GC Cycling

Punctured Bicycle, on a Hillside Desolate

2013-05-26T03:52:00.004-04:00

Have you ever been standing on a rail car as started to move? I feel that disruptive sway, lurch, bump. Instinctively I reach out to grab something, to break my fall. My hand lands on a stranger in the darkness. She shrieks. "Somebody is trying to touch me!"
"Sorry, sorry! I didn't m-" as I jerk my hand away.

The ground lurches again. I drop to one knee. The car is full--packed in fact--with strangers, and each stranger more stranger than the next. I reach for my bootstrap to pull myself up, but the strap is broken. I remember remembering then that I had forgotten to remember to mend that boot's strapping from flapping, but before I can launch into a full-blown consideration of the nature of prosaic procrastination, the ground shifts again.

I resign myself to the notion that bootstrapping is out of the question. But the movement of the place has changed.. It is movement, but it isn't. Everything is moving. Everyone is moving. All at the exact same speed, and not in relation to each other. The floor rumbles and squeals, but it is sturdy. "What is happening?" says one voice from the darkness. "What is going to happen next?" says another. A small hand tugs on my sleeve. "Sir, can you help?"

The box lurches again, with a sudden increase in the rate of acceleration. We are tossed about. A woman and I fall into each other. I blacken her eye on my elbow and bloody my nose on her forehead. All is forgiven. We're all moving faster, faster, faster. The whole ground is shaking; the floors are screaming with the sounds of metal tearing against metal. Sir? Am I a 'sir'?

We rumble on; faster, faster. Tiny fissures open between the boards of the car's walls. There is light. The light is not cast; it can only be seen directly--so narrow are the fissures. Slowly my eyes collect the light. The light is not enough to draw an image, but enough to draw forth imagination. I see a man with the head of a fish. He is brandishing a guitar. He looks directly into my eyes and silently mouths the words "shindleria praematurus". It makes me uncomfortable.

I see an old record player. I can see even from across the width of the car that is it not vintage but a replica. A warped record spins on the turntable.

"Kunda." the record speaks. The man is still staring at me. He has mouthed the word. But the sound was clearly from the record. I tell myself I misheard. This cannot be. That word, though.. where did I know it?

"Astratta." The voiceless mouth coincides with the mouthless voice perfectly. I remember. I know the words. I remember everything. I remember everything, ever. Horror and terror grip my heart like two curs fighting over a rotting flap of meat.

"Montosse." I scream and tear desperately at the walls. My knuckles bloody in their futile attempts to smash through... My panic is unrestrained. There is no way out. This is happening. The record player has slowed to a near standstill, the needle still hovering in place. All sound ceases. The man is motionless, static. All movement ceases; the rumbling careening shaking ends. Time comes to a halt. Only I am aware of it; or only I am only aware of my own awareness of it. An infinite amount of time passes.

I feel it in the back of my throat first. It crawls up the back of my tongue. With all my will, my tongue pins it to roof of my mouth. It is thus held for four hundred ninety thousand years. My eyes close to the motionless silent darkness.

"Canda." The voice is mine. The sound comes from my mouth. All is dark, silent, and still.

Tiny birds call nearby. I open my eyes; they face upwards, my body on its back, propped up against the root of an old White Oak. A sparrow, two chickadees, a titmouse and a smallish woodpecker are toiling in the branches above me. "Dee, dee, dee" one says. "Ratatatatatat" says another. .

To the side, a bicycle with punctured tire leans against the same tree as I.

A Dream

2013-05-03T10:15:00.001-04:00

I had a dream last night. I found my bike, the aluminum Fuji, Tachikoma, all smashed up. The frame had been torn apart, a chain stay was completely missing. What!? How did this happen? I was just riding it a few moments ago! Distress and despair gripped me. "Oh, we can fix that," advised friend-family bystanders. We placed the pieces of the bicycle together. "There, see?" one said.
I looked at Tachikoma. The shattered frame was held together with plastic zip ties, and still missing a chain stay. I picked it up, and its stem and handle bars hung like a dead dog with a broken neck. I felt sick.

---

I've been thinking about this blog, recently. I still get a few thousand hits a month, despite not having posted in something like three years. I'm not committing to anything, but I've got cycling on the mind and I've been riding, so check back here occasionally or just hit subscribe in the upper right; there may be some fresh content coming out as the weather gets nice.

Until then, thank you for reading and keep the rubber side down.

Vietnam: Q&A

2010-01-14T16:33:00.004-05:00

Here's a rundown of every conversation I've had with someone I'd just been introduced to for the last like six months:

Person: So, what do you do?
me: I work nights
P: and during the day?
me: Nothing, really. . . . Well, I'm planning this trip.
P: Oh yeah? Where to?
me: Vietnam.
P: Oh, wow! That's so cool! Why Vietnam?
me: . . . It's kind of a long story . . .
[occasionally I launch in to a long story that I'm sick of telling]
P: Oh. Um, interesting.

I have a self-catalyzing tangential way of telling stories. A story often reminds of another side-story, explanation, point of interest, preface, or caveat, which in turn has its own side-stories, explanations, points of interest, prefaces, and caveats. It's kind of like a nuclear reaction. By the time the smoke clears, it's fairly rare that I've even remember what I started out to try to say, when speaking.

Anyway, without intent to bore people I've just met with my disorganized ramblings, I sort of brush off questions with brusque replies. That being said, let me explain from the top: Why Vietnam?

The Email
I've had the same email address, giles.cooper@gmail.com for, as I write this, exactly six years and ten days. Google Mail's spam filters are the best I've ever seen. They regularly filter out the vast majority of junk mail, and almost never send good emails to the junk directory. I mean, it's not like I don't ever get junk mail in my inbox, it's just super-rare. Like this one time two or three years ago, I got an email from someone from a travel agency complaining about some American IT guy blowing up computers at the Australian Chamber of Commerce in Vietnam. I skipped over it without a further though.

