Up and Up and Up

On Saturday, I went out for a ride all by my lonesome up here in Westchester and every time I came to the foot of a climb (which seemed to happen about every three minutes) I backed off the gas and took it easy considering I had the number 87 looming in the back of my head. Why 87? Dr. Rob and Ed Dalton had called me earlier in the week and invited me to this morning’s George Washington Bridge < Bear Mountain < George Washington Bridge 87-mile ride.

At first glance you might think, “Christ, 87 miles? Are you nuts?” Maybe, but if the boys who invited me didn’t think I could finish the ride, they wouldn’t have invited me, and I appreciate that.

Despite the invite, I went ahead and did a Tom Boonen this morning, meaning I made a mess of things. First, during a downhill on a particularly nasty section of 9W, without fair warning, I squeezed by in the six inches between Anne and the shoulder. Normally, no big deal, but we were moving along pretty fast and due to the potholes we were avoiding, she could have bumped me and vice versa, which could have been a disaster.

That was bonehead move number one. Keep in mind I didn’t do it with the intention of being a bonehead--I saw a line and I simply went for it. As I’m significantly heavier than Anne, Ed, and Dr. Rob, I get rolling down hills faster than the rest of those guys, but that’s not an excuse. I should have waited and I didn’t, so again, bonehead move number one.

Let’s move on to bonehead moves number two and three, which weren’t so much sloppy riding, just sloppy conversation.

Five miles into the ride, Dr. Rob and I were having a laugh at the expense of one of our mutual friends when I said, “F#cking union guys.” On the surface, no big deal, right? Well, it’s not exactly the thing you say when you’re in the company of either (a) people who still work in a union, or (b) people who used to work union jobs.

Bonehead comment number three came at the bottom of Bear Mountain, just as I reached the end of the descent. At the top of the mountain, I took off as I always enjoy hanging it out on long, steep downhills, laying the bike over and railing it through the turns. When Dr. Rob caught up a few seconds later, I said, “Dude, you ride downhill slower than my grandmother.” I only said it because the only time I can actually put a few seconds on those guys is when we’re going downhill and while I don’t remember what he said in response, I think I struck something of a chord because with about twenty-five miles to go, Dr. Rob was gone, and I mean GONE. That dude starts his engine on those hills and disappears. No doubt Anne and Ed could have done the same (I have this nagging suspicion they kept the pace below their comfort zone today to make sure I made it all the way back to the bridge), but Dr. Rob left and never looked back.

Now that I’ve made good on all my jackass maneuvers today, let’s talk about the actual ride.

Long. Extremely long. That’s the key take-away. 87 miles is a long, long time to spend on the bike even when averaging 15 MPH.

And there was the Bear Mountain climb. It’s roughly 4.5 miles in length yet, in my head, I had it set as a 4.5 mile Hillside Terrace-like climb. To those of you unfamiliar with Staten Island, Hillside Terrace is a 0.25 or 0.50-mile climb that feels straight up when you’re actually trying to climb it, although if you put a gun to my head (don’t take that literally, Mr. Dalton), I’d say the actual gradient is somewhere between 12 to 15 percent. That may not sound like much, but when you’re standing on your pedals with the bike in the lowest gear and you can still only crank out 4 MPH, that means you’re on a bitch of a hill.

Bear Mountain, though, I think Bicycling magazine listed the average gradient at 4.5 percent and, while it felt a bit steeper (and actually was steeper in a few sections), it’s a manageable climb granted you settle into your own rhythm and don’t push it into the red zone.

At the start, as Anne passed me, she commented, “You look comfortable.”

I glanced toward the bottom bracket. “Compact crank.”

And that’s pretty much it. The only other thing I can say this morning’s ride is that when you hit the 50 to 55-mile mark, you hit some flat sections of 9W, which is misleading because you begin thinking to yourself, “I feel good. I think I can do this.” Then the next big hill comes along and halfway up your attitude changes quite fast. Once your calves start singing in pain that voice in your head changes it tune: “Okay, I was wrong. Big time. I so can’t do this. Somebody call a taxi.” Then you look up the road and Dr. Rob’s no longer even on the horizon and Ed’s glancing over his shoulder to make sure you’re still there because if you’re not, everybody has to slow down their pace for your tired ass, and who wants to be that guy?

#

Here are some pics from the ride:

Leaving the GWB area, we took a park road off 9W unaware that the road had been closed due to some massive landslides, which left us with two options--go back and or big. We went big and did the cyclecross thing.





And then as soon as we got over the fallen trees and trekked through the mud, it was clean-cleaning time.



After the 4.5 mile climb to the top of Bear Mountain.







Then, ten miles from the finish line, we had a flat.

Bike Routes

Make sure you check out the link in the right-hand navigation bar. Just found a site with bike routes mapped against Google Maps. Seems interesting. Or simply check out www.bikely.com.

Breaking The Chain

Last week, I ordered a copy of Willy Voet’s Breaking the Chain--a short memoir written by a former soigneur (a glorified massage therapist) which speaks to the rampant drug use among the ranks of professional cyclists.

