually just require us to pay attention. As I write this, I realize that there are plenty of good surprises; unexpected tranquility probably tops my list. I think what I'm trying to get at is this: we frequently cause our own problems and undermine the peace we seek. My assumption that the scissors would be up to the task put me in a bad mood as I struggled through the quilt project. Not a recipe for success or peace.

Fourteen hours on a bike

     172 miles...finally. For 14 1/2 hours I pedaled my way through the middle of Ohio. From the edge of the North American Interior Plains to the transitional rolling foothills of the Appalachian Mountains.I don't imagine that the effort expended will match even the easiest day on the AML 400 or the TD, but it is noteworthy and tells me I am on the right track. For a route that allows me to start and finish in my driveway there is a decent amount of forest, or otherwise unimproved, road. I estimate about 32 miles worth. Again, it doesn't really come close to what I'll see on the TD, but the hours are starting to get close anyhow.
     The trails I used this past weekend take on a different aspect once I crossed Route 62 near Brinkhaven. A remnant of my childhood, the rundown barn with a faded Mail Pouch ad, is the true demarcation point for the trail's transition to Amish country. The tracks left by my Hutchinsons were quickly erased in the wake of so many horse and buggy passings. When I rolled back through five hours later, all remnants of my ride out were wiped clean. It is truly something special and different. The pace of life feels natural, not rushed. I begin to understand how the things I own really own me. I am very happy to have found the trail from Danville to Glenmont. It was certainly the best part of the ride.
     If I thought there was a big Amish population surrounding Danville, I was absolutely blown away by the vibrant social life in and around the Holmes County Trail I picked up in Killbuck. For fifteen miles the Holmes County Trail winds from Killbuck to Fredericksburg going through Millersburg and Holmesville. It is a multi-use paved trail with enough traffic around the Millersburg area to rival the car traffic on the surrounding roads. The ubiquitous Walmart wasn't more than 100 feet from the trail as I passed through the Millersburg Business District.
     Personally, the truly remarkable thing about all of this is that I covered 102 miles before I had the first hint of a problem. All of my senses were tuned outward soaking up the experience. Usually I'm fighting hand numbness (fixed with Ergon grips), very painful right little toe (fixed with lambswool and some rest apparently), sore back (functional strength training), and a sore butt. That last one bedeviled me for quite a while until I had an epiphany. I sweat a lot and my shorts get wet, not just damp. I recently tried chamois cream but it didn't seem to do much after the first couple of hours. Enter Gold Bond Powder. I've used it for the past decade in my shoes and sometimes after a shower but never during the ride. What a difference! Even after the entire 172 miles, I could have easily ridden 100 more miles in the saddle.
     Unfortunately I did have a problem beginning at the 102-mile mark and it persisted for the next 78 miles. The top and inside part of my right knee started registering an ever-increasing level of pain. No amount of shifting or changing positions provided more than very temporary relief. The only thing I could do was stop, rest, and stretch. Of course, I did this because I've ridden long enough to know that you don't mess around with knee soreness. I admit to being a little baffled as to the cause since nothing on the bike had changed since my last 100+-mile ride. Failing anything else, I have to consider the pedals as the culprit. They are a used pair of Time ATACs. Yes, they are very stable and durable. However, they have a very wide connection point and I find my cleat sliding to the far outside edge of the pedal. The position is so far from normal that my Sidi Dominators warp if I try to move my foot back to level. I am going to try the Shimano PD-M540s and hope for better results.

Back to reality

     So I read Markley Anderson's write-up (http://teamcrank.wordpress.com/) of his Appalachian Mountains Loop (AML) ITT in March. I don't know if reading it will turn out to be good or bad. First of all, the guy wins just about every time he races. Second, he rode the AML straight without sleep, and by doing so set a time that isn't really touchable.
     Now this may be a good thing because it forces me to realize that I will not be able to beat the course record. Instead of riding at a pace that is unrealistic in the hopes of beating a record that is untouchable, I will use this first attempt at an ultra-endurance event to evaluate my kit choices and see how my body responds to the prolonged effort. On normal days eating, drinking, and sleeping can be done for pleasure and without any feeling of necessity. Some of my longer rides (100+) remind me that eating, drinking, and sleeping should be done with purpose. During the AML and later during the TD, it will be absolutely essential.
     On the other hand this may be a bad thing because some of my motivation is sapped knowing that I cannot beat Markley's time. I can tell myself "this is your first attempt," "you can ride it again in the spring," and so on, but it's only so effective.
     Ultimately, it does put the challenge where it should be; on me. I have to do the fastest time I can manage. Holding myself to someone else's standard is almost surely a recipe for disaster. Let's just state this plainly. At best, I will still be carrying 40 pounds of body weight that I still need to lose before the Tour Divide. Getting that extra weight over 30,000 vertical feet will be an accomplishment in itself.
     In other news, the requisite spreadsheet with kit options, cost in weight and dollars, and degree of necessity is shaping up and I'll start pulling the trigger on some purchases. Of course, all of the choices are made with an eye towards using on the Tour Divide. Some of the kit choices I've made so far...