Then a few months later, I got another isolated random email, containing just a rave flyer (click for full-size):

I was thinking, wow, that's pretty cool. I guess I got on some mailing list for working at The Red Door or something. Cool art, exotic locale. Too bad it's on a Saturday; I have to work that night. Also, Vietnam is the exact opposite side of the world from Portsmouth (by longitude). I somedays can't even get it together to put pants on and leave my house. I tossed it in the back of my mind and carried on about my day. I mean, seriously, Vietnam? That's really far away. Also I think there was a war there or something. Anyway, I archived the email and didn't think much more about it. That is, other than a lingering desire to get out of this stifling festerpool of a crapopolis that is Portsmouth, New Hampshire. And I say that in the most affectionate way possible.

Another month or two later I logged in to check my email to find a barrage of emails asking me for help securing lodging at a four-star hotel in hanoi for several DJs and electronic music acts like Girl Talk, Ratatat, and The Handsome Furs. At this point I began to realize that perhaps there was some kind of email mix-up. I checked back in the conversation threads and found that there is apparently a New Zealander, Giles Cooper who has this gig, Club for Art and Music Appreciation which has a yearly Hanoi International Music Festival. Apparently people were forgetting his email address had a number in it or something and were sending emails to me. I forwarded him all the emails and let him know.

Which Got Me Thinking

How all that became me deciding to go, I'm not sure. I guess it's just time. That restless mid-20's see-something-before-you're-too-old instinct, I suppose. I like to joke that I'm planning a Talented Mr. Ripley scenario. But, seriously. I think it started with a masochistic urge to ride my bike farther than I had ever imagined, till I was sick and tired and starving and in a place where I could not communicate with anyone. Vietnam seems a good a place as any.

I've read a ton about Vietnam. I've learned how to say tôi không hiểu tiếng việt. Kind of. People are eager to impart wisdom such as "they like Americans" and "don't dig up any metal things you see sticking out of the ground in the middle of the jungle" and "bring some spare tubes for your bike." Hmph. My only real concern about physical danger in Asia is getting tagged by a car or motorbike in traffic. I've got a helmet and a first aid kit though, and I understand how the traffic food chain works in developing nations.

So there you have it.

Any questions?

Holidaze

2009-12-30T06:00:00.000-05:00

I still have persistent coughs and headaches from whatever made me sick there last week, so I am going about in a bit of a haze. That's not a drastic difference from my regular operating state though, so, yeah.

It is now just one month until I go to Vietnam. I haven't been biking much lately, so I am a little nervous about what, exactly, I am doing here. I guess part of the reason I am going is to thrash myself a bit. In other words, to put myself out there with a task that might be impossible and without failure as an option. Suppose I am unable to push myself the third consecutive day of cycling 150+ kilometers? I've done that much in one day, before--once or twice. It's really just a matter of persistence, I think. Get on the bike and slug it out until you reach your destination or you pass out from exhaustion.

Of course preparation is part of it. I am definitely going to be bringing a large supply of whatever sport drink powder. Maybe someone reading this can recommend a specific one. I've had good experiences with Accelerade, but then again I've also had great experiences with Coca-Cola. In a brief Google search just now I found one from Hammer called "Perpetuem" which has a nice ring to it, too. Given that, I don't expect to be taking out the 'passing out' option.

So I guess I'll survive the endurance cycling aspect of this trip. I still need to work out the exact specifics of my itinerary, but basically I'll be flying in to Hanoi, then making my way down to Hue (it's pronounced something like "hwey") where I'll spend Tet, which is similar to Chinese New Year. After that, I'm going to push on a little farther to Hoi An, maybe get a suit tailored. After that I'll take a train back to Hanoi, a plane back home. Travelling during Tet can be difficult; everyone travels home, so booking accommodation in advance is a must. I am picturing a scenario where I go from inn to inn, finding that they are all full, and ending up stumbling dead-tired in to some barn and passing out in a manger.

So, yeah. I find myself launching headlong in to the unknown.

2010 ASSOS Catalog[ue]

2009-12-21T06:00:00.000-05:00

This weekend dropped a whole lot of snow on the entire eastern seaboard. Also it dropped the terrible wrath of H1N1 on me from about Wednesday through Sunday. I've been mostly locked in my room, but my understanding is that it's been pretty cold, single-digit temperatures.

On Thursday, while the doom of swine-wrath was still building, I received a phone call, from the guy who lives where I used to live, in Kittery. He said "there's a package for you here; I don't know what it is." It being late December, I figured it might be something worth risking personal health for. So I head out in the Hoth-like temperatures, and across the memorial bridge to Maine. I might add that the wind on the bridge was terrible with gusts around twenty miles an hour, and the wind chill index was well below zero. Anyway I made it, and got the package. It was flat and postmarked from Switzerland. I had forgotten that I had ordered their catalog a year and a half ago, and am once-annual mailing list.

Ah, the 2010 ASSOS catalog. The cover of it has a picture of three guys drafting about five centimeters off the back of the official Assos Mercedes-Benz SaG-wagon. Attached was a cover letter. From the cover letter:

Dear Assos Fan,

The new Assos catalogue is here. Creating unique and extraordinary catalogues has always been a little passion of the Assos Centro Studio. No more two seasonal catalogues, instead, one yearly "ASSOS BIBLE" featuring every Assos Product and a large part of the Assos experience for you to be part of.

Wow, fancy. Throughout the catalog[ue] were the various product lines, geared for the exact temperature range. Assos spends a great deal of money on marketing to indicate that there is high-tech, high-precision science behind every single article of clothing. For example, there are no fewer than eight "climate range" lines:

Unfortunately the coldest one was only ready to handle 21°F, which is a high that I don't think the temperature will be reaching any time before April. These guys are from Switzerland, I guess I thought they would have bike clothes in which you could ride up the Matterhorn. But let's face it, no one here can afford this stuff anyway. Not that I know how much it costs; the prices aren't listed. This isn't the Sears catalog after all--you can't order direct. It's like when you go to a real fancy restaurant that doesn't have prices in the menu. If you have to ask how much, then you can't afford it.

