Review - Verge Bib Knickers

Sweet warm knickers.

I first ordered Verge kits way back when, for Carpe Diem Racing. I liked their "stock" shorts (printed with Verge on the sides and butt), and I'm finally wearing out the socks I bought 6 or so years ago.

Okay, fine, I bought about 20 pairs, but still, they're just wearing out now. The heels, probably from walking around in them. The toes, ankle area, and "body" are still perfect.

Then I joined another team. Coincidentally (and not due to any influence on my part, seriously), Verge did the Connecticut Coast Cycle kits too, for the couple years I raced with them. The kits worked great, all except a slightly rough zipper pull that dug into the fabric.

Fit and design were excellent, durability unsurpassed, comfort excellent. I still wear the Carpe Diem Racing kits on the trainer, and I've done up to 5+ hour rides on the trainer, up to 10+ hour rides out on the road. I've used the kit in rain, snow, sleet, hail, wind, cold, warm, and as long as I put on the right stuff, the kit worked fine.

Now I'm on a new team. We have a different clothing supplier, VO Max, and I haven't really had time to dissect the kit like I have the Verge stuff.

However, there's one glaring hole in the kit inventory - knickers.

As a huge fan of knickers, I really wanted some. Knickers are perfect for those inbetween temperatures, and for racing in slightly cooler conditions. They work nice because they don't constrict as much as tights, but if you wear booties, you only lose a little bit of insulation (on the calves and shins).

I can train in them down to 45 degrees F and race in them as low as 38 degrees or so. In the wet they really shine because they don't get as soggy as tights - you don't get that "chamois separation" every time you stand up. Plus they're just a touch lighter tights when fully laden with water.

And, of course, most importantly, knickers look really pro, especially combine with booties and a warm topside covering (jacket or long sleeve jersey + vest combo).

Unfortunately my whole inventory of knickers consists of garish old team color stuff, and none of them come close to matching my 2010 kit. Blues and greens versus oranges and reds? No way Jose.

Therefore I had to buy some knickers "off team". My first choice was naturally Verge Sports, or Verge for short. Years of good experience with them led me to select them automatically.

When I got the knickers, I looked them over briefly. Same padding, same fabric, same cut (at least at first glance). Things seemed totally normal, exactly as I expected. I unpacked one, just in case I decided to ride outside, and left the other two sealed in plastic. I wanted to save them for a special event, like my first ride in California in 2010 or something like that.

But I did get in a ride Wednesday, rushing through tasks so I could get out and enjoy a 49 degree F ride.

The action end of the knickers - the extension below the bottom of the normal end point for shorts.

The whole idea with knickers is having built in knee warmers.

Padding.

In the old days I actually had real chamois padding. Then everyone went synthetic, but to appease the conservative racing bunch, the manufacturers made the pads to resemble a chamois one. Then, with a new generation of riders replacing the old fogeys, companies started saying, "Screw it", and putting the padding in with whatever color cover they wanted.

Verge started with a pinholed beige fake chamois, but recently they dropped the conservative look and went to a "yeah it's all synthetic" black.

Nothing wrong with it, works great.

"Roubaix" fabric and a great gripper.

The "Roubaix" fabric must be some company's trademark name, but in cycling clothing it refers to a lycra blend fabric that has the inside brushed. This makes the inner surface fuzzy, helps it retain air (making it warm), and helps prevent it from getting water logged (wicking said moisture to the unbrushed outer part of the fabric which likes to soak up moisture). The whole knicker is made with this fabric, making it warm and comfy.

(Note: One of the reasons I like knickers is that they have less outer material to absorb moisture, at least compared to tights. Knickers don't get as heavy, and with less fabric pulling on your fake chamois, you don't get the "wet diaper" look and feel that tights can give you as your chamois peels away from your crotch every time you stand up. Yeah. Pleasant. Ultimately I'd like to get some Roubaix fabric shorts too, but that'll be a different post.)

And what's with grippers anyway. It seems like it'd be an easy thing to do, but I guess it's like waterbottles. Don't make them too soft, else they slither out of the tightest cages. Don't make them too hard, else they crack when a thirsty rider squeezes it. And make sure the top seals well, without shrinking or expanding too much in cold or hot weather.

Grippers are hit or miss. When they work, they are awesome. When it's not quite right, it's annoying. Too tight, and, man, it's unpleasant. One of my knickers would cause my calves to swell up, they were so tight. Another are comfy but my knickers looked like saggy shorts by the time I finished a ride, they rode up so far.

So how did Verge fair?

Let's just say it felt like I painted my legs with Roubaix paint. I pulled up the knickers, pulled the gripper to the right spot (the "waist" of the calves), and didn't think about them until I pulled them off at the end of the ride.

They never moved.

Smooth like butter. Not too tight, not too lose. Perfect grippers.

Verge used to have an enormous logo on the rear of the shorts.

When I was pushing 200 pounds, my enormous rear end would emphasize the enormous logo, prompting one racer, warming up behind me, to exclaim in a Tourette moment, "You have the biggest ass!"

His buddy shushed him a bit too late, and the poor racer, a good guy in my book (and still so), started verbally backpedaling.

"I meant that you have a lot of power. Um. You know. Uh..."

His buddy smacked him a good one and told him to shut up. He shut up.

Anyway, I relate this story because the logo is a bit smaller and therefore less likely to draw any unflattering attention to your rear end.

The high back is nice when it's chilly out. Hal likes it too.

I'm still out when it comes to bib height on shorts. I like wider straps, they stay planted, but I see video of pros getting the back part of their bibs getting cut away and I think, "What?"

For knickers, worn in cooler weather, the higher back is nice and comfy. My torso doesn't stay warm and any extra layers are good layers as far as I'm concerned. On this inaugural ride I wore one of my rare base layers (I normally wear a regular SS jersey as a base layer), and put the bib straps over them. Comfy, fine.

I found one complaint with the knickers. The seam going over the kneecap is pretty thick, and I could feel the line of seam on my kneecap the whole ride. It wasn't abrasive, at least for an hour, but I could see it getting to be a pain. I don't remember this from my other Verge knickers so I'll have to see if anything changed.

Overall, though, the knickers rock. They are as good as my previous best knickers, which, coincidentally, are Verge knickers. These new ones are a bit softer, the calves fit a bit smoother.

I know that I'll have them with me in Florida and in California. I'm sure I'll be sporting them at the Bethel Spring Series.

I can't wait.

Interbike 2009 - Review of Predictions

Let's go over my somewhat dubious record of Interbike predictions. This year I made a bunch, rating them in terms of possibility. Let's see what happened...

1. Aero mass start helmets that offer ventilation.

I would say that this was a big failure. Giro did introduce a new helmet, and they didn't boast about ventilation. Instead, they mentioned weight. But nothing about aero.

