Pumps; and what they say about you

The pump option you choose says a lot about you, and your outlook. If you knew you were going to get a flat, what kind of pump would you bring? If you knew you wouldn’t get a flat, what then? Here is my take on the pump options.

Boy scout – Your choice: Frame pump and two tubes

We all rest a little easier when one of the guys on the ride rolls up with a broomstick sized frame pump. Nothing is faster or easier. If you think a CO2 is faster, you forgot to add in the time we all take to double check everything before holding your breath and pulling the trigger. The downside is they are heavy. They mount so as to be drawn like a sword when needed. If you carry one of these, you are always welcome.

Frame Pump ? Welcome friend...

Set it and forget it –Your choice: Pump mounted to your bottle cage

In the spectrum, this is the middle. Bigger than a mini pump, less weight and size than a frame pump. It works well enough. The pump gets crusty with mud in season. On the down side, if you are into aesthetics, this isn’t your pump.

I am a racer! - Your choice: Pump in your back pocket

A bike without a saddlebag looks like it is in a race. If you have your race number mounted as well, you look even more PRO. Some riders like the look of a pump on their pocket. A sleek pump peaking out of a pocket can be visually pleasing. When a pump is in a pocket under a jacket, it looks like a misplaced hard on. There; I said it. Sorry. The thrashed Ziploc that holds the tube, patch, levers and some Clif bar crumbs also detracts from the PRO look.

We’ll cross that bridge when we get there – Your choice: Micro-pump

A Micro-pump fits inside your saddlebag. This is a great choice if you assume you’ll never get a flat. You will get a flat. If your ability to deny this is well developed you can lean on your friends who will have pumps that work better, because none work worse. On the other hand, if you flat when you are by yourself, there won’t be anyone looking bored whilst you pump out two-hundred and fifty strokes and lose the use of your hands for the rest of the day.

Speed at all costs – Your choice: CO2 in your saddlebag

First off, you have to carry two cartridges (just in case). Whenever you compare the weight of your CO2 choice, you always compare using the weight of one. Denial is a well worn tool. If you misfire with a CO2, you’re screwed. If you are dialed in, it works well. Each canister costs money. If you care about the environment and carbon footprint, etc. then you may offend some with this selection.

Your name is Brendan - Your choice: "All I need is a cell phone"

Your bike is filthy, you never clean your chain, you don’t even own an extra tube. You pump your tires with a floor pump and head out. You are fast and respect the sport. If something happens, help is just a call away. To the utter disgust of the frame pump carrying Boy Scout, it all works out for you. If you do get a flat tire, a movie star stops and by the time you get home, you’ve been invited to a premier party.

Your name is Hottie – Your choice: Evo

If your name is Hottie, you carry a tube, a tire lever, tissues and hand sanitizer. The fellow who changes your tire will have a pump. This plan has worked for a long time..

TOP TEN

Whilst driving to today’s race my son called from Russia. It was good to hear from him. He had some secret squirrel stuff in the states this week and he said he took the opportunity to buy twelve jars of peanut butter and took them back in his suitcase. When he asked how my season was going I told him I hadn’t had my breakthrough race yet and that maybe today was the day.

It was.

Yesterday was sunny and dry. They promised rain overnight and they delivered. The rain had almost completely tapered off when Hottie and I rolled south in the fully loaded war wagon. It got wetter and darker the further south we went.

The course was a combination of wet grass and dry-ish dirt. Both were getting rutted and guys were slipping even during warm ups. Despite my poor performance in the first race in the series I got a second row call up. I wasn’t feeling fast and while waiting for the start I looked behind me and imagined all of the guys behind me passing me. We had almost 60 racers in my category.

At the gun I tried to stay about tenth. After a couple fast straights we had the grass zigzags that Steilacom is famous for. I had the right tire pressure and I relaxed and rode them well, defending my position. I thought to myself, “Man I’m relaxed and not cooking myself now.”