The famed ASSOS girl, the ASSOS Cycling spokesbabe is of course another highlight of the catalog. Here, she peeks out from between the pages. But don't be intimidated, gentlemen--she doesn't actually know how to ride a bicycle. In fact, my sauces tell me that she lives in a castle in Monaco and gets her jollies smashing fabergé eggs. The sauces never lie. No, but seriously: I noticed a lot of search engine traffic last time I mentioned Assos, trying to find out what the model's deal was. I dug around but couldn't find anything. She's a model, not an athlete. Check out that sauce link (might need to log in to facebook), has some non-Assos pictures of her. Meh.

Anyway, the catalog's full-color, full-gloss, heavy paperweight, 150+ pages of great marketing design. They call it the Assos Bible, and that's what it is. Maybe one day I'll own some Assos products, right before I get an $8,000 wheelset, and right after I get a doctorate in dentistry.

Public Option

2009-12-18T06:00:00.000-05:00

Crappy Drivers: The Intersection Passers

2009-12-16T06:00:00.000-05:00

Okay, here's a scenario for you. Speed limit's like 20, intersection's about 50 meters ahead, I'm going to be taking a left at the stop sign. I'm on my bicycle, cruising about 15-17MPH. I hear a car approaching from behind. At our current speeds, it is impossible for the car to pass me and get a safe distance to pull back in to the lane before reaching the stop sign. I don't know what they are expecting here. Do they want me to pull over, stop, let them pass, then continue? WRONG! I just continue going along normally towards the intersection and pull to the left, rightfully claiming my lane as I approach the intersection. Claiming the lane at an intersection if you are not turning right is not only your right in New Hampshire, it is your duty.

This forces them to either get in line behind me, which would mean conceding defeat to a 15mph cyclist, the ultimate humiliation, or trying to get around me. If they try to accelerate around me with 50 feet left to the stop sign, I just hammer it out and beat or tie them to the line. Sorry pal, I'm ahead of you. This causes them to be next to me, in the oncoming traffic lane, trying to enter the intersection. If anyone else is trying to turn on to our street, then this guy is just sitting there, in oncoming traffic, blocking the way. There's no need for the air horn here, they know they have lost. Either way, I lay an epic track stand right in their face, and proceed through the intersection as traffic allows.

On a related note, there's also those times where, as a cyclist, you see that there is a red light up ahead. If you're downtown, the speed limit is only 15 or 20 depending on the road, so cyclists can keep up with traffic without any problem anyway. If I see a red light, I'll start coasting. I know the exact patterns and lengths and triggers of all the lights, depending on which lanes have cars and such. Ideally, I'm timing it so that the light turns green right as I roll up to the line. This actually makes traffic smoother, as there is no stop and re-acceleration. This is of even greater benefit to the cars than it is to myself.

But I gotta tell you, seeing a cyclist or two taking up the whole the lane and coasting at 6-8 miles per hour gets some people really, I mean really pissed off. Sometimes they blow around you at 25 miles an hour or more (way too fast for downtown). Congratulations Pinprick, you made it to... a red light! I once had a guy in a minivan through a tantrum and peel out, full squealing tires and everything, when the light finally turned green. Sorry dude, I just can't take you seriously in your wood-paneled Caravan.

Anyway, I guess these are a couple little things I do to intentionally be obnoxious, or when I am feeling sanctimonious. I'm not really defending them, and I hope someone comments to tell me off.

Laying Down the Law

2009-12-14T06:00:00.000-05:00

So I'm biking home from work a couple of months ago. I get out of work around 1:30, two o'clock in the morning, and I bike through the little downtown area. If you don't know Portsmouth, it's a tourist town, and our economy is sustained by alcoholism. Just to paint the picture, we have a lot of one-way streets, drunk people, and out-of-towners. Toss smug, indignant bicyclists in to the mix and it starts to get interesting.

Anyway, I'm riding home on my bicycle, coming down Congress Street. That's the one-way main drag, from Market Square to the old library. Now, since the speed limit throughout downtown is only 15, I always claim my right to take up the full lane, since that is a speed which I can easily maintain, so I'm not an impediment to traffic. So I'm riding down Congress street, and I see a pair of headlights coming right at me.

Those with weak constitutions might have the initial reaction of swerving out of the way. This is wrong. This is letting the offending driver know that they have more right to drive the wrong way than you have the right to take the lane. Even if the situation were reversed, and someone was biking up the road the wrong way and I was driving, I would not move for them.

Headlights coming at me. I angle my own bicycle headlight up slightly, so it's straight in the face of the driver, and let a few blasts rip on my bicycle's air horn. They roll to a stop. The driver gestures his desire to continue forward, the wrong way up Congress street. I simply shake my head, no, and . Several seconds of this head-to-head stand-off tick by. Eventually he puts the car in reverse and turns around, the right way. There were a group of locals nearby, on the sidewalk, and they cheered for me. It felt pretty good.

Well I don't know what the point of that story was. I guess it just pays to be doing things right. If I didn't have my headlight (which is legally required after dark) I wouldn't have stopped the car. I always say, as cyclists, if we want the rights of the road, we have to accept the responsibilities. Accepting my responsibility with my headlight and ubiquitous red-blinky rear light, I've earned the right to not be ignored or marginalized after dark. I stop at stop signs, I wait at red lights, and I never ride up one-way streets. In going the extra distance of getting a loud horn, have I have earned the right to be occasional traffic enforcer?

Gear: NiteRider MiNewt Mini USB

2009-12-11T06:00:00.001-05:00

If you live in New England, you may have noticed that it is winter. Of course some nerd is going to say "well, technically winter isn't for another 10 days." Well, tell the two snow squalls we're already had that, and let me know what they say. The other part of winter in New England is that the sun sets at about two-thirty in the afternoon. This also happens to be the same time that I wake up, so I haven't actually seen any direct sunlight in a couple of months.

Listen, biking in the dark sucks. When I used to live across the bridge in Kittery, Maine, I would be hungry or whatever in the middle of the night, and ride my bike to the 24-hour junk food store. Except, that was before the re-finished that strip of Route 1, between the Memorial Bridge and the traffic circle. It was all potholes and horrible road. And there were no street lights. So I'm riding my unforgiving aluminum-framed bicycle through these huge random potholes, in a darkness that would make Riddick squint. I had to ride the road by feel, because I literally couldn't see the road until I was on top of it. It was a literal, and quite visceral pain in the ass. Anyway, that was a couple years ago.