I figure in the next year or so we'll see something like this, an aero mass start ventilated helmet. Since the helmet is one of the most significant areas to make aero improvements, it would make sense to have a team (like Riis's Saxo Bank team, for example, or Stapleton's Columbia HTC squad) hit the front on a crosswindy day and drill it. Instead of just fitting aero wheels to aero frames, the riders would also have semi-aero helmets, shoes, and whatever else they can use to slice through the wind.

2. Aero shoes.

Booyah. Bont aero shoes. And man, they look aero. We'll see if anyone uses them to any significant effect in a mass start race. If someone on Bont Cronos solos off in the last 2k of a big mass start race (like a stage in the Tour, or, heaven forbid, a Classic) and holds on in front of a blindingly fast field sprint, the shoes will fly off the shelves.

I think light shoes will be big this year, and I hope to jump on the bandwagon soon. Shaving 300-400 grams on a pair of shoes, that's not too shabby. I have a slight bit more understanding on how hard it can be to lose weight, and how significantly weight loss affects performance. Since I'll be adding 400+ grams to my frame weight, I'll look to lose that elsewhere on the bike and/or rider.

3. BB30 frames, and lots of them.

Yeah. Heck, it seems like everyone is doing one. SRAM and FSA are also making cranks for them. I'm ordering a BB30 frameset from a small builder.

4. Aftermarket fork/blade units.

Negatory.

5. Vertical blade fork.

Negatory.

I think the last two have to do with a combination of UCI rules, liability, and the fact that it'd be difficult to make such things to fit a variety of frames. Integration with frames that aren't designed for aero to begin with would be problematic too. Plus, if you're making something like that, sell the whole frame for a whole lot more money.

Not very interesting, but I prepared a shell draft (with no words) when I first set out my predictions. I forgot to post it in a more timely fashion so here it is.

Story - Saint Jude's Bikeathon

I spent a lot of my formative years living in Holland. With a certain amount of isolation - not being comfortable speaking Dutch, going to an American school, and having friends who lived far away - I spent a lot of time "pretending".

There were lots of reminders of World War 2 in the area - abandoned bunkers in now-park-forests, a (Sherman) tank and a two-man sub at the local zoo, barb wire everywhere, and even movies about the area ("A Bridge Too Far", a superb movie even now, filled to the brim with stars left and right).

Modern times didn't change this environment too much. The Cold War seemed at its peak, and terrorists regularly stopped commuter trains. Bombs went off in other countries, like Germany or England or Ireland, but in Holland the bad guys seemed content to take trains hostage. It seemed somewhat normal to turn on the news and see one of the ubiquitous yellow trains sitting in the middle of a deserted stretch of track.

F-16s made regular passes overhead. A lot of schoolmates had parents in "government", and they went to the "PX" and bought exotic foods and such. When I got to visit the US military base, I got to see an jet fighter, kind of up close.

A pilot did this a slow, sharp turn over the crowd in a then-exotic F-15 and waved to us. I excitedly waved back of course, and I couldn't contain my glee over seeing an F-15. I think I even reduced the stature of the availability of Bubble Yum (a hot grey market item in my elementary school) behind that of the jet doing the flyby on the tip of its left wing.

My school bus rides to and from school, about 45 minutes each way, ended up prime time for living out fantasies of flying jets over Europe, protecting the country from the various terrorists that were hijacking trains left and right while I lived there. A friend Paul (he was Canadian) and I would sit together in a pair of deep cushioned tour bus seats (the buses were initially old tour buses and were later nice tinted window, velvet seat, air conditioned buses) and pretend we were in jets, patrolling the European skies.

I realize now that our side-by-side seating arrangement meant we were probably in F-111s. That was appropriate since we were big fans of swing wing jets and regularly "fixed the swing wing" (by "climbing onto it"). Fortunately, the F-111 has these wings, making our pretend a bit more accurate that not. On the other hand, you may debate the effectiveness of climbing onto the wing to fix it while at tens of thousands of feet of altitude and flying along at Mach 2 or so.

Anyway, without too much TV (there were two government controlled channels, came on at about 4 pm, and shut down at about midnight) or toys, I spent a lot of time perusing the toy sections of the Sears catalog from home, dreamed about the slot car sets in there, and playing "pretend" all over the place.

When I returned to the US, I still played pretend. I started thinking about bike racing all the time, reading stories of domestiques, of the helpers, and started thinking in terms of "a team". A fellow cycling fan Aaron and I got bikes and started "training" together. It wasn't really too much training, except we figured out that we could draft each other. We'd report when the wind changed sound, maybe 3 or so feet behind one another. Side to side I think we got closer than 2 or 3 feet only by accident, but nonetheless it was a start.

When a local shop had a flyer on a Saint Jude's Bikeathon, I decided it might be a lot of fun to ride. I had no idea what Saint Jude's did - the logo had a little kid in it so I figured it helped kids who were in an orphanage or something.

A Good Cause, in other words.

The route was straightforward - start at the town library, go down a dead-end half mile road, go around the dead end loop, and return into the library.

I thought this an ideal bikeathon course - water and bathrooms at the library, a short walk if I flatted so no need for carrying anything, and a good way for pacers to recover.

Pacers?

Yes, pacers.

Aaron wasn't interested in riding for the four hours the bikeathon had the course, nor raising any money, but he perked up when we talked about him working for me, pacing me. He committed to doing a lot of pacing as part of a team effort. We would go out and ride and prepare for this. This consisted me me practicing sitting on his wheel while he rode as hard as he could.

At the time I had a relatively long wheelbase Dawes Lightning, and he had a racing geometry Motobecane.

Aaron's bike, the awesomest bike possible. Well, at the time. For me.

Cheap, too, $255. Skinniest seat stays ever. Outdoes the Cervelo, SuperSix, and who knows what else.

We figured out which gears would work better, decided that he should go all out until he was tired, then sit out a lap, rest, and then return into the fray. We figured out some other stuff I'm sure, like how to hand bottles to one another, but I forget now exactly what we planned now.

I realized some time deep into our planning that a bikeathon meant raising money. I didn't know what to do, but I knew that kids would occasionally walk up to our house door to ask for money. My mom suggested that I do the same thing.

So I hit up the local houses. I quickly learned to ask for a fixed amount (rather than ask for x dollars or cents per mile), and most adults seemed to prefer to give me the money up front. My standard request became $5, with some generous folks pitching in $10 or $20.

Of course this scrawny looking kid asking for money for St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital... who could tell if I was one of the kids the hospital helped?

I started expanding my terrain after hitting up pretty much everyone on my street. I ended up literally miles away, on totally foreign (to me) roads, ringing doorbells. I did a lot of riding, and at some point my mom volunteered to drive me around. Apparently my little sister, about 4 or 5 at the time, had to tag along, because she couldn't stay at home alone. And of course she wanted to see what her big brother was doing so she tagged along while I rang doorbells.