Niterider PRO 1400
Some flashy red rear LED
Revelate Viscacha
Garmin Edge 605
ACA laminated maps
Ray-Way Tarp, Net-Tent, and Quilt
Ergon GP1 grips
Selle Italia TT saddle
One (1) 22-ounce water bottle (for drink mixes)
One (1) 6L Dromedary with Hydration kit
Stoker bar repurposed for additional handlebar space
Generic aero bars
Aleve
Assos chamois cream

I haven't decided on a frame bag/bar bag combo or backpack. My plan for the AML is to save weight by dropping extra water bottles, rain gear, any extra clothing, and minimizing bags used since I will be over so much on body weight. I will publish my kit with pictures when I think I have it ready for the AML, probably around the end of September. A full review will follow the AML.

Fear

     I have a confession. I am afraid of the dark. I'm also afraid of being alone in an
unfamiliar place. I know these are not unique fears. Entire movie franchises are built on
them. My problem is there will be plenty of both during the three or so weeks of the
Tour Divide. There are plenty of mitigating options at my disposal if I choose. I could spare myself the loneliness and find a pace that just so happens to keep me in the company of others, but wouldn't I be violating the spirit of the adventure? Do I fear my own thoughts so much that I would rather participate in a rolling group chat than look deeply into the dark places of my mind? It seems like I would be cheating myself out of an incredible opportunity. This is in the forefront of my mind after yesterday's ride.
     Last night I rode for about five hours (three or so in complete darkness) to the
east and northeast of Columbus on roads with which I am familiar. I have not ridden these roads at night. And while it is true that there is nothing there at night that is not also there during the day, the lack of visibility constantly challenges that fact. My imagination kicks in and all sorts of nature (some of it supernatural) lurks in the shadows, waiting. My only defense against the howling fantods is; a, logic, and b, the riding.
     First, logic and its big brother, reason, blow giant holes through the flights of
fancy my primal brain can invent when left to its own devices. Even though others refer to me as "crazy" for my riding habits, I know that any additional risk incurred by riding at night can be mitigated with a few simple preventative measures. Further (and sillier), the weird monster from "Jeepers Creepers", the vampiric child from "Let the Right One In", or David the werewolf from "An American Werewolf in London" (all of which were chasing me at some point last night) are nothing but figments...of flesh and bone that will someday feast on my flesh and blood when I least expect it. SEE?! Ahem, they are figments of my imagination, of course (...not). STOP IT!
     Second, the riding gives me purpose. I don't know why this holds the terror at bay but it does. It may be illusory but the rightness of the purpose, while not protecting me in any way from actual danger, does prioritize the fear. I think this is an important (to me anyhow) point since it reinforces something I've been thinking for a while. Namely, we never really change our basic nature. We can shed some learned behaviors if properly incentivized, and everything else we'd like to change gets a coping mechanism of varying effectiveness. For me, the goal of the Tour Divide helps me cope with the fear and loneliness. I'm far from objective but I'd venture to say it is one of the healthier coping strategies as opposed to say, never going out after dark or never going anywhere by myself. That just hides the problem whereas like an immunization I am dealing with my fears while they are in a weakened state, or maybe I'm in a strengthened state.
     Finally, thank all things good and decent that Nick Drake wrote Hazy Jane. That was the soundtrack in my head last night and was MUCH preferable to the Digital Underground from the previous long ride. I don't often quote song lyrics, but he captures some basic human failures in perhaps the most gentle language I've ever heard. Mentally, it made for a very pleasant ride. For your consideration,

"Do you curse where you come from?
Do you swear in the night?
Would it mean much to you
if I treat you right?

Do you like what you're doing?
Would you do it some more?
Or would you stop once and wonder,
what you're doing it for?