The other things Steilacom is famous for is the climbing. A long steady climb and I threaded my way up to about seventh. I passed Dave Farrell on my team as he was cranking a big gear and it wasn’t working for him.

I kept it going and on a loose gravel road downhill I hit 25 miles per hour. Then around trees and another climb. I leaned back and let it go on a choppy downhill that led to a paved road where I again topped 20 mph. I grabbed the brakes hard and they slowed me better than I was expecting. A couple of loose corners and a second set of barriers, and I was back to the start finish line.

I held my position the whole second lap and we just stretched out. The switchbacks gave me a chance to see who was around me. I had two guys chasing me and I kept pushing. A light mist had turned into a steady rain and my glasses fogged up, so I pulled them off and stuck them in my jersey.

On the last lap I noted one of my group putting his chain back on and he jumped back in right ahead of me. I followed him and we were working our way through the lapped riders. With the long climb almost done I spotted my nemesis from last year, Francisco Pons, looking at his bike in disbelief. After the race he would show me his sideways derailleur and shrug his shoulders. I felt guilty, but I picked up another place. Coolness.

I was sitting eighth and had guys chasing me. I got out of the saddle and pounded it up the last climb and turned and put on the power. Down on the grass with only a couple turns and the barriers to the finish line, Dave Farrell caught me. I had been pushing and was shocked anyone caught me. I bobbled a corner and Dave had enough of a gap and he took eighth and I got ninth.

My first top ten and they haven‘t upgraded anybody yet...

RAMROD 2011 Ride Report

Hank and Evo in... Paradise

Self-serving preamble: When I do these long-winded reports of century plus rides, they are largely for my benefit and so I may touch on some minutia that may be better left unsaid in a more prose-driven medium.

This was my fifth or sixth RAMROD, but it was the first time I didn’t stay overnight in Enumclaw. In addition to saving a few bucks, I figured it would be just as dark in my bedroom at 3 as it would be in a hotel at 4:15. I was right.

Hotel room at 4:15 AM

My bedroom at 3:00 AM

(by the way, as my son Zach says, "All hotel rooms may look the same in the dark, but they don't all smell the same.")

I met Hank at his place and we quickly loaded my two bags and my bike in his car. One bag was for all my ride stuff (helmet, clothes, bar, bottles) and one for the post ride shower (towel, soap, shorts, etc.). The two bag system worked well. Another local rider was joining us and the three of us headed out with the slight hope of finding coffee.

Not a lot was open at 4 AM so we drove straight to the start. There also wasn’t much traffic at that hour, so the drive went pretty fast. Hank secured his favorite parking spot and in no time we were dressed and filling our jersey pockets for the miles ahead.

Fumble, fumble, fumble..

In an absolute fluke, we rolled out at the exact time we had planned to start, 5:45.

We settled into a paceline with some friends Hank knew including two tandems, and although the pace was slower than I would have liked, it was going to be a long day and I didn’t mind saving my bullets. To fend off the morning chill I had arm warmers and a throw away T-shirt over my jersey. To top off the look I had 98 cent cotton gardening gloves. While I may have looked like an idiot, if we came to a spot where we had to stop and pull weeds before continuing, who would be laughing then?

Go tandem go !

At the first rest stop, with 33 miles behind us, I folded the T-shirt and left it for an uncertain future. Leaving the rest stop Hank and I passed the tandems on a rolling uphill and despite not pushing the pace; we didn’t see them again until the rest stop just before the entrance, sixty miles into the ride. At that stop we ate and refilled bottles. I found a home for the cotton gloves and we pulled out with the tandems for the featured event of the day, the trip through the park.

Note the gloves on the saddle..

Entering the park.

As we passed through the entrance to the park, the tandems bid us adieu as we began the 3,500 foot climb to Paradise. Hank, Mark and I were ahead of our group and Hank pulled away. I couldn’t attack with a teammate in the break, so I hung with Mark until he decided to slow it down.

Up we go.

