'Cuz That's How I Roll

After many years of riding I've developed a mental list of the do's and don'ts of cycling etiquette, style, and maintenance. Many people I know eschew some rules and take others to heart. Some ignore every damn one of them. Still others flat out think I'm being an elitist dick. That's cool. It's my list anyway.



Do:
-Acknowledge other riders as you roll with a wave or "Hello". Commraderie is cool and fun.

-Support your local bike shop.

-Wash your shorts and jersey after every ride. Riding behind you when you've got three days worth of armpit goo and chamois mushrooms is akin to sticking my head in a bloated opossum corpse.

-Check the cleats on your shoes regularly and replace when necessary. You like your teeth don't you? So do I.

-Rock the PRO kit. Fat or thin, short or tall, everyone looks better in the PRO kit.

-Let me warm up a bit before you put it in the 53x15 and choke the shit out of your bars to set tempo. I know you're strong, but I'm getting old. I need at least 10-15 miles to even remotely clear the cobwebs from my lungs and legs.

-Drink from the well of suffering often.

-Make sure we're out of the way when you blow snot. Mind the wind as well.

-Keep your bike clean and lubed. Respect the ride and it will respect you.

-Clean your waterbottles frequently. Especially if you're fond of the energy concoctions. They have a bad habit of molding up bottles in a hurry.

-Carry more than one spare tube in addition to 3 tire levers, pump, tool kit, and a couple bucks just in case (the greenback also makes a great tire boot that'll get you home when you're in a jam)

-Honor your word. If you tell your wife/husband you'll be home by noon, by God, it had better be by noon.

Don't:
-Challenge motorists. You will lose.

-Ride like a dick. You will soon ride alone.

-Tell someone their new bike sucks. We don't need to discourage riders because of arrogant drivel.

-Put so much shit on your handlebars that it resembles the mixing table used for the next American Idol's over produced, piece of crap album.

-Ask me where my helmet is. If it's not on my head, it's pretty fucking obvious it's at home.

-Tell me to get off the road. I pay taxes for these suck ass streets too. Ya bastards.

-Throw your energy gel wrappers on the ground when you're done choking down the goo. Put them in your pocket like a responsible member of society, not a low funtioning dipshit.

-Keep new riders in the dark about how your group ride functions. If your group is fast and doesn't wait for the weak, let the rider know this before you commence smoking him.

-Get all hot and bothered because someone on the group ride almost caused you to crash or doesn't know how an echelon works. Be cool, not a chump.

-Ignore waves and "Hello's" from other riders. The world has enough smug assholes driving cars, we don't need them on bicycles too.

Giro-issimo!

The 2007 Giro was an exciting piece of three week riding and went to a deserving Danilo DiLuca. Andy Schleck the wunderkind and Eddy Mazzolini rounded out second and third, respectively.

Gibo Simoni and Little Prince Cunego were close (fourth and fifth), but not quite enough. Gibo has the excuse of being older than most of the young guns he's up against (if you can call 36 old), he's also won twice before. Cunego, it seemed, wasn't nearly aggressive enough or just didn't have the legs. Maybe for the TdF? Hope so.

The Giro's always been my favorite race. It doesn't have the pageantry and ego of the Tour de France nor the odd timing of the Vuelta Espana, which is a beautiful race in it's own right but would be better off in its old springtime running. Why, oh why can't the powers that be set aside ego and power to create a rational racing calendar?

Anyway, bravo Italy! Your tour is truly majestic.

Photo credit: Cyclingnews.com

Macaframa SF Track Bike Promo

Pretty cool what kids can do.

Ride for the Ages

My memories of Memorial weekend are of loading up the car and rolling out to the Quad Cities for three days of suffering in shitty weather, drawing straws to see would sleep on the floor, and eating my height in Subway turkey sandwiches (they were cheap).

As much as I miss the proverbial demarcation line of the "real" racing season, I no longer do these things. I am, if you remember, a self proclaimed recreational cyclist. A "boludo globero" if you will (another day, another blog). Therefore, Memorial weekend was comprised of work and play.

"Work", because I worked at the shop on Saturday. It was a busy day because most people don't bother to think ahead about Bike the Drive, an early morning, closed course ride on the historic Lake Shore Drive in Chicago. Most can't seem to figure out how to pump their tires up with the "skinny" valves. And most people are manic grumpy chumps anyway.

All the bad washed away with the door's quiet whoosh behind me as I rolled away from the shop to begin my two days off. In a row!

Sunday started off rainy, which threw a wrench into the plans of a 6:30 AM start time. After just getting over a nasty 7 day flu last week, I wasn't going to ride 3+ hours in Mother Nature's tears. So, I went back to bed for an hour or so and then woke up to watch the 2007 Giro's best stage yet on RAI. By the time the race was over and I eased my grip from the armrests of my chair, the sun was shining and I was inspired.

I rolled westward on a ride that is only known as "Batavia". I rode hard into a gusting headwind and suffered much of the way. It felt good. I also enjoyed the idea that it would be a wind I would sail home on.

Monday was epic, as far as rides have been for me the past several years. I haven't been riding with many of my old mates (they all moved, live far away, or have different schedules) so it was a treat to see the two Jasons along with the perpetually reliable Dr. Giggles. We rode at a steady pace going out and stopped for coffee and laughs at the usual spot.