Voet’s story is relatively simple. As a long time soigneur workign with the Festina team, he was en route to a race and driving a car packed with performance-enhancing drugs (as opposed to drugs which don’t enhance performance) and I’m not talking about Red Bull or Monster Energy drink. This dude was rolling with a fair amount of human growth hormone, EPO, and steroids--everything the team doctor had been buying up for the riders. Unfortunately for Mr. Willy, he was stopped by customs agents and tossed in jail, all of which resulted in what’s commonly referred to as the 1998 Festina scandal.

(Contrary to popular belief, Dr. Rob was not a part of the Festina team during the late nineties. Just a quick FYI.)

While the writing is at times disconnected and a bit difficult to follow, the subject matter more than makes up for whatever faults Willy Voet has as a writer. According to the author, almost every one of the top professional cyclists are doped up, especially those who race the Grand tours. Voet even doped himself as a young amateur dabbling with amphetamines (and sadly relates how his father all but turned his back on him when he decided to quit doping and quit racing seriously, which, when you think about it, is kind of fucked up) and, to a certain degree, is able to relate to the mentality and state of mind of a a cyclist riding while super-charged. Basically, it lends the book a sense of credibility in addition to the fact that the man was responsible for sticking the HGH-filled needle in the asses belonging to plenty of professional riders.

What’s also interesting is when Voet elaborates on evading drug controls and tests. He points out that many of the doctors hired by the UCI to configure the drug tests are the same doctors employed by professional teams (or at least they were during Voet’s career) who help the riders avoid detection, which is the same as the government hiring Boeing to decide where the government should buy its planes (bad analogy, but work with me, it’s late on a Friday night and I drank too much Red Bull today). Doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?

Ultimately, Voet suggests that cyclists don’t really consider it cheating when they stick a needle in their ass or pop a few capsules of steroids. Why would it be cheating if all your competitors are doing it? Personally, I believe this idea is supported if you watch the short press conference with Jan Ullrich just after he’s learned T-Mobile booted him from the 2006 Tour de France due to Operacion Puerto. Standing in front of the cameras, his eyes absently floating from one spot to another, Ullrich explains (among other things), “I’ve never done anything wrong.” As an outsider looking in, the concept may be difficult to swallow, but try putting yourself in the riders’ shoes. Your every day existence, your entire career, is cycling. You’re surrounded by teammates and other team personnel day after day after day. Despite what you understand of the rules of cycling, the rules by the book, almost all of the people around you are not just accepting, but requesting injections. They’re looking strong on the bike. You see this again and again and again so, after a while, after finding yourself submersed in this performance-enhancing culture, would you think of jumping on the bandwagon as doing something wrong? Sure, maybe at first, but what about a few months after that first shot of EPO? A few years? Of course, there are always the stories of the champions who forfeited their titles by readily admitting to drug use (think David Millar), but how many people in the world--let alone cyclists--can claim such honesty and integrity? Very few, amigos. Extremely few, actually, so I don’t want to hear anything along the lines of, “Well, if I were in that situation . . .” because you simply don’t know until you’ve been there and done that. I know I’ve hypothesized above, but given what we know about human nature and human greed (as a professional, going faster means possibly winning racers which means possibly making more money), I don’t think the above scenario is all too difficult to buy.

As a result, Breaking the Chain is an interesting read and highly recommended from yours truly.

Here It Is

My email address is okaysplendid@yahoo.com. In case anyone was wondering. Dr. Rob's been wondering.

Dr. Rob, Vito, & Taiko Drums

This weekend proved rather eventful with the actual events beginning Saturday morning (Friday evening I had nothing on my plate other than cleaning the bike and pumping some gas at the self-service station), yet rather than walk through a recap in chronological order, let’s work in reverse and start now (late Sunday afternoon), moving back to Saturday as we progress. Ready?

For starters, I’ve been suffering from the worst gas these past few hours. Maybe I had too many energy bars today and, combined with the disgusting amount of Chinese food I ate last night (in addition to a strawberry smoothie, a Coke, a can of Red Bull, and then a strawberry shake), my stomach is in severely rough shape. It’s actually so bad that, every time I crank one out as I sit here on my couch, the heavy stench causes me to scoot to the other side of the sofa so I don’t have to sit in an invisible cloud of my own gastrointestinal making.

Other than my incessant flatulence, I went here about an hour ago:




For those of you who are unaware, this is what the inside of a typical Cold Stone Creamery looks like. And for those of you who are unfamiliar with Cold Stone, it’s an ice cream shop where teenage ice cream artists stand behind the counter and use oversized spoons to mash together ice cream with your choice of ingredients--ingredients such as fudge, nuts, caramel, birthday cake (yes, birthday cake), candy, cheesecake, fruit, and more.

So that happened, but before that, I ate about a dozen chicken wings I made at home while watching the first few stages of the 2006 Tour de France on DVD. During the final sprint of stage 6, when it’s clear McEwen’s going to win his third stage after Tom Boonen’s attempts have been fruitless, it’s absolutely hysterical to hear Phil Liggett announce, “It looks like it’s going to be McEwen as Boonen’s made a mess of it again!”

