Story - The Last (Mountain Bike) Race

So, yeah, I used to race mountain bikes.

My first time ever leading a mountain bike race, in Cranberry Park in Norwalk. Last time too. And the only picture I have of me on a mountain bike. Our team tent is in the background somewhere.

I was on a Jamis Dakar something-or-another, a full suspension pearl red bike. XT stuff, RockShox Judy fork, I think Paul or some other CNC machined brake levers, and some V-brake set-up.

But my mountain bike career started a decade or more before.

Pepto Cannondale

This was a long way from my first bike, a Pepto Bismal pink Cannondale. That bike had the first generation Suntour indexing system, one that barely worked on a good day.

One warm summer night, the guys did a Midnight Mountain Bike Ride from the shop. We had to wait until two guys built up their brand new DiamondBack bikes, and at about midnight we left for our ride. We rode all over the place, taking in two or three beaches, and getting chased by multiple policecars with spotlights out of a golf course. The most exciting part of the latter was sprinting at a wall of trees and hoping that you didn't hit a trunk. Once through the other side, we were home free.

Towards the end of the ride we were meandering around a small residential road in town, and the ride leader hollered to follow him. We were on a street-lit road, bordered by thick bushes. He blasted into a gap in said bushes and appeared to take a left. I blasted through the gap too.

And my front wheel dropped about eight feet. I landed hard on my chest, rolling onto my back, and watched as two more riders launched unknowingly off the eight foot drop off.

What we perceived as a left turn was in fact his butt hanging off the back of the bike as he made the drop off.

Laughing, we picked ourselves up and kept riding. At some point I mentioned that I wished I had a camera so I could have taken pictures of the ride. The ride leader looked at me.

"Why do you need a camera? We're going to do this all the time!"

Later, when I realized it was all poison ivy down there, and I was bathed in it, I wasn't laughing. And, no, we didn't do a lot of Midnight Mountain Bike Rides.

I went through that pink bike pretty quickly, toppling over while doing laps around my childhood home (I was still a kid). Broke the dropout, bang, and that was the end of the frame, end of story.

Cannondale 3.0

My next mountain bike was a black Cannondale, a beauty with the fat one inch fork blades.

My bike is in the foreground. You can't tell but there is about 18 psi in each tire. I met the guy in the background while I was riding around Boulder, CO, and we decided to go do a long climb. This is the top of that climb.

I built it up with Suntour, although this stuff worked well. My wheels were skinny M13s or something, the Sun Mistral copy of Keith Bontrager's cut down and re-connected Mavic MA40s (he'd get 700c clincher rims, separate them at the seam, cut out a couple eyelets worth of rim, and reconnect the ends to make a 26" mountain bike tire rim). I ran 2.1s, but just before the bike's demise I moved to a 2.35" set up.

One day, at work, I went out to the car. The trunk wasn't shut quite right, and I peeked inside. The bike, there in the morning, was gone.

Specialized M2

After the shock at losing the Cannondale, I toyed with the idea of getting a Bridgestone MB-0 or MB-1, the favorites for the guys at the shop. But I bucked the trend and got the massively overbuilt Specialized M2 bike. It had XT, a new Judy fork, and some superlight Specialized tires.

The coup d'etat? Spinergy Rev-X mountain bike wheels.

This bike was fast. Like really, really fast.

I raced this for the first time in a 30 mile, point to point race up in Vermont. I'd chosen some inexpensive clipless pedals, impossible to clip into and out of, and had to run all of the single track.

Later, in more conventional circuit races, I placed 12th in pretty much every race I entered. I usually started well, flatted, changed the flat, and passed people up to the finish.

In one of my last races, in Ringwood, NJ, I ended up losing my brakes in a wet and wild event. The finish was unconventional at best, with a 200 yard or so rocky descent to a dirt road, a hard right, and a 10 meter sprint to the line.

As the race went on, my (cantilever) brake pads melted into glooey grey globs in the muddy conditions. On the second last lap I hit the descent and realized I had virtually no brakes. With my levers slammed into my grips, I flew down the descent in absolute terror, totally out of control.