So I'm looking for a bike light. I guess there's two kinds of lights. Lights so that you can see, and lights so that other people can see you. I'm looking for something that I can see with. I'm looking for something 'reasonably bright' but I'm just going to be on the road with it, so I don't need a stadium lighting array or anything. Also I'm looking for something that's got a good battery life and is easy to recharge. I don't know what sort of lighting situations I'll be running in to in Vietnam, and with over-100-mile days planned, I'm going to assume that it's going to be still riding as the sun sets at least couple times. Of course, I don't want to spend $200 (or $100, even) either.

So I found this NiteRider MiNewt Mini USB. It's USB because you can charge it via USB or the regular outlet. Since I have a thousand plugs all going to in the two sockets in my room, and extension cords routed through every corner of the house, it's handy to just plug in to my computer's USB port to recharge. It has 110+ lumens output. I don't actually know what that means, put people get really pissed when I shine it directly in their face, so I guess it's pretty bright.

I found the 2009 model online for around $70. Usually I take this opportunity to plug Bicycle Bob's but I figured for this one I'd just order it myself. The price was comparable, but I knew exactly what I wanted--there are different versions and model-years. So I've had the MiNewt Mini USB for several weeks now, and I gotta say, I like it. Having a light is good. The vast majority of my night-riding these days is between my work an my house, which is entirely street-lit, but sometimes I take a back road or two, just to see the full effect of the light. Also, since I ride home from work around 1:30, 2:00 in the morning, it helps keep the drunk drivers on their toes.

Like this one time, I was coming down Congress Street, and I see headlights coming right at me . . .

Crappy Drivers: The Corner-Cutters.

2009-12-09T06:00:00.000-05:00

My therapist advises me not to indulge my rage but I am told that my rants can be entertaining, so here goes:

You know what really grinds my gears? Crappy drivers. I'm talking about the kinds of drivers that you see and you just know that they failed out of preschool. I mean, they flunked at coloring-books. In other words, they don't know how to stay in the lines. It's a pretty simple concept. There are these lines on the roads and you keep your car inside those lines. Here, let me show you:

The picture pretty much speaks for itself, but what I am talking about is the way people cut corners when taking a left, and I'm approaching the intersection. Like, they feel the need to dive in to the corner at as wide an angle as possible, as if they are going 60 miles an hour and will roll their car if they try to take it any tighter. Hey jerkface, there are two lanes. Please get the f*dge out of mine. Seriously. Please learn how to drive before you come barreling down my street in the wrong lane.

So I unleash wrath of the Airzound bike horn upon them. This isn't particularly satisfying, since they are going the opposite direction of me, they are gone before there's any reaction. Alternatively, I speed up to reach the white stopping line, then (if I am taking a left or going straight) as far left in my lane as possible. This will send them in a panic as they are about to hit me, and make the swerve of avoidance, and theoretically realize what a jerk they have been all their lives, and re-enter driving school until they learn how to drive.

Alternatively, they may just hit me, and severely damage my bike or body. This is also somewhat acceptable, because I value cycling righteousness over personal safety. I guess that makes me some kind of bicycle zealot or something. . . . This approach might bear rethinking.

Gear: Delta Airzound bicycle horn

2009-12-07T06:00:00.002-05:00

I have not heard much pleasant said about Vietnam's traffic patterns and driving. However, I can't say much for the drivers around here in the United States, either. Several times, I've been very nearly hit by people that were talking on their cell phones and drinking a coffee with one hand while eating a slice of pizza and beating their children in the back seat with the other. People just aren't looking at what they are doing. That's the primary problem with cars. They are little rooms that people hang out in. And with vehicle safety the way it is these days, as long as you're wearing a seatbelt, you're pretty much going to walk away from any traffic accident with only scratches. There isn't much incentive to know what's going on outside your little world. And anyway, bicycles and the people on them are just an impediment to the soccer practice or rabid consumerism or wherever it is you are driving your minivan full of brats.

Enter the Delta Airzound bike horn. As much as I loved my old Honka-Hoota, it was purely for amusement purposes--it did not have the stopping power of nearly 120 decibels. If you have ever stood on the end of the runway as a jumbo jet took off, that is what 120 decibels sounds like. I have used this horn to success on my bicycle many times. People insistently merge in to me, or try to cut me off, or are just generally unaware of what is going on outside of their cockpit. A simple blast from the Airzound informs them, WRONG!, like the buzzing of a gameshow's incorrect answer. It's louder than a car's horn and much more shrill. It gives me pleasure (and a small amount of guilt, but mostly pleasure) to see someone jerk their steering wheel to the side, with a "holy crap!" of bestartlement as they are awoken from their daze by the shrill blast of aural justice. The speed limit is 15 dude. This lane is mine. I am passing you. Get over it.

Anyway, here's how it works. There's a bottle of compressed air which attaches via a tube to the handlebar-mounted horn. I have my bottle in a third, under-the-down tube cage, but it comes with a velcro thing so you can strap it on wherever without having to use up a bottle cage. The air is compressed, so you press a button on the handlebar part and it unleashes 120dB of bicycle justice, as long as there is air in the bottle. There's also a little volume knob, if 120 is 'too much justice' but I always keep it on full blast. Once the air runs out, you can refill it using any bike pump. I keep forgetting the 'maximum recommended pressure' to refill it but I keep upping whatever number I thought it was last time by five or ten "just to be sure." Anyway, the higher the pressure, the louder the horn, so bring it on.

Anyway, having a good bicycle horn is, I believe, going to be pretty key in Vietnam. The usage of the horn is going to be completely different. Here, I wait until something bad is about to happen to use it, or I use it for your typical American 'revenge honk', as to dutifully inform the traffical offender that they are an asshole. If Hanoi is anything like Santo Domingo, then they proper horn usage will be a fairly constant strobing effect. Just fire it off as you dive in to an intersection, because you know no one is looking. The horn's meaning is "I am coming through, and I'm not stopping." This falls in line with the food chain. The right-of-way is ordered directly by total weight. Pedestrians yield to bicycles yield to motorbikes yield to cars yield to buses yield to trucks yield to tanks yield to American B-52's. (What, too soon?) This is contrasted to in the United States, where I self-righteously claim the full extent of my equal right to the road.