Put yourself in Tom Boonen’s shoes. You’re have a particularly shitty week to start with and the TV announcer is explaining to millions of viewers and fans how you’ve “made a mess of it again.” How utterly demoralizing.

And before the chicken wings, well, that was the big Sunday ride. Ed Dalton and Dr. Rob called yesterday afternoon to let me know the group would be riding Cheesequake at eight this morning. When Dr. Rob called and I spotted his name on the caller ID, I picked up the phone and said, “Oh, so you call me this time?” (See previous post.)

I had already done seventy miles on Saturday so I thought, Kill myself with another sixty-four miles the very next day? Why not?

Unfortunately, disaster struck seven miles from the end of the ride when I came around the corner to see Vito on the ground clutching his elbow. While I didn’t actually witness the crash, eyewitness reporting (courtesy of Ed Dalton) explained that Vito had been looking behind him when he hit a rock about the size of a softball.

(Goddam farts are killing me--I can barely breath in here.)

Here’s a snapshot of the aftermath:




Despite what must have been a gnarly get-off, Vito only suffered some minor road rash, a few bruises, and a bruised elbow (Dr. Rob called a few minutes ago to let me know Vito’s x-rays showed nothing was broken, which is always good news).

So that happened, but before he went down, Vito was absolutely killing it along with Ed (see above), Anne (see above), Dr. Rob, Joe, and the two Polish brothers, Lester and Robert (all of whom are not shown above). Once we hit the hills, those seven absolutely demolished the inclines and flew. They’re strong riders to begin with, but they were really on the gas today (or I was really off, but I think it’s more of the former rather than the latter) and they put a huge beating on Tommy, Greg, and myself. No excuses--they were just riding really well out front, especially Dr. Rob who kept surprising me with how often he kept stepping on the gas.

Hats off to all those guys--everyone rode a great 100K today.

Before this morning’s ride, there was yesterday afternoon and last night. Oh, wait. Before I go back that far, I wanted to talk about this guy:




That’s Robert, Lester’s younger brother. Robert came over from Poland maybe six or seven months ago and his English is limited to maybe four words--yes, no, okay, and beer, although even yes and no are debatable.

I’ve included a snapshot of Robert in this update (with Dr. Rob in the distance) for a few reasons. First, he’s the only guy I know with legs whiter than mine, which makes me feel pretty good about myself. Second, according to his brother (that would be Lester), Robert was not just a professional bicycle racer in Poland, but Robert was a very good professional bicycle racer in Poland. According to Lester (all of this is according to Lester, really), when Lester would place, Robert would win. With that said, why Robert now smokes a pack of cigarettes a day is something of a mystery, but like they say, it is what it is. What kills me even more is that every time Robert goes flying by (and Robert never just casually passes me--he literally goes flying by every time he charges to the front), he sort of smiles and nods, which is fine, but underneath the smile, I get the sense that if he could speak English, he’d say something to the effect of, “If you think I’m strong now, wait until I finally decide to quit smoking . . . punk.”

Okay, so back to last night. I’ll make this quick, but I went out for the first time in a long time. With a girl. We went to Chinatown for a tasting menu event, which meant I stuffed myself on way too much Chinese food for about $7, after which we watched a forty-five minute taiko drum concert. Here’s another snapshot:




So that happened. Here’s the girl:




You know what? It’s right now eight o’clock on Sunday evening and after the amount of riding I did the past two days, I really need to go to bed, as in right now, so I’ll wrap this up tomorrow in a second installment.

#

Okay, it’s Monday morning and I’m feeling a hell of a lot better. Well, let’s say I’m somewhat refreshed although my legs feel like they could do without a week on the bike.

Where was I? Right. The Chinese food with the girl. The girl does have a name but she graduated from Vassar only a few years ago and, from what I understand, Vassar girls get all bent out of shape if you use their real names in personal blogs, so I’ll refrain.

Like I said, though, she went to Vassar. What does that mean? In my opinion, if you tell a Vassar girl, “You like nice today,” she’ll most likely respond with, “What’s that supposed to mean?” That make sense? Overall, Vassar girls are just pissed off, especially if you try to pick up the check at dinner or hold the door open for them.

Anyway, after Chinatown, we had a quick drive over to Brooklyn to sit on the promenade for a while as the sun set (believe me, it sounds a lot more romantic than it actually was), after which we had ice cream and then drove back to her place in Queens where we watched Planet Earth for an hour after which it was time to leave.

Earlier in the day, I put together the longest bike ride of my young biking life. There was a 35-mile B ride scheduled to start at 9:30 from the Goldens Bridge train station. At first glance, 35 miles seemed a bit light, so I figured I’d ride to the start from my place in Pleasantville, roughly 15 miles. No problem, right? Well, at first it wasn’t. Actually, I shouldn’t say any part of the ride was a problem because for the most part, it was a fantastic ride during a fantastic day. At the start, it looked as if we’d have a group of eight or ten, yet when 9:30 arrived and the group leader (basically, the guy who’s supposed to know the route) failed to arrive, we all sort of looked at each.

