Tolerance is overrated US Athletes in Beijing wearing masks

US Olympic athletes arrived in Beijing wearing masks to minimize the impact on their bodies of air pollution. These masks were provided to them by their respective sports governing bodies. Cyclists got theirs from USA Cycling, Track athletes from their organization, etc.

China invited the world to come and compete in their polluted city. Enter the athletes who have trained and monitored their training, food, and bodies for years, or decades in preparation for these events. Now when these athletes arrived the Chinese government was offended that some were wearing masks. Am I to understand that a nation that has a list of human rights violations as long as their own Great Wall is upset that people are acknowledging their horrid air pollution?

I consider my opinion more informed than most on this subject for two reasons, first, I grew up in Los Angeles competing in endurance sports high school and college, and I have been to Beijing and experienced the pollution first hand. I ran thousands of miles in smoggy Los Angeles and when there were smog alerts and we ran we felt it afterwards. The feeling in your chest was similar to having a chest infection and a burning in your throat was also unpleasant and there was a direct correlation between your symptoms and the severity of the smog and duration and intensity of your exertion.

Having said all that, I found the air in Beijing worse than any I had ever experienced by a huge magnitude. I was attending a conference in Beijing and knew probably three dozen people from different parts of the US who were also attending. Everyone I knew, and I mean everyone of them, had respiratory problems either during the three day conference, or were sick immediately upon their return with chest colds and missed one to two weeks from work. In my twenty years of travel this was the only trip where I did not work out at all. I also avoided stairs and would take escalators and elevators to avoid breathing deep. I recall landing in Tokyo on the return flight and once the cabin depressurized, I felt my symptoms go away almost instantly.

Back to the tolerance thing….

I am all for tact and diplomacy, but the truth is the truth. If the athletes were wearing the masks as a joke, I would heartily agree that would be in bad taste and contradictory to the Olympic spirit. These athletes were worried about their health, and with good reason. This is a remake of The Emperors new clothes. If we all pretend the air is okay, then it will be right ? The air is not okay. Maybe it isn’t the hanging death I experienced, but it isn’t some magical brown humidity. A North American mountain biker reported that after riding the Olympic course a few months ago, he doubled over vomiting because of the bad air pollution. If we jump on the oppressive Communist Government’s propaganda bandwagon we aren’t just being complacent, we are actively perpetuating the lie.

We are being taught look the other way when people are different than us. When a college student displayed erratic behavior everyone reserved judgment in the spirit of tolerance and diversity until that student picked up a handful of rifles and started killing people. Then with hands on our hips we collectively reflect on how we didn’t see it coming.

I love my fellow beings and respect and appreciate our differences. I also have a set of values that tells me certain things are wrong. I believe in the Olympic movement and think that setting aside our differences for a time is a good thing. Every effort should be made to keep protests and political demonstrations out of the games. However, I also believe suspending the truth should not be part of the equation.

Our country is fully supporting and attending the games. Our president is attending the opening ceremonies. We are not making a political statement. I can tell you the Chinese people have no trouble following the restrictions the government has put in place to cut the pollution. They do whatever their government tells them, without question, all the time. They believe everything their government tells them as well. The government says the air is okay, it must be so. The government says the Tiananmen Square protest involved only a dozen protestors, or it didn’t happen at al, and they believe it. And while I don’t think we should protest against the government, I don’t think we should be partners in crime either.

RAMROD 2008 Ride Report

Readers note: This is also a record for my benefit, so if I digress and make comments on equipment, training or food, it is for my future benefit.

El Falcon and I had only shared a couple of training rides this season; otherwise we had prepared independently from each other and trusted that our fitness would be sufficient not to disgrace ourselves for this event. A ride with the hills group had shown me I was strong enough on the hills, but lacked endurance as I was bonked near the end of that secession. Accordingly, I had gone on a 133 mile hilly loop a couple weeks before RAMROD and think that had a positive impact on my ride.

The days before the ride featured rain, sometimes heavy rains, so clothing and weather forecasts were definite topic of discussion and concern.

Seeking to avoid the rush hour traffic El Falcon and I had planned to rendezvous at his place and roll from there early enough to miss the afternoon escape from Seattle. I was comforted to see he too appeared over packed as the questionable weather necessitated additional clothing options.

An uneventful drive brought us to the packet pick up at the starting line, Enumclaw high school. The riders talked about bikes, the Tour de France and food, but everyone kept looking over their shoulders toward the clouds that hid Mount Rainer. As the clock approached five in the afternoon, the sun had finally broken though, but it had taken nearly all day to do so. The other OCD riders carried their packets back to their cars and went in search of pasta.

