Pedaling up stream

lifted from www.copenhagenize.com

Feeling pretty cheeky with the Thomas project, I found this story from Denmark.

Gavin's new ride

G has a thing for trains. Train sounds, train tracks, wooden trains, passenger trains, freight trains, steam trains, diesel trains, MAX trains, Zoo trains and Thomas the train. Not so much to watch the show hosted by Ringo Starr, George Carlin, or Alec Baldwin, but to play with his toy Thomas, Percy, James, Emily, and Toby. He builds tracks, rotates who hauls what cars, and which train crashes in whatever scenario he has concocted in his mind.

In the midst of winter as we skied around Trillium Lake most weekends, I pondered the eventuality of spring (which has still yet to materialize) and the days warm enough to go for bike rides but too wet to have a kid sitting in an open row boat. My conclusion was that we needed something with a windshield and a roof for theBullitt bike.


Just after Christmas we got started. What I had on our side this time around vs. building the boat was experience and time. I wasn't in the same hurry to finish for his birthday as I was two years ago. Experience was a double edged sword in that I knew not to make some mistakes over again, but I dreaded the actual process of the project. So it was decided the best option was to descend upon my dad's shop an hour or two, a couple times a week for as long as it took. What took an entire Saturday, much beer to calm my anxiety and a poor selection of power tools and work space in my own small, cluttered garage; I could get done in a mere 60-minutes at the old man's. Besides, my mom has a never ending supply of gluten free cookies which meant G and I could always have treats in hand while cutting, sanding, gluing and hammering.









As completion got closer, a local group ride to celebrate the spring classics of Pro Cycling grew near. This gave me enough of a goal to push through where many projects fall dormant. My dad, being retired, truly has time to watch paint dry. So after a coat of primer and a first base coat of blue, and the tedious taping for the pin-striping, he handled the top coats that truly make the colors pop.

We finished on Thursday evening and the big ride was on Sunday. Saturday was a test run on the waterfront before the sun actually came out for the homage to the punchy, cobbled climbs of Flanders. For the day, I wore my old Gentse Velo Club jersey but to be honest, the ride itself, abbreviated for weighty bikes and young boys, led to little thought of the roads I raced and trained on long ago.





Ronde photos courtesy of Dave Roth

Instead, I watched G as he busily turned knobs and "drove" the train up hills and down. Pushing Thomas onward with morale support up the hills and giggling through his calls to go faster as we went down. We did most of the ride with friends Seth and his son Max. A well timed break at Washington Park to play and eat lunch gave us both the reprieve to blast to the top of Council Crest before descending home to other chores and obligations.

Last Weekend's Race Report

photo courtesy of Athletespath.com


A few years back I was re-hab'ing after getting run over by Cadillac Jack and did the weekly Mt. Tabor series in the 3's. I had some really good days and some really bad days. I was wildly inconsistent. Midway through the series was the weekend version of the race. The Saturday race is much longer but the course has always suited me and the added laps more so as well. I was optimistic but as mentioned earlier, I was wildly inconsistent day to day.

Midway through the race I was comfortably near the front and never stressed up the hill. The sprint over the top, through the hair-pin was just an exercise in getting out of the saddle to stay loose. I was optimistic. I'm not often a real positive thinker in bike races. Bike racing is cruel and rarely just.

Some friends stopped warming up for their race as they watched. They were happy that I was back on the bike after taking such a licking from American Steel. They cheered for me and motivated me. But about that time, as the lap board counted down the legs failed me. I had nothing left and in frustration dropped out, pulling off the course with 2 or 3 laps to go.

I retrieved my jacket, leg warmers and a fresh bottle then turned away from the park to ride easy and contemplate my failure having lost complete sight of the bigger picture. The fact that I was racing again after having been run down by an old man in an El Dorado in a hurry to get his lawn mower blade sharpened.

Waiting for me at the course exit point were a handful of friends. They rode with me and reminded me that the race itself is less important than the time spent with one's friends.

Fast forward 5 years to another rehab, another first road race in a long while and I find myself off the back of a Masters 40+ race over the first big climb of the course. Fifteen miles in to a 60-mile race. I get over the top and watch a group of other not-so-fit-old-guys start to work together in an effort to chase back on to the group. My heart is in my mouth and I'm content to sit on the back, not contributing until I was sure I wouldn't barf. While sitting there I notice the numbers on each riders jersey and the ribbon differentiating the 50+ guys from the 40-49 year olds. I figure I am the youngest guy in the group and I'm barely hanging on!

A few miles pass and I start to take my turns on the front. Our group is working fairly well together and we catch another couple of riders who got popped out of the main bunch. By the end of the next lap most of this laughing group has decided to peel off and head back to their cars. I made the decision to stay in and keep chasing nothing as by this time the race is far out of sight. With me is one guy who says it's his 50th birthday and he just wanted to get a good day in because all he does otherwise is commute the same route to work and home each day.

So we soldiered on. Another 20-miles catching guys left behind by the race proper. This guy Joe and I doing the bulk of the pace making while others sat in to recover before eventually taking their turns. As we approached the finish hill, guys in the group started sizing each other up as if we were the leaders racing for the win. We were at best going to be sprinting for 50th place in the combined age-group field, likely 20-minutes behind the winner. I stood up as the sprint started, both legs cramped and I sat back down and watched grown men race each other for absolutely nothing.

Joe "won" the bunch sprint. He said the big guy in Orange almost had him but faded as the line approached. He rode back to the parking lot with me and said how great it was to "win" the sprint on his birthday.

I took 2nd by a tire in a 3 up sprint in a criterium on my 21st birthday. That was bitter-sweet. My mom got a picture of it. Go figure. But I can't imagine being so stoked to ultimately get 17th out of 20 in a race where the common thread of discussion is retirement. Regardless, Joe had a good day. Should I decide to do another road race in the near future, I look forward to getting dropped with my new friend Joe.

As for my placement? I was misplaced as 8th in the cat 3's until that was sorted and corrected. At which point the officials simply deleted me. At least I didn't DNF.