Dirt Merchant

Tour of the Gila

2011-05-02T22:24:00.000-07:00

Photo dump. Words to come. I know I say that a lot, but this time I really mean it. There is much to say for this incredible experience. Stay tuned!

My family for the week, Team Diadora-Pasta Zara. L to R: Eleonora Patuzzo (ITA), Amber Pierce (AUT), Rachel Neylan (AUS), Mara Abbott (USA), Claudia Haeusler (GER), and Manel Lacambra (SPA).

Mara Abbott wins the first stage of the tour!

Mara wins the polka dot (or polka leap) climbers jersey and is Queen of the Mountain.

Mara wins 2nd overall in the GC.

The girls on the "Vomit Comet" from Silver City to Albequerque.

Eleonora Patuzzo sprints for 3rd place in Stage 4's criterium race in downtown Silver City.

The shop where I spent a few late nights preparing for the next day of racing.

Unloading the van and preparing the team car for the caravan.

My view from the backseat.

Just in case, though fortunately I didn't have to leave the car once.

Our hosts' house overlooked Wind Canyon and Silver City. Not a bad place to be while washing the bikes.

Pretty maids all in a row. Ready to "kill the bitches... in the middle of the face!"

The start of Stage 5.

The photo I waited all week for: The team and their mechanick.

The view from my office

2011-02-08T12:23:00.000-08:00

Photo dump. Words to follow...

South Sister and the alpen glow from the sunrise.

South Sister's reflection in the windows of the pro shop.

We're special.

Our boss, Sparky, not feeling it.

Sunrise lift and Mt. Bachelor's summit on a bluebird day.

Corduroy.

Stallion, in danger of being dog-napped by me.

Oregon Trail of Dreams sled dog tours, owned and operated by world class mushers, Jerry and Rachael Scdoris.

Happy New Year

2011-01-11T00:28:00.000-08:00

Laura and Matt, climbing Burma Rd.

The view from the top of the Burma climb. Too bad the camera can't capture emotion.

A fun, bench cut out-and-back that traversed a ridge. Awesome.

The setting sun and the Deschutes River make the backdrop for the end of an amazing ride.

I did my first mountain bike ride of the year yesterday. The place is called Smith Rock and is a popular rock climbing spot, but the trails around it are pretty sick, too. I brought my camera, but was too busy being blown away by what I was seeing to stop and take many photos. Here are just a few.

Fruits of your Labors

2010-12-18T21:44:00.000-08:00

Snowshoeing through Virginia Meisner Sno-park.

My workshop, where the magic happens.

These last two weeks have been a lesson in simplicity. This type of lifestyle is definitely one I can get used to. We all do our part and we help each other out in many ways. I am so thankful. Rather than piping oil or gas in to heat our home, there is a fireplace that we constantly tend to. We chop the wood ourselves. We go out in the snow to restock the wood pile on the deck.

I have been tightening my belt and my pockets are shallow, but that does not mean that fun can't be had. I have not driven my van since I got here. Instead, every errand and every trip has been by bicycle. There is a great feeling of satisfaction getting where you need to go under your own power.

There are many adventures to be had in the snow. Rather than buy lift tickets to get a ride up the mountain, we climbed up ourselves with snowshoes strapped to our feet, snowboards in hand. Every next agonizing step was welcomed because that was just one more foot of descending on the return trip to the bottom. I have never ridden powder, nor have I ever ventured into the back country where the lines made are your own. As we hiked up, I was giddy with suspense as I mind-shredded my way through the trees that we walked by.

Once at the top, the landscape transformed to a harsh, wind-blown, vastness. The views we drank in were that much more awesome because we had arrived there by ourselves, with no help save for the encouragement and the excitement shared by our friends. I was nervous to begin the descent, having not ridden a snowboard in two years, and that was on grainy east-coast slop. We started down, and it took a few attempts to learn how to trim the board so that it planed over the snow, rather than plowed through it. Once I got that down, front leg boned out, weight on the back foot, I began to float and carve my way through the trees, yelping and yipping the whole way down. When I reached the bottom, I amazingly emerged from the woods right where our car was parked. I literally rode right to it. High fives all around and talk of the experience filled the car the whole ride home. It was the most amazing thing I have ever done.

I was surprised also by how good I felt. Nearly every day has held an adventure, whether it has been a snowshoe trek through the woods, or commuting around town on the bikes. There has really been no time to rest, except for the night. I am pleased by my level of fitness and will happily watch as I only become more fit. I even attended my first yoga class today.

It has been amazing so far and I love the satisfaction of the resulting payoff of so much hard work and collaboration when like-minded people work towards a common goal. The best things in life are free.

CX Nats

2010-12-13T22:14:00.000-08:00

My athlete, out near the front

It has been an intense weekend as well as the few days leading up to the Cyclo-cross National Championships in Bend, OR. I arrived here in town only two days after completing the Bill Woodul Race Mechanics Clinic in Colorado Springs and now it was my chance to put everything I learned to use while taking on the role of being Laura Winberry's mechanic.