Do you feel like a remnant
Of something that's past?
Do you find things are moving
Just a little too fast?

Do you hope to find new ways
Of quenching your thirst?
Do you hope to find new ways
Of doing better than your worst?"

Have a good day, one and all.

Mind, mind!

     I spend a lot of time thinking. With the increased time spent riding solo, that time has only increased. I don't know if I had any purpose in mind for that increased time spent thinking, but I'm sure that by default I expected to solve the global problems of peace, hunger, and sustainability. Now it bears mentioning that some ideas in my head sound positively crazy when I try to verbalize them. I simply haven't mastered the vocabulary needed to transform some ideas from thought to statement. This past weekend though I have no problem relating what I was thinking about. Yes, the "intellectual" mind of Sean Brinker was caught on multiple occasions regurgitating the lyrics to the "Humpty Dance." Somewhere around mile 80 I started to get annoyed with myself. I tried to substitute other songs, make up a new song, or just generally think about anything else. None of it worked. Like a wheel rut on a muddy road, at the first moment of inattention my brain would slide right back into "that's all right cuz my body's in motion, it s'posed to look like a fit or a convulsion..." If I had to face that for three weeks on the Tour Divide, I'd probably just ride right off a cliff.
     As I try to use each ride as a learning opportunity, Saturday reminded me that the hours I am riding both before and during the event will likely tax my mind as much, if not more, than the body. That's a hard thing to anticipate when so much of the preparation centers around training the body, specifically addressing the known pain points. I now clearly recognize the need to discipline my mind for the task ahead. And it makes perfect sense, no matter how well trained the body is I will fail if the mind makes bad decisions.
     For the day though the ride was good. I logged about 8.5 hours on Saturday, 112 miles, and was not overly fatigued after the ride.  I found a fair amount of unpaved trail, and a review of the map after the ride revealed that there is much more still to explore. Can't wait.

New perspectives

Originally composed on 8/10/12:

     It's funny how things evolve. In my last post, I noted a lack of excitement around the job change. Technologies I know marching to the beat of a different engineer can really introduce a lot of uncertainty. Maybe when I was younger I discounted the effect of the company and overestimated my own ability to conquer any deployment no matter how deficient or haphazard it was. Whatever the reason I was cool (or maybe lukewarm) to the idea of changing jobs. Now here it is Friday and I am beginning to feel the real draw of this new position. For whatever reason (confidence in me or simply too busy to hold the reins) I have been granted nearly carte blanche access with the mission to fix, build, and generally improve where possible.
     I've noticed something similar in my cycling as well but my response to it has been much different. I have always planned my rides. Always. I scour maps looking for new roads but always with the new route is the question of "how long will it take?" That is how my riding is defined...until the preparation for the Tour Divide started. I simply removed a self-imposed limitation to answer the "how long will it take" question. It sounds ridiculous but the proof was immediate albeit anecdotal. The longest ride I had done before I stopped answering the question was 60 miles. The first day I ignored the question? 130 miles. So here is an environment I've known well for 37 years, and finally in my 43rd year I accept the new rules, and the future is finally defined by what might be possible as opposed to what I have done.
     As cheesy as movie lines are sometimes they can clarify a jumbled mess and I love the Morpheus line from The Matrix, "there's a difference between knowing the path and walking the path." From that I have begun telling myself "knowing feeds doing." It doesn't quite get across the pointlessness of knowing for its own sake, but I like the brevity (because usually I am NOT!) and it can always be improved.

Change in place, purpose remains the same

So aside from all of the riding, equipment review, and planning, I started a new job today. It's a return to my core competencies; Windows OS, Windows server applications and VMware. There hasn't been as much excitement for me regarding this move. I guess I'm a little apprehensive having to learn a new environment. And I suppose I'm a little frustrated that things didn't work out at Honda. There seemed to be a lot of genuine sadness at the news that I was leaving. It certainly makes me feel good, but once I left it doesn't count for much; that and $5 will get me a Starbux.

In other news, I'm beginning to put back-to-back long rides together. Three weeks in a row I've had a single long ride of 100 miles or more. I figure it's time to train myself to recover. All of this training I'm doing doesn't follow much of a plan. So I just try to do what seems logical.