We took a slightly different way home than what I usually do on Jason W's recommendation. This turned out to be yet another route I will add to my book of rides. I will dub it the Batavia Screw. We rolled through some nice, traffic-less, roads and tree lined streets. Before I knew it, we put the afterburners for the last 10 km. I dug deep into my reserves and suffered much, but managed to end the ride with my self respect intact. Bravo, strong men! I tip my cap to thee!

I had to be back by 10 AM, because I promised a day at Starved Rock State Park to the wife. Being late because of a bike ride breaks one of the cardinal rules of Cycling while Married (will blog on this soon) so I wasn't about to ruin my weekend. I made it home within the allowed 15 minute window. I suffered again hiking for 3.5 hours in the heat and undulating terrain, and felt adequately destroyed by day's end. I hope future Memorial weekends are this year's equal.

Mad Props Vol. 5

I always liked Bernard Hinault. I was captivated by his dominance and grit and the way he would rule the peloton with his iron will and temperament. Hinault was an anomaly. Hinault was a dick. Hinault was a monstrous ball of testosterone and napalm. He was never afraid to attack, sometimes to his detriment. He possessed a recklessness and confidence I admire in riders. He was both human and superhuman throughout his career.

Hinault was also brash, arrogant, distant, and terribly shy of publicity. He was an eccentric mix of prima donna, petulent schoolboy, and lone wolf. He would control races from his position as "Le Patron", or boss of the peloton, and impose his will upon riders. Such as when Hinault famously said "there will be no attacks today because tomorrow's stage will be difficult". That was Hinault, the last of Le Patrons.

I never jumped on the bandwagon of demonizing Hinault the way many did when he had his famous battle with Greg Lemond in the 1986 Tour de France. If you understood Hinault, that episode should have been expected. Hinault was a fighter. Always.

Godspeed, Dario

One of the bike industry's finest, Dario Pegoretti, has been diagnosed with lymphoma. You can read his letter to his customers here (labeled "message from Dario").

I first saw a Pegoretti frame in the Gita booth at the 1996 Interbike show. It was a beautifully deep powder blue with white decals. I saw right then, that these were frames of unparalleled beauty. I was a poor bike shop guy/racer at the time, so I never had the means to actually pay for one, so I simply marvelled at them and told myself "Someday..."


This past March, "someday" finally came and I ordered Dario's latest creation, the uber cool, stainless steel, Responsorium. I was prepared to wait several months for the frame when I placed the order. I am resolute in my decision and now prepared to wait as long as it takes.

Hope your recovery is swift, complete, and without complications, Dario. My thoughts are with you.

Never Wanted This

It's sad enough that cycling has gained popularity through its association with doping, but the soap opera bullshit of the Landis trial is borderline slander to two wheeled locomotion. I sincerely hope the studio stiffs salivating in boardrooms don't make a fucking movie about this.

Screw the F150

A friend sent this link to me. Alot of weird, funny, sometimes crass stuff. The above qualifies as "wish I was there" funny.

All the Rage

Shallow drops are what's hot in 2007 in the PRO (permanently stealing the all caps from BKW because it's what fits best...thanks R.F!) peloton. Many friends have made the switch and absolutely love 'em. I've always thought the guys that did the Michele Bartoli stretch were emulating the wrong position.

Levers have been sitting higher on bars the past several years, so this seems to be an extension of the science of bike fit creeping into the populace. I hope it continues and folks understand that emulating the beasts that race for a living doesn't apply to the average shmoe. Book a fitting at your LBS and lose the Rack comparisons when you roll for more than ten miles.

Photo credit: Cyclingnews.com

Mad Props Vol. 4

"This is a horse sport, we are called horses. They give us blinkers and tell us "go". Do not think, do not look around, do not to try to understand. But, on the contrary, I think, and I look around and often, I don't understand. And I wonder: what is that for? This is before feeling the cross around my neck, beating my face and dancing as I am riding ". - Pavel Tonkov, 1996

I watched the 1997 Giro d'Italia the other day and witnessed Pavel Tonkov go to battle against Ivan Gotti for the honor of the Maglia Rosa. Tonkov perpetually attacked Gotti, a friend and training partner, for the better part of the final week. Tonkov never gave up and continued his massive commitment to achieve a second Giro win even though it seemed a forgone conclusion that Gotti was able to match any effort mounted to unseat his control of the race. Tonkov finished in second place 1:27 down on Gotti.

Fast forward to the 2004 Giro d'Italia. Tonkov was toward the end of his career, and after some trying times, thus was no longer considered a threat for a stage win. That changed on stage 17, a 153km jaunt from Brunico - Fondo Sarnonico. After a long break, Tonkov dropped Alessandro Bertolini at 15km to go. Tonkov finished 2:15 up on Bertolini and crossed the line with his arms locked in the above gesture. When asked about the meaning of his actions Pavel said "It was only a gesture of rage against the journalists, that did not consider a protagonist in the Giro any more."

I like riders that dig deep within to prove the critics wrong and have the moxy to rub their faces in it as well. Mad Props, Pavel!