Will it Fit

“Will it fit”, Renate asked?

20160731_162440-1

The boot of the Fiat 500 is quite small and is perfect size for lunch, a raincoat and a briefcase or a small grocery run. That is about it.

20160731_142545-1

“No Problem”, I replied.

20160731_142557-1

Create necessary space buy folding back seats forward and then the same for the passenger seat.

20160731_142825-1

Cover the leather and possible contact points to safeguard against soil and abrasion. I used a furniture pad.

20160731_143357-1

Easy to insert with rear wheel intact.

In the early eighties I drove an acid yellow ‘72 super beetle that I loved dearly. I could be seen pulling my ’83 Ciocc Mockba 80 out of the backseat in preparation for the weekly club time trial.  When I returned to cycling in 2009, I was transporting that same Ciocc and later my Mooney in the boot of my 2008 Audi TT. I know how to fit a bike into tight places.

To my delight, I was able to fit the Mooney into the Fiat with the rear wheel intact. No hitch to be installed, No rack required. Perfect.

20160731_143437-1

Front wheel is secure.

20160731_143826-1

Plenty of space for my Rapha soigneur bag containing my cycling gear and post ride change.

Yesterday is the first day on the bike in 2016. The routine was a bit rust
y, finding this, collecting that, was a clumsy exercise in preparation. I took the bike trail from Galbraith Rd to the golf course. The ride is a false flat descending to Newton, Ohio. The wind on my face welcomed me to the ride, my legs quickly found their cadence and the bike performed flawlessly. The green canopy was a most appreciated barrier to the sun and the gradient was perfect for the first ride of the season.

I concentrated on cadence and form rather than power and pace. It was easy to find the gap in the stroke as the absence of feeling the power transfer from foot to pedal indicates the kinetic chain is broken. The back, when rounded, puts unnecessary stress on the disks. Extending the back slightly, and then arching the head and neck by imagining that a string is connected to the forehead and is pulling the head forward, provides a more relaxed and comfortable riding position. This also improves power transfer by providing a strong, solid platform for the hips to leverage the strength of the legs against. Scrunching the shoulders causes tension and expends unnecessary energy. Relaxing the shoulders and pulling them down away from the ears provides a relaxed form. The hands should be resting on the handlebars or hoods with elbows bent, prepared to absorb the shock from the road. Change hand positions often. Finally, keeping the cadence high minimizes the stress on the joints as the body becomes accustomed to work again. Addressing these failures in form early in base training guard’s against injury and accelerates improvement. It is a lot to focus on at once and honestly I cannot. I cycle through them like a recurring checklist.

After the ride, I made haste to satisfy my thirst and hunger. It has been a long time since I was able to down a burger, soda and fries without the subsequent lead belly and regret that follows. As Peter Mooney reminds, “Ride to eat, Eat to ride”

Ride On

 

Slaying the Hog

#rapharising

#thehog

79.3 Miles

9,163 ft Elevation

It is Thursday morning and the Mojo is nowhere to be found. My Weapons Grade Hydration drink mix, EFS, was empty and there was only one rice cake left in the fridge. Four consecutive climbing days and these three excuses were all I needed to announce that today would be crowned a rest day. Queue the Angels and part the clouds, there will be no suffering today.

Nothing quite like a massage in the forest.

Nothing quite like a massage in the forest.

We drove to downtown Dehlonega only to discover the local bike shop had been closed six months ago. Some locals indicated the next closest shop could be found twenty minutes away in Gainesville. What we found was Bike Town USA in existence since 1978 and still operated by the original owner, Tom Hughs. Renate and enjoyed listening to Tom tell us the story of a small shop surviving the years continually re-inventing it to fit market trends.

Delicious morsels of energy, rice cakes satisfies when you go long.

Delicious morsels of energy, rice cakes satisfies when you go long.

 

 

 

 

 

The rest of the day was spent making stacks of rice cakes and receiving a well deserved high quality massage.

Morning View on Neels

Morning View on Neels

Friday morning and The Hog is on my mind.

The Mooney at the Mountain Crossings Outfitters.

The Mooney at the Mountain Crossings Outfitters.

Another ride up and over Neels was still difficult yet manageable. The legs are adapting to the strain of mountain climbing and a day of rest was just what they needed to recover in preparation for a hard day in the saddle.

A view of Hogpen Gap from the Valley between Neels and Jack's Knob

A view of Hogpen Gap from the Valley between Neels and Jack’s Knob

Jack’s Knob was a little easier today. While resting on the crest a woman completes the climb and announces, “I hate that climb”, as she stops in the middle of the road and stares down at the tarmac. “It’s a tough one”, I respond while I fill up my bottles. She stands in the middle of the road staring down at the tarmac in post climb meditation. After introducing myself, she returns in kind, “it’sss Slaura”. “Slaura?”, I asked a bit slowly to indicate I was unsure of my pronunciation. “Laura, I slurred a bit”. Laura launched into a full on explanation of what she was doing and why she was doing it. Laura explained that she was training in the six gaps in preparation for the Six Gap Century in September and continued talking about all kinds of difficult riding she has done in Arizona, Utah and Colorado. This woman was certainly fit and boy she could talk. I stopped listening to what she was saying and started listening for a pause, however brief. When it came, “I have to go” was all I said and I was gone.

Descending Unicoi became a bit precarious when a truck with horse trailer in tow passed

Youngsters enjoy the cold river on a hot day.