Think about that. You an adult, at home, doing housework, and the doorbell rings. You open the door to the image of a scrawny 14 year old kid with his 4 year old sister in tow, asking for money to benefit poor, helpless kids. The little girl had the big round eyes that works so well for kids' charities, and the boy was obviously on a mission.

Hard to resist.

I managed to raise $528 in the weeks leading up to the bikeathon. I'd talk to Aaron regularly, and we'd practice, looking forward to the big day.

I had no idea what was going to happen, and naturally this led to some feelings of trepidation. I got really nervous, hoping that I could ride for 4 hours. I didn't want to be too slow, I was worried about dealing with older riders (you know, adults), and I was just plain scared of the unknown.

The day dawned perfect. It was reasonably warm, I got down to the library, and prepared.

The lot seemed strangely deserted.

Maybe it was the wrong day?

My insecurities worked on me. But then someone showed up with a chair. The person sat at the entrance of the library driveway - this was our "marshal". With a dead end to the right, there'd be no traffic whatsoever, except 16 year olds looking for a quiet dead end road where they could drive with their worried parents.

I prepared what I could, but really, everything was prepared. I'd pumped up my tires with my trusty Zefal HPX frame pump. I had all my gear. It seemed anticlimactic, this whole thing.

I asked the marshal if I could start riding. The marshal nodded. (I can't even remember if it was a man or a woman, but I think the marshal was a woman).

Aaron wasn't around, but I set off anyway. I tried to go easier than hard, trying to "pace myself". I had, after all, 4 hard hours ahead of me.

After a couple minutes I was zipping into the library parking lot. I took the turn fast, carefully following a good line. I looped around, flashed past the marshal, and set off on another lap.

Maybe an hour later I eased, trotted into the library, and got more water. I shoved my bottle back into the cage and hopped on the bike.

"You're still riding?"

The marshal was probably getting ready to leave, her job done.

"Yeah, there's 3 hours left!" I exclaimed, like, didn't you know?

She sighed and sat back down.

At about hour 3 Aaron showed up. Something had happened, but he showed up to help out. We ripped out a few laps and Aaron looked like he was going to collapse. I don't know if he started smoking at that age but it occurred to me later that he probably had - it would explain his red faced gasping.

The poor marshal had long given up on getting me to quit, and watched me lap after lap.

"Don't you get bored?"

Bored? Compared to what? I'm Van Impe! I'm a domestique! I'm chasing Eddy Merckx! How could I get bored when I'm riding my bike?

I felt better, started coming around. I kept going, trying to get 18 laps in each hour. 18 mph. Insane.

My calves started going, I had to push big gears, and my legs withered under the relentless pressure. The corners seemed automatic, rote. I felt like if I got on my bike tomorrow I'd just turn right, go a few hundred yards, bear right a bit, then loop around the circle, then come back. I swear I could ride the course while asleep.

The time started winding down and I made a final push, trying to get in just another lap.

Finally the time ran out. 72 miles. 72 laps. The poor marshal got up stiffly, and begrudgingly said something like, "You rode a lot."

My mom came by to pick me up. I was tired, hungry, and just wanted my normal post-ride food - a lot of pasta, a lot of spaghetti sauce, and a lot of tea with tons of sugar and a touch of milk. Oh, and maybe, if I was lucky, there'd be pork chops or chicken thighs in the sauce, instead of just ground beef.

I had a week or two to collect whatever uncollected money out there, and man, it was a real pain. A real, real pain. But I got it done. It just had to be done, it didn't count unless I collected and mailed in the money. If you want to compare this whole experience to bike racing, getting the money is like promoting a bike race. You just slog through it, try to get it done earlier than later.

Some point later the local shop, where I got my Schwinn Traveller III, called me up. I'd "won" the bikeathon and the grand prize - a 5 speed Schwinn. When would I like to come by and pick it up?

Well now.

I went there with my mom, and they presented me with a bike. Honestly it was a let down - a 26" (road, mountain bikes weren't really around yet) 5 speed, super heavy bike. But it was a bike, it was new, and it was mine!

I posed for a picture, and it ended up in the paper.

I gave the bike to my little brother. Aaron stopped riding shortly thereafter.

I went on a two week bike tour. And a few months after the bike tour, I bought a race bike.

Racing - Helmet Cams USAC Legal for 2010!

After proclaiming possible gloom and doom in 2010 with a potential helmet cam ban, I'm glad to say that USAC has NOT carried out the ban.

Yay!

In other news, I've renewed my license, with my new team listed as "Exposition Wheelmen".

I've also renewed Carpe Diem Racing (aka CDR), the team/promoter of the Bethel Spring Series.

I know a few CDR team riders from years back have registered with the team. Since CDR has no kit, no meetings, no nothing for its members, it can be used as a bookmark team for those who will be without a team in 2010.

However, if you are involved in the local race scene, not just taking out a license to support USAC, then I'd strongly recommend joining up with a local team. The whole grassroots racing program gets its strength and power from local clubs and the people that help out within them. Please join a local club if you feel a club is worth supporting.

If you're thinking of a club but can't make a decision, don't select a club for a month or two. I think it's a pain to switch licenses when you switch club membership.

Now to go for a ride.

Racing - Expo Wheelmen Kit, 2010

The Expo Wheelmen kit for 2010. First off, I have to say something. I've never, ever gotten my kit this early. So kudos to everyone who pulled it off. I didn't do anything - just pay for the kit, go and pick it up. Someone else did all the pain in the butt work.

Anyway, I picked it up maybe a week ago. I haven't ridden it outside but it's been done by others. I have ridden on the trainer and only have feedback on the shorts, for rides of under two hours: No problems.

I'll have to get out there at some point to test the other pieces. But for now here's a quick overview.

The front of the kit. I didn't have good light so I'll have to redo this picture.

The rear.

A mess of kit stuff.

From the left, kinda sorta:
SS jersey.
Bib shorts.
Bib shorts.
SS jersey.
Jacket.
LS jersey.
Vest.
SS jersey.
Bib shorts.

Not pictured: arm warmers and leg warmers, both VOMax labeled black bits. I never use leg warmers and almost never use arm warmers, but I'll see if I need them one day.

Tiger checking the design.

Whenever I lay out my gear, the cats come and sit on it. Picture taking is a combination of shooing away the kitties and then quickly taking a picture. Repeat a bunch of times and you get the idea.

Mike wants the bibs. Note the sponsor name just below him (it's the side of a jersey).

I need to take some pretend action shots. Here's one:

Racin'. Yeah.

That came from my (self) fit session the other day, where I inadvertently previewed the kit. I suppose technically I should have been in CT Coast Cycle stuff, but I decided to wear the 2010 stuff instead.