To sum up my first few days simply would be to say that it has been a whirlwind of introductions with some old, but many more new acquaintances. I'm at a place where someone can plug me in to the social pipeline! It's been difficult to remember so many names and even more difficult seeing those same people again and not remembering who they are, but I am getting better at that every day.

One introduction was more important than any other, and that was with Laura's race bike. It was paramount that every single part of that bike was checked over and tuned perfectly. Some issues are easy to pick out and remedy while others are more subjective, like brake lever feel and tire pressure. She understands her bike and can communicate well what she's experiencing, which then makes my job so much easier. We walked the course on Thursday and discussed the good lines and tire choice. I felt so pro! Working with Laura in a professional athlete/mechanic relationship has been a pleasure. We did a pre-ride on Friday just to get a feel, although the weather would change the course considerably by Sunday.

Applying much of what I learned at the clinic has helped me to provide the support necessary to make sure she had a positive experience on the bike and that her focus could be precisely on her own performance separate from the bike. One area where my education was most useful was minutes before call ups when Laura approached me in the pits after her warm up with a loose cleat. Naturally, an inability to safely get her foot in and out of the pedals could have dashed any chance she had at a solid performance. I kept a level head and didn't reveal the severity of our situation. So while she went to have embrocation applied to her legs, I used my legs to run around like a maniac trying to find some thread lock, teflon tape, or new cleat hardware. The guys from Shimano stepped up (no pun intended) and gave me new hardware for her cleats.

I thankfully found her in the Hutch's tent under the care of Marcel Russenberger and Paul Curley. I replaced the hardware and she made it to the starting line on time. I then returned to the pits where I stood at the ready on each half lap with a pit bike, though she had no need for it. I only yelled words of encouragement as she passed each time, which is a pretty important job in itself.

I got to talking with a few of the other mechanics in the pit. The guy next to me had an athlete also in the top 30 who was ahead of Laura. We waited for our riders to emerge from behind the ridge, and then we saw them together, side by side as Laura took the impossible line on a steep drop and made an incredible pass on the inside of the sharp right hander and then back up that same ridge into a swooping left and back down past pit lane! I was screaming my head off at this point! It was the greatest pass I had ever seen and she made it stick. After they passed, the mechanic turned to me and calmly said, "That was my girl she just passed." and I did one of those raised eyebrows "ah hah" faces, when in my mind I was saying, "FUCK YEAH!!! IN BOTH OF YOUR FACES!!!"

Laura went on to a great finish, succeeding in meeting her self-set goals, and told me afterwards that her bike was awesome. I have a deeply vested interest in her success and I see her potential, so I am ecstatic that I have her trust and was able to play such a vital role. We both put in our maximum efforts and we together produced a solid result. And to think this is only the beginning. By the way, her cleats held.

Oh and of course I got in on a little of that racing action, too. My race was on Saturday with the Masters 30-34 Men. It was cold, windy, snowing in the morning then changed to rain, and muddy, muddy, muddy! I started in the last row and finished almost last, but I felt great and had a blast out there. I cannot put into words how much I love the fact that the fans will cheer just as loud for the guys battling for last place as they do for the battle for the lead. The smell of brats on the grill and the beat of the marching bands' drums were even more fuel for the fire. I truly loved the experience.

There's me, 273, wishing a meteor would strike the Earth to end my suffering on lap 1.

This is that same drop where Laura made that amazing pass. Even I didn't take the inside line! Crazy!

The Amazing Journey Pt. 3

2010-12-10T08:31:00.000-08:00

Leaving Colorado, I passed a cloud factory.

Somewhere along Rt. 13, somewhere in Wyoming

Rt. 20 in Oregon. This video just doesn't do it justice.

On the road again, snow-free roads at that, and on my way out of Colorado on Rt. 13 North into Wyoming. Up to this moment, I had never driven on a more beautiful road. It was two lanes wide and cut across the high desert at the foot of the Rocky Mountains themselves. I couldn't help but think how this lovely sight would not be seen and how everything amazing that was to come would not be had I not listened to my heart and dared to follow my dream. They were the first happy tears I have ever cried.

Passing through Wyoming and on into Idaho, the sun had set and temperatures began to drop below freezing. At first, the fog was only patchy and required a decrease in speed by about 10mph. But by about 9pm, as I climbed over some smaller mountain passes, I encountered something I had never seen before. Frozen fog. Although the roads were dry, I feared they would become icy thinking that that is how black ice forms. I would soon find out that that wasn't the worst thing that can come of frozen fog. All the while, the difference between humidity and temperature on either side of my windshield caused a haze that made it difficult to see through. I messed with my defroster and A/C settings to clear it up but nothing seemed to work. I passed a tanker truck and safely moved back into the right lane. When I hit the wipers to clear the spray from his wheels, it smeared all the dirt and the water formed a layer of ice on my windshield, making it even more difficult to see. I hit my washers thinking that it had some anti-ice formula in it, but what happened next was the scariest thing I have ever had happen to me. I hope my mom isn't reading this!