“Well, I know the roads around here and I have to catch a train a few minutes before twelve, so I’m just going to go.”

That was Julie, the lone female who showed up. As I had plans in Chinatown with the Vassar girl (while I say Vassar girl, remember, she graduated a few years ago, so I guess she’s more of a woman now), I wasn’t about to sit around and wait while the rest of the guys were going to sort things out.

So Julie and I took off. She told me about the bike she was riding, only her second ride on it (Giant), and I told her about the bike I was riding, only a few weeks old. Then we had company as the rest of the group decided to tag along.

And that was it. For about 40 miles, Julie told us where to go and took us down some sweet roads. Afterward, we ended up back at the parking lot and then it was time to do the 18 miles back to Pleasantville. I know I had said it was only 15 miles, but I was wrong. Checking the computer on my bike once I reached Goldens Bridge, it turned out to be 18 miles, so I had another eighteen ahead of me to get home.

All was well until mile sixty-five. Despite the Clif Bar I had devoured half an hour earlier, I was done--completely out of gas, not to mention the Camelbak was empty. So what do you do when you’re only a few miles from home and need some energy to get you over those last few hills? You stop at the nearest gas station, purchase a bottle of Coke and a Snickers bar, load yourself up with as much sugar as possible, get back on the bike, and do what you have to do.

Worked for me.

And that was the weekend, the whole enchilada.

(PS: As the Sunday ride was getting underway, Ed, Dr. Rob, and Vito were busy slinging comments back and forth--the usual. Ed glanced at me and asked, "Miss us?" Are you kidding? Who in their right mind could fail to find entertainment in Ed's incessasnt barrage of comments and responses such as:

"Shut up, faggot."
"She's twelve? Too old."
"You know, Vito, you'd look real nice in a sundress.")

Robbie McEwen Video

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ji_XcHvJvac

Can you tell I had too much sugar today?

And This One

You wouldn't assume she has a drinking problem, but she really does.

The New Blackberry Has A Camera

As if you couldn't tell? Here are some more pics of the raptors (miniature, flesh-eating prehistoric creatures) I work with:

The Rides

And rather than talk about the new bikes, I figured it'd work a lot easier if I simply uploaded some pics of the new rides. Genius, I know.

The Schedule

So here’s what I’m thinking for the next few days.

Tomorrow’s a rest day. I may hop on the trainer to do some light spinning considering I neglected to ride Wednesday night due to the Ranger’s game, but doing so really depends on whether or not anything more interesting comes up before taking the train home tomorrow evening.

Saturday, I think I’m going to hop on a B ride that leaves from Goldens Bridge which is a few miles north of here. Since I struggled with the B+ pace last week, maybe I won’t feel like I’m going to die by the end of this ride (maybe being the operative word there).

Oh, I forgot. Before leaving work tomorrow, I think I’ll join the USA Cycling organization so I can begin racing whenever and wherever. Right now, the plan is to start getting in Category 5 local races once the weather begins to improve, possibly by mid-May. I get the feeling that failing to join the USA Cycling organization wouldn’t be all that big of a deal when registering for races, although I know that eventually I’ll come into contact with some bureaucratic tool who won’t let me race if I’m not an existing member, so for the few bucks a year, it’s not worth the potential hassle.

And then on Sunday, the plan right now is to either (a) do some mountain biking if the weather holds out (and let’s pray to whoever we pray to that it does), or (b) drive up to Bear Mountain and spend a few hours killing myself on the long climb up there. While I’ve been riding all winter, it’s time to really kick myself in the ass to get ready for the rest of the spring and summer. If anybody has any interest in joining me up there, leave a comment and we’ll set it up.

Finally, what the hell is up with this guy?



I read about this kid not too long ago and what strikes me about him is the fact that he weighs all of ninety pounds or so. Have you ever seen a picture of this kid just walking along? Would somebody tell this kid to get the EPO needle out of his ass and give him a few Big Macs? I say EPO as, judging from his diminutive frame, the kid’s obviously not on the growth hormone regimen.

Despite Brajkovic’s lack of a single upper-body muscle, Team Discovery seems to be kicking some cycling ass since Leipheimer’s victory at the Tour of California. Since they’re losing Discovery as their title sponsor, Johan Bruyneel is probably taking it into his own hands to personally inject each of his team leaders with the performance-enhancing cocktails necessary to ensure they win some races, get some good PR coverage, and all but ensure they find another sponsor to cough up a few million to bankroll the 2008 season. Or perhaps Bruyneel simply pulled Brajkovic aside and explained, “Look, chicken wing, get out there and do what it is we pay you to do--win! And gain some weight, you skinny f#ck. I'm getting sick and tired of looking at you like that."