You know, get folks used to it.

At some point I'll actually ride outside, and, if you can believe this, I don't forsee that happening before December 24th or so. In other words, you're gonna have to wait for a proper review.

Life could be worse, you know?

Equipment - Frame Fit Session

As planned I made it to the local shop just down the street. Of course, as usual, I was running really late, and instead of getting there at 10 AM, I got there at about 1 PM.

I set up the fit bike thing myself, puzzling over the different settings and such. I brought my pedals, bars, shoes, saddle, and a kit.

For the record, my current bike is a SystemSix Liquigas Replica, 52 cm, with its standard geometry. To save you from flipping back and forth to the geometry page, the important numbers are as follows:

Seat tube: 52 cm, 50 cm to the top of the top tube
Top tube: 53.5 cm
Seat tube angle: 74 degrees
Head tube angle: 73 degrees
Head tube length: 11.5 cm

I look something like this on the bike:

On the green/black Cannondale. My arms hang straight down.

Okay, once you get past my doughy build (perceived 175 lbs on my optimistic scale, which was actually 185 lbs), you may notice that the bike seems really, really short in length. My goal is to get my bike a bit longer.

That other night I took to my bike with a tape measure.

First, I want my saddle to be in the middle of its rail adjustment, not shoved all the way forward. I held my tape measure to the center of the rails, and the line went 2 centimeters further forward than the present seat tube. This meant I needed a substantially steeper seat tube angle.

How much steeper I didn't know, but that's what a builder is supposed to figure out.

The steeper seat tube would move the whole top tube forward by 2 cm. However, based on my current set up, I figured I need at least another 5 centimeters in length - I could put my hands a full Ergo lever in front of the actual Ergo lever.

Based on that number, I figured a 58 cm top tube would work well. It would move me forward a total of 6.5 cm (2 cm from the steeper seat tube angle and 4.5 cm from the 53.5 current length to the new 58 length). This would let me play with a shorter stem, an 11 or a 12 cm stem, not always having to search for the longest possible stems out there.

I also want a short head tube, shorter than the current 11.5 cm, so that I can go buy an 80 degree stem. This would free me from just 73 (-17) degree stems. There are lots of 80 degree stems out there, not a lot of 73s.

And, finally, while I was at it, I wanted to get a short seat tube, something like the 44 cm seat tube (as I remember) on my size S Giant TCR aluminum frame.

Armed with this information, I emailed Joseph at Tsunami Bikes. His initial response seemed a bit hesitant - my ideal frame, after all, would resemble an oversized BMX bike.

We started talking and I described how I arrived at all the numbers. Again, he seemed a bit hesitant. He asked for some pictures of me on the bike, and ones of just the bike itself.

I sent pictures and called to follow up.

Now he seemed a bit more receptive to the whole "tiny frame" concept (as named by Hans). I told him that I'd want to do a sanity check, one where I actually have a regular bar to hold onto, not resting my hands on a plastic tote bin.

I strolled into the shop and got down to business. This new fangled gizmo was a new experience for me, so Hans would occasionally tell me "do this" or "do that".

Fit starts at the bottom bracket, goes up to the saddle, and then forward to the bars. Therefore I started with the seat tube at 75.5 degrees. I raised the saddle (that I brought into the store) to my right height, centered the saddle on the rails.

Then I got the top tube to a more reasonable 56.5 cm. I borrowed a 14 cm stem, a -5 degree stem and mounted a spare set of 3ttt crit bars (Gimondi bend, bars I got thanks to RTC's detective work).

Finally I put my Keos on, trotted off to the bathroom to change, and trotted back in my new kit. I even brought the long sleeve jersey because I didn't want to get cold in the shop.

I jumped on the bike and, BAM, it felt awesome.

I fiddled a bit with the stem height, played around, and realized that, hey, it's pretty much perfect.

On the tops. Left foot forward.

My arms are bent a bit, but outwards. I wanted to keep my arms out of the way of something, not sure what I was thinking. I'm sitting square on the saddle, and the saddle is square on the post. w00t!

On the "hoods". Foot at bottom.

My legs look bulky.

Reminds me of something. I made a comment at the track last summer - I was watching the As and watched as powerful looking racer rocketed off the front. He looked freakin' powerful - big legs, big arms, aero carbon frame, aero carbon wheels, and, man, he was flying.

"Holy smokes, look at that guy's legs."

The guy next to me looked at me and said something unusual.

"Don't underestimate yourself."

Hm.

Drops, and right foot sort of forward.

Imagine, my arms point forward. And my back is kinda sorta level. The position in the drops feels really secure, really good.

I thought I forgot my camera so Hans took a few pics and sent them to me.

I sent the pictures to Joseph and left him a message. An hour later he called back. He said the pictures really helped, and things looked good. He kind of laughed - I'm still not really forward, relatively speaking, and I'm sitting on a 75.5 seat tube angle.

We went over a few details, things like ride quality and such. I have no knowledge about tubing materials so I'm leaving it up to him. I just want a ride that's as rigid as the Cannondale - I'm good for 6 or 7 plus hours on the frame, and I don't want to have something more flexy.

Paint will be later, but I think some kind of a red. I haven't had a red bike since forever ago, and my first race bike, a Basso, was red. It would match the kit and it would look kinda cool.

The other choice would be a blue to match the blue car, but I don't have anything blue in my kit so that's out.

After our talk Joseph emailed one more question - one about seat tube length. I went and checked my two Giants, since I like the aluminum one a lot, and since the carbon one is "fine" (the Cannondale is a bit high for me).

Seems that I remembered wrong. The aluminum Giant has, get this, a 40 cm seat tube to the top of the top tube (44 to the top of the seat tube). The carbon Giant is 4 cm longer.

Whew. I sent my preferences (40 c-to-t, but 44 c-to-t is fine), along with payment.

And now it's up to them.

Equipment - Dream World (Custom Frames)

For the longest time I've wanted a custom frame. At first it was because I wanted to get a frame that was especially designed for me, for my needs. I had no idea what that meant, but I wanted a frame that was, well, unique.

As I learned more and more about bikes, I started dreaming of some of the extreme bikes I saw in bike magazines. The one that really caught my eye was a specialty crit bike. This thing was insane, with super steep angles, high bottom bracket, and, get this, such a short chainstay that the tire wouldn't clear a normal seat tube.

In fact, it wouldn't even clear a grooved or indented seat tube.

Therefore, in order to make the thing work, the builder put two chainstays in place of the seat tube and stuck the rear wheel through the opening between them.

(To my ultimate badness, I cannot remember the name of the framebuilder of this dream bike. He was featured in Bicycling and one or two other magazines in the early 80s... Anyone?)