Step 1 - ride
Step 2 - ride further
Step 3 - keep going
Step 4 - do it again tomorrow
Step 5 - rest sometimes

I figure this is how I will race, and I've heard you should train how you plan to race. I scared myself a little yesterday as I really started to dig into the Appalachian Mountains Loop maps from the Adventure Cycling Association (ACA). The climbing comes early, often, and in varying degrees of difficulty. Two things; one, I'm about 60 pounds too heavy, and two, there are no significant hills in central Ohio. There are no 15-mile 2% grades or 2-mile 10% climbs. I guess I could set up the road bike on the trainer, stick a cinderblock under the front wheel, crank the resistance to 11, and go for broke. Anyhow, I have eight weeks and change to get myself ready.

Time falls away

"Time falls away." I love the idea of time ceasing to matter. I am so much happier living experience-to-experience than moment-to-moment. I love what it does to the people around me. Whether they know it or not you can almost see the weight of family responsibilities and the ever-present schedule lift off of them. Faces relax. Smiles come easier. The body loses its rigidity and accepts the comfort of a cushion. Silliness and banter arrive in a clown car. As a corollary, people who can't relax make me nervous. I see them as a rubberband twisted in on itself. When will it release, and will it be gentle or violent?

Part of my mind was turning this over while thinking about my ride last night. It extended well beyond dark because I simply did not concern myself with what time it was. Unfortunately, I didn't take any lights, or reflective gear of any kind so that was kind of dumb. Obviously, I became a lot more cautious and turned all of my senses on high to protect myself, but also to protect the gentle soul that might be taking a late night stroll on the bike path (I managed to get off the roads before full dark.). So I made noise, singing into the dark, or calling out "irresponsible mountain biker on your left!" as I cautiously approached a group of moving shapes, only discernable because of the light they blocked. It worked, and I got home safe without so much as a single close call or frightened pedestrian. I did get one terse "yes, you are" from a cyclist using a headlight when I announced my careless presence. Oh well, my apologies. I am thankful, not emboldened, that I am home safe.

Quick tech note: my rides are beginning to routinely exceed the battery capacity of the iPhone + Strava. Either I need to go old school using a map and a clock, get a separate GPS, or get creative.

Setting my own rules

So I'm just spit-balling here but I've been turning over the idea of "mental assistance" while racing the GDMBR and I thought I'd throw it out to the blogosphere for comment. I keep going back to the line in Rule #2 (http://tourdivide.org/the_rules) that states "the intent is to ride unsupported between towns and function self-supported when in towns." I will likely be taking my iPhone as it is unsurpassed for functionality versus weight though battery life is a challenge. Of course, smartphones provide ample mental distraction in the form of entertainment, race information, and a lifeline to friends and family. In the context of the race, this is bad. I think I've settled on the following guidelines for my attempt next year.

1. No phone calls (except emergencies) while on the trail assuming there is coverage.
2. No web browsing on the phone AT ALL.
3. While on the trail under non-emergency conditions, the phone may only be used for a GPS, camera, and notepad (text or voice).
4. Phone calls may be placed from the iPhone while in town. Any discussion of the race should be limited to the details of my effort and experiences.
5. No blue-dot watching AT ALL including the bikepacking.net forums (or similar).
6. Entertainment (music, movie, book, or audiobook, etc.) is permissible while in town or bivy.
7. I am still undecided about weather apps.

My goal here is to minimize the influence of external factors on my decision-making and overall effort. There is no doubt that hearing the voices of my wife and daughter will raise my spirits and knowing how much they will have sacrificed to allow me this chance will undoubtedly push me on so that has to be limited somehow. The rest of the motivation needs to come from my head and its reaction to my immediate situation. I am definitely leaning more monk than rockstar which fits my personality as I'm fairly introverted. In conclusion, I want to make clear that I'm trying to decide what will work for me and no one else. I certainly wouldn't want anyone telling me how to race if I already thought I was following the rules.

Beauty, in all its forms

So I'm a little sore and a lot sunburned. Yesterday's ride was beautiful on a lot of levels. The unpaved stretch of the Heart of Ohio trail is a hidden, peaceful ride from Centerburg to Mt. Vernon. Route 205 north of Danville runs through Amish country, and I saw more than a few families out in their horse-drawn buggies. I have a lot of respect for the Amish way of life, and maybe I'm a little jealous. I don't think I could adopt that lifestyle though there's no question I'd know what I accomplished on a daily basis. I think a lot of the satifaction in life derives from that one simple thing, but is it enough? It seems that our modern, technology-driven, stock market-centric world hinges on the oasis mentality. We can slog through as long as we get the occasional long weekend or a two-week vacation. What a bleak way to live. I wonder if it's possible to adopt more of the Amish work ethic in a complex economy where most work is far removed from the end product. I guess in the meantime I'll keep riding the bike. There's no doubt I can measure what I accomplished yesterday.