Well, we'll see. It should be interesting. Getting used to the traffic patterns of Vietnam will be an experience, for sure. The least I can hope for is that my horn will be read as "I don't know what I am doing. Please don't kill me."

Local Group Rides

2009-12-04T06:00:00.002-05:00

This page is way out of date. I just don't do group rides any more, partly because of the extreme amount of crap that groups have been getting from the cops, and from car-people. Both of the Portsmouth/Rye rides got pulled over by the police in September, a couple people even got arrested on one ride. There have been problems with drivers being malicious towards group rides. The 2009 Seacoast century was a complete and total shit-show; there were something like 4000 riders, and they were basically all jackasses. I'm just not interested in large group rides.

I am, however, totally in favor of riding bikes around with a couple friends. If you just want to go for a ride, please feel free to contact me.

Originally, I had hoped this page would get some more feedback from local riders, and that people would submit their rides and I would keep the page updated. If anyone wants to start a collaborative-effort page about local seacoast New Hampshire-and-around group bike rides, please let me know. In the mean time, watch this space, and I'll probably eventually add some links to the local shops' group ride pages. Of course it's December as I post this, so it may be a couple months before anything interesting happens.

This is from Summer 2008--I can't guarantee non-defunctness on many of these. On the other hand, please do let me know of any rides that you know of.

Please include:

day
time
meet location
relative or absolute level (speed/distance/time)
any other details or requirements

I'll try and get out there and ride your rides and post about 'em!

So I guess people are wondering about local group bike rides, particularly out of Prescott Park. I hit up the seacoast area bike shops and chased down any group rides I happened to come across in an effort to put together a list of local rides:

Monday

5:15pm @ Daily Grind, York Beach
5:45pm @ Exeter Cycle - 18mph, 30+ miles, no drops

Tuesday

6:15pm @ Gus' Bike - moderate pace, 20-30 miles, no drops

Wednesday

5:30pm @ South Berwick Post Office
5:45pm @ Exeter Cycle - "Wednesday Night Worlds" - 25+mph, 40+ miles, drop=bike home alone
5:30pm @ Prescott Park - Granite State Wheelmen "Slouch Potato Ride" - easy cruise to Rye Harbor, full-on race home. Wicked fun. ~20mi
6pm @ Rye Foreign Auto Works

Saturday

7:30am @ Gus' Bike - Amesbury Ride. 40-50 miles, includes good hills.

Sunday

9am @ Bicycle Bob's - 30-40 miles, no drops
9am @ Lee Traffic Circle -

These are just a few that I've heard about so the descriptions might be a bit fuzzy. And of course one person's moderate pace is another's leg-breaker--I'll try and make an effort to check out every ride at least once or twice and give a more objective description.

If you know of any other local group rides that I've missed, please leave a comment with the days, times, distances and any other pertinent information, and I'll add it to the list.

Thank you Josh "Monster Jam" Austin for the additional information.

Touring Equipment: Arkel T-42 Panniers

2009-12-02T06:00:00.000-05:00

Okay. I got the bike, I got the best bike rack. The next logical step for a bicycle touring setup is the bags, which are called panniers when they are on a bicycle, for whatever reason. My approach to buying cycling equipment is to do research on my own, online, then go to the local bike shop to buy. This is as opposed to the obnoxious habit that some people have, which is to spend the bike shop sales guys' time with questions, then buy equipment online. With that in mind, I scoured the internet for best option for panniers, and everything came back to the same Canadian manufacturer, Arkel. It happened that Bicycle Bob's was one of their vendors, so I went there to order them.

They had quite a few options, but I ended up going with the T-42's. The Arkel T-42 is so-called because the pair has a total capacity of 42 liters, or 42 litres for my Commonwealth readers. That's not to say that you can put five gallons of water in each bag. Also, some nerds might point out that 42 liters of water would weigh about 84 pounds, which is more than the 60-pound capacity old man mountain bicycle rack which they will attached to. The T-42's are billed as being for "weekend touring", while my trip is for an entire month. The next larger pannier, though, had a thing to carry a tent, and a detachable fanny pack. I'm not camping, and if you're thinking I'll get caught dead wearing a fanny pack, you are gravely mistaken.

Here's what the pair of panniers looks like empty and off the bike. The Arkel site shows them individually, over-stuffed, and off the bicycle. As you can see from the picture here, these saddle bags have reflectors on the side and rear. That isn't photoshopped or anything, that's just from the camera's flash! They also have a few cool features that make them great. Without getting too much in to the website's copy which you can read for yourself, they have good features like ease-of-access zippers and really sturdy tear-proof fabric.

A couple people have asked me about front panniers. No thank you. I am entirely uninterested in having weird awkward weight on my front wheel. So far I've used my bags for groceries a few times, and having like 30 pounds sitting underneath my center of balance is weird enough. I can't imagine having to swing more weight around every time I wanted to make a turn. Forty-two liters of capacity will be more than enough to carry the few things I'll be bringing.

Touring Equipment: Old Man Mountain RedRock Rear Rack

2009-11-30T06:00:00.001-05:00

So I was thinking about exactly what equipment I'm going to need for a bicycle touring adventure through southeast Asia. Adventure. I don't really like that word. It sounds ~fun~. I am not doing this for fun, I'm doing it for the physical brutality that my body will endure cycling a hundred miles or more a day, and the mental duress and loneliness of being in the farthest place possible from home, in a country where no one even speaks the same language. It's just something that a man in his mid-20's needs to do, to break out of . . . whatever. We're here to talk about equipment, not the philosophy of a quarter-life crisis.

So, the first thing I guess I need is a bicycle. I've got that, my Fuchikoma. I guess the next thing is a rack. I did a bit of comparison shopping, read a whole lot of touring sites, and I came up with with the Old Man Mountain RedRock rear rack. I guess you're supposed to try to say that ten times fast, or something.