Back then that was the absolute schnizzle, the top of the heap when it came to US style bikes. No laid back positions here, no mid-foot cleats (or so they appeared), no traditional lower saddle heights. This was an era of change, inspired by wind tunnels and such.

At that time Lemond rode on his tippy-toes on his bike (and won the '83 Worlds like that), his teammate Marc Madiot rode 180s to a stage win (and he rode a 55 cm frame), and "aero" became the new catch-phrase.

So in this age of change, of innovation, and in my time of "exploration", I dreamed about land speed records and crit bikes in alternate fashion.

Of course, like slot cars and Lamborghini Countachs, things which I dreamed about literally for decades, the dreams remained dreams.

Then some surprising things happened. Over the course of 15 years, two friends invited me to sit in Countachs in their possession. I even got a ride in one. I have to tell you that no one could wipe the grin off my face after those magical moments. The drive, holy smokes, that was crazy insane.

Then reality sunk in.

Although it's all exotic and all that, I've realized that the Countach has the aerodynamics of a brick and a cobbled together engine. Seriously. They used layered cylinder head gaskets to increase displacement, and they regularly provided significantly up-powered cars to journalists so the cars would be fast "in print".

As it is, my blue car is faster than a Countach. Less powerful, yes, but faster. And it has almost-as-wide tires (the Countach had the widest production tires for a long time). But, still, as dreams go, if you offered me a chance to drive a Countach... Look, just count me in, okay? I'll work out my schedule and fit in a Countach drive.

Then, a couple years ago, the missus (and her mom) got me a beautiful slot car set, with F1 cars even.

And now I'm starting to think about the possibility of seeing through that custom frame dream.

To be frank, my frame dreams have evolved over the years. At first it had to do with short wheelbases and insanely short chainstays. Later, as I realized what I'd been missing on my smaller-sized frames, I started dreaming about more normal things, like a 73 degree head tube angle.

On a short frame like mine, my shoes (and toe clips) would hit the front tire when I turned the bars. In order to avoid such contact, manufacturers would use slack angles and lots of rake. This reduced foot overlap but resulted in lazy, pain-killer haze handling. Once I realized this I wanted to experience a more responsive front end. Steeper angles and a normal rake, in other words.

Those head tube angle dreams then morphed into top tube dreams. My ape-like stance, with short legs and long torso, made it necessary to use a short seat tube, but my torso forced me to go with long stems. On the 50 cm frames I rode forever, I typically used a 14 cm stem, then a 14.5, and just before quill stems withdrew from the spotlight, I briefly contemplated using a 15 cm stem.

For me, a 51 or 52 centimeter top tube seemed short. I could sit comfortably on friends' 54-56 cm bikes, with long stems and everything, and the reach felt reasonable, even comfortable. But my feet dangling a couple inches above the pedals, I couldn't fix that part of fitting myself to their bikes.

I thought maybe a 55.5 cm top tube would be the best I could do. I bought a size M Giant TCR, with its 55.5 cm top tube. As a bonus it had a 73 degree head tube angle, or something close to it.

The bike felt great, my arms finally doing something other than dangling downwards, with a reach about 3 or 4 cm longer than before. I could steer while hammering out of the saddle, thanks to the steeper head tube angle.

But the dream rapidly crumbed. The head tube was too long, the bars too high.

I experimented with bar positioning, now emphasizing height as well as length. After some convoluted calculations, along with a bunch of Sharpie marks on my bright yellow frame, I decided I could ride a size S Giant just as well.

I moved to the size S, happy with the lower bars. They made a huge difference in my sprint, but they felt too close.

In a fit of "fulfilling a bunch of other stuff", I bought my current steed, a Cannondale SystemSix. Now, if I was someone like a Bennati, I could just get a custom version of my frame. Talk about a dream bike for me - a 52 seat tube with a 58 (!!) top tube!

But I'm a lowly Cat 3, and even with some begging and pleading, I couldn't score the most blemished, unrideable Bennati frame.

I priced out and contemplated a lugged carbon tube kit, a Dedaccai-made "kit", but the bottom bracket-seat tube angle on my long, low frame wouldn't work with their stock sizes. Fortunately, as it turned out, because the lugs in these kits failed regularly. When I heard this I went to my now-unused "carbon frames" bookmark list and found that virtually all the bikes I'd bookmarked had disappeared.

No one wanted to admit to making such a frame.

Dedaccai ended their kit production, now making only full frames, or at least front triangles.

So, for the last year or so, I meandered aimlessly in the frame geometry jungle, looking for that perfect situation, that perfect scenario.

Let's see, exactly what would it be like?

First, the frame would be made by someone I could communicate with, a racer maybe, one that does crits, track, and doesn't climb that much. But he'd climb more than I did so he could tell me, "Oh, you really don't want to do that, it would climb horribly".

Second, the frame would be unlimited as far as geometry goes. 44 cm seat tube? Fine. 58 cm top tube? Fine. I'd forgive the lack of availability of weird things, like a split seat tube that allows a 35 cm chainstay, but for all round tube design possibilities, they ought to be available.

My fantasy numbers include the following (assuming a reasonable 73 degree head tube angle):

1. 44-46 cm seat tube, as short as possible and still fit in a tall bottle on the seat tube, with room for a pump or a Down Low Glow just above it. This would let me clamp my seat post in a workstand (a normal one). It also feels better in general, the shorter seat tube.

2. A seat tube angle that allows me to move the seat-tube-slash-top-tube junction point forward by 2 cm on my 52 cm frame. This would let me center the saddle on the post, not slam it all the way into the stops.

3. A 58 cm top tube, maybe a 56 based on the fact that the top tube will be 2 cm forward based on #2 above.

4. At most a 12 cm head tube, maybe an 11 cm one.

5. BB30, so I can keep my mega-expensive SRM cranks, and so I'd have a lighter, stiffer bike.

6. 1.5" lower headset race, so I can use a Cannondale fork (I think they rock the house).

7. A non-noodle frameset.

8. Shorty chainstays so my rear tire stays planted with the long front end.

Finally, price. I can't afford a $4000 frameset, and I seriously doubt I'd ever buy one anyway. It's my "low buck, high performance" mindset, the functional way of approaching things. I appreciate handmade things, like a 1955 Aston Martin. Things of beauty, incidentally, with gorgeous aluminum bodywork.

But compared to a modern sports car? Or even a modern "sporty" car?

Fuggitaboutit.

Give me parallel A-arm front suspensions, a sophisticated multi-link rear, independent on all corners, big honkin' brakes, and a smooth, efficient engine mated with a smooth shifting transmission. My car illustrates that point, at least the blue one does. It's a low-buck way of having fun driving a car. And it doesn't have very much of that "old fashioned craftsmanship" in it, just good design and proper procedures. The body may look sleek, but it was pounded out by robots, not artisans.

Heck, my car doesn't even have a throttle cable! It's got an electronic wire attached to a computer.