On a separate note, my heart goes out to all the people of Aurora. Nothing can replace the loss of a loved one. Maybe someday we will better understand the fragile people that are so ill-equipped to deal with life that when expectation does not meet reality they harm themselves or others.

The obligatory introspective post

Originally composed 7/17/12:

"Listen to your own heart beating," fine advice from the man who gave us Danger Zone and Footloose. Standing on the doorstep of 43, I am attempting to be intentional in my actions. The why matters. "Because it feels good" is no longer sufficient. The instant gratification that I have lived most of my life by is failing to make me happy. In fact, it is having the opposite effect. Then a remarkable thing happened. My decision to race the Great Divide flipped a switch in my head. All of the fragments that seemed to define a life well-lived snapped into place like metal shavings lining up for a magnet. It's hard to overstate the difference. Soda and snacking has been a fixture in my life. Soda is gone. I still snack but I give some thought as to why I want to eat and what I am going to eat. Obviously, the bottom line for now is weight. As of today, I weigh 252.4. I started at 281 on May 6th. I have been using a spreadsheet to track progress so that I don't overemphasize recent results and lose motivation as I am wont to do. At this pace, I will go below 200 pounds sometime in January...for the first time in seventeen years. 186 is still the goal.

Regarding the bike, I definitely need wider handlebars and more comfortable grips. Ergon seems to be universally loved. Getting lighter will help my hands some, but for six or seven hours in the saddle I need the ergonomics. If all goes well, I'll do a century on the road bike on July 28. The next challenge will be a 120-mile "Gran Fondo" on September 2 on the mountain bike. Then a 400-mile multi-day in Virginia beginning October 20 will give me a chance to sort out the kit. Which reminds me that I need to get busy on any DIY pieces of the kit, so it can be thoroughly tested. So much to do.

I got 99 problems but the bike ain't one.

130 miles on the 29er, 10 hours, and I'm still over 250 pounds and have 10 1/2 months to train. This was a very good day. Just what I needed after a lackadaisical week.

The resultant devil of my details

Originally written on 7/13/12:

There are known knowns, known unknowns, and unknown unknowns. For instance, there is the known iPhone app Strava that uses GPS to record your ride and rank you against other riders over known segments. There are the known physical forces that govern momentum, center of gravity, and inertia. To wit, an idiot in motion tends to stay in motion until acted upon by the ground. Then we get into the known unknowns. I know there is a correct line through an obstacle. I just don't always know what it is. And finally, there are the unknown unknowns; heretofore, the province only of amateur philosopher Donnie Rumsfeld. Apparently there is circuitry in my head that thinks changing lines in the middle of a descent is a perfectly reasonable course of action. I'm here (fortunately) to tell you that it's not. I have knots, bruises, and a buggered rear derailleur bent rear dropout as proof. This is not something I thought I would have to guard against, another member of the unknown unknowns.

So what's the common thread here? The competitor in me was trying to break my personal best (and maybe a few other rider's personal bests on Strava). I was really locked in, successfully navigating all obstacles except the creek/tree/rock combo. And when I arrived at the section which dismounted me, the perfect line revealed itself to me just milliseconds AFTER entering the root-riddled spur. One particularly obtrusive root vetoed the late move, sending my front wheel in a direction that body and mind were not prepared to follow. The rest was a series of negative stimuli, a few deep breaths, and a powerful lesson about riding at the edge of one's abilities. The lesson? "Decide, commit, and decide again" has one too many steps. Decide and commit. Period. Now...how much does a rear derailleur cost? Steel bends. Steel is good. Oh, I almost forgot. I took eight minutes off my previous loop even with the takedown.

Singletrack!

Originally written on 7/11/12:

I am busting today. My weight continues to fall and the Gunnar is a fabulous piece of steel heaven. For just the second time in my life I rode singletrack and absolutely loved it. The first time was last Saturday, so I'm a total noob but the learning at this stage happens by leaps and bounds. There were too many dismounts the first time through. The second time there were just four, and I think I can see a way through all of them. Finding a skilled mountain biker to follow around should accelerate the learning.