As we climbed up the canyon with the Nisqually River to our right I was still in my big ring and I was just blowing past riders. I wasn’t killing myself, but it was as if the other riders were stopped. In a short time I spotted Hank ahead and steadily closed the gap. I was warming up and rolled down my arm warmers. We chatted and I snapped some pictures. We took turns pulling and when I noticed I had gapped him, I backed off.

Crossing the Nisqually River

At 4,800’ the RAMROD officials stood at the junction shouting, “Right turn, right turn.” Hank and I continued on the gradual left and rode to Paradise, which is no longer on the official RAMROD course. I had harbored visions of having to hide my number and behave like a fugitive, but this was not the case. We caught and passed three other riders and took in amazing views of Rainier.

We stopped at the parking lot and snapped some pics. This detour added 650’ of climbing and a few miles.

Hank is glad to be at the high point.

The descent back to the road was a blast as it is a one way road and you can go apex to apex without fear of oncoming traffic. In no time we were at the next food stop and enjoying more food. We now had 90 miles and 6,500’ of climbing behind us.

Time to fly

My stomach was less than happy and my post ride analysis is that I mixed Hammer products (complex carbs – Maltodextrin) with other drinks (simple sugars) and the resulting combination was not good. I will put this to the test this weekend at our team training camp.

Leaving the food stop we had a short climb that is always confusing. If you expect the climb, then when you do it the climb ends fast and you think, “that was nothing.” If you discount the climb, then at some point you think to yourself, “is this ever going to end?” I was somewhere in between and thought, “that rise up ahead had better be the top.” It was.

The descent was a joy and my ride performed wonderfully. I felt like I could lean over until my handlebars would touch the pavement and not lose traction. There are three 180 degree turns and I just leaned into them and let it fly.

Note the car passing us. We tried to avoid having a "Hoogerland" experience.

I call this one thirty three point seven..

The route here goes north and climbs steadily. I felt strong, but a twinge in my left quad necessitated my letting Hank get away as I just kept it spinning. I unzipped my jersey (full zips are the absolute best) and continued passing riders. There is a water stop four or so miles from the top and on this hot afternoon I stopped and refilled as I was down to half a bottle.

Leaving the stop the road turns west and gets steep. Many riders were weaving as they tried to fight their way to the top of Cayuse Pass. I was surprised to see so many in death march mode. In theory, everyone who does this knows what they are getting into.

The turns near the top hide the actual summit until you are almost there, and everyone who rides up that road is looking for the top. At the top was another checkpoint and I didn’t even unclip. After hearing them call my number, I just rolled on down to the deli stop at 120 miles.

I know you aren't supposed to have port a potties in your pictures, but sometimes you are so glad to see them, they deserve some honor.

Here we ate sandwiches and chips, drank soda, sat down and waited for the rest of Hank’s friends to arrive. Hank and I had shared our undertraining woes and we were not looking forward to the final 33 miles. In addition to a nasty headwind, on our winter forays to Crystal Mountain we had seen huge potholes and cracks in the pavement that we had been dreading for many months.

As we rolled out the tandems took the front. Hank was right behind them, and I was two riders behind Hank. In no time we were going 25 miles an hour. Then the tandems switched and we kept the same speed. Nobody else pulled on the flats. When we hit an uphill Hank would break the wind for one tandem and I led the other. Then back into formation and we flew down the road.

We blasted past four riders from Byrne who jumped on. Ten miles later when we turned off highway 410 and soft pedaled for a moment the four took off without a word. A handful of other riders had also tagged on and they were thanking us as if we had saved their children from a fire. Hank and one of the tandems caught the Byrne riders and let them know a thank you was in order and what they had done wasn’t cool.

In no time we were on 456^th and then making the left turn to the finish line. After showers and food we could once again pass as normal people. I burned 6,000 calories and climbed 10,000 feet.