As soon as the washer fluid hit the window, it froze. The wipers then distributed it evenly, thus completely whiting out my windshield in seconds. I was still doing 60mph and could only see through a small slit at the bottom, just enough to be able to see the lines in the road. I hit my four ways and pulled over to the shoulder as the tanker sped by me. Coming to a stop, I couldn't believe what had just happened. I sat there until I was able to melt the ice off and exited the roadway at the next rest area.

I sat there and ate dinner, thinking about what happened and the danger in pressing on. I was headed for lower elevation, the fog was going away, and I really didn't want to cut my drive short because I didn't want to risk not reaching Bend by the next afternoon. Once again, I sat there thinking when I just fired up the engine again and rolled out of there. The rest of the night's drive went on without a hitch.

Two more hours and I reached Twin Falls, where I was sure I would find a Walmart. The expanse of lights ahead made me believe I would have no trouble finding this oasis of the open road. I drove directly into the center of town and began making right turns. Every third turn, I would go one more block so as to not go in circles, but to expand outwards in a spiraling fashion. I explored every corner of town until I had seen a Costco, a Lowe's, a Home Depot, a Kmart, a Target, and many other large stores, but no Walmart. I was just about to give up and head back to 84 and proceed to the next rest stop, when I saw the familiar looking edifice.

A trip inside to fill my water bottles for the next morning's coffee and I was back in my van making my bed for the night. It was cold, but I had been quite comfortable each night spent inside. I had accidentally ripped my sleeping bag near its zipper on the pedal of my bike and that opening allowed cold air to seep in, making me consciously aware of the coldness throughout the night. The wakeup process in these cases is long. It was about an hour and a half from the moment I woke up to the moment I was out of my bag and dressed. I made my coffee, filled up with gas, and hopped back on I-84 for the final leg of my journey.

Before, I said that Rt. 13 was the most beautiful road ever driven. That was until I took Rt. 20 across eastern Oregon and into Bend. My head was on a swivel as each curve revealed another snowy mountain, frozen river, or vast expanse of rolling white bumps. The highlight was the summit at Drinkwater Pass, where the sun shone through the low clouds turning everything a crazy shade of orange, and then dropping back below them revealing a beautiful view of the valley.

Rather than my friend Laura preparing dinner that evening, she called and said some people from Cyclocross Magazine were getting together for dinner and we were invited. I arrived at her house where there was a wonderful reunion and I was shown where I would be staying. Dinner with the CM people was an absolute blast. They were all so friendly and welcoming. What better way to spend my first night in a new town? The next few days we would see them at the races and around town and we were always greeted with smiles.

We've been pretty busy these last few days and I have been introduced to countless new people with whom I am continually impressed by the quality of their personalities. It's only been two full days spent here and I feel like I have been here a month because there is so much going on. I have this feeling of certainty that I have done the right thing and come to the right place. I have done everything I had set out to do. I am living my life. And I have never been happier.

This amazing journey has come to a close, though this very moment plans for a new journey are in the works. There are so many directions to go from here, but you can be sure it will be my heart that I will be following.

The Amazing Journey Pt. 2

2010-12-07T10:31:00.000-08:00

A proud moment, Matty B checks out my bike. =)

The sleeping giant.

It's like the hanging gardens.

The chickens!

So when I last left you guys last, I was about to leave Ken and Sara in Denver and head back to Colorado Springs for the race mechanic clinic. It was held at the Olympic Training Center in the middle of town, fenced in and secure from the surrounding streets. My friends Matt and Eric from High Gear had flown in that morning and it was great to see some familiar faces.

After our reunion, we had time before our first class, so we hopped on our bikes and went on a recon mission around Springs to check things out. The first session was at 6pm and was just a chance for all the instructors and the students to introduce themselves. The next day would be the first of four days of the most intense instruction of race mechanics-related topics. Everything from bike washing to the athlete-mechanic relationship. Some of the biggest names in the cycling industry were there to pass on their knowledge to us aspiring mechanics.

The Olympic Training Center is an amazing facility where many of the country's top athletes reside so they can train in a controlled environment. Our classes limited us to only a few classrooms, but we had free reign over the cafeteria! Not only was it awesome to just walk up and take whatever we wanted, but the food was actually healthy. Each item had its full nutritional breakdown displayed before it, so the athletes were sure of what they were or weren't putting in their bodies. That stuff didn't interest me. I was more interested in the softserve machine and the do-it-yourself waffle irons. Whipped cream? Don't mind if I do!

