Monthly Archives: September 2013

Hand Made

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I spent the last week in Germany on business motoring from village to village desperately seeking hand-made products in decent quantity.  Like the wine regions of France, German villages and regions are well known for their distinct manufacturing skill set. Whether it is the watches and clocks from the Black Forest, cutlery and steel implements from Solingen or cosmetic brushes from Nuremburg; Germans have been passing unique manufacturing skills down to new generations for generations.

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Mass consumer desire for affordable throw away goods, the global economy and changes in the career paths of today’s youth has created a vacuum of knowledge and skill required to manufacture high quality hand-made products.  

Translation: A skilled labor force is in short supply.

The grey haired guys are increasing the void even further as they are unwilling to teach their now rare skills to anyone in an effort to sustain their own self-importance into retirement.

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Sunday morning I am stateside and find myself pondering the affects of a mechanized, mass produced world on the quality of life as the sun rises over Biscayne Bay and South Beach.

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A simple bike ride can be a study in global economics.

I prepare for riding my custom steel frame fabricated by the hands of Peter Mooney in Belmont, MA by inspecting the drive train made by Shimano in Japan. Next I pump up the tires from Continental in Germany mounted on custom wheels built by the hands of Jude Kirstein of Epic Sugar Wheelworks in Portland, OR.  The wheels are assembled from rims made by HED in Shoreview, MN with hubs made by Phil Wood in San Jose, CA and CycleOps in Madison, WI. I apply chamois cream made by Mad Alchemy now in Broomfield, CO and then pull on my Italian made Rapha Bibs. It appears the balance of my kit still comes from China.

Yes there is a theme here beyond listing all the states in the U.S. and all the countries of the industrialized world. I am partial to products made in the western world and particularly keen on developing a relationship, however small, with the person who makes it. When you spend eight to ten grand on a bike and almost the same on your kit and gear you want a little more from the experience than simply handing over your AmEx to a store clerk.

 I know I do.

So I roll out by 11am to knock off the forty mile ride out to Starbucks and back. As expected, the week away from my bike has left my legs a bit lethargic.  A simple reminder to “enjoy the bike” kept me from worrying about the numbers although a couple of wayward challengers still managed to keep the ride interesting.

Twenty miles in I enjoyed a latte while checking this out.

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Center-pull brakes and friction shifters

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This gentleman informed me he received this gift 49 years ago on his 17th birthday.

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I hope I will be riding the Mooney in 46 years.

Saturday in the Rain

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This Friday I had a little extra time and energy so I laid out my Kit, gear and nutrition in preparation for the morning’s ride.

Good thing too.

Saturday I launch myself out of bed after letting an hour expire post alarm in snoozeville. I’m doing the rundown in my head to calculate the elapsed time required to make it to Miami City Hall in time for the group ride start. The math says maybe…

so I say YES…

and its Kit Up, Pump up, and Go!

The Legs are feeling fresh so my mood is positive and my thoughts wander to the Black Point sprint. How will I position myself, who will I mark; I can’t burn myself up bridging the gap to the lead sprinter this week. As I am cruising through the bowels of Overtown I notice my….

My bibs…

Are…

Inside Out!

Ok… now I am in crisis mode.

It is not like no one will notice.  In a group ride cyclists are nuzzled up, one behind the other close enough to see the crack of your arse if you happen to be wearing white cycling shorts. My brain is busy snapping pictures of every conceivable location where I might find sufficient privacy for a full strip down. That’s right, when you wear bibs you can’t just drop your trousers and pull them back on. No, that would be too easy. The shoes must come off, the Jersey must be removed and then, and only then can you remove your bibs. Now it’s no secret that cyclists don’t and should not wear underwear so as it prevents chafing, so my mind has now flash forwarded to a public strip tease and a potential arrest on charges of public nudity.

I did find a private locale and so escaped public embarrassment. More time is lost, the clock is ticking.

I arrived in time to hear the last of the group leader’s riding instructions communicated at the beginning of every ride. The Everglades Bicycle Club has been doing a great job providing organized leader lead rides at various levels while providing some basic training to ensure everyone’s safety. We roll out and ride south.

And the rains came.

The first few drops quickly turned into a steady heavy tempo of sorts.  We rode in organized fashion for about a mile until we stopped at the intersection of Ponce De Leon and SW 88th. “Does everyone feel safe to continue?” the lead rider shouts. I have come to realize that Miami riders don’t like rain, at the mere mention of it they scatter like cats for the safety of shelter. These guys were no different and everyone was opting in for opting out.

“I came to ride”, I replied. Making the right turn on 88th I looked over my shoulder and confirmed I was on my own. I smiled as the memories of riding in New England in the eighties came streaming in while swimming through the water pouring from the sky. If you didn’t ride in the rain, or the snow for that matter, you severely limited your riding potential. Additionally, I used my bike to commute to work and so the choice was already made; “Necessity being the mother of invention” and all. I remember many rain soaked rides on my way to and from work in some pretty horrendous conditions in a time when performance apparel consisted of wool tights with suspenders, a wool ski sweater and a windbreaker. Polypropylene was the base layer material du jour and Gore-Tex was in limited use at a price that placed it way out of reach. “Wear what you have”, Peter Mooney would say.