After getting our packets we drove to find our quarters for the night. There is always a scurry to reserve hotel rooms as soon as the results of the entry lottery are released and this year I was too slow and had to take what was available The room I had booked promised to be an “experience.” We found our motel and checked in. The owner and her daughter appeared to be either retired tag team wrestlers or former football linemen who had gained weight and taken up smoking since their playing days. Having already lowered our expectations, we took it all in good naturedly and loaded our gear into what El Falcon referred to from this point forward as “the honeymoon suite.”

The first time I did this ride I packed everything into a single bag and kept finding myself fishing for clothing, a gel packet, sunscreen, my riding gloves, etc. so I had taken to packing smaller bags. One bag for everything I would need at the hotel, another for the shower, a shopping bag for all the stuff I would put in my pockets and my water bottles. This system worked well, and I would do it again if needed.

We bid adieu to our chateau and struck out for our pre ride dinner. After eating we returned and fiddled with our gear, watched the Mariners lose again and got to sleep at a reasonable time.

In prior RAMROD years the weather had reached the mid eighties so in those years there was a strong incentive to start early so as to beat the heat going up Cayuse pass. This year the high might barely touch seventy degrees so we decided to sleep a little more and start later. After the alarm went off El Falcon opened the door and we noted the clear sky, dew on the car and cold temperature.

We rolled out of the starting gate sometime after five thirty wearing arm and leg warmers with food stuffed in our pockets and oatmeal in our bellies. El Falcon opted for a vest and I had on my ear band and we both had mistakenly decided to leave our toe covers in the car.

Starting slow we got warmed up about the same time and the chill of the morning hit us. The rural pastures had fog clinging to them and the morning sunlight was diffused by these low clouds. We picked up the pace over some small rollers and enjoyed the peace of the scene. The silence was broken by the occasional logging truck that would assert its dominance of the road and remind us that the laws of physics were not in our favor.

Every now and then we could glimpse Mt. Rainier over our left shoulders and when we first saw it ten miles into the ride, it was glowing pink. Then it appeared orange and finally white against a blue sky with bright white clouds.

New pave’ next to Lake Kapowsin was a pleasant surprise. A quality paceline came along and we jumped on. This group took us to Eatonville and the first water stop at 32 miles. This stop has been at a different location in this tiny hamlet every year I have done this ride (four) and this year the stop was right on the main street. When I say on the main street I mean on the street itself. I parked my bike on the curb and they had port-o-potties on the street and traffic cones blocking off one of the two lanes. Up the road were big parking lots and several areas that looked to be better locations for the stop, but I am sure there was a reason we were here.

I grabbed a scone and it was good. We topped our water bottles and took off. In warm years I would ditch disposable arm warmers here, but thus year we were still cold, so on we went.

The route went along some shady roads and that kept us quite cool. Pacelines formed, split and formed again. We faired fine as we gradually gained elevation and caught an occasional ray of sunshine. Soon we were making our way through Ashland and then the food stop at 58 miles. We ate cookies, fruit and filled our empty bottles and mixed our respective potions. I still think Accelerade is the miracle drink. We departed and entered the park. I remarked to El Falcon that the good news was we wouldn’t be cold too much longer; the bad news was the next paceline would be in sixty miles as the climbing had begun.

The gentle climb along the Nisqually along the shady forested road was pleasant. I tried in vain to photograph the occasional glimpses of the slopes of Rainier though the tree tops. We were passing people like crazy, but neither of us was in any difficulty; in fact it felt like a relaxed FSI lunchtime ride.

Through the trees I could see the river flowing through what looked like a two hundred yard wide path of destruction. The washout of a couple years ago was dramatic and resembled avalanche areas I have seen higher up in the mountains, but I have never seen mile after mile like the Nisqually river to my right.

We passed though Longmire and savored the view of the mountain. The grade increases at this point and our conversation quieted as we continued to work our way past other riders. Although I didn’t feel cold, we both kept our arm and leg warmers on and I could tell my feet were cold still. At 3,840’ we crossed the Nisqually river bridge and could look down the canyon we had just ridden up. We climbed strong and I slowed to take some photos and El Falcon gained some seconds.

As we approached the turn to Paradise, El Falcon stood and danced on the pedals while Crusher was content to sit and spin his way to the top. El Falcon opened a gap and held it. For reasons unknown to me, we did not get to go to Paradise, which truly disappointed me. We made our way to inspiration point where we took picture and finally, after seventy plus miles, took off our leg warmers. I removed my shoes and socks and tried to rub some blood into my stiff, icy toes.