Even though our physical time there was short, the amount of activity each day, as I look back, made it seem to have been longer. After the last session on Sunday morning, I had a meeting with the head dude of the clinic and the head dude of the European road program to discuss future job opportunities. By the time that was over, all of my new friends, as well as Matt and Eric, had all departed to catch their flights home. I sat in the dining area, watching a football game on the big screen, contemplating my next move.

It was a strange feeling, one I would imagine a college student feels on his last day on campus (I wouldn't know that exact feeling), knowing as soon as you stepped foot off that campus you could never turn back. And that your whole life was ahead of you. The latter feeling I felt very strongly. I had planned for nearly two years to arrive at this moment and that moment came and went so quickly. As was the way for most of the events that took place over these last two years, I just let my heart lead me wherever it wanted to go. As long as I listened to it, things were just seeming to work out like as if it was all a part of a preset plan.

I checked the weather a few times as I sat there, wondering if I should spend the night in my van there in town or continue West to my next way point. I stared blankly down at the table for a few minutes and then, as if lifted by some external force, I got up out of my chair and walked out the door. It was time to move on. Steamboat Springs lay 4 hours away in the high country and I had just enough time to get there before bedtime that night. A weather system was moving in and would dump snow in the passes. I didn't want to encounter any snow covered roads in my van and so far I was very lucky. I was granted fair weather all the way to Colorado, until the very night I arrived did a snowstorm hit. I was already safe inside the limits of the Walmart parking lot by then.

I arrived at Amy's house in Steamboat just after 11pm, after having climbed through Rabbit Ears Pass and descending down into the city limits. The passes were clear that night, but the next day a storm dumped about 4 inches of fresh powder. It was great to see Amy and her dogs Taina and Kayla, as well as Amy's sister, Erin, whom I didn't expect to be there. Amy and I took the dogs out for a snowshoe hike up a nearby mountain, then went bouldering at a friend's personal rock wall. To wrap up an eventful and fun-filled day, we all went to the hot springs for a soak. It was nice because it was still snowing as we sat in geothermally heated water.

I was concerned about the appropriate time to depart for my next and final leg of my journey. The next day would see sunny skies and temps above freezing, but only later in the day. I would need to wait until the roads cleared up before heading out of Steamboat. Amy tempted me to stay, and it was hard not to, but another weather system would be there soon and I feared if I didn't get out while I could, I may not get out for a while. It was important that I did leave on time because my next destination, and ultimately where I would be staying, was a two-day drive away.

Amy and Erin both had business to attend to at the mountain that morning, so I said my goodbye's early and had the rest of the morning to spend with the dogs. I sat on the couch with Taina sleeping next to me, checking and rechecking the weather forecast. Snow in the high country and fog later that night in Twin Falls, Idaho where I was headed. Just like the day before in the cafeteria, I just got up and made for the door. This time, my exodus was slowed by the long goodbyes given to the dogs, since I will miss them a lot and don't know when I will see them again. They didn't seem so concerned, except that I was prolonging their approach to a mid-morning nap.

In two days I would be in Bend, Oregon.

The Amazing Journey Pt. 1

2010-11-30T08:23:00.000-08:00

Somewhere in Indiana.

There is nothing in Kansas. Nothing.

Crossing the state line into Colorado.

My first Colorado sunset.

Merckx

Devi

Beginning the climb, looking East. Denver skyline in the distance.

A place called Red Rocks. There's a theater there. You may have heard of it.

Snow-capped peaks in the distance

Mount Falcon summit

I am seated at a desk beside a cat named Merckx. A wood burning stove is humming behind me. A spare bedroom is full of bikes. I am in Denver. I left New Jersey and a lifetime of memories four days ago. And four days were spent inside my van, whether it being in the drivers seat or buried beneath every blanket I own, and whether gazing out at the endless expanse of I-70 or up at the halogen glow of the lights in a Wal-mart parking lot.

Not much can be said about driving through the heartland, which is, in a way, why I have started this entry once I reached the Rockies. I can sum up the experience in just a few sentences. After Pennsylvania, there really isn't much to see until St. Louis. The Arch was pretty cool and so was crossing the Mississippi River, although it was already dark out and it came and went rather quickly. The only other thing left to say is that Kansas is the worst state I have ever driven through. At first, it's actually quite amazing and I thought, "Wow, I can't believe how vast and endless it is." Nine hours later, I was saying "I can't believe how vast and endless this is!" but in a much more exhaustible tone. The entire time, I was waiting and waiting and waiting for the Rocky Mountains to first emerge on the horizon. Unfortunately, it never happened.