Rangers Win First Round of the Playoffs

Again, while absolutely unrelated to cycling, Mr. Picco and I attended game four of the NY Rangers - Atlanta Thrashers quarterfinals last night. For some time, the score sat at 2-2 until the Rangers put the puck in the net to make it 3-2. 18,000 fans went nuts and then, in the third period, Jagr scored an empty-netter, wrapping up the game at 4-2. Needless to say, everyone went nuts, including Mr. Picco.

Ms. Pinkberry

While utterly unrelated to cycling, below is a snapshot of the tool who sits next to me in the office:

My Fantastic Ability of Deduction

So last night, I'm on the trainer, sort of just hoping I won't experience any false shifting. I had actually written to Jamis over the weekend regarding the issue and they were about as much help as the jackasses who work in R&A.

Regardless, after five minutes of riding, I started having the same issue as always when I realized it was doing what it was doing because I had mis-shifted, meaning I was the source of the problem. What happened was this: upon shifting into a lower gear while on the trainer, I started experiencing the false shifting. Staring down at the cassette, I fingered the shifter for a taller gear. When nothing happened (other than the false shifting to stop), I realized the rear derailleur had only been doing what I had been telling it to do.

Problem solved. Finally.

Also, I keep reading about this 5 Boro Bike Tour and the more I read about how crowded it becomes, the less I feel like dealing with thousands of other bikers (and you know most of them are going to be those angry, shit-kicking girls with the short haircuts, the extra rolls, the all-men-are-assholes attitudes, and those "One Less Car" t-shirts heavy with armpit sweat). I've also heard through the grapvine--the grapevine being those team cyclists who invariably . . . well, I'm not even going to get into it--that unless you sort of cheat by skipping the starting area and just jumping out onto the course, it basically takes forever to reach Staten Island (the final borough in the five borough ride).

With that said, is anyone planning on the all-day cycling festival? If so, what's the plan, Stan?

Can I Get an Hallelujah?!

Judging from the overwhelming response to my previous post, it’s clear I’ve managed to capture the attention of hundreds of cyclists interested in reading my marvelous writings.

Okay, let’s move on.

Almost two months after having moved to Pleasantville from Brooklyn, I finally forked over the $20 to join the WCC--Westchester Cycling Club. Not that I’m tight (although I am), I had become so familiar with riding with the group on Staten Island every weekend that it became easy, but not in a physical sense. It became easy because I had grown familiar with (a) the names and faces, and (b) the actual route we ride every week. It’s the same idea as staying at the same job even though you know you could make more money with another company: rather than leave, you stick with what you know, and that’s what I had been doing until today.

Regardless, I joined WCC, spotted a B+ ride scheduled for this morning out of Katonah lead by Joe Gasperino (hopefully, Joe has no issues with the law and won’t mind to me referring to him by his full name online), and figured, “It’s time to do some group riding closer to home.”

Now, after having finished forty miles with Joe and those guys, the most important thing I can say is, what some people consider a B+ pace is not what other people consider a B+ pace. Don’t get me wrong--my intention is not to knock other guys with whom I’ve ridden in the past, but the B+ guys up here are serious.

That and there are too many hills around here.

Can you blame me for thinking I’d be all right in the B+ group considering my limited frame of reference? I’m not making excuses--those of you who know me should know that I have a serious aversion to (a) excuses, and (b) the kind of bullshit people toss around when they say things like, “Man, I’m not feeling too good today,” and then take off on their own after a few miles. All I’m saying is that in my simple mind I figured that if I could hang with the B+ guys on Staten Island, I hoped to at least keep up with a B+ group in Westchester.

Wrong.

As for the ride, there’s a street somewhere up here in Westchester called Keeler Avenue. It’s a street that, with any luck, I’ll never see again. For the Staten Island crowd, the ascent is similar to Hillside Terrace, but a hell of a lot more deceiving in that, just when you think you’ve reached the top, just when you look down and see your heart rate has reached 189, you glance up to see another fifteen-degree bitch of a rise, leaving you incapable of doing anything other than muttering the words, “Holy frigging Christ.”

Halfway up that last bitch of a hill, I lost any sense of pride I might have had at the beginning of the morning and unclipped. My intention was to reach for my cell phone and call 911 for the EMT crew, but when Joe passed me with a smile and a “Tough climb, huh?” I figured I’d walk my broken ass the fifty-feet or so to the top and then try to remount.

Luckily, Joe and the rest of the guys (Brian, Bud, Ken, Mike, Bill, and Patrick) were kind enough to wait for me at the turns, although the fact that riders I had just met had to stop and wait for me, well, that’s just plain embarrassing.

Still, it was a good morning, a good ride, and I look forward to my next crucifixion as soon as possible.

Answer Me This

I have a question for the more mechanically-inclined readers.

I’m having an issue when I hook up the new bike to my trainer. Not long after I begin pedaling, I’m experiencing some sporadic false shifting, meaning it both sounds and feels like I’m shifting, but the gear doesn’t actually shift.

With my pea-like brain, I’m assuming this is the result of either one of two things. First, because the frame is a lot less stiff than the aluminum frame I was riding, perhaps my weight is causing the frame to flex once I set the rear skewer in the trainer and that, in turn, is creating tension on the rear derailleur cable where it sits in the cable guide under the crank housing.