Yeah, I have had some pretty cold wet rides in my day.

The best advice I can give you is to take a hot shower as soon as you unclick and dismount.  Drink plenty of warm liquids when you can because if you wait for the chill, you are toast.

So after 30 minutes of swimming in this soup of a rainstorm I am rewarded for my stubbornness when the sky opens up and the sun begins to shine through. I am thoroughly pleased with myself and continue the tempo pace heading towards Black Point. Rounding the corner and riding towards Bayside I look up and see a huge, looming, grey mass, a virtual wall of rain in the distance. After a moment of self doubt and thoughts of self preservation I think to myself….What would Jens Voigt do? And so I forge ahead toward the darkness as a small group of three riders pop out like they are exiting some sort of space portal. The lead rider salutes me as if to say, soldier on. Another hour or so of this madness had me returning from the abyss and ready for a latte.

Starbucks is the café of choice for cyclist in Old Cutler Bay and frankly there are no other options. The floor sports a wet trail from cyclists who have come before me. I comment on the rain to a lady cyclist in queue who replies, “at least my bike is washed”. I retrieve my latte and venture outside to enjoy the brew with a Honey Stinger waffle. These things are delicious and will fill the void when gels are no longer of interest.

I listen with curiosity as three cyclists discuss the drudgery of cleaning their bikes. The conversation was initiated when one gentleman confessed that he has never cleaned his chain. The others offered up what sounded like they were forced into slave labor to perform arduous tasks of disgust.

Seriously, I cannot believe what I am hearing.

First, Google “Clean a bike chain” and there are 20 YouTube videos ready to explain the process in detail.

Second, these men of a mature age are complaining about the effort required and mess created by simply cleaning their machines? I force myself not to comment as I know it will come off as arrogance and so remain in polite silence.

We are talking just 10-30 minutes once or twice a week. It is worth the trouble and made easier when you use the right tools and when it is performed regularly. In manufacturing it is called Preventative Maintenance. Even more important, you become closer to your machine, you know its condition, and you gain an understanding of how it operates.

So when you ride into the abyss, it will be ok because you know that you are not alone.

Friday Night Ritual

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Another Saturday rolls up on me fast. Labor Day Monday’s tempo ride was awesome and I was happy to see that my power numbers are on the rise. The balance of the work week finds me in the gym on a Wednesday night which was a prelude to a difficult and failed attempt to complete 2 X 15 minutes of Threshold intervals on Thursday. It’s a little hard to take but I am learning to let these things go.

My Friday night ritual starts with a rather intense hour at the gym. “Basic Pushing and Pulling” is what my trainer calls it.

Yes, I said trainer.

No, I am not headed for the Nationals nor do I have any delusions of grandeur.

If it were not for Thomas I would not make it to the gym consistently if at all and I certainly would not work beyond 30 minutes at the intensity we work at for a full hour. He is the best trainer I have ever contracted, knowledgeable, serious and devoted to me for the entire time I spend with him. Thomas is a quiet gentleman that leads by example rather than bark orders from the sidelines and knows when to push me hard or when to modify an exercise to meet my current fitness level. His depth of knowledge and experience affords him the capability to train a client to meet the client’s needs rather than stick you in a “one size fits all” training plan. He does however emphasize all our work outs around muscular balance thereby reducing the potential for injury and maximizing my potential for power. The excercises he encorporates are sometimes complex which makes them difficult yet all the more compelling. He the architect and I the brick layer have together built a structure that I can rely upon during my training on the bike.

Besides……despite statements to the contrary…… girls like guns

and an Andy Schleck wannabe I am not.

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The ritual continues with basic bicycle maintenance. It is important that everything is working properly during a Saturday morning group ride as nothing ruins a good ride faster than a crash caused by a mechanical or being dropped for the same. The majority of maintenance one must endure is cleaning the bike and drive train. Throw in an occasional adjustment to a derailleur or brake cable and you have it covered.

I live in a high-rise condo so access to an outdoor faucet or garage to clean and maintain my machine is non-existent leaving me to maintain my bike in the living room overlooking Biscayne Bay and South Beach. To facilitate this work I set up and secure my bike on a Park PRS-20 Repair Stand , wipe her down with a Velo-shine wipe, clean the chain with a Park Cyclone Chain Scrubber  and Finish Line Degreaser, and wipe the chain with a standard bar towel. I give the degreaser a chance to dry before applying Chain-L chain lube. This whole process takes maybe 10 minutes when I am focused but distractions like the finishing sprint at the Vuelta or the death of another terrorist type on Strike Back tend to prolong the activity. So I give myself a 30 minute block of time at least once a week or every 100 miles for basic bike maintenance. You should too.

This Friday I had a little extra time and energy so I laid out my kit, gear and nutrition in preparation for the morning’s ride.