This was a different RAMROD experience for me. First I didn’t have a lot of focused training for the event, just a decent base and our July 4^th ride. Second I usually cook it the first 60, this time was really casual. Third, I usually climb better than most, creeping by slower riders and getting passed myself. This time we blasted past riders and nobody passed me on an uphill. What is with THAT ?, Fourth, the dreaded parts were easy. The long slog after the deli stop was easy. I remember the miles after the final descent from Mud Mountain dam feeling like forever. This time they were nothing. Fifth, I wasn’t sore afterwards. I wore compression tights for 28 hours after finishing, but I was able to trot up stairs, sit on an airplane etc. with almost no discomfort. I was more sore on Wednesday from my weight workout Monday than I was the day after RAMROD. Sixth, I didn’t overthink it.

Notes to self: Those Assos bibshorts cost a lot and are worth every penny. Don’t mix energy drinks. Arm warmers were nice. Take the little spray sunscreen next time. I think my pedals have reached the end of their life. Skip the hotel, dark is dark.

I guess I knew this was the plan.

You will have to fight me for these photos.

Like it or not, I passed along the wanderlust gene to my children. My oldest son has lived abroad off and on for the past several years. Every time he left, I took consolation that he would return in a known amount of time.

He got married last summer, and he and his bride are headed off to start a new job in Russia. He speaks fluent Russian and Arabic. He will be working at the US embassy and has a two-year assignment. If he knows more he either isn’t supposed to tell me, or he just decided not to.

After that who knows what or where he will be.

I hugged he and his wife goodbye today and as they walked away, the images you see at the top of this post are what filled my head.

My second son is still in Alaska on a search of his own. I have similar images of his childhood as I check the weather reports for Kodiak Island.

The grandpa thing is super cool, but that is really a part time gig. Ironic that the culmination of being a dad is letting them go. Hottie and I miss them already.

I will catch up soon..... I promise

Is this YOUR hat ?
In an effort not to get further behind, here is a post. We’re back. We are warm. We decorated the house so we’re no longer the neighborhood Scrooges. Tux welcomed us back and we have shared some fun times.

My mum had a surgery that resulted in her staying here past her usual return to California date of mid October. She hadn't planned this when she came up so she wasn't prepared for the Holiday season. I priced Festivus poles and we decided to surprise her with a tree. My oldest and his sweet wife joined Hottie, Tux and I as we descended on her place like a tornado.

We brought a tree, decorations, cocoa and music. She was so excited she later confided she couldn't go bed until almost midnight.

Tux getting some lovin'
With Cyclocross over, the Sunday morning rides have resumed. Despite the recent rain, I set the alarm and drove down in the pre-dawn darkness. Hank rolled up to greet me and when we spotted John’s lights weaving up the road, we had a quorum.

To the south I could see the end of the clouds. We had wet roads and dry skies. Fenders and lights were helpful.

It was fun to be riding road bikes again. We were kind to each other and respected the off-season. Yet we got rolling and it felt so good to be in a small paceline going 22 miles and hour on the rollers of Mercer Island.

Post ride we were joined by El jefe, Tim and Tom at the coffee shop. It was good to share a few minutes with these good men. It seems we are all recovering from an aliment or injury. No doubt we sounded like a bunch of old farts talking about our problems.

The afternoon was low key and Hottie captured some images of Tux that I have to share. I will be posting about our trip to Portland and more on Nationals.

Time for a long winters nap..

Runnin on empty

Summer is going full speed and I've been catching up since returning from Syria-Egypt-France. To prepare for the team trip I started riding before work on Wednesdays. I have been spinning on Mondays and Fridays and those are pretty intense, but are short. I've been going 32-42 miles in the early mornings. For those of you who don't tickle the 48th parallel, it gets light about 5AM (sunrise 5:15 or so these days). I am able to rise, ride, shower and make it to my office before anyone notices I'm a little late. I feel pretty good until about 11AM when I feel like eating my desk.

As an added bonus, since returning my back has been strong and I've been running a little bit again. I heard from an old running friend who confessed to running a marathon not too long ago. It brought back some memories of my old running days. This is where you connect the photo to the text. While I am passionate (OCD) about cycling, it is fun to run a bit again. And since Zach is willing to run at the crack of dawn, we've been logging some miles together.