Any thoughts on that one?

Second, I was thinking it may have something to do with the tension where the trainer meets the skewer, although I tend to settle the connector (whatever that thing is called) against the skewer so that it doesn’t push the chain stays any closer together than they already are. Does that make sense? In other words, I don’t think the trainer is in any way pushing against the rear derailleur.

Any other thoughts? If anyone reads this in the next day or so and talk to Trek Tommy (again, my apologies, although I don’t know his last name), put the question to him and let me know. That dude seems to know everything about bike mechanics. If you happen to talk to him and remember to ask him the above, you can click on the little white envelope icon at the end of this post and shoot me an email. Or just call me at 718-619-1501. I’d appreciate that.

(Between you and me, I get the feeling the problem is related to number one above, the issue with the cable tension. If it is, I’m wondering how the hell I’m going to relieve the issue.)

Finally, I tried reading The Death of Marco Pantani by Matt Rendell, but after fifty pages, I gave up. When every other word is the name of some obscure Italian village or long Italian name, the reading gets a bit tedious after a while. In the event I ever find myself with absolutely nothing else to do--and I mean nothing--maybe I’ll pick it up again, but until then, Mr. Pantani’s biography is going to have to wait.

Easter Sunday

Dr. Rob put a beating on everybody today, or he put a beating on me, at least.

Rolling out of bed this morning, I all but forgot that today’s Easter Sunday, so when I arrived at the parking lot in New Dorp, I expected to find a bigger crew than I did. By 8:35, three of us hit the road: Dr. Rob, Joe, and me. On Fr. Cappodanno, we picked up Horace and Dr. Rob’s friend, Greg (always distinguished in his bright red Saeco tights).

So that made for a five-man team and considering the wind this morning (aptly described as “hellacious” by Dr. Rob), I expected a strong yet manageable ride. Dr. Rob, though, he had other plans.

Once we hit Front Street, Dr. Rob took the lead position and began pedaling hellaciously. Sitting on his wheel, my heart rate already jacked up, I thought, If he can keep this up the entire ride, good for him, but god knows I’ll be in the back hanging on for dear life by the time we reach Bay Street.

Dr. Rob, though, he rides the way I expect most other serious cyclists ride: he takes his turn up front, does what he can do, and then pulls aside to let the next guy in line do some work.

That lasted for about six minutes. Dr. Rob did some work, I did some work, Joe did some work, Horace took a pull, and then Greg got up front and stayed there way too long. Regardless, the first rotation was almost flawless. When it came time for the second rotation, Dr. Rob did his thing, I did my thing, and then when I drifted back, Horace drifted back with me, leaving Joe and Greg in the wind. Then Dr. Rob jumped up front and I followed and once Joe had been up front for a few minutes, I hopped in front and then Dr. Rob hopped in front of me and it was just a frigging mess for the rest of the ride and the reason I say Dr. Rob put a beating on me today is that the dude had his face in the wind almost all day. Even out on Richmond Avenue, I was busting my ass to stay on his wheel and then, when he pulled aside, I was unable to lift my pace the 2-3 miles-per-hour more to keep the line steady. Dr. Rob looked at me and I looked back and if I had the air in my lungs, I would have said, “This is all I got right now.” A minute or so later, still sitting on Dr. Rob’s wheel, I sat up and let Horace and Joe go by. Horace stood on the pedals, but just to get up to Dr. Rob’s wheel. Luckily, I was able to keep those guys in sight, but they quickly put twenty or so seconds on me, while Greg had fallen so far behind I couldn’t even see the guy any more.

And that was that. Dr. Rob went back for Greg, so Joe and I relaxed while Horace took off on his own. After slow-pedaling our way down Arthur Kill to the service road, Dr. Rob and Greg were still nowhere to be seen, so Joe and I picked up the pace on our own, once again into the frigging wind.

Goddam wind.

Reaching the bagel shop, we had Horace ahead by thirty seconds or so and as much as I wanted to at least make the effort to catch him, I asked Joe to pull over for a minute so I could shove a few Fig Newtons down my throat as I hadn’t eaten since 6:30 and my hands and arms were beginning to feel a bit shaky. As we caught a quick rest and I munched, Joe explained he doesn’t eat before the morning rides. How in the world he goes out and does forty-five miles without any breakfast is beyond me.

It was good that we stopped, though. Dr. Rob and Greg caught up and we rolled. Not far past the bagel shop, some lady rode up on Dr. Rob’s ass and honked (not at his ass--at him) and Dr. Rob flew into a fit. It was just one of those things. I flew into a fit myself a few weeks ago when a fat bastard in a SUV tried honking me out of the way on Bay Street. Absolutely infuriated me, so I can understand why Dr. Rob was still screaming by the time we hit Main Street and the bitch in her BMW was long gone.

And once we hit the boulevard, the wind was finally at our backs. Horace was gone so the four of us cruised until Great Kills where, once again, Dr. Rob began hammering.

Unbelievable.