Of course the spectators all thought I was attacking, and cheered me on.

The last lap I actually passed a couple guys on the descent, terrified out of my wits. I got even more cheers from the peanut gallery, although the guy I passed in the last turn wasn't as much of a fan.

My fingers hurt from where the brake lever crushed them against the grips. I was really glad to finish that race.

I eventually sold the bike to an employee, who sold it to his brother. I wish I still had that bike.

Jamis Dakar

When I could get my hands on a Jamis, I did. I wanted a light, full suspension bike, and the Jamis seemed perfect. I made some upgrades to the bike, primarily in the wheels, brakes, and anything to do with fit (stem, saddle, bars). I also fiddled, pretty much unsuccessfully, with various suspension settings.

It had sweet Mavic rims, with 4 different color spoke nipples, 32H each. The bike had an XT drivetrain, which I kept. I cut down the bars, put on Paul levers, used super light Specialized tires....

And I only raced it once.

Due to time, stress, and energy constraints, I rarely rode the Jamis. But I decided that I'd go and do the Jack Rabbit Run race at the local park, a 10 minute mountain bike ride away from my house.

I remembered the first time I rode with a Cat 2 off road - we immediately hit 32-33 mph, and we were just flying through the woods. I realized that I had been doing it all wrong.

Therefore I went to recon the course with an open mind. I'd ridden the course before, of course, and therefore I had preconceived notions of how fast each section could be taken. My goal was to explore those limits, to go exponentially faster. This meant looking to use trees and berms as banking, using enormous gears in certain sections low gear sections of the course, and optimizing my attack of the 2 foot tall concrete cube that blocked the bottom of the hardest climb of the course (a short one).

I realized that by going high on tire pressure while relaxing the spring tension on the suspension, I could rock and roll over almost anything at high speed. The first bit of the course had some tight single track, with roots, a right-left, and a field of "baby head rocks". I experimented with this critical opening bit of the course and decided that a 100%, full out assault would work best. I'd hit the section at top speed, realistically about 32-34 mph, and blast through everything, relying on the suspension to deal with the big shocks.

I had to learn how to control my bike's tendency to drift at high speed - the long sweeping curves, if approached at crit-like speeds, ended up being the most challenging turns of the course. I could handle a little slide at 5 or 10 mph, but when my tires started edging sideways at 35 mph, it got a bit tricky.

I found other sections where I could make up time relative to my "old mind" experiences. A particular short bump hill, instead of slowing and creeping along in the small gear, I could sprint up in the big ring. Some flat, sweeping turns meant big gears, big speed.

I did have one weird commitment prior to the race, and when I say "prior", I mean like a hour or two before the race, not a day or two: I was doing the Bloomin Metric. Just the 25 mile route, mind you, but still.

I overhauled both bikes the day before, cleaning the drivetrain, checking all the bits and pieces for looseness or damage, and packed up late at night.

After a couple hours sleep, I dragged myself out of bed. We started the Bloomin Metric, but after over and hour of riding, I realized that at this pace I would miss my race start. With apologies to the group, I turned off and time trialed back to the car. I zipped to the race course, and of course the race had attracted the largest ever one day field in NORBA history, I think 1600 or 1800 riders. Cars stretched for literally a mile in each direction, parked on the side of the road.

I meandered to the park entrance, wondering what to do - I might as well park at home and ride over. I stopped, panic starting to set in.

Then, literally at the entrance of the park, a guy jumped into the first car next to the gate and pulled away. I pulled in before he was 40 feet down the road, jumped out, and started getting ready for the race.

I knew the race would be about an hour long, and I decided that I'd race to win, and only to win. No spare tube, no pump, no tools, no water, no nothing. Just me, my bike, and the course.

This, of course, simplified getting ready, and after I pumped up the tires I went looking for registration. My teammate Dave found me, and he directed me to the starting chute.

I looked at it appalled. There had to be 150 racers, all lined up in a one lane dirt driveway to nowhere. I thought I knew the course, but they were pointing the wrong way, so obviously I didn't know the course.

Bafangu.