There's a picture of it that I got off the site. I can't be bothered to show it on the bike at this exact moment but I'll show you before I go. This is the most highly recommended rear rack that I've found, and every time I show it off to seasoned touring veterans they whistle with appreciation. My theory on matters in which I don't know what the hell I am doing, is to exhaustively research before I dive in. In other words, it is better to spend 10 days online reading forums and sites and spend $50 on a rack, then to spend 10 minutes, spend who-knows how-much, and get some piece of crap that screams "newbie".

On the other hand, please don't mistake me for someone who knows what they are doing.

So the deal with this rack is that is has all the specific attachments that my bike was built for, in other words it bolts to the frame which was designed to take a rack. Other racks connect to the rear skewer and/or brake bolty-things. I guess this one can too, depending on how you set it up. Whatever, it was a good fit. The Old Man Mountain RedRock is specced to hold up to sixty pounds, which is the highest of any of their racks. Also the copy on their website said, "When someone tells us they're headed around the world, this is what we reach for", which was pretty much all I needed to hear.

Anyway, I've got a bike and a rack. Up next (Wednesday): Panniers! (also knows as "bags")

Return of the Jedi

2009-11-24T23:17:00.004-05:00

Ah. Ah ha. Yes. Cycling.

Citing a lack of funding, I have retired from racing. Maintaining equipment and paying for registrations and licensing and all that is not worth it for me, ITTET. Anyway my focus and interest in racing faded. Maybe it was the two forced weeks off the bike while out of the country. Maybe it was the distraction of the last eight months. Maybe it was the group rides in the fall got ridiculous--ignorant and aggressive police backing up ignorant and aggressive drivers made it not worthwhile to ride in groups. Further, the same cast of characters would show up and totally miss the point of a particular ride. Anyway, those are my excuses. Also my race bike got damaged in an car-versus-Giles accident.

I don't think that anyone who doesn't ride with me has noticed that I am not 'really' riding. I still have my Fuchikoma which I ride every day to work and on errands and all that crap. At least twice a week, someone wants to talk to me about bikes, or ask me about what bicycle to buy, or show me their bike. Twice this month people have inquired about my blog stickers which are still on every sign post within a ten-mile radius.

Well, whatever. Once again, distractions aside, here I am. The "well I don't really write or ride any more" thing was getting kind of boring. See, that's what I do, I get bored and change my mind.

So I think I've told everyone about this, but let me publicly announce now that I am going on a month-long bicycle tour of Vietnam, in February. In the coming months, on the blog I'll be writing about the process of preparing for the trip, equipment, all that stuff. Enjoy.

2008 Vuelta Independencia (3/3)

2009-06-12T06:00:00.000-04:00

2008 Vuelta Independencia (2/3)

2009-06-10T06:00:00.001-04:00

2008 Vuelta Independencia (1/3)

2009-06-08T06:00:00.002-04:00

I Thought Montezuma Wasn't Dominican!

2009-06-05T06:00:00.000-04:00

Honestly I posted this six days ago. But, right about now, from past experience I'm probably extremely annoyed with myself for unintentionally ingesting the water, with is certainly not potable where I am staying. It reminds me of the greatest educational video game of all-time, a staple of my generation: The Oregon Trail.

Twitter? I Hardly Know 'Er!

2009-06-03T06:00:00.001-04:00

Okay, I think twitter is stupid. I've always found passive-aggressive away messages on AOL Instant Messenger to be just as effective. However, it occurred to me that being able to easily sort of post via twitter would be handy since I don't know if I'll be able to get to a computer. I doubt anyone cares what I'm randomly doing but whatever.

Overtraining and Vacation

2009-06-01T06:00:00.001-04:00

Well, I've just put in a fairly brutal week of intentional cycling over-training. I went on hard bike rides and long bike rides. I went on rainy bike rides outside and hours here and there on the trainer inside. I've sent my friendliness factor to spiraling lows--though I try not to show it to the people I care about. In general, I recognize that this does not benefit the training regimen. Well, I wouldn't call this week over-training just yet, it's over-over-reaching.

)image compliments of Joe Friel's Blog

Here's the rub: I'm going to be in beautiful, tropical, swamp-crotch hot Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, for a week and a half, and I won't be able to bike at all while I'm there. I looked in to it--it just looks to dangerous. There is absolutely no regard for the sovereignty of traffic lights, and no one else down there rides. I mean there's guided bike tours and rentals out in the more rural areas of the country, but not in the capitol. Actually I'm there now. I wrote this post ahead of time. But I digress.

Over-reaching is when you intentionally train hard enough to let your fitness level suffer, then let yourself recover to a new, higher level of fitness before you resume training. This happens on a lot of different levels. It can happen several times during the course of a ride--when you are doing intervals or hill repeats, you rest in between iterations. It happens over the course of a training week--you have active/hard days and rest days. It happens throughout your training year, by month, as you have harder weeks and softer weeks. In the macro-cycle, the entire year is building up to your most important races or rides, after which you relax before re-training for an even-stronger next year.

Yea, it's kind of awesome.

Anyway, since I have a forced recovery of 11 days, I needed a level of training the past few weeks that would hurt sufficiently to let 11 days not be too much recovery. So there you have it.

For more information on over-reaching and over-training from the man himself, Joe Friel, I highly recommend Joe Friel's Blog.

The 'Best' Cycling Hill in the Seacoast

2009-05-29T06:00:00.000-04:00

Okay, first off, I hate hills. I mean, what we call the "King of the Mountain" sprint is only 41 feet above sea level. It's a joke. We're all about the pancake-flat coastal highways here. Wind? No problem. Hills, on the other hand, present a problem. Hills are important though, and I'll tell you why.

Force. I mean the force which is generated in your legs, not the force which is apparently generated by midi-chlorians in your blood. "Force, or strength, is the ability to overcome resistance," says Joe Friel's Cyclist's Training Bible. "It also has a lot to do with how big of a gear you can turn when you want to go fast." And the only proper prescription for training force on a bicycle is hills. Force, along with speed-skill (how fast you can turn the cranks) is the foundation of power, which is the key to sprinting. So, perhaps counter-intuitively, training on the hills can help to prepare you for sprints on the flats.