Anyway, my point is that I don't need the exquisite workmanship of the frame building "masters". Give me a frame with the right geometry and durable construction and I'll be happy.

And of course all that could never, ever happen. I felt safe in my little dreamworld.

Then, to my utter dismay, RTC let it slip that there's a framebuilder that offered something like that stuff above - Tsunami Bikes, out in the west somewhere. They make aluminum frames, from $600 to $1500+.

And they do custom geometry.

Okay, I can handle $600 framesets to start. I can handle the $50 upcharge for BB30. I'm good with aluminum tubing, because as I've written before, fit > material. Look, if it was good enough for Tom Boonen, it should certainly be good enough for me.

So I'm good with the basics. What's the custom geometry upcharge? I was figuring at least $300 or so, based on conversations with frame importers and such.

So I emailed the folks, half seriously. I don't want to waste their time, and if the frame ended up at even a paltry $1000, it'd be hard to justify in a cash-strapped environment.

I got a response. Things looked good, too good even. I called the guy up. We talked on the phone.

$600 is the frameset price, built to whatever geometry agreed upon by the builder and buyer, painted some normal range of colors.

NO upcharge for custom geometry.

Since I want to keep my BB30 SRM, and I like BB30 anyway, I'd want BB30. $50 upcharge.

Now we're looking at $650.

For a full custom, BB30, custom painted frame.

Well now.

Not only that, I could take delivery just before my California training camp. Now wouldn't that be the end all? 30 or 40 hours on a brand new frame, just enough time to really get used to it.

I spoke with the missus. She gave approval.

So next I'll be visiting the local shop, one that has a fit bike thing on the floor. I'll experiment with sizing and report back to the builder.

And we'll see what happens from there.

Training - 261 Watts, Kind Of

As promised earlier, I went and did a 20 minute test on the newly (re-) installed 175s. A quick seat adjustment (down 5 mm to keep my ultimate leg extension similar, and resulting in a greater range of motion for my knee and hip) and I was on my way.

I spun a bit to see if anything ached or creaked, but my body seemed fine with the longer cranks. Knees perfect, hips perfect, ankles perfect. All good. I could tell that the power had gone up a bit (+20 watts) for the same effort (120 bpm), and I felt anxious to see how it worked out in a full-blown 20 minute effort.

Like normal I kept stutter starting the effort. Check the DVD clock, tell myself I'll start when it gets to 21:00, then it's 21:14, so I'll just wait till 25:00. Then it's 26:32 next time I glance up, so maybe 30:00 would be good.

I keep re-cuing the music on the laptop (my glorified MP3 player), and try and prepare myself mentally, one more time.

Finally, at 39:00 on the DVD clock, I started up.

I rolled along, easily at first, always a bit high. I wanted to equal or break my all time record of 263 watts (don't laugh) and I felt it entirely possible. My pacing, regardless of how many times I re-read a great bit on pacing, starts off high, drops a bit, then, hopefully, revives just a bit at the end. Although I want to improve my pacing, avoiding the drop in the middle, it's difficult to maintain such a torrid pace for 20 minutes.

I held a decent pace for about 7 minutes, between 285 and 300 watts, and when I check for the first time in a while, I saw I was holding 290 pretty consistently.

I eased.

My legs start twinging, my quads threatening to seize. Unusual this, because normally my calves complain long before I get a hint of cramp in my quads. I chalk this up to the diet, to a lack of electrolytes, and try to turn my focus on more hamstrings, on more spinning, on pulling up.

The twinges subside.

It's now 49:30 on the DVD player, and I'm feeling reasonably good. There's a stutter in the power as I coast just a touch, ready to give up, but I keep going.

At some point the DVD I'm watching, Lemond at the 89 Worlds, ends. He wins the sprint, wins the race. I rewind the DVD a bit - I don't want to watch interviews while I'm killing myself on the trainer, music notwithstanding.

When I look to see my remaining time, I see 46:47.

But I was just at 49:30. How?

Right, I rewound myself. But when did I rewind? How long would I have to ride? It would be a pity to lose this whole effort, but at the same time I didn't want to meter out my energy for 23 or 25 minutes and do a sub-par effort. Worse, I didn't want to stop at 19:00 and then not have a good number.

I started figuring which part of what song was playing when I rewound, started calculating the time after my last check (51:30), and how much time I'd have to ride to make it equivalent to reach 59:00.

I decided that I needed to ride about 7:30 to hit the full 20. At first I thought I'd need to ride just a short time more, to 48:00. Then I realized that I somehow got 48 by adding 8 to 46 (minus the 30 seconds I already did in addition to the 46 min mark). I blame oxygen deprivation for the error but recalculate a few times. Yes, I had to think about it to add 46+8. I decided I really needed to ride to 54:00.

I mentally gritted my teeth and kept going. I hit 50 minutes, and then, at 51:30, I started upping my effort for my last hurrah. My legs responded, meaning I had gone too easy somewhere in the middle. I was 40-45 watts above my goal number, 305+ watts, and held it for a good 30-40 seconds.

Scotty! We need more power!

I kept increasing the power.

I felt determined to finish off the full minute, not ease up at 2 or 3 seconds to go. I was holding 325 watts, watched the DVD clock turn to 54:00, and eased hard.

A good effort.

I cooled down a bit then went upstairs. Connected and downloaded data from the SRM.

Checked out the prior day's ride first. Nothing special.

Checked out the ride I just did.

My goal had been to hit my max 20 min record, 263 watts as I remembered it. I quickly looked down the max averages for the different time periods.

20 minutes.

261 watts.

What??

I selected my effort, noting with some disapproval the huge valley where I rewound the DVD and then did some mental arithmetic. My effort lasted...

19:56

262 watts for 19:56. 261 watts for 20:00.

Arg.

But then I thought about it for a second.

I just hit a number I never saw before June or July of this summer. My first super-hard 20 minute effort netted me a 235 watt number. It's not quite Thanksgiving. I'm lighter by almost my bike's weight. And I spent about a minute fiddling with the DVD player and then figuring things out in my head.

For the record, my w/kg went up to 3.44. Yes, I am a touch heavier now than a couple days ago, at 75+ kg, but to see my w/kg go up by 0.25 is pretty substantial (for the record it was 3.17 at 83 kg).

So my goal now is to push it to that elusive 270 watts and beyond, ultimately going for 300 watts. I figure I can do it, based on my acceleration at the end, and my below-TT heartrate in the middle of the effort (150s for a bit, not a consistent 168-170).

And on the bottom side of the equation, I'm still going for 70 kg, with 68 kg an outside "bonus" weight. At 270/70, I'd be at 3.85 w/kg. This feels realistic.

If I could get to 300, it would be over 4 w/kg. At my old weight, that would have required 330+ watts. This seems somewhat unreasonable.