The sun had set just as I crossed the Colorado state line and I was still looking at a flat line. Darkness. I exited off I-70 for the first time in over 1,000 miles onto Rt. 24, a curvy highway that seemed to be gaining elevation, or at least it felt that way. I imagined that the road was tree-lined and that I was entering a more mountainous area, but once in a while the lights of a distant town proved that the sky was still as massive and the landscape was still as flat as before. With 20 miles to go after 12 hours at the wheel (such a long stint was partially due to the adrenaline rush of reaching Colorado Springs that night, but also because I had not seen a Wal-mart since Topeka) the tell-tale signs of an approaching storm had proven positive and I was greeted with snow. I was smiling ear to ear.

Finding a Wal-mart in this town was easy. There was not one, but three to pick from. I settled in for the night and the morning sky revealed what had been hidden from sight the night before. Somehow, as in magically, as I slept, the snowy mountains silently grew from the flat horizon that I was sure was there only yesterday. I guess John Denver wasn't so full of shit after all.

Having arrived two days ahead of schedule, I decided to take up an offer from a friend whose only ties were that of cyberspace and a passion for cycling. Ken rides for the same team as me, but this was the first time we've met. I have followed his travels with his girlfriend, Sarah on their blog and have admired their outdoorsy lifestyle, so I was excited to finally meet them and also have a warm bed and a hot shower.

It is now the first day of December and I am back in Colorado Springs. I have been reunited with my friends from High Gear who arrived here this morning. We are headed to the first session of classes. Stay tuned for part 2!

Psycho Cross

2010-11-14T11:35:00.000-08:00

A new race was added to the NJ Cup calendar this year, the Cyclocross at Central Park of Morris County. It was held on the grounds of the abandoned Greystone Psychiatric Mental Institution, whose main building provided the eerie grey backdrop to the day's race course.

As it turned out, the CXCP race fell on the same day as the Staten Cross (SICX) MAC race, which is a huge event and draws racers from all over the tri-state area. Knowing this, and closely monitoring the confirmed riders list on Bikereg.com, I decided it would be advantageous to sign up for the Pro race. All the heavy hitters that routinely dominate the A race would either be at Staten or in Fort Collins, CO for the USGP race the following weekend. The A race carries a payout that usually goes five deep, so there was a chance I would make a little money... though at a price.

That price was suffering for a full hour as opposed to the 40-45 minutes for the B racers. Until about three days before the pre-registration cutoff, I was the only person signed up. My plan was seeming to play out perfectly. I ride my bike leisurely around the course for an hour and collect my check at the end. Well, it didn't quite go like that, as you could have imagined.

Come race day, six other riders signed up for my race, so I would have to beat two of them just to get a podium spot. Some of these guys are my friends, including Ryan Heerschap and BL, so it was going to be fun no matter what. However I knew that I was going to suffer horribly just to finish, and that it was not a question of if I was going to get lapped, but how many times?

After a thorough warm up, I headed for the starting line where I noticed that two of the riders were not present. Sweet! All I would have to do is finish and I would get paid. From the whistle, I immediately accepted my spot in dead last, but was actually able to hold the pace and hung on for the first half lap. Slowly, they began to form a gap on me that I had no desire to close. It was a long race and if I tried to hang on, I would surely have blown up.

Just finish the race. Easier said than done. This course had some really huge divots in the race line, unfortunately on some of the portions of the course where I really wanted to open it up. One false move and I could have damaged my bike and ended my day. With no pit bike or extra wheels, I was just a little cautious. I did not hold back though, and I raced at 100% the entire time. The few fans who were still there and some of my good friends were cheering me on the whole way, making it impossible to ease off.

As I rolled through the start/finish to begin lap 3, the scorer called out "9 laps to go!" and I yelled, "WHAT?!?" This was going to be a long race. Somewhere around lap 4 I got my second wind and actually felt good. I turned it up a little bit, drilling the sections where I knew I could go fast. I was actually really excited that only the top three guys lapped me and it wasn't until lap 9 of 11 that they caught me. When BL was approaching, I saw that my friend Art had stuck a $5 bill in the mud between the barriers. I rode as hard as I could to hold off BL, beat him to the barriers and claim my prize.

Since I had so much time, I really focused on my technique. I nailed every dismount/remount and rode very clean. I still felt relatively good after an hour of pain and sprinted out of the saddle to the finish. It was all smiles and handshakes at the end and a feeling of a great accomplishment. A quick change into my street clothes and I was back to the scoring tent to claim my first Pro level payout. I'm glad that my plan worked out and I am thankful for the experience to race with guys at this level and sort of hang on and not completely die in the face. I am going to switch my attention back to my training this winter and hopefully return next year with the legs to actually give these guys a fight.

My darkest hour

2010-10-05T18:40:00.001-07:00

There's been a lot going on lately. Only my closest friends know exactly what's happening... and only my closest friends read this (I think), so I won't explain at length the details. Money, as much as I dislike the concept and choose to not let it control me, has become a problem.

With race mechanic school being paid for and my spot awaiting me, it is now paramount that I get myself out there in time. With already diminished funds, having signed my condo over to the bank and an unexpected repair to the van, it became evident that saving up enough money to get there may not be possible. Cue the untimely termination of my job.

