Revolution

The Beatles song was a far-too-obvious title for a post where I'm talking about Revolution Bikes. I stopped there a few days ago to drop off my mountain bike for repair after I "fixed" it last February. Yeah, yeah, I know. Anyway, I went back today to pick up the repair.

While I was there I showed them my slightly messed up Campy shifter and learned that they had a source to repair it. That's good to know. I also got my hands on some CarboRocket. I figured that since my own cousin makes the stuff that I ought to try some. So, I am now the proud owner of a big bag of Lemon Lime CarboRocket. I'll post some thoughts after I use it on a few rides.

But that's not all. They have the coolest tool there: it's a trigger adapter for an air compressor that is built to fill presta valves! It has the trigger fill, a bleed-off valve, fits directly on a presta valve fitting, and has a built in gauge! No more adjusting the air compressor only to have the pressure drop off while filling the tire! I am stoked to try this thing out, and hope it's even half as cool as I expect.

"Don't you know it's gonna be alright!"

Free Will

This morning I decided that I was going to push for a fast ride. I was thinking about my 34 km/h ride a few weeks ago and wondering if I could replicate that. So, I chose the same route, and set my mind to push, trying to get the green lights and keep my speed up.

I believe the difference between being fast on the bike or not is often the result of small choices. It may be the decision to push a little harder to try to catch a light green. It may be the choice to do some core work to build general strength. It may be the decision to shift into or hold a higher gear. For me it sometimes involves focusing on lifting the pedals instead of just pushing them down. Sometimes it's the choice to wear Lycra instead of the more socially appropriate shorts. None of these are big choices, but each contributes a little bit to a faster ride.

Maybe a lot of life is that way. Maybe the difference between accomplishing something great and not rests in the seemingly small choices we make every day, not in looking for a few big choices. The lyrics to the song title of this post include, "If you choose to not decide, you still have made a choice… I will choose the path that's clear; I will choose free will." How many little choices do we simply choose not to make?

How many mornings have I stayed in bed just those few extra minutes instead of getting up to do even a 5 minute workout? How often have I thought that a service project may not be that important for me to be at? How many times have I simply let something expire, rather than face it head on?

On the other hand, how often have I gotten myself onto the bike, even when I wasn't sure that I wanted to exert any effort that day? (And usually had a great ride.) How often have I chosen to take care of the project that I dread, simply because I know that it has to be done? (And usually not enjoy it every bit as much as I feared.) How often have I chosen to attend church, or say a prayer, or do something else to strengthen the spiritual aspect of my life?

I think that it's in these little choices that our lives are formed every bit as much as improvements in sport.

But then again, sometimes no matter what the choices you make, whether big or little, you just run out of stamina and start to slow. Oh, and about the speed of the ride: it was just below 34 km/h, although if I had to go any further it would have dropped like a rock. The last kilometer I was dragging myself on, unable to maintain the speeds of earlier in the ride.

So, after making the choice to ride fast this morning, what are the rest of my little choices today?

The Boys of Summer

The boys of summer are all around. They're riding commuter bikes, old department store mountain bikes, slick racing bikes. They're using the roads every morning and evening. They're riding to work. They're out training. They are all enjoying the beautiful summer weather.

I waved to one of the boys of summer after a car honked at him for using the road. We both just shrugged our shoulders and smiled. There was nothing else to do. I do, however, hope that the cyclist caught the car at the next light and passed the car while it was stopped. Just the vengeful streak that I have.

I rode behind a commuter for a few blocks. When I pulled alongside to take a pull, he dropped off. I guess that he was at the end of his commute while I was at the start of mine.

I've passed them on the other side of the road, in droves. They are friendly, usually offering a wave or nod of the head. I saw one cyclist riding south last night and north this morning. I saw a fellow on an orange Giant, wearing an orange jersey with an orange bag. Unfortunately, he was camouflaged amongst the orange cones on the road. I did admire his commitment to orange while I was just wearing a sunflower print on my jersey.

This morning one riding a tricycle while his wife walked the dog shouted out, "Showoff," when I rode by. I'm still trying to figure that one out.

The boys of summer are all around. Keep an eye out for them. They will appreciate it. I'll appreciate it, since I'm one of them. We'd love to have you join us. Whether you take the Clif Bar Challenge to make all of your trips under 2 miles by bike, or you're training for an inconceivable challenging event, or you're just pulling the bike out of the garage to ride around the neighborhood, there's a fraternity, or as my college choir labeled itself, a "frarority" out there.

Join us. Resistance is futile.