It was with this in mind that with a few friends and teammates I set a course for Amesbury, Massachusettes, and Powwow Hill--the highest point in whatever county it's in. Powwow Hill is only 330 feet, and the relative rise on the sub-half-mile of roads leading to the top is 220 feet or so. That means it has about an average 10% grade, which is obnoxious. We only did three reps on it, that was enough to send us home in tears.

My rear cassette is not conducive to hill climbing. It seemed like the other guys had 27's and/or compact chain rings. I just can't take those steep prolonged climbs. Also I have the core strength of an overcooked rigatoni. That means that there's nothing for my legs to push from when applying force to the pedals. This is caused by a severe lack of situps. Another problem is that a tough, steep hill will break me a lot faster than a long one that's moderately steep. I feel like I'd get a better workout on a three-mile 5 percent grade than a half mile at 10 percent, because I could do more repeats. I don't know where to find that within a reasonable distance (15-20 miles from Portsmouth) though.

But whatever. I recommend Powwow Hill if you are looking for a hill that's pretty close and you're ready to get your ass handed to you. If anyone knows better, let me know.

Can the Weatherman Be Trusted?

2009-05-26T16:06:00.004-04:00

A third day is just the thing to make a good weekend for cycling in to a rather good weekend for cycling. That is, unless the weather reboot is all doom and gloom. Take Sunday, for example. It was morning, maybe eleven o'clock or so. I still needed to fulfill my endurance training requirement for the week with another long/easy ride. So I ask my roommate if he wants to come along; he just points at the TV and says no way. It was the weather channel. A county-wide severe storm warning scrolls menacingly across the bottom of the screen, and a green cloud covers the entire seacoast area. Awesome! I say, "Sweet, bring it on," and make sure to grab my rain cape before I head out the door. I love a good, horrible-weather bike ride. I figure training in adverse conditions either prepares you for racing in bad conditions, or makes racing in good conditions a relief.

Fully expecting a watery wrath worth of Poseidon, I make my way across the bridge to Maine, and up Route 103 through Kittery Point. It was sprinkling just a little bit at that point. It wasn't terribly cold, and indeed I was overdressed. See, the thing about rain gear is that it's made of non-breathable fabric, so you get just as wet from your own sweat as you would from the rain anyway, if you're not careful with your heat regulation. So I pulled off my arm warmers and left my the rain jacket open, and kept going.

The funny thing was, the farther I went north and in to the storm, the nicer the weather was. In fact, by the time I reached Oqunquit, The sun was out and I was way too hot. I folded up my rain jacket and put it in my Jersey pocket. A day like that is just too nice to seize, either. I decided since the epicness of the day was not going to come from weather, I better get it from distance and exploration. So I turned my bike north, where I have always turned South, on to Route 1.

First, I must say that Route 1 is not made for bicycles, really. I mean, it's got plenty of shoulder--it's mostly safe. It's just not very scenic. It's made for tourists, with little Maine crap shops and all that sort of thing. It's car-scenic. I believe that when you're on a bike, things like mountains and trees and fresh air are scenic. Natural things. Things you can stop and appreciate quietly. When you're in a car, man-made things are scenic. Old ships, big signs, outlet malls, that sort of thing. Things that you enjoy actively, loudly, and spendingly. I had no money and was already quite occupied with the activity of my cycling, so I kept going.

I was sort of looking for a side-road to the right, eastward, towards the coast. Eventually I came to Route 9. Whatever that means. I'm not lost in the sense that I don't know how to get home, but I am lost in the sense that I am in uncharted territory, and heading in deeper. I came along one of those tiny Maine "rivers" that are actually creeks, and the town sign for Kennebunk. I realized later I was only about 28 miles from home, but I was quite satisfied at being the farthest north I'd ever been on a bicycle, so I took out my camera-phone to get a picture of the town line marker.

It didn't work. My phone just kept flashing on and off and giving error messages in various languages. So I didn't get a picture of it. Google Earth has me covered though: Kennebunk Route 9. I was kind of annoyed at my phone not working, and sufficiently satisfied at my exploration, I turned back.

The day turned out to be about 56 miles, and I couldn't have asked for a nicer day. I wouldn't say that the weather report was totally wrong, though. I suspect that the weather at any point from 500-5000 meters from me at any given moment was a torrential downpour; and was was by luck or fate that I personally managed to avoid it. Some kind of reverse Eeyore effect, I don't know. Either way, another good endurance training ride done.

Episode IV: A New Slouch

2009-05-22T06:00:00.001-04:00

Part of the response to my cycling race-training panic that I mentioned last week is that I am only riding for myself. If that means getting dropped on a group ride and crawling home solo, then so be it. If that means popping out of the pace line to sit in the wind because I want to keep my heart rate at a steady 164-168, then I'm going to do that--even if it doesn't make sense to anyone else in the pace line. If my training plan doesn't entail a sprint, then I'm not going to take the bait when someone else jumps. It is by taking my training rides for myself that strengthens me for my team and friends for when it matters--in the races.

Now that I am back on my Annual Training Plan, which I had completely drawn out back in January, I know exactly what workouts I need to do to stay on track to be able to bring my maximum potential for the races that are most important [to me]. This week, I need an endurance ride, which I knocked on on that 50-mile bike ride around York County on Monday. Also I need a muscular-endurance ride. Right now, that means tempo. In other words, keeping a steady pace on the bicycle and just hammering it out.

I took this tempo approach at the Slouch this week. I went to the head, got low, got aero, and just started grinding it out. I wasn't hammering or anything--I just kept a steady pace, didn't make any quick accelerations, and maintained a steady power output that was tolerably painful, ratcheting up the pace slightly as we approached Rye Harbor, where we let everyone catch up.

Now, if you know anything about the Slouch Pot ato Ride, then you know it's a pissing contest. It's all about the pointless attacks, and doing anything you can to shatter the group. But there was none of that this day. I sat on the front and pulled a steady 22 miles an hour or so through the New Castle loop, about 6 miles on Route 1B. As we approached the first stop sign, someone said "nice pull"--as if it were over--I think not! I kept the same pace, and stayed on the front, all the way down to Ocean Boulevard and another three or four miles before everyone else sitting got impatient with the pace and came around me. I swung out in to the breeze and finished steady in to the wind as the others attacked and sprinted the last 500 meters or so. When I looked back, I saw that most all of the 25-person group had hung on--usually there are maybe five of us or so left by the end.