Just when things were looking to be the most difficult, as I was reeling from a succession of blows, the knockout punch was delivered and I hit the mat. Unbelievable how I could be let go just a month before I was going to amicably part ways with my employer, with which I have been entirely honest from the start that I planned to leave for Colorado in November. The same employer who threatened to not hire me back after being laid off for the winter if I didn't agree to finish the year instead of leaving in July like I originally planned. Looking back, knowing now the quality of business owner I was dealing with, it would have been better (and more satisfying to be doing the screwing, rather than being screwed) to not have said anything at all and just gave my two weeks when I was ready to go.

Instead, the last two paychecks I was counting on to fund my trip West won't be attained. My employer also was unwilling to let me collect my full unemployment benefits, which I know is bullshit and I could go before an appeals board and surely win. But rather than go through all the effort, I did something way more satisfying. I had some of my good friends get me a job at my previous employer's biggest rival shop. I started the very next day after my last day at the other place, not skipping a beat.

Though this new job doesn't pay quite the same, the caliber of talent who work there, in only three days, have given me the necessary leads to help me find work immediately after receiving my race mechanic license. So maybe it was for the best. The saddest thing about losing my job was no longer being able to serve the customers that I have gotten to know on a personal level who have grown to trust me with their bikes.

One of them, who I believe to be one of those people put in our lives at just the right time, has shared some wisdom with me that has completely changed the way I view my financial situation. Regarding my foreclosure and outstanding debt to the bank, he told me that banks don't lend money out of the kindness of their hearts, nor because they think Nick is a heck of a nice guy and they want to do him a favor. They are in business and that business is only to earn a profit on the interest they'll collect from the money they lent me. In all business, there is risk. The risks that banks take is that some people will default on their loans. Their business models calculate for this risk as a percentage. They took a chance on me, I defaulted, they lose.

My friend told me that by no means should I feel guilty about it. He said we are taught from when we are young that if we borrow something from someone we should return it. But regarding banks and loans, it is business and nothing else. I was pretty worried about what would happen to me if I didn't pay back my loans, but not any more. He assured me that there is a protocol that banks follow to collect their money. They will try to call me, my place of work, my family members. They will try to sound sympathetic and play with my emotions, but all they care about is their business, not about me. There's nothing they can do to harm me personally and the government has laws in place to protect me, so not to worry. My mind is at ease now. Raj, I know you're reading this, so, thank you.

Speaking of things becoming more difficult as time goes on, the last race of the H2H season, the Leafblower at Ringwood State Park, was this passed Sunday. My friend, Ryan has already taken the Cat 1 30-39 series title, so he had chosen to race up and enter the Pro/Cat 1 Open division. The rules say that once you race up, you can't downgrade during that season, but since it was the last race of the season it didn't matter. That's how I was convinced to do the Pro race with him.

On top of racing against guys that are insanely fast, the pros also race a longer distance, typically one more lap than the Elite riders do. Four laps at Ringwood is not impossible for me, but ideally I don't want to take 5 hours to do 30 miles and find out that everyone had packed up to go home by the time I finished. Much to my chagrin, when I went to pick up my number I discovered, by some miracle, that the Pros would only be doing 3 laps, just like the Elite field. Phew!

Rewind a bit though. The night before, I was so stressed about my situation that I couldn't sleep. I was doing calculations for how much gas money I'd need to cover the distance and got overwhelmed. So I got up to use a calculator. I realized I wouldn't make enough money through wages alone to cover it, which made it even harder to fall asleep. It was after 2am when I finally did. When I woke up, though, I saw that it was an absolutely perfect Fall day, I was really excited to be riding at Ringwood, and I was going to see all my friends.

I had just finished reading "The Alchemist" and particularly enjoyed the message it sent. The take home message was the importance of listening to your heart. It speaks the language of the universe, the language spoken by all things. When we are living in accordance with our own personal legends, we should look for omens to assure us we're on the right path. When I was driving to Ringwood, I was looking for the parking area at Shepard Lake. I had been there before, but didn't remember how to get there. Instead of checking a map before I left, I decided to just wing it. When I turned down a road I wasn't sure of, a red Jeep Cherokee passed me coming the other way. An omen, I thought. Turned out it was the correct road and I made it to Shepard Lake.

Since I had entered the Pro/Cat 1 race, I was to receive a single-digit number plate. I may have mentioned before that I am superstitious when it comes to race numbers. My lucky number is 6, so when I got a 3-digit race number, if it had a 6 in it I was happy. If it didn't, I would try to create some kind of equation with the three numbers to try and equal 6. For example, my number at the World Cup was 263. So that was double lucky because 2x3=6 and it had a 6 in it already. So I was hoping my number would be 6 and when the lady handed it to me, I got really excited! But my excitement was short-lived because when I saw the orientation of the text, I realized that my number was indeed 9. Not bad, though. 3 goes into 9 3 times, so 3+3=6 and 9-3=6. See? Lucky.