The friction that binds men's souls

Originally composed 6/27/12:

Last night was a bit of a battle to get myself out the door. This happens every once in a while. If I were more diligent about keeping a training log I might be able to identify the trends that sap my motivation. Perhaps I could minimize the friction that wears on the mind. It's a strange thing because for all my problem-solving ability, I tend to jump to the conclusion that my lack of motivation, dedication, or ability is to blame. Little by little I'm learning to cut myself a break and look for the clues that will lead me to a legitimate root cause. Case in point, I've been having problems with my saddle. Even short rides were causing a lot of discomfort. Strange as I've had this saddle for a while and never had problems in the past. When I took a moment to think of the possible causes, it occurred to me that I had removed the seat post to add a bottle holder. I assumed that I had replced the seat post and set it at the right height. A quick check showed that my assumption was wrong. No more discomfort, no mental friction.

The Man in Black

To quote the late Johnny Cash "I hurt myself today..." though I have no concerns regarding my ability to feel. Last day in the Finger Lakes, and I took full advantage banging out 60 miles. I drug my 260-pound body over 2,500' of climbing. I am well aware that this is hardly epic, but my legs got me through. I really need to lighten up and reward my legs for patiently waiting for me to remember that I am a cyclist, and then bailing me out when I nibble off a little more than I should. Thanks legs!

GDMBR prep

I have been a bit lazy with the posts lately. To catch the reader up, I have been ill. Nothing identifiable mind you, just an annoying bit of congestion and throat soreness. For the most part it has gone, though a cough persists. I'm not sure what I weigh right now. I am currently in the Finger Lakes region of NY state attending some company-sponsored training. The road bike and I have done rides of 55 and 35 miles on Monday and Tuesday, respectively. Head and side winds were brutal making the ride mostly a lesson in mental toughness. I hope to get back in the swing of things next week with my training log. It will certainly help me keep a positive attitude. No small feat considering the self-flagellation that takes place in my noggin. Aside from riding I have been scouring the Interwebs for lightweight bikepacking equipment. I picked up a Niterider Pro 1400 on eBay. I enjoy riding at night and currently rely on an old Cateye light. The Niterider will be a big upgrade. Looking at some of the DIY options for gear, mostly bags. I'm looking for multi-purpose equipment. I figure that will save on weight.

Finally, I was fascinated with the discussion on the bikepacking.net forum regarding the essence of solo, self-supported riding. I look at it this way. I am racing, first and foremost. However, I am not racing against other riders. The challenge is to push my limits while adhering to the rules laid down by the sanctioning body. Now, that may leave a very unsatisfying taste in the mouths of any spectators be they real or virtual, but this was never supposed to be about the watchers, only the doers. And when it comes to crying foul on another racer, a "do unto others" approach is best. Before you say "I've got nothing to hide because I follow the rules" remember that nearly all of the information available to us is less than perfect. Once the accusation is out there, it's awfully hard to take it back.Guilt or innocence is a moot point.

I am the better part of valor

Ah fair discretion. I have slain thee countless times. Why dost thou haunt me? Maybe because that way sanity lies, to flip the famous King Lear line. I have never been one for tempered behavior when enthusiasm is so much more fun. But...seventeen miles today instead of the 40-50 I was planning; 110 miles for the week; a run yesterday while the family biked with me; and a weigh-in of 267 flat this morning. Today I am going to EAT...and drink lots of water. Not too shabby!

Ice Cube had it right

Today was not expected to be a good day. As with most bad days, the groundwork was laid the night before. I was out Wednesday night bidding farewell to a friend and co-worker on his way to Afghanistan. He's going voluntarily. He's doing with his youth what should be done; collect the experiences that will shape the rest of your life. I will miss him. So in the course of the evening I ate two dinners and tipped back three Labatt Blue's. I doubt you'll find that on offer at the WeightWatchers website. Sure enough, I was up a pound and a half this morning. I had scheduled a half-day because I had Piano Guild in the afternoon. When that was finished at 3:45, I checked in with a tired family that assented to my afternoon ride. And this is where the incontrovertible goal made sure the ride happened. I think I've stated in previous posts that I consider this a 'must,' not an option. The rational part of my mind understands that this is somewhat silly, but that part stays quiet because all of the short-term benefits have satisfied its desire for sense and order. Log 36 miles, and some mental toughness training while riding into stout side- and headwinds. Pretty good day.