We Belong

This morning I was feeling good. I kept up a pretty good pace, and caught the green lights. Oh, did I catch the green lights: 7000 S, Winchester, 6400 S, 5400 S (as it was turning yellow). As I passed through 5400, I caught up with two "serious cyclists". One was sponsored by Spin Cycles, the other by Team Wheeler. I caught them. Now, my momentum through the light helped, but even after catching them, and slowing down to draft behind them, they didn't drop me. I held tight to their wheels, and could have even pushed on, but chose to enjoy the short respite. As we approached the light at 4800 S, they were turning right, and I would have loved to follow them, but I was running late for work and had to take a left to find a shorter route. I think that I could have hung with them up to 500 W, where I would have had to turn, through the climbs and all. Simply because I belonged. Yes, that's right. I belonged in that group. My riding was up to the level they were at. I could have taken a pull at the front. Man, that's a good feeling.

I felt that sense of belonging in a group in 2006 while doing the Cycle Salt Lake Century. Penny Perkins had gathered me into a group that was flying. As I cycled through the paceline, I thought that I was doing great to hang on. But then she told me to take a pull at the front. I was doubtful. I thought that I was barely hanging with the group, but when I pulled through and took the lead, I was able to keep the pace. I took a solid pull at the front. I belonged.

Then, it all came tumbling down as I flatted while easing back into the line, and lost the group for the rest of the ride. But, for that few minutes, I belonged. Later in that day I felt a sense of importance as I pulled a group through the headwinds, but it wasn't the same sense of belonging. Those couple of moments were magical.

I think that we all yearn for that sense of belonging in some way in our lives, and there are times when we feel it. These aren't the only two times I've felt it, but the remind me that it is a wonderful feeling when it comes.

I belong. For the next few minutes, I belong.

Birthday

So, I started out my 38th year with a struggle of a ride this morning. Although I took the short commute route in, I was still fighting to just keep going. So, the question becomes why. I have a few guesses, but nothing concrete.

Guess 1: I've pushed my body pretty hard this week. Between a full week of commutes, although none were exceptionally long, and doing some core work each morning, my body has exerted harder this week than it has in some time. I stressed myself getting such a fast average speed yesterday. I've also run on somewhat shortened sleep creating some energy deprivation. These are all reasons I've heard for lower performance. However, this seems to involve way too much scientific and physiological stuff for me to put full credence in it.

Guess 2: I am older, and therefore slower.

I think I'll go with Guess 2.

Oh, wait, upon further inspection, I discovered that my back tire had gone flat. It may have just been that I had a low back tire that was dragging me down. I can always hope it was that, and I can easily blame my lack-luster performance on that. Yeah, that's it. It's not my age. I mean, it couldn't be my age.

Life in the Fast Lane

While life in the fast lane cause the Eagles to lose their [collective?] mind, it simple caused me a little pain this morning. However, that pain is fleeting and my glory is great. Well, maybe not that great.

I decided, unconsciously, to do my own prologue time trial this morning. I guess that came after watching the very delayed recording of the Tour de France prologue while eating my breakfast.

Now, I know that I am not pro-level cyclist. I was once passed by Dave Zabriskie so quickly that by the time I looked up I didn't even know he'd passed, except that my fellow riders assured me that it was indeed my one brush with cycling greatness and I had missed it entirely. So, with that in mind, let me now tell just how impressive I was today.

I can usually maintain a scorching rate of about 30 km/h on a commute to work. I feel really good when I get 32 km/h. That means that I was actually keeping up in the school zones with the speed limit -- not that school is even in session right now. Anyway, that is my usual range for a ride.

Well, this morning I held 33.9 km/h for the ride, with a 34.7 average speed before my 1/4 km cool down. I was seriously excited! I know, it doesn't take much. Anyway, I started out the ride feeling pretty good, and thought I'd push from a little earlier than I usually do. Then, after topping my short climb, I turned down the 12% gradient at the west end of Winchester and kept pedaling. I nearly made the light at 700 West, but ran into a yellow turning red. After waiting through the light, I started a hard push up the small grade, noticed my heart rate skyrocketing up around 170 and thought I'd go for something on the ride. So, I kept pushing. Hard (for me). I pushed through the light around 6000 S. I caught the green light at 5400 S. I kept pushing through the green at Vine Street. I was moving.

I caught a red at 4700 S, but got quickly back up to speed just in time to have to stop at 4500 S. As I pulled away from that light, I got a gap on a garbage truck, but that truck caught up with me, so I tried to hang. I did pretty well until he turned on his blinker. I then dropped behind that truck, and passed him on the other side to keep from getting run over. I was still flying. It was shortly after that, on a couple-meter climb that I felt the pain. It wasn't pain from that climb. I can do that one easily. It was pain from my heart and legs asking, fervently, what I was doing to them, and why. My only answer was that I didn't know why. I was just doing it. So, I slowed a little bit and didn't complain when I caught the red light at 3900 S. After my heart rate dropped about 40 bpm at the light, I headed west and caught the tail end of the next. But from there, it was sweet speed down the slight grade, past the Jordan River, and through the turn toward the office. I was excited. I was stoked. I was flying.