If I could get to 68 kg, it would be an insane (for me) 4.4 w/kg. This would be a pipe dream.

So what now?

Well, first I have to keep on the diet. The weight needs to come off.

And second, I need to increase power. I need to do some sub 20 minute efforts at higher wattages, to try and bring up my sustainable power. Intervals and such, maybe the hated 3-5 minute versions. And then I'll repeat my test, maybe in a couple weeks. I'll focus on maintaining power for the first 4-5 minutes, then focus on maintaining heartrate for the rest of it. If it drops I go faster (it almost always tends to drop). I'll peek at power every now and then, but the heartrate is key - keep that high and the power follows.

And I'll be sure to have a nice, long DVD in the player.

Story - Trainers

Over the years I've used many trainers. I've also become, since 1983, a pretty dedicated trainer user.

I first got a trainer back in 1983, eager to do some workouts like Davis Phinney. See, he won the 1983 US Pro Championships in Baltimore, and I happened to be watching TV when they showed the four man break, led by Phinny and Bauer, win the race. The other two guys - a Belgian and a Peugeot rider - escape me for now.

Or not. The Belgian's name was Ferdi Van Den Haute. And the other is one Allan Peiper, but I gave him no chance, because that's what the commentators were saying. And yes, he was a Peugeot rider. Ferdi seemed like he was just sitting in, and I thought maybe he was just really smart.

In the end, it became apparent that the US heat, hotter and more humid than European temps, wreaked havoc on the Euro dogs. Phinney launched way, way out there, per normal for him, with Bauer on his wheel, and they drag raced to the line.

Phinney won the sprint.

Phinney also promoted a new fangled indoor training device called the Racer Mate. I got the original Racer Mate a bit late, like many years later, but I got the Racer Mate 2 when it was still pretty new.

And, when I got it in my first year of racing, it came with a training schedule.

Wow.

Since this was new information, I devoured it. Then, when I finished reading it over, I read it again. And again.

This is what it said:

1. For endurance work, ride as hard as possible for 20 minutes, trying to maintain a 60 rpm cadence. Do only once.

2. For speed work, ride as hard as possible for 1 minute, trying to maintain a 120 rpm cadence. Repeat as necessary up to 10 or so times.

3. Make the above efforts a maximum of two times a week, in whatever combination (i.e. just two hard days). Don't do these efforts on consecutive days.

Upon re-reading it, oh, say, 50 or 60 times, while I was supposed to be paying attention in class, I found that, indeed, there were no other training tips.

Oh, there was one motivating picture: one of Phinney, on the trainer, with TWO resistance fans in place. See, he's so strong he needed twice the resistance.

(I calculated that if I was going 30 mph with one fan, then he'd be going 30x2 or 60 mph... obviously I had some work to do to turn pro...)

So, like a good boy, I tried to go as hard as possible for 20 minutes. I suffered a thousand deaths, trying to reach that "tunnel vision" state in vain. I'd ride for at least 19 minutes and 57 seconds and look up and see that I hadn't even covered a full minute.

I quickly gave up trying to do 20 hard minutes.

It seemed like the sprints ought to be easier. But they weren't, of course. 40 seconds into each effort I was struggling to turn the pedals over, trying to maintain a 2-per-second cadence. Embarrassingly I had to shift into the small ring to complete even one 60 second effort. 42x15, not a very big gear.

One night, panicked and desperate, I decided I'd do everything possible to complete a 20 minute effort. See, I had a race coming up, and I really needed to prove to myself that I could ride "hard".

I started in my biggest gear (a 53x15) and started rolling, careful not to exceed about 65 rpm. My legs quickly started burning, sweat started running down my face, and in the cool, dark basement, I started building up such a heat that, at times, steam literally rose from my body.

Once I got past the 10 minute hump, the 20 minutes seemed almost attainable. At 15 minutes of effort I knew I could do it, and I sprinted like mad at the end to finish off the 20 minutes.

Booyah.

My confidence secure, I had to get showered and get to sleep.

See, my upcoming race, the one causing me worry and nervousness and agitation, was the next morning at 9 AM, and it was a 2 hour drive away.

Now, when I think back at such folly, it seems absolutely ludicrous that I felt the need to do a maximal 20 minute effort literally 10 hours before a race. But at 15 years old, nervous and unsure of myself, it was the best thing I could have done.

The next morning, at a deserted airfield in Rhode Island, I finished my first race.

Every time I felt like I'd give up, I realized that it felt just like minute 1 of the 20 minute effort. When things were impossible, they felt more like minute 2. But then when things eased, it was like I'd never even started riding hard.

And heck, if I could do 19 more minutes after dying a thousand deaths, staying on the wheel in front of me for another lap seemed like a cakewalk.

Anyway, this started my long-time trainer habit. I admit that for many years, until rear wheel mount trainers came in vogue, I skipped the trainer. The smell of the basement still evokes memories of cold, dank sweat, of feeling unheated winter air on sweat-soaked skin. I couldn't handle it for a long time, preferring instead to go out and ride properly dressed in the elements.

But, as I became a bit more comfortable with things, suffering outside seemed less useful. The trainer got relegated to simply "being saved" because, as a good boy, I didn't throw out things as soon as I thought they'd be useless. I'd save them forever until they were truly useless, then throw it away.

I justify enjoying the trainer use by telling myself that it takes less time to dress for a trainer ride, or that if I have a mechanical I have my whole workbench 8 feet away from me, or if I have to go to the bathroom I just have to unclip and go upstairs.

The reality, though, is that I enjoy the predictability of a trainer ride.

Music.

Video.

71 or 72 degrees.

Stability, usually.

And the bike stays clean.

I don't like change too much, and a trainer ride doesn't change much, year after year. It's just the soreness the day after that changes from ride to ride.

Anyway, when rear wheel mount trainers (originally the Blackburn) came out, it saved the bike from the "destroy your headset in 30 days or less, guaranteed" fork mount trainers. My Racer Mate 2 got shoved aside, and I started using the new fangled, folding, lightweight, adjustable resistance, and, ultimately, much quieter trainers.

But the one problem with all those trainers back then was that you'd wobble back and forth on the trainer. Since no one could predict exactly what kind of skewer the end user would have on their bike, the skewer-holding-ends didn't fit any skewer well.

I weeble-wobbled my way through many training sessions until one day I saw the CycleOps trainer, with this insanely beefy looking frame.

This thing was concrete to mud, steel to iron, carbon fiber to Saran Wrap, Cannondale to (name any Columbus SL frame). The latter, of course, applying strictly to the new oversize aluminum bikes that everyone said was "too stiff".

The CycleOps was solid.

The main reason was the insanely oversized (at the time) U-shaped main frame that held the bike in place. I don't know how the physics works but the tubes were twice the diameter of its competitors, and, man, it just did not give, not one iota.