We departed and El Flacon clung to a racing Crusher as we flew past Reflection Lake and then bombed down Stevens Canyon toward the food stop. Passing through two tunnels at between thirty and forty miles per hour we arrived at the food stop with over half of our miles behind us and only one big pass remaining.

Snacking on baked potatoes we took the chance to stretch and put on more sunscreen. Realizing we weren’t cold and that it felt pretty good to stop we were in no hurry to resume. Again we mixed our favorite drinks and I dropped in a nuun tablet for some added flavor and electrolytes. I had consumed some Hammer Gel on the ascent to Paradise and expected to have more on the climb up Cayuse. Reluctantly, we cinched up our suitcases in anticipation of the climb ahead, removed our arm warmers, then put sunscreen on our forearms and headed up the road to Backbone Ridge.

The climb felt good and the sunshine on our backs was welcome. My altimeter told me we would climb another three hundred feet than descend a thousand feet before starting the climb to Cayuse. The descent is a joy and the corners are banked and my Seven performed wonderfully. I leaned into the corners and the machine held its line perfectly. I felt like I could lean the bike over until the decals on the top tube touched the pavement and it could hold like it was on a rail.
After a thrilling descent we reached the bottom and turned left and headed north to greet the suffering that was waiting for us. For the first few miles the road gained altitude almost without noticing. We weren’t flying but the winding road didn’t seem that steep. Then the grade kicked up in earnest. There was road repair going on and we crossed stretches of gravel that ranged in length from fifty yards to a quarter mile. Feeling like we were climbing in the Giro we made our way along the loose stuff without complaining.

We were steadily passing people and the road was silent. No more friendly conversation, just huffing and puffing. Kind words offered while passing usually only brought grunts in reply. Once again, El Falcon stood and gained some time and held it. Crusher wasn’t blown, just being more conservative for the time being.

Shortly after the cycle computer ticked past one hundred miles we reached a water stop and topped our bottles for the final miles of the climb. Although we had some cloud cover on the lower slopes, now it was all sunshine as we found ourselves in our lowest gears. A particularly long stretch of construction had traffic control and we had to stop while opposing traffic passed. When we started out again, Crusher and El Falcon were quickly among the elite riders. Reaching deep in our suitcases we found the courage to continue up and reached the top together in fine form.

Knowing that food and drink was only minutes away, we sped down to the Crystal Mountain turn off and the infamous “deli-stop.” Sandwiches made to order, and a can of soda tasted wonderful. We found two folding chairs and sat down assuming if someone else wanted these seats they would kick us out. El Falcon confided that any fantasy’s he held about quitting his job and becoming a tour rider were squashed on the climb up Cayuse. “I’ve never gone so slow, for so long,” a weary El Falcon confessed. Although sitting was wonderful, being done sounded even better, so after emptying the balance of our drink mixes into our bottles and consuming any other magic elixirs, we set out.

Once we left the deli stop the headwind was typically fierce and we traded leads waiting to catch a paceline to take to the finish. Finally two guys in matching team kits came along and we tagged on. The first guy peeled off and latched onto my wheel. The other guy kept going and El Falcon was on his wheel and I was right behind. A minute later I checked and nobody was behind me. Then I saw the fellow who had been there leading a paceline with several of his teammates followed by a rag tag bunch hanging on for dear life. El Falcon and I grabbed onto the back of this train.

Almost at once I sensed something was wrong. On our own we had been near twenty miles an hour and when we were with the other two we were twenty three mph. Now we were about twenty one and the guys in front of us were racing, braking, swerving and making me nervous. The uniformed riders didn’t seem concerned about holding a steady pace and those following only exacerbated the accordion effect. It was as if the riders had learned about pace lines after reading a single work of fiction that mentioned them in passing.

With one hundred and twenty miles in our legs and the headwind blasting us if we got out of line, we reluctantly held on. I watched the fellow in front of me (who was riding a bike with a rack on the back, cantilever brakes and a reflector the size of a small pizza) grab his water bottle and fumble with the nozzle. I was constantly looking for my out; where I would go when he dropped the bottle or touched wheels with the guy in front of him. When he went fishing for something in his jersey pocket he swerved and I just gave him even more room. Recalling seeing riders in other years with scrapes and torn clothing I knew the likelihood of being involved in a crash was higher than I wanted. When we hit a slow section I told El Falcon that when the route turned on Mud Mountain road I was going to take off to avoid being in the rolling circus that this paceline was.