Back to 40

Big jump in mileage this evening. I did 40 miles for the first time in a long time. With less than ten rides, I may be asking for an injury, but who dares, wins. Right? Of course, the 40-mile ride is just a waypoint on this particular journey, but the number 40 has always held some fascination for me. It's like anything less than that is just fooling around. Once you start logging 40-milers, it's an indication you're serious about the play. Of course, to push these jumps in mileage, I really have to carb up. It flies in the face of all the fad diet crap that dominates the bookshelves, airwaves, and Internet. I had pancakes for breakfast. Rice and chicken for lunch, and mashed potatoes for dinner. I wonder what I'll weigh tomorrow. It's kind of fun using my body as a test lab.

These magic moments aka "the small hours" credit to Rob Thomas

Particularly upbeat this morning. The scale flashed 271.8, nearly ten pounds down since I started two weeks ago. The jumps at the beginning are always larger. It will get much harder as the pounds continue to come off and the weeks roll by. I know my motivation will flag. I will have days of weight gain or no change which will be hard to take especially if I am following my diet. And being the creature of the Now that I am, recent data looms large in my psyche. It's killed entire seasons of cycling. That would be tragic if I believed in constancy. But I don't. Don't get me wrong I think it's admirable, and I'll need to use it if I want to reach this goal. But what I believe is that life is lived for a series of moments. Mind you, the moments cannot be made, only experienced for the fleeting seconds that they survive. I've never understood the outsized celebrations following a championship; be it the World Cup, Super Bowl, Tour de France victory, whatever... They seem to represent the constancy of near-perfection. Phooey! The execution in the heat of battle is the pinnacle of achievement. Everything that follows is self-indulgent whether for personal satisfaction or monetary gain. Give me the choice between a moment in a head's up sprint where the outcome has yet to be decided versus a moment on the top step of the podium, and I'll take the sprint every time. Hell, make it a moment of an interval four months before the race, and I'll take that too. Given that frame of mind, this will be a long, hard slog. It is these moments that will get me through.

It's just like riding a bike.

Originally written on 5/15/12:

Eighteen miles last night on the bike. As the body adjusts I am reminded again the part of my body that will complain the longest and the loudest is my back. For background, I was born with scoliosis. For the most part it does not bother me, and any pain is usually negligible. It does hinder my ability to play basketball, my second favorite sport. The situation is not helped by the owner of the back who will not do the requisite core work to strengthen the surrounding muscles. On the upside, my position on the bike is coming back to me. It's an oddly pleasurable feeling when you rediscover your form after a long layoff. It's like riding with a governor on your engine and then suddenly, it's gone. Comfort and power are delivered at once. As I lengthened my back out over the bike, and adjusted the angle of my hips on the saddle, a circuit closed in my head. Even with my enormous gut I was able to ride in the drops for a few minutes comfortably. My legs felt like they had more room and the ability to turn circles improved. It's such a shame that I ever forget something like that. Perhaps I am beginning to figure out why I am not a happier person.

One week in...

Originally written on 5/14/12:

Another Monday; a chance to take stock of last week and come up with a plan of attack for this week. I lost five pounds over the preceding week. Not bad though being the first five pounds to lose with nearly 100 pounds to lose it's significantly less effort than the 5% of the desired weight loss it represents. Frankly, one hearty BM could account though that's just a guess because I'm not weighing it. I don't care that much. I want three rides and a run this week. Rides should be 18 - 26 miles and a run of 3 - 3.5 miles. Still have yet to take a drink of soda.

I'll have to check the previous blog entries to see if I've already talked about this. I know that I succumb to the lure of instant gratification far more often than I should. Nothing represents that more completely than drinking soda. I know that soda is empty calories. I've seen the 60 Minutes where a doctor describes sugar as cancer's favorite food. I get headaches and a stiff neck within an hour of drinking soda. And yet I've had a hell of a time kicking the habit. I ignore all that I know about soda for the ice-cold carbonated, candied euphoria that occurs when glass meets lips. What sort of devilry is at work?

This morning completes the first full week of training; 3 bike rides and a run. Not great but considering it is ex nihilo I'm not too terribly disappointed. Today's ride was 22 miles in 1:20. Again, not great, but I have to start somewhere. The last few miles of the ride was not easy. The supporting muscles (core mostly) had lost their strength; unpleasant and instructive. Suffering for the sake of something other than suffering is demonstrably worthwhile.