I actually knew I didn't stand a fighting chance with these guys, so I resorted to settling into my place at the back and riding, not so much racing the course. I felt great, it was a beautiful day, and the trails were in perfect condition. I was thinking about "The Alchemist" as I was riding. The boy in the story learns to communicate with nature (not in the sense that you might initially suspect) by speaking the language of the universe, the same language spoken by our hearts. I decided to give it a try. The terrain was rocky and at a race pace, it shook my hands to the point where my fingers ached from holding the grips so tightly. When I was descending a fire road section at 20+ mph, I asked the earth to show me the smoothest line. The earth said it didn't know, but to ask the water. The water was flowing down the fire road and it told me to follow it, since water follows the path of least resistance. I must sound crazy, but this actually was going through my head out there.

At times like these, when one can ask their self how much worse can a situation get before it gets better, we're reminded that the darkest hour comes right before the dawn. Sometimes when things are going badly, at the time we don't understand why. But when we are on our path and we are patient, eventually we learn to view the situation in a different way, and we're able to see the underlying good in everything.

The way I viewed my number when I was on my bike.

Rumble in the Jungle

2010-09-28T10:50:00.001-07:00

The setup.

Pre-race meditation in the hammock.

Apple-cinnamon Hammer Gel compliments of Tara.

I saw the photographers all set up on this burm, so I railed it!

Smiling despite the suffering.

Coog had the low angle shot at this log ride, just before the finish line. I saw him and gave it everything I had to air over it. It would either be a great pic or a great crash. I cleared it and then some!

Jungle Habitat, one of my favorite parks, was host to H2H Race #8 and the 2010 NJ State Championship. It's a very technical course that can really keep those who have strong aerobic engines in low gear and rewards those who have the best bike handling ability. That was my only advantage in the Cat 1 30-39 field, who are arguably the fastest in the series.

Once again, it was my goal to not come in last and once again I succeeded. It's also a bonus when you don't crash, and I always hope to never do that. It was a crash-free race, thankfully, and despite the fact that rock gardens and technical sections were being taken at race pace, my bike suffered no mechanical issues.

My carrot for the day was my friend Lucky, who rides for Cycle Craft and has been doing consistently better than me in the last few races. I knew we were closely matched and it was shaping up to be a showdown. From the start, we watched the lead group pull ahead and we didn't go after them, rather just settled into our own pace. Lucky led most of lap one and I stayed right on his wheel, until a mistake on the first techy descent allowed me to get by. I kept ahead of him for the rest of the race. My gap on him diminished on every climb as he reeled me back in, only for me to regain the distance on the descents. It's a funny thing. When you're leading, you want to go fast enough to keep your opponent behind you, but not so fast that you lose control. When you're chasing, you want to go faster than, but not so fast that you make mistakes and lose the ground you worked so hard for.

I was able to hold him off as well as four other guys to get 12th, my best Cat 1 finish. I am very pleased with how well I rode and how I didn't bonk. There was the necessary power right til the end to power up climbs and to showboat for the photographers. It's always a good time before, during, and after the race, seeing all my good friends as we cheer each other on and share our experiences. The best part was on lap 2 when my coach, Ken, was standing amidst the numerous switchbacks on the climb up Animal Chute near the end of the lap. I heard him cheering for me all the way up the hill as I was murdering bitches in the face. I don't even remember what he was saying, but it helped so much.

So there's one more H2H race left, the Leafblower at Ringwood on Oct. 3. It's another one of my favorite parks and it's another challenging race course. After this, my focus will be solely on cyclocross for the rest of the year. I'm kind of sad to hang up the xc bike for a while, but cross is ridiculously fun and it will be xc time again before I know it.

In a quick little side story, one of my friends and racing buddies, Ryan Heerschap, had me build him a super light racing wheelset and he debuted them at this race. He rode them to a 2nd place finish, 2nd in the NJ State Championships, and locked himself into 1st overall in the H2H series. It was so rewarding to play even a small role in an athlete's achievements. As an aspiring race mechanic, it's exactly this feeling that I hope to share with all of the racers who I will be assisting in my future.

Nice job, Ryan.

Gentlemen, start your engines!

2010-09-13T18:21:00.000-07:00

Checking in... and checking out that cute girl with the cast!

Lap 1 and eating dust

"Don't hit the brakes, don't stop pedaling."

I love this picture. It was a quick downhill into a sweeping left and I hit this at full speed. I passed this guy like he was going backwards. He's looking over at me and I have a huge smile on my face.

This is the number of days out of the year that I kick ass.

I climbed a tree for a better view of the Elite Master Men's race and I tore my arm up on my return to Earth.