They're Here

My bikes, they finally arrived on Tuesday. “They’ll be ready Thursday,” Paulo had said, Paulo from Julio Bicycle, so I picked them up yesterday. When I first walked in--after having left the office at 2:30 as I could no longer contain my enthusiasm--I stepped up to the counter with a ridiculous grin on my face and said hello to Willey.

“I’m here to pick up my bikes,” I said. “The Jamis bikes.”

Willey frowned. “What bikes?”

As I opened my mouth to inhale, ready to inform Willey that he and his colleagues did indeed have a pair of Jamis bikes somewhere in his shop, fully assembled and waiting for your truly, Willey then nodded, smiled, and pointed toward the other side of the shop. “Right over there.”

I turned, my eyes immediately focusing in on my brand-spanking new 2007 Jamis Xenith Comp, its carbon fiber frame a beautiful mix of black and chrome, the Shimano 105 drive train calling my name, begging me to shift, the Easton handle bars and carbon fiber seat post waving hello, and finally, the Selle San Marco Ponza saddle, all but ready to support my monkey-thin butt cheeks.

Grabbing the stem and the saddle, I lifted the bike a few inches off the floor, testing its weight. While not as light as a $5,000 Cervelo, my new Jamis was considerably lighter than the aluminum Giant I’ve been riding the past nine months.

Taking a deep breath and returning the bike to the floor, I thought, I haven’t been this excited in a long time.

Just behind the new road bike stood the new mountain bike, a grey-framed Dakar XCR Comp with R-Seven fork, Fox shock, Avid Juicy 3 disc brakes, Shimano XT rear derailleur, Mavic wheels, and Maxxis knobbies. Since I know so little about mountain bikes--and road bikes, too, now that I’m thinking about it--that’s about as much as I can tell you.

After paying Willey & Paulo for their services rendered, I returned home, stashed the mountain bike in my bedroom, and carried the new road bike to the basement where I began transferring the water bottle cage, pedals, and frame pump from the Giant to the Xenith. Finished, I was running up the stairs when I happened to glance out the window to see snow falling.

How’s that for bad luck? On the same damn day I bring home a pair of new bikes, it begins to snow outside. Could my timing have been any lousier?

Screw it, I thought, continuing to change into my riding gear. If it doesn’t stop snowing by the time I’m ready to go, I’ll just sit by the window and wait until it does stop.

Fortunately, the snow quit by the time I pulled on my jacket, so I carried the new bike down the front steps, threw a leg over the frame, clipped in my right foot, and took off.

Twenty feet later, I stopped. The saddle was much too low, so removing my trusty allen key from my pocket, I pulled the seat post up about two inches, tightened the bolts, and got back on--perfect.

Well, not perfect. The Giant I had been riding was technically a “sports touring” bike, while the Jamis is more of a racing bike, meaning my butt feels a lot farther back than it did on the Giant. That’s fine as it pushes me into a more aerodynamic position, although it took a few minutes to get comfortable with the new feel.

Ultimately, though, the new bike is a huge change for the better. Considering the drive train is all 105 (except the rear derailleur, which is an Ultegra . . . did I say that already?), it shifts a hell of a lot smoother than the shifting I’ve been doing. The brakes are 105s too, so that’s a huge improvement. The bike’s lighter, but it also feels lighter when climbing and it feels just as good as the aluminum frame did during the few sprints I put together while out on the road yesterday.

And that’s it. I’ve only spent a little over an hour on the new bitch, but so far, so good.

Tomorrow, granted it doesn’t snow (goddam f#cking snow--see my previous post, Enough Already), I’m expecting Mr. Picco to arrive here in Pleasantville for a few hours of mountain biking in Graham Hills Park, which is only 2-3 miles from my place.

Did I miss anything? No, I think that’s it. Another fantastically boring post for you.

Two Things

First, I got Paulo on the line today--Paulo from Julio Bicycle (and that’s not a typo--it’s not Julio’s Bicycle, it’s just Julio Bicycle without the ‘s). My bikes have arrived and they’re assembling them as we speak. If you’re at all wondering what the 2007 Jamis Xenith Comp looks like, check it out via the below link:

http://www.jamisbikes.com/usa/bikes/07_bikes/xenithcompsl.html

Second, I caught an update on Velonews.com just before I left work this evening that Spanish authorities associated with Operacion Puerto have linked Jan Ullrich’s DNA to a few of the bags of blood and plasma found in Dr. Fuentes’s offices.

That’s huge. All this time, Ullrich’s been telling the press, “I’ve never cheated.” Clearly, Jan, you have been cheating. Of course, there’s the chance that whoever performed the DNA test did so incorrectly, although I’m sure whoever that person was double-checked prior to releasing such a statement.

And this isn’t a urine sample we’re discussing. My understanding is that the DNA tests are solid in that they leave a hell of a lot less room for error than standard drug tests.