As an aside the weight loss has started slowly but evenly. Three pounds lost week. I think the increase in physical activity and removal of soda from my diet are entirely responsible.

Random musings

Originally composed on 5/10/12:

The biggest challenge at this stage is training my body to ride and run again. The stress on my hands, shoulders, back, and feet is significant; partly a function of my weight and partly relearning how to pedal circles. I rode for an hour last night, and already I notice a big improvement from Saturday. I ran on Sunday night after a two hour nap, and then took off Monday and Tuesday as the feet were complaining. Which brings another thought to mind...I have to hope that my body can physically handle the mileage jumps that I'm going to be throwing at it. The experts tell you to bump it up 10% at a time and I'm sure they have very good reasons for doing that, but I will not be following that advice. My jumps will be more like 20-50%. Even with 13 months to prepare I don't have the time to ease my mileage up. My thinking is that I need to get to 150 miles a day as quickly as my body can handle it. Once there, I have to test my kit (which adds weight). I have to determine how many calories I need, how many hours of sleep do I need, and how my body recovers from multi-day efforts of 150-225 miles.

I just ran the numbers on mileage increases and I may have overestimated. Starting with a base of 20 miles/day and bumping by 10% every week I'll be at 148 miles/day by the end of September. That's not too far off where I would like to be. I guess it's still pretty aggressive as I'm pretty sure you're supposed take a break every month or so to let your body adapt for a week to the increases.

Goal-setting has been in my head since committing to the GDMBR. It's probably not possible to stay focused for the next 13 months with just that singular goal. Frankenbike is around Labor Day and is on my radar. TOSRV in May is something I've always wanted to do. That leaves a huge hole from mid-September through April. I think this might be the year to get into cyclo-cross. Maybe run the Columbus marathon.

I wish I was more committed to collecting data points. I think it would be interesting to chart the change in lifestyle. Some of the more interesting data points in my opinion; weight, resting heart rate, calorie intake, mileage for running and biking, and hours of TV viewing. Alas, I just do not possess that level of attention to detail for more than a few days.

More about getting started

I'm heavy. Heavy enough that any extended exercise that involves running around will eventually result in foot and ankle problems. My estimate is that I need to lose 94 pounds. I am about 280 pounds. Through my twenties I was under 200 pounds, and my best endurance results were achieved when I was in the 180's. For the record, I'm 6'4". So 186 is the goal. That would give me a BMI of 22 which according to several esteemed Internet sources is the optimal BMI for staying healthy.

Despite the foot and ankle discomfort I mentioned I have begun to increase the physical activity; a run on Thursday, bike ride on Saturday, and another run on Sunday. I am slow, and the distance is laughable when compared to the goal, but it is a beginning. I have a tendency to overtrain when I set a goal for myself, ignoring my body's warnings to slow down, recover, sleep. With age I know I have lost some ability, but I hope to have gained some wisdom. Yesterday I took a nap in the afternoon. For me that is unheard of so maybe it is a sign of wisdom. We'll see.

Starting conditions

How far am I from being able to attempt the challenge? Pretty far, if I'm being completely honest. Setting a goal like this isn't really about honesty though. Or reality. It's about knowing what's beyond the horizon. It's about knowing something that can't be known. Perhaps because of intellect, experience, geography, or time the metaphorical path I need to find won't be immediately recognizable. That's the first challenge. I will have accomplished a lot if I just make it to the starting line in Banff. So here is the first starting line; a 280-pound, former roadie, couch potato must become an expert mountain biker with the stamina and courage of Pheidippides...in 13 months. That's a little too much reality. I'm just going to go ride.

Why am I blogging?

Like most people that start blogging with no intention of becoming a journalist, I am intent on making a life change and turning it into performance art. I'm 60% joking. I am on the fence about how personal I will get. I really don't want to be an attention whore. In fact, I have no goals for this blog other than to put my intentions down as a digital line in the sand. Simply put, did I do what I said I was going to do? And what am I going to do? Complete the Great Divide Mountain Bike Race commencing June 1, 2013. Check out the details here. It's a big ask, but I think I can do it. The race itself is only maybe half the challenge. This will require a lifestyle change for me and my family. Allocations of time, money, and effort all have to be rethought. At this point, all I know is this is exactly what I want to do, and I'm prepared to put the next 13 months towards that solitary goal. Let the adventure begin.