Good thing too.

Sunday Spin

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There are things you miss when you are focused on a goal, like a slow Sunday morning. This Sunday, I eased into the day and let it spin away freely. A little coffee, a bit of grocery shopping, a dash of the Vuelta and a couple of chores left me with two hours to get in a ride.  Saturday’s three hour group ride was hard enough and left the legs a bit heavy so I decided to forgo the Big Gear training until Monday.

After a quick hour ride on South Beach I found myself waiting for the bridge on the Venetian. The cars started lining up like cows to the slaughter. While waiting, I exchange some light conversation with a young couple riding up on their rental beach cruisers. The bridge descends and we roll over it while maintaining the conversation. Eventually the conversation leads to directions to Star Island. “Ahhh…that would mean you would need to ride on the MacArthur”, I mumbled.

The MacArther Causeway is a racetrack filled with lunatic motorists. I never ride my bike on this deathtrap of roadway and I begin to imagine two tourists pedaling along the causeway and envision the potential for horrific outcomes. “Hey….you wannah see something really cool? I shout loud enough for the gentleman to hear. “There is some great graffiti in the Wynwood district, it is worth the trip”. They agreed to take the detour and so we went.

Soon we were entering Overtown. Now I ride through Overtown 3-4 times a week and have become accustomed to its very urbane character. Abandoned buildings with broken windows, chain link fences surrounding unused littered lots and poorly maintained welfare housing are the visual cues that cause some folks concern. I recognize that this may be somewhat uncomfortable for my new riding companions and so comment, “This area gets a bit sketchy but no one will bother you, we will be fine…Honestly”.

We continue to meander through the streets and back alleys north of 20th street as the finger pointing begins and the shouts of excitement get more frequent while Wynwood slowly reveals its secrets.

This one goes 3-D as the paint goes down the wall and towards you on the side walk.

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Cartoons are always fun.

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Yes

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I keep trying to figure this one out, let me know if you can.

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Few things inspire a man more than a naked woman and a hot car.

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This one is particulary disturbing.

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Shiva?

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This one is my Favorite, it’s huge, detailed and says everything.

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Simon and Pilar introduce themselves and thank me for the experience. I lead them back to the Venetian and we said our goodbyes. It was obvious to me that they both enjoyed themselves on our little detour and truthfully so did I. If I was taking the day’s ride seriously I would have never spent the time with these folks and it would not have been as pleasant.

Saturday Morning Group Ride

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Five Thirty comes early on a Saturday morning. I take 20 minutes to sip the morning brew in the darkness while I stare at the wall covered in ink drawings, photographs and lithographs. I remain in a dream like state as I reminisce about how or where I found each piece. Surprised at how much I can remember…the day, the smells, the light, who I was with, and what I was feeling, I am thankful that they are there hanging on the wall in front of me. I look to the blank space on the wall and wonder what is next. This is how I start each morning suspended in the past, absent from the present and anxious for the future.

So starts the pre-ride routine that prepares me for a 3 hour tour of the Miami flatlands. Another 30 minutes has me filling bottles, laying out my clothes, nutrition, and gear. I procrastinate a few moments, as I always do, just prior to slathering on the chamois cream and sunscreen.

Then it’s, Kit UP, Pump Up and GO!

I haven’t made a Saturday morning group ride in over 10 months. Carless roads, cool summer breeze and a beautiful Miami sunrise greet me as I make my way through the city towards the meet point at Miami City Hall. I miss these quiet moments on the bike. The city has its own morning rituals. The young stumble out of the clubs, the long shore men line up for selection and the homeless begin to wake from their temporary beds. It is still too early for shops and bakeries to open but some coffee can be found if you know where to look.

This is a new group for me, an aspiring group of 20 riders in the 18-22 speed range. A collection of men and women of different sizes and shapes leave as scheduled. We rode out to Black Point with a sprint that topped out at about 25mph. The ride leader launched from the group with no chase. I looked around….anybody…anybody? Nobody chases. So I jump, bridging the gap and maintaining at 25 for a few hundred yards until we settle down at about 23mph for the remaining distance. This is a far cry from last year’s 34MPH top end and 23-26MPH cruising speed. Its ok, it is not all gone, I can work with it.

Todd Gogulski commenting on the Vuelta quotes Jonathan Vaughters.”The mind of the professional cyclist is a fragile thing”. He adds his own philosophies on the importance of a positive mental attitude and how it relates to Chris Horner’s chances of reclaiming the red jersey.

On the return trip, I begin to lose patience with the gaps in the double pace line and the accordion affect it creates. I pull out and up to the front alongside the group leader and stay there for the remainder of the ride. The group leader, a Hungarian supply chain professional, is a chatty guy so we hold a conversation while keeping a 20-21 mph tempo. We quickly find common ground and enjoy a work related discussion that makes light the effort on the bike. I’m reminded on how cycling is really a community of strangers and how cyclists in general are an amicable group.

I return home to a hot bath and some much deserved rest.

I sleep  dream the rest of the day away.