The second reason was an ingenious one. If there are six billion skewer designs out there, why bother trying to make one axle holder fit them all? Instead, pick out a really beefy skewer, design the trainer to hold just that skewer, and include the skewer along with the trainer.

Man, why didn't I think of that one?

The first time we clamped a bike to a CycleOps, I was sold.

Shortly thereafter I had one in my living room.

Now, as solid as it is, it doesn't mean it's tip proof. In fact, it's so solid that it allows the whole trainer-bike-rider unit to tip as a whole.

One night, watching Bugno, in Polti colors, descending down some Giro mountain (1:30 on the clip, but you can't see it), I noticed that a rider on the screen cornering like he was on a motorcycle. He hung his whole body off the side of the bike, almost dragging his knee like a GP Moto guy.

Curious, and totally confident in the rock-solid grip of the CycleOps trainer, I leaned over the right side of the bike, trying to get my right shin a couple inches above and parallel to the floor.

Well, it got parallel all right, as I slammed it into the rug, the whole bike and trainer unit tipping over with me.

The thud shook the house, and a worried future-missus poked her head around the corner.

I couldn't unclip so had to have her help me free myself from the ever-loving bike and trainer.

So, although it holds rock solid, you can still tip it over.

I bought two CycleOps, a Fluid one and a now-obsolete e-Trainer.

The latter had power, had a computer-generated ghost rider on a screen, and you could do all sorts of various tests on it.

It also cost $800 I think.

A couple years after I bought it, maybe 5 or 7 years ago now, I was doing some maximal effort, trying to annihilate the ghost rider, when I started smelling smoke.

I looked down and saw smoke pouring out of the vents of the resistance unit. I unplugged everything to save the computer from any damage, and realized, after a brief check of the system, that it was dead.

The beefy frame was still good, so, like a good boy, I saved the whole unit. Because one day, you know, I'd get another resistance unit, and I'd be able to salvage the nice U frame.

Fast forward a lot of years.

The other day the missus asked me about a trainer for her. I had called CycleOps way back when the e-trainer died, and they told me they'd sent a "replacement cost" Fluid resistance unit to a local shop of my choice. I'd pay about half the price of a full unit, and I figured the shop would get a cut and everyone would be happy. I'd get a usable trainer, I'd recycle (heh) a nice U-shaped CycleOps stand, and the shop could get an add-on sale.

Unfortunately that was about when we were selling the house, I was working umpteen hours a week, and, frankly, the trainer unit never made it back to CycleOps.

Last week I called CycleOps and basically asked the same thing again. I sheepishly admitted that I'd raised an RMA forever ago without ever fulfilling it. The early hour Wisconsin (or is it Minnesota?) call center rep gently chastised me for making them do RMA work for nothing, but then got down to business.

Basically, if I could fit my Fluid unit into the e-Trainer's frame (verifying that, indeed, a new unit would fit the e-Trainer stand), then they could send me a Fluid resistance unit.

And this time they'd do it for free.

Well now.

A few days later the e-Trainer resistance unit was on the way.

Today the missus went to help paint a kitchen (what are daughters for, right?). I came home and did all the things the missus normally handles on Saturdays. I checked the mail (Netflix, The Saint, yay!), rolled up to the garage door, anticipating being able to park inside, in the missus's spot (mine is jammed full of bike stuff).

And then I saw the trapezoidal box leaned up against the house. Not a smaller, more squarish one.

Trapezoidal. You know what's scary? I Googled "trapezoidal" to make sure I was being accurate. I wasn't sure if it was the right term. That's scary.

Lo and behold. An entire Fluid trainer unit. Not just the resistance unit, everything. A U shaped stand, instructions, even a DVD.

Bella checking out the Race Day DVD. Bonus!

CycleOps rocks.

Wait, let me say that again.

CycleOps rocks.

Now I just need to get an Ant +Sport power crank so I can get the new Joule computer from them, and then I can get their Joule equipped indoor spin/power bike, and...

Oh, lookit the time. I gotta go.

Training - Back To The Future: 175 Cranks, Again

I've been jonesing to swap my cranks back to the 175s, the crank length I've come to prefer at the Bethel Spring Series. I did a 20 minute test the other night, but I felt a bit flat. With longer cranks I can usually get through that "flat" feeling, rolling a lower cadence instead of trying to stay on top of a smaller gear.

So, after my ride two nights ago, I decided that I would swap the cranks. I figure that I could give my 20 min test another try with the longer cranks and see what happens.

Therefore...

Unlike last time, I remembered how to remove the Cannondale SI cranks. The remover works ingeniously, a headless bolt that screws into the bottom bracket spindle. You then screw in an "outer blocking screw", essentially trapping the headless bolt.

Then you unscrew the headless bolt. With nowhere to go, it pushes the crankarm right off the spindle.

Because of the design of the axle spindle, you need much less force to remove the crankarm than, say, a standard square taper spindle crankset.

Now, after less than 10 minutes of work (which included removing and reinstalling my pedals, as well as swapping out the SRM spider), my bike has the 175s on it once again.

Although I've extolled the virtues of longer cranks, and then shorter cranks, and then longer cranks again, I've realized that crankarm length is like bike fit: sometimes you need some change. For 2010 I'll be using the 175s until mid-late April.

Which means I'll be on the 175s for the next half year. I'll do my trip to Florida, then my trip to CA, and maybe a third training camp trip on them. The cranks should stay on for Bethel. As soon as the Series finishes, I'll be putting the 170s back on, in preparation for the track races in New Hampshire.

Last night, fatigued as I was, I did a ride. I had to cut it short at 1:30, my motivation to ride dwindling as my sleepiness grew.

But I noticed that I could maintain 200 watts at just 120-130 bpm. I need to analyze the numbers a bit closer, but usually 200 watts means a lot of effort for me. After a day or two of rest, I'll get back on the bike and do a 20 minute test.

I'm curious as to what I'll find.

In the meantime, I'm still dieting. My weight loss tapered dramatically, but I'm still down about 17 pounds from when I started five and a half weeks ago. It seems that I'm down about two pounds a week, which, if things go well, will put me down twelve more pounds at the end of the year.

That would put me at about 152 pounds, under my most optimistic ultimate goal of 155 pounds, and well below my "expected" (hoped for) weight of 162 pounds.

With my semi-joking 70 kg (154 lbs) weight in mind, and the "wait, there's more!" weight of 68 kg (148 lbs), if I can hit the lower 150s by the end of the year, it's only a few more pounds to get to that magical 68 kg weight.

Combine that weight with whatever I can dish out in my next 20 minute test on 175s...

Booyah.

But, before I get too excited, I have to actually lose weight to get below the mid 160s. And ride the bike. And all that stuff.

Onward.