I made that last corner, clicked off a lap time on my computer, then slowed way down to cool off before crawling up the stairs to the office.

Now, please understand that this is simply a little personal victory post. I don't claim any shot at greatness. I'd have to lose a good 10 kg and ride a lot more to become a truly competitive cyclist. And I know that the guy in the Hammer Gel jersey rode easily away from me at a light last night. But, for me it was a huge thing. It was a personal best time for my commutes, at least for the past couple of years.

Woohoo!

This Independence

As we approached the end of our ride, Phillip said, "How about we take the little climb up to Copperton." I responded, "I need someone like you in my life… to say let's take a little climb and mean that."

This comment came on a ride we'd put together late last night, after we decided that we didn't need to pay the $20 to ride the Tour de Riverton. We figured we could ride a lot of the same stuff without the entry fee, so we did.

We crossed the TdR route, and didn't see any riders, so we figured we had missed the pack. However, a few miles later as we were climbing toward Herriman, we saw the front of the pack coming toward us on their return leg. It was fun to see so many riders enjoying what was, for them, a long, consistent descent. We were the only two climbing at that point.

My mind, seeing the rapid descent of so many cyclists, told my legs that they should match that pace. However, the same descent that propelled those riders, slowed me through that section. I held out hope that I would have a rapid descent on the Bacchus Highway once I cleared the 8% grades at the end of the climb.

We finally topped out the climb and screamed down toward the Copperton turnoff. As we passed the first option to head up, Phillip made the comment I started off with. The extra climb was quite fun. I really should also take a moment to say that Phillip has become a much stronger climber over the past year. He was rocking the steeps and held even with me, even pulling ahead at times. I was impressed.

After leaving Copperton, it was a quick sprint back home -- downhill the whole way -- to make it to the West Jordan 4th of July parade. But that's another story, and one that doesn't involve cycling.

It felt good to get my heart rate up and hit some climbs with a good friend.

Oh, and thanks to Manhattan Transfer for the title to this post: a recognition of Independence Day and the independence of riding.

Everybody Loves a Happy Ending

How does one recount a 50-mile ride with Boy Scouts? I think that the first thing is to realize that no Scouts died on the ride; and everyone who started the ride finished it. That alone qualifies as a happy ending. However, beyond that, there's a lot of random thoughts that can go through a leader's mind through the course of a day.

There is the beautiful scenery, the sun rising over the mountains, the wonderful views of the hills dropping into Bear Lake. There are the fun breaks that included geocaching. There's the retracing of the LOTOJA route - backward -- between Ovid and Montpelier, ID. There's the bananas, Newtons (in many flavors), Gatorade, muffins and other good food.

Then, there's encouraging Scouts to keep riding. There's figuring out novel ways to say that we're not even half way there yet. There's the fiftieth time you've told someone to keep pedaling. There's the incessant griping about the huge hills they have to climb.

There's the stretch where the pavement ends and the leader on the road bike pounds the dirt along with everyone else on their mountain bikes. There's hearing the turn-by-turn history and geography of Dingle, ID.

There's getting the boys to wake up at the crack of dawn to be on the road before the winds kick up. There's hoping that everyone remembered that they will need sunscreen before the day is out. There's realizing that not everyone did.

There's seeing the group of four cyclists fly past and wanting desperately to join them, if only for a few miles. There's more encouraging boys to keep riding. There's the thrill of charging from the back of the pack, past all the riders to film them and realizing that you are, indeed, the strong rider in the pack. There's realizing that no-one in the lead group has a bike computer, speedometer, or any idea where they're going, and that all the navigation aids are a good kilometer behind them.

There's the realization that the Boy Scout motto of, "Be Prepared" would be a wonderful thing for all Scouts to live by. There's the realization that "Do a Good Turn Daily" means helping others, but it could also mean keeping the pedals turning through the day.

There's the realization that, a few quick spikes excluded, your heart rate hovered close to 100 bpm the entire seven and one half hours. There's the realization that your average speed was not even on the same chart as most of your training rides.

Then, there's the final realization that for all the good and the bad, you really enjoyed the ride anyway, and you'd love to ride the same route again. But maybe this time with those four cyclists who flew by early in the ride. Ultimately, it was a happy ending. And everybody loves a happy ending.