We sat and sat in the staging area. I climbed off my bike, knee to the ground, and propped my tired head against the bars. I drifted off to sleep, startling myself awake once when the bike started to tip over.

Then, in the hazy bluish world of "I just woke up", Dave started poking me.

"Get up, we're lining up!"

I staggered forward, following the masses, feeling like a lemming.

Then, glorious day.

A loud voice, on the PA, yelled out.

"Okay, now everyone turn around!"

We all looked at each other in confusion.

I turned around and looked in disbelief. The gravel driveway, the start of the course, was behind us.

I ain't no dummy. I picked up my bike and whirled it around. Sweet! I was in the second row of riders.

I heard a LOT of grumbling further back, but, hey, you take it when you get it.

Scott Montgomery, of Cannondale and Scott Bikes, happened to be a few riders away from me. He led the racers in a "thanks to the promoter" cheer. Then, after the Series leader moved to the front, we set off.

I fumbled a millisecond with my pedals and then I was flying.

I had started in the big ring, second big cog, and I literally sprinted away from the line. Pedal pedal SHIFT pedal pedal pedal SHIFT... I was maxed out, biggest gear, sprinting my brains out, looking to lead into the first section.

I passed by the team tent near the end of the straight. Then everyone started motioning, "Left, left, left!"

The course went around the parking lot, not through it like we rode, and I had to make that left. My tires started drifting in the loose pine needles. Apparently that's when I passed the photographer who took the picture above.

I went flying through this unfamiliar terrain, riding in a perfect Zen-like state. Then the course hopped into a couple empty parking spots before hopping the curb back into the woods, for the start of the real singletrack.

I flew onto the pavement, and then lifted the front wheel for the curb. The rear wheel didn't clear it and I heard a big BANG as the wheel hit. The bike didn't move too much, the suspension taking the impact.

Sweet.

I sprinted down the singletrack, did a big wheelie over the roots, again letting the rear suspension take the hits.

Dove into the left-right... and the bike was drifting way more than it should have.

Down the singletrack, around the left...

And for sure, the rear tire was flat. I rode into the Baby Head field, rim slapping against rocks, roots, and the ground.

What??!

I hopped off the bike to look.

Yep, it was flat. I jumped back on, thinking maybe I could get a tube from the guys at the team tent. Rode around a left, and then I heard the distinctive rumbling of tires on dirt. I moved out fo the way, and four riders went by me.

The Series Leader led the group, and they were the next group on the course.

Holy smokes! At the cost of the rear tube, I'd taken a 15-20 second lead in about half a mile!

I started walking up the step climb, where an anti-erosion log sat every five feet up a slight grade. I got up almost the whole grade, a good 30 seconds of walking, before the 6th place racer went by.

Holy smokes!

I walked to the top, saw the team tent, and decided I really wanted to take a nap. I strolled over, a guy let me take his lawn chair, and I fell asleep. Delirious with fatigue, I don't remember much of what happened that day, but eventually I rode my bike back to the car, and drove the car home.

That was the last mountain bike race I ever entered.

The Jamis ended up at in an IT colleague's hands. He used it to commute to work in Manhattan, and raved about the bike all the time.

Bethel Spring Series - What It Used To Be

So Bethel has become this nice, polished, semi-consistent event. But how was it at the beginning?

Not so polished, nor organized.

One of the first Bethels. Not quite the first.

Based on Easter's date, it's from 1993. The Series started the year prior, in 1992, with a $7.95 entry fee. This confirmed what someone told me a long while back - that the Series started in '92. Anyway, no one wanted their nickels that year ("nickelback", so to speak), even though we'd brought rolls of them to the race. We decided to raise the fee by that nickel for the following year.

Bethel then was different from Bethel now. For one thing, the only van I had didn't run. You can see it in the picture below - a beautiful F-150 if it ran. I ended up selling it to the dump for $20, and they picked up up for free (bonus!).

Instead I got by on using a hand-me-down car, a Mazda 626. I hauled virtually everything in it. I also used my parent's Subaru, and for a while we even rented vans or SUVs.

Packed car, the last day of the Series.

Note the podium (the wood box), my green kit (means it was 2003 probably), the clock, and one of the original "Caution" signs from 1993 or so.