What happened there was that I had held a steady pace of about 22mph, which was enough for everyone, and not too much for most everyone else. In order to pass me in any meaningful way, one would have to set the pace over 25 miles per hour, which no one particularly wanted, particularly in to Route 1A's coastal wind. This sort of going-to-the-front action sets and controls the pace of the ride. This is also exactly the same tactic that Professional cycling teams like Astana employ to control the race during a stage race. You will see the whole Astana team at the head of the pack, setting a tough pace to discourage anyone else in the peleton from attempting to break away.

Anyway, it was really cool to have most everyone still in a pack when we got to Rye Harbor. Normally we end up spending a lot of time waiting for everyone to catch up, so the guys that get there first have totally cooled down by the time we head back, which is annoying. This time, everyone was right there or close behind, and we turned back in just a few minutes.

We had Rami set the pace on the way back. It really just boils down in to a 25-minute tempo workout if you pull the whole way, but the problem is that it's too easy if you sit in--everyone behind wants to attack. So I just sat at second wheel, so I could rest fairly easy, but also keep Rami clear if anyone tried to pass him, putting him in to their draft. When people eventually started to come around, I was in position to just blast off the front. If they wanted to go ahead, they would have to go hard to catch my wheel, so people were either sitting on me or siting on Rami, and he could keep his tempo. Eventually I just positioned myself right on Rami's shoulder, in order to box in Ben Goss and the troop of followers behind him:

In order to get around Rami, he would have to back all the way off his wheel and get around me first (blue). As soon as I would see him start to drift back to get around, I'd punch it out ahead, so he would have to catch up, wearing himself and anyone else that followed out in a pointless chase (red). If they caught me, I'd just drift back to Rami and drag him back to the front before resuming my position on the flank. Meanwhile Rami's just doing a tempo workout without regard to anyone else--not taking the bait of attacks, and just riding steady. Mind you, I was only working to keep him in the wind so that he could do his tempo workout unfettered.

We held everyone off through most of New Castle, and were in the last two kilometers or so before Rami got irrevocably surrounded by the pack. I punched it off the front to let everyone play catch-up and waste some more energy before the "King of the Mountain." The "mountain" I wouldn't even really call a hill, it's a knoll at best. I didn't bother contesting it, and drifted back. As we came over it, I could see the field had split in two, there were five up ahead by perhaps three seconds at most, and maybe eight or ten in my group in front of me.

Now, there's been contention lately as to where exactly the "finish line" is. Some people insist (wrongly) that it is at the crest of the bridge, where the Portsmouth town line is. The real line is about 400 meters after that, at the second of the three crosswalks, just before the turn in the road. There used to be a line and "LE FIN" spray painted on the road. Also there's a huge "Welcome to Portsmouth" sign which some people might consider. But just to be sure there wasn't any confusion over the last 500 meters, I layed it down hard, bridged the gap and passed the group of five before the first line, and held a gap until the finish. No one followed my move, which surprised me. Ben insists it was because he was so annoyed at being boxed in the whole time, he didn't have the spirit to contest my attack.

This was a great ride. Not because I took the finish. It was a great ride because I got the workout I needed, I didn't feel frustrated, and I rode smart, for myself and then for a teammate. NorEast controlled the ride, and I think that everyone in the back appreciated the steady pace without attacks. Having the majority of the pack hang together is something that never happens on the Slouch, so it was cool. From here on out, I am just going to ride the Slouch as two 25-minute tempo intervals, or to just generally shut down the break-away guys.

Frisbee's Market, Kittery Point

2009-05-20T06:00:00.001-04:00

Cycling up the Maine coast is ideal. There's just something about any 12 miles of Maine coast that is strikingly better than 12 miles of New Hampshire coast. Route 103 north through Kittery Point to York Beach's Route 1A and then up through Cape Neddick to Oqunquit is just a perfect route for riding a bicycle. Route 103's got the rolling hills to make sure you haven't fallen asleep on the bike, then York Beach's Long Sands has a flat open strip that you can really haul on--except for the summer traffic and pedestrians that lack the common sense to look before stepping out in to the street. Also, there's a mile-and-a-half strip of tourists all trying to parallel park their Windstars at once--if you can imagine. As you can imagine, it's a prime area to be smug as a cyclist. Anyway, it's not that bad just yet--Memorial Day is next week.

So Keith and I were going on a one of those long-easy rides I was talking about on Monday, and took the afore-mentioned route. We decided to cut Mount Agamenticus out of the loop by the time we got there--we weren't looking to do force training, just endurance. The sort of training where you just see how long you can go before you start to hurt, not how hard you can go. Pushing back the fatigue barrier is the key element to base training for cycling, and thereby has the greatest training value.

Anyway, I hit the wall somewhere on Route 103 south, after we had about 50 miles or so, and still another five or ten ahead of us to get home. The wall of hunger is a pretty serious thing. It's that line where you are suddenly taken with a knot in the stomach, and every turn of the pedals just makes you more and more sleepy. You might even feel a little bit drunk--the carbohydrates that your brain regularly uses for things like thinking and being awake are in short order in the blood stream, having been used by your legs. You feel kind of like a zombie. Replenishing carbohydrates at this point is becoming paramount.

Fortunately, there just happens to be a convenience store here--Frisbee's Market. It's a family store that has been there for over 180 years, but it very nearly went out of business entirely before being bought by an investor and is now managed by the previously owning family. The significance of this little store [to me] is that it is the only place in the entire United States that I have ever seen Coca-cola in glass bottles. And not just regular glass bottles--small eight-ounce glass bottles. Here:

I've never seen it anywhere else. Twelve ounces [one can] of cola is more than health/carbohydrate-conscious cyclists like us need, and a twenty-ounce bottle is just gross. These bottles are just enough to wash down a made-fresh-daily spring roll and get you rolling again.

So if you happen to be in the area of Kittery Point / Route 103, I highly recommend Frisbee's Market, and 8oz glass-bottled Coca-Cola. Check it out.