Finally the turn came and true to my word I went off on my breakaway. I looked over my shoulder and no Falcon. I saw the paceline had reformed and not wanting to follow the clowns down the zig-zag descent over rough pavement, I kept going hard. Making the turn I was greeted by new pavement. I took the corners hard and was down on the flats by the time the peloton caught me. El Falcon was sitting fifth in line and I forced my way in behind him. Then to my horror, upon catching me, the pack slowed and according to my speedometer, we were going slower than when I was riding solo. These guys should be flogged with chain whips.

Content to hold my position near the front of this crazy parade, we made our way back to the finish. We crossed the line with exactly 150.00 miles on the machine and eight hours and fifty six minutes was the time. We finished the day with an average speed of 16.8 mph with 9,062 feet of climbing.

After locking the bikes we showered, ate, drank and made our way back home. Somewhere south of Renton it began to rain. I assumed the rain would pass, but it did not. By the time I got home, it was raining hard and I was glad we didn’t have to face that during our ride.

I slept like a baby; that is, I woke up every two hours and cried. Actually, neither El Falcon nor I reported being too sore the next day. That isn’t to say we were ready to do it again, but the pain is so quickly forgotten isn’t it ?

I truly enjoyed riding with Lindsay and he was not just a fit rider, but a good friend and considerate riding companion.

Product Review CARMEX Lip Balm

In my inflated view of myself, I consider myself a lip balm connoisseur. I believe a small company called Raining Rose makes the best stuff. I also have an opposite view from that of Hottie who thinks Chapstick is the one.

CARMEX scores big in four areas.
1) It isn’t season sensitive. This isn’t a lip balm that is great for snowboarding, but turns liquid in summertime. It also doesn’t become a solid brick in cold weather.
2) It goes on smooth all the time
3) It has a new feature that the dial clicks when you turn it so you don’t go to use it and find you have a half inch of grease sticking out of the tube. When you pop the cap, the level of the balm is exactly where you wanted it to be.
4) SPF of 30 is even better than the universal 15

In my highly competitive world of lip balms, CARMEX gets a podium position !!

Puget Sound Super Loop Ride Report

Do this ride if you are trying to get in shape, or if you are mad at yourself...

Maps are a curious thing. They can tell you where the roads are, but they often don’t tell you much about them. This was a constant theme for my solo epic around the sound ride.

I had ridden from our home in Richmond beach to my in-laws place in Tacoma in the past and had looked across the Tacoma Narrows and viewed the bridge building over the last few years. I had not yet driven across the new bridge, let alone ridden across it. It is a good fifty miles to their place via Vashon Island. It is nearly sixty on roads suitable for riding. It would be just over sixty across the bridge and then a meandering route through Gig Harbor, Port Orchard, Bremerton, Poulsbo, to Kingston and across by ferry to Edmonds and then home again. A self powered loop of Puget Sound was intriguing, so why not? According to my Microsoft Streets and Trips 2004 it would be about 125 miles in total. A sanity check on Google Earth seemed to reveal nothing insurmountable.

I made a cue sheet and printed it in bold and 14 point type so I could read it. I also printed some maps of key areas just in case. These were worth their weight in gold I would later find out.

I set off on this ride a week ago, only to have a mechanical turn me around barely fifteen miles into it. Now, with a more casual attitude and all the time in the world, I set off.

The first miles were familiar and as I went down Fremont I could see the space needle framed in the trees. My camera, however, could not. Then I rode past Greenlake where the morning sunshine was drawing the usual crowd.

Continuing down Ravenna to the University District and through the Arboretum I stopped at an overlook of Lake Washington. When I rode the STP in 2006, we went through this section in the morning twilight and could not enjoy the view.

Along the lake is familiar territory and I was soft pedaling. This was in contrast to my ride Saturday where I hammered all the way. I was still feeling those hard miles in my legs and with my intended mileage, I thought it the better part of valor to just keep a decent tempo. I stopped at Seward Park to refill my bottles and snap a picture.

In Renton I picked up the STP route and followed the markers all the way to Auburn. Renton was as commercial as always and without a few thousand of my cycling friends to keep the cars at bay, I felt like I was riding on a freeway.

South of Highway 18 I turned west and made it to Fife and thought of stopping for the night and making this a two day adventure, but upon reflection, thought the better of it and continued on. My bananas and TERD bars were gone and my bottles empty so I planned a stop in Tacoma.

The bridge into Tacoma afforded a nice view and despite my claimed photography expertise, I could not get a shot without these wires in the way. Sorry.
I noticed on the Randonneur’s blogs they always photograph their food and so in that spirit I documented my snack.

After a humbling climb up 30th from Old Town Tacoma and some winding above the sound I reached the Tacoma Narrows bridge. As expected this is where the fun began.