At the same time, though, I think most sensible, rational fans are aware that when any of the top cyclists across the world make blanket statements such as, “I don’t dope,” or, “I’ve never doped,” they’re saying that simply because (a) they’d lose their jobs if they didn’t say it, (b) there’s a chance they may spend some time in prison if they didn’t say it, and (c) that’s just what cyclists do--deny, deny, deny. Actually, all doping athletes have a tendency to deny, but it seems to be these anemic-thin cyclists who do it the most. (With so much growth hormone in their veins, you think a few of them might develop a bicep or two.) It also seems like so many rabid cyclist fans are the first to bury their heads in the sand when it comes to doping. I say that as I’ve come across more than enough die-hard Armstrong fans online who have ripped me apart after suggesting Armstrong doped. I believe I made mention of this within a previous post, but I once put forth something to the effect of, “Considering Armstrong’s athleticism and fanatical training, is it possible he won seven tours naturally? Indeed, it is. Yet, is it likely? Not really.”

Once that hit the message boards, plenty of yokels had it in for me, which is why I say the cyclists fans all too often stick their heads in the sand and refuse to accept reason. If all the guys who openly embrace clean racing and who willingly provide whatever blood, urine, and DNA samples are required are the same guys who get spit out the back of the peloton the minute the Tour reaches the mountains, what does that say about guys like Floyd Landis, Jan Ullrich, Lance Armstrong, and Ivan Basso? Are they truly that gifted?

Probably not.

Another Short Note

I was in Vegas late last week, which is why I failed to show up for either the Saturday or Sunday rides on Staten Island this week--just too damned tired after having arrived home at almost three in the morning on Saturday. I was out there in the desert for a business meeting and the conference kicked off with the following video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6gmP4nk0EOE

Cool, right?

Further, while in Vegas, we came across a midget in a green tux:



I was under the mistaken impression that perhaps a midget in a green tux would be lucky, although I ended the night $200 in the hole. Maybe it's Chinese midgets that are lucky. I could very well have the two mixed up.

A Kid On Christmas

Does anyone else suffer from impatience the way I do? I ask as, after speaking with a rep from Jamis bikes during the middle of last week, this same rep expressed the bike shop to which I’m having my brand-spanking new bikes shipped should have received them by today at the latest.

“We’re in Jersey,” the rep told me. This was last Thursday. “They’re going out today and if they don’t get them tomorrow, they should have them by Monday the latest.”

Go ahead and call me hopeful, but I dropped in the shop--Julio Bicycle in Chappaqua--on Saturday for two reasons. First, I needed more spokes after having broken two spokes on two separate rides last week. As a result, I can now change a spoke and true a wheel in under fifteen minutes. Second, I was under the crazy impression that perhaps I would walk in the shop and find my new Xenith Comp road bike and Dakar XCR Comp mountain bike sitting in the back of the shop waiting for me to take them home.

Of course, no such luck.

Either way, there are a few reasons why I’m having the bikes shipped to Julio’s. First, the place is only two miles from my place here in Pleasantville. Further, the guys who run the joint are extremely cool. I had called in advance to let them know to expect the bikes to arrive, but still, they’re yet to take delivery.

(I would have had them sent to Conrad’s, but Mr. Sang charges $150 to have a bike assembled upon delivery where Julio and his guys only charge $69, which is something of a no-brainer, isn’t it?)

Repeating the Jamis rep’s words in my head, I called Julio’s again this afternoon and talked to Willey. “I talked to Paulo on Saturday,” I said, explaining the situation.

“Let me talk to him and have him call you back,” Willey said.

Of course, Paulo didn’t call back, which I’m assuming means my new bikes still haven’t arrived.

If I don’t hear from Paulo or Willey by tomorrow, the rep at Jamis gets another call from yours truly to see what’s up. I would have to imagine that these shipments require signatures upon delivery, so the last thing I want to hear is that the bikes were shipped but no one knows where they are. Admittedly, my imagination often jumps to the worst possible scenario, and while I doubt that’s going to happen, I need to plan for such a scenario.

Chances are the bikes will show up some time this week and be ready for me by Friday or Saturday the latest. Further, do I need a brand-spanking new bike tonight considering my only plans are to ride the trainer in the basement? Not at all, although that’s not the point. The point is, when you spend a lot of money on something, something practical that you’re going to use, you want to use it right away, and for me, right away means three days ago. The fact that Jamis said the shop would have the bikes by today and they still don’t have them is doing nothing short of driving me up a frigging wall.

I’m sure you can understand, but then again, maybe you don’t. Maybe you’re the kind of rational, patient person I should be and, if you are, I take my hat off to you, kind sir.

At the end of the day, I just want my bikes. I paid for them and the fact that mail service takes a few days is completely regardless. I want ‘em and I want ‘em now.

Small Change

I believe I've revised the settings on this page so anyone can leave comments as opposed to only registered members, so it no longer has to be a boring, one-way conversation. You now have the chance to tear me up via the comments field. Also, I've been somewhat delinquent in posting anything new as I was in Vegas for most of last week for business, but I should have something new and exciting up shortly. Well, maybe not exciting, but at least it'll be new.

Also, if you click on the tiny mail icon below, you can email the post to a friend. Not that you will, but in the event you want to . . .