More podiums, cones, gasoline, and my bike up top (a Specialized M2 with Ergo).

I think we were in the "borrowing a tent each year" phase so there's no tent. Either that or Joe B or Tom was carrying the tents home. Whatever, they're missing from the pictures here.

At this time we were still using paper and pen for registration. It started getting complicated when we went high-tech with laptops, which then required some level of dryness, which meant tent sides, and finally heat.

We used a tiny generator after frying two cars worth of electrics (using plug in transformers). The generator was noisy, inefficient, and tried to give up after two years of service. Merto fixed it despite its protests one year and we got through that Series before it really gave up. I gave it to the dump when we moved a couple years ago.

Big honkin' radio, rented from CBRA. Guessing it's 1996-1997 based on the cap, maybe 1996 since a bunch of the pictures are from the same batch.

For the Series, especially in the early years, radios presented a big challenge. I thought for many years of distributing, to the marshals, a car battery with a CB radio attached to it. I figured a fully charged car battery would power a CB for long enough, and if it didn't, we could just hook it up to an actual car.

But instead we used walkie talkies. Heck, the $40 for a minimum CB was a deal breaker, and where would I find 2-3 car batteries that worked? (Forget about all the dead ones I had in my garage...)

For many years we rented radios from the CBRA. We'd get chargers, radios, and pay some fee each year. We finally saved up to buy some Motorola walkie talkies, and we're still using them now, supplemented by several AAA battery powered cheapies.

Mike, one of our two regular officials, standing in the center. Our actual official that day was Dave.

This used to be the scene at the start/finish area. A car or three, dirt, and warmly dressed officials.

Action shot of the same scene.

Perhaps it's 1996, based on other shots from that Feb/Mar. Yeah, that's me, at the back of the field. I'm running a 24H Zipp 340 rear wheel, probably a 28H GEL280 or FiR GL330 front. A very fast, very light set up, for the time anyway.

There's a building back there now, and a big paved parking lot, not piles of sand and dirt.

Doing the lap cards.

Checking the time gap.

Whenever I see this picture, I think of the Tour where Hinault gets into a break in the 1985 Tour, one of the flatter early stages, one that took place in Brittany. A young Phil Liggett comentates that the Bretons, checking the time gap, will be happy with Hinault's progress (Hinault is from the area).

The break has some horsepower. Stephen Roche, who would win it one day, was there with three teammates I think. Phil Anderson, another top rider from the time, was there with three teammates also. Only three or four teams missed the break, and it was up to Fignon's new-for-that-year System U team to do all the chasing.

Hinault finally gets caught, and as he does, the World Champion striped Lemond rockets out of the field.

"Has he caught the field by surprise? No, Marc Madiot, the French Champion, is on his wheel."

Phil concludes this flat day's adventures with the following rhythmic phrase:

"The Tour will not forget the day the Badger came out to play."

What everyone forgets to mention is that the cameras out that day were no normal ones - they were movie cameras, filming "background" footage for the "soon to be released" movie, The Yellow Jersey, allegedly starring Dustin Hoffman. The movie, of course, never happened, but with a chance to immortalize oneself in a film, a bunch of racers broke away on what should have been an easy day.

Not only that, two team leaders were almost across but couldn't quite get there - had the break waited just a touch, with those two leaders in the lead group, pundits were saying that the break would have gained 15 minutes. Instead, those two team leaders threw their riders into the chase, and for a good hour or so two groups of Tour riders chased each other around Northern France.

I guess we brought tables to the start/finish area.

I'm the guy with the horrible haircut leaning against the table, a reasonably lean 140-odd pounds, fighting weight back then. Merto is behind me in the striped shirt and long hair. Abdul is in the sunglasses, and his bike is the one leaning on the table. They still come to the races, when they can.

In 2010 we'll be doing the 18th confirmed Bethel Spring Series (thanks to that flyer up there). I hope that things get even nicer than last year. The town's already given its permission, and now, for the first time in a long time, I'm looking to increase (just a bit) the amount of stuff we give away. Hopefully I have more news in the next month or two.

See you out there.

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.