The climb off of the bridge was reasonable and then I crossed over and followed 14th Avenue which changes names several times, into Gig Harbor. The views started out high above Puget Sound and then as I descended to Gig Harbor, became better and better despite the lowering viewing angles. Gig Harbor was a never ending series of right turns and quaint shops.
Finally you hit a climb and then you are on Crescent Valley Road and a series of rollers through lightly traveled roads. This was a wonderful section of the ride and although the terrain kept me from making good time, I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I watched my elevation gain and drop and went from sun to shade almost constantly.

Then skimming along the coastline and crossing a cool bridge I arrived at a corner store in Olalla. A wonderful girl filled my water bottles (she may be an axe murderer on weekends, but she was nice to me) and I snacked a moment before heading up Olalla Valley Road. I had seen some RAPSody Dan Henry’s and sometimes they went the same way I did and sometimes not. I turned right on Orchard Road and came face to face with a 17% half mile grade. Looking at the map later I saved a mile or so, but this climb, and the several STEEP rollers in between, told me I would change my route here if there is ever a next time…..

I met up with the RAPSody markings and diverged again on Sedgwick road. Again I would follow their direction given the chance, but alas, we are bound by our maps aren’t we?

Then an absolute cluster of learning experiences took me into Gorst. I was unhappy with the circumnavigation that got me there and perhaps that influenced my view of Gorst, but if there is a high point to Gorst, I missed it and passed through it with haste. Then I was on to Bremerton and flying past the Navy Base.

I found a Subway en route and dropped my $5 and chowed through a foot long in mere moments.

Heading north the road climbed and climbed until it dropped down toward Illahee. Once again wonderful views along the water contrasted by clustered developments away from the water. Ignoring the road closed signs I finally asked a fellow walking home from work (lunch pail in hand, backpack on back) if I could get through. “Absolutely not,” he replied without hesitation. A fifty foot section of road had washed out and it was a fifty foot drop on both sides. He drew me a map and I was able to backtrack and climb up from the coast and bypass the doomed area.

Then down to Brownsville where I shot this picture of this charming marina.

Then along quiet roads I rode to Keyport and then on to Poulsbo via back roads. I couldn’t get a good shot across the harbor of Poulsbo, and with my delays I was worried about making the ferry, so I pressed on.

At Poulsbo I had over one hundred and fifteen miles so I decided I wasn’t in danger of blowing up, so I started to push it. I felt like Fabian Cancellara, but I am sure I looked more like Jens Voight rocking back and forth as I rode fast.

I arrived at the Ferry terminal to a familiar sight; no ferry. It was running late. So I paid way too much for a soda and stopped and took off my shoes and waited. I looked at my hands and they were dirty, in fact my body was covered in grime. The combination of sunscreen, grease from the bike, food, road soot and sweat made me a scary sight.

On the ferry I started to get cold so I welcomed the ride up from Edmonds as a way to get my core temperature back up. 133.5 total miles. 7,251' of climbing. With a better course, a great epic ride.

Iron Horse Trail John Wayne Trail ride report

Hottie and I decided to try the Iron Horse Trail last weekend. For grins, and with the help of Google Earth, we decided to approach the tunnel from the Eest. We exited I-90 at exit 62 and followed the road and when it turned to gravel went another couple hundred meters and found the trail and a parking area.

We have usually done this ride in the spring or the fall and from the west you get lots of shade and so it is usually a “cooler” ride. This time the sun was warm and the sky blue with some perfectly white clouds. Hottie smiling for the camera....

Nice gravel “trail” some camping spots (maybe..). and only a few riders. I used my good lights in the tunnel and that was fun… Here is the view from the west side..

The Rapha Project

So I can't afford a Rapha jersey, so I thought I would repaint my commuter bike in Rahpa colors and call it a tribute bike.




Here are some photos so far...

From the front it just looks like any black bike...


But a closer look reveals a subtle pink from the rear..




I have some decals that I will affix and will post more pics soon.

The wood project in the background is a bench for our entryway.

Summer at LAST !!!

Out E A R L Y for a long one. Snapped the temp sign to document the change. Keep in mind this is early in the morning…

Along I-90 over the Bellevue hump there is a bike path that resembles a troll trail. Here is a shot of the scene.. Can you smell the humid greenery ?


Sad note was I broke a cog. I was powering away from a light and it felt like my chain skipped and then a high pitched “tinkling” sound that told me something was very wrong. I was amazed as it was genuine Campagnolo and less than 90 days old….

Although there were bugs out and I was sweating like a beast, I shall not complain and this is what I have been dreaming of for some months…