Youngsters enjoy the cold river on a hot day.

me before the descent. This meant I was not going to enjoy the ride down. In an attempt to allow space between us, I reduced my speed but still it did not take long for me to close the gap on the trailer once I released the brakes and flowed freely through the cambered switchbacks. To make matters worse, I had a Toyota clinging to my wheel like he was getting some draft advantage from it. Once the road straightened and no joy could be squeezed out taking a descent turn at speed, I pulled to the side to let the impatient motorist pass in order to increase my margin of safety while reducing my stress. At the bottom of Unicoi I stop at the bridge while some kids were enjoying a hot day while tubing on the Chattanoochee River.

 

And then came Hogpen.

It will be my third ascent of The Hog in four years. The first two ascents were in preparation for Ventoux when I was in, what seems like today, great shape. And now, carrying an additional thirty-five pounds, I suffered from the onset touching my cleat three times during the climb. Each touch was like a knife slash to my ego. Death by a thousand cuts, as it were. I had to adjust my expectations and be satisfied with surviving the climb. You are either going forward or moving backwards comes to mind as I grind at the pedals and virtually inch my way up the steep gradient.

View from Hogpen Gap.

View from Hogpen Gap.

I spent a good twenty minutes gathering my marbles on the crest of the Hog.

The descent off Hogpen is notoriously steep. Even with aluminum rims, I feathered my braking to avoid overheating them. The extreme gradient and the condition of the tarmac would not allow for a caution less descent but I took the speed where I could do so safely. After all, I had paid dearly for the opportunity to do so. I travel through the valley, up and over a series of rollers and begin the low gradient that carries me to Wolfpen. The heavy machines, operated by sweaty, oil covered men, were out working Wolfpen. I like it fresh, but not still hot, and steaming with the pungent odor of petroleum. Sucking petroleum fumes while ascending Wolfpen felt like a potential health hazard and so I quickly decided to move on and return over Neels.

Neels again

Neels again

Neels would then be the last major ascent of the day. It was difficult and slow going for I was already exhausted. Two miles from the top I noticed my front tire was slowly becoming deflated. The breakdown lanes were thin and bordered by ditches so I kept riding with my weight over my rear wheel meanwhile hoping that my luck would continue until I reached the safety of the parking lot at the Mountain Crossings Outfitters before tire was completely flat. I sat down at the picnic bench and leisurely replaced the tube while thankful the flat had not occurred on the descent of Hogpen.

I savored the descent off Neels knowing it would be the last mountain descent of the week. I returned to the cabin hungry, tired and satisfied that the Hog had been slayed.

Easter’s Best

Riding out on Saturday I came across Alex Labora returning from his morning jaunt. He was kind enough to roll in my direction for a while providing enough time to catch up and make plans to ride Sunday’s regular ride to Gorgio’s. This ride is usually pretty spirited and with the winds we have been enduring lately the lactic acid will flow.  Whether out front pulling or sucking wheel there will be little respite, no quarter for the weary.

The thought of Sunday’s effort made me rethink my Saturday mileage. I can feel Thomas’ Friday evening strength training on my legs while anticipating sixty at tempo while keeping cadence at 90-100. At Deerfield I topped off the hydration supply and squeezed in a bit of honey to fuel the Mito. I have changed my onboard nutrition towards the simple. Tea, lemon, and honey fill the bidons while a concentrated mixture inside a recycled EFS bottle is nestled in my right jersey pocket at the ready for quick refuels. The legs feel fine so the original sixty stay as planned.

20140419_152738

The return home consisted of a series of chases as I encountered solo riders en route. These carrots help me keep the pace high while maintaining my target cadence. Road construction forced me to ride some rough tarmac laden with debris. A quick fix following a flat was executed in the shade of the mangroves lining the sidewalk. A bench makes for light work by limiting time spent bent over the wheel. Five miles later while rolling through the city the rear tire took another hit. This time a serious gash was torn into the sidewall. Application of a Knog Porno Patch to the inside of the tire and a Park Super Patch to the tube had me mounting the wheel in less than 5 min.

Knog Patch

20140419_193414In a fit of hunger I pan roasted chicken breast in herbs and GI then quickly dispensed with it. My simple on board nutrition leaves me little in the tank post ride and my restricted diet does not provide for quick fixes like recovery bars and drinks. As my hunger subsides so does my aggressive sense of urgency. No time to relax, must rush to the LBS to restock on tires and tubes. I prefer the comfort of a 24mm width tire. This store had only 23mm, so after some muttering under my breath, an impulse buy has me carting home a couple of Continental Grand Prix 4000… in Yellow! I am sure the racing thoroughbreds will be scoffing as yellow is exclusively reserved for the wearer of the maillot jaune, the leader of Le Tour.  “Sometimes as cigar is just a cigar”. I just like yellow.

 

Pm006

Saturday night I changed two tires while simultaneously cooking dinner for Renate and me. Who says men don’t multitask. Dinner was delicious. The wheels look great. A quick chain cleaning completes the Mooney’s preparation for Sunday’s ride.

 

 

 

 

 

Pm003As it turns out, I did not wake early enough to join the group ride. Good thing too. The legs were well worn and a decision to keep the ride down to two hours was a prudent one. Still the bike looks great wearing it’s Easter’s Best.

 

Saturday in the Rain

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.