The 2010 'cross season is underway with the first race of the year in the books. Saturday was the Nittany Lion CX near Trexlertown, PA, home of the Valley Preferred Cycling Center and super awesome velodrome.

It wasn't a surprise that it was pretty hot on Saturday since it's still early September, but add to it the fact that we haven't had any significant rainfall in weeks and you have some pretty non-cyclocross-like conditions. The grass was burnt yellow, the dirt was a sandy light brown, and the ground as hard as concrete. The course had no real elevation and was lacking the usual, too steep to ride, run-up that is characteristic of a cyclocross circuit. The conditions made for an insanely fast, and dusty, race where there wasn't any real area where one could rest. Just an all out sprint.

I did well at a race like this last season at Hidden Valley, but was my engine as strong this year as it was last year? The name of the game was to not give my opponents any extra room. This meant pedal strokes. Any time I wasn't pedaling and my competition was, I was losing ground. We zig-zagged across a soccer field, which meant long straightaways linked by 180 degree turns. I had worked very hard to attack racers in the technical portions leading up to this, only to lose my lead on them on the soccer field on the first three laps. It is disheartening when you can't make your passes stick and you see the guy you just passed passing you back and you can't do a thing about it. On the last few laps, it was important not to let anyone catch me through this section, so I had a mantra going through my head to keep me going, "Don't hit the brakes, don't stop pedaling."

As the race progressed, my fitness didn't diminish and I was able to attack riders and hold them off while I set my sights on the next guy in front of me. From starting in last place (and I mean DEAD last) I was able to fight through about 1/3 of a field of about 100. Not too bad for my first B race. I'll try to get better starting positions later in the season and hopefully be able to stay up there. Already looking forward to the next 'cross race, but first there are a couple more XC races I want to do. Up next is the NJ State Championship and second to last H2H race at one of my favorite parks, Jungle Habitat.

Race the World

2010-09-12T09:03:00.000-07:00

Windham World Cup photo dump. Words to come...

Worked a full day then drove 3 hours to Windham, NY. Nice bags!

Watching the Pro Women on Saturday.

Early morning preparations.

Last second tune up. All systems go!

Another lucky number

Last blast through the woods before the sick descent. The girl in the background, "Nice tushy!"

On the ski run at full speed back to the bottom.

The "kick in the nuts" hill.

Thanks, Coog for taking our pictures!

Oh well why not?

2010-09-07T18:47:00.000-07:00

So a new cross season is about to begin and with that, the need for a fancy new skinsuit from my sponsor, DeathRow Velo, was apparent. I am really psyched about it. Skinsuits are the only thing more comfortable than bib shorts if you ask me. The only bad part is I intended to buy a medium, but thought I should try on a large as well just to compare. Turns out large isn't my size either, since I ripped several stitches trying to get it on. So I got an XL and my self esteem took a big hit, but when I wore it on this evening's ride, I forgot about how fat I am and marveled at how comfortable I was.

Ok, now I know I'm not the only one who tries on their cycling gear and walks around the house. I assure you I only took the photo for the blog. =)

I will have the chance to break this one in this Saturday at the Nittany Lion Cross race. Stay tuned for photos and a race report!

He's going the distance

2010-09-04T17:48:00.000-07:00

The Darkhorse 40 would be my next test as an elite mtb'er. Since I hadn't been able to train like I would have liked to, I thought a good, long rail trail ride would condition my legs for the distance.

The only time I had to get such a long ride in was my day off, and I said rain or shine, I am going to do it. I selected the Lehigh River Scenic Gorge trail as my destination, which is a solid 4 hour round trip by car. When I arrived at the trail head in Jim Thorpe, PA, some ominous looking clouds were looming overhead. Maybe they're going away from me? No such luck. Five minutes into my ride, a few rogue rain drops fell. Thunder in the distance eluded to a potentially frightening situation. There was no cover and I didn't know if lightning likes titanium or not.

Fortunately, a thunderstorm never happened. What did happen was it began to rain harder and harder until I became saturated from head to toe. The cinder rail trail didn't absorb a drop and I was plodding through a river. Rain seemed to be coming at me from both above and below. I was pretty pissed off, but had to laugh. I passed other riders who were heading south back to Jim Thorpe, their rides almost complete. I had 45 miles to go! Eventually the rain stopped, the sun came out, and I dried off save for my shoes and socks. It turned out to be a pretty nice day after all and I enjoyed it for everything that it had to offer.

This was the first live rattlesnake I have ever seen and he was thoroughly pissed off!

Luckily, I brought a towel and chain lube. The cinders had stuck to my bike and my drivetrain was making the most horrible sounds before I was able to clean it.

I don't remember how the results went for the DH40, but I don't think I came in last. I do remember stopping at the beer tent twice, the huge gathering of all my cycling friends, and the incredible BBQ that was to be had afterwards. Thanks to Maddawg Mike and the people from Darkhorse for putting on another great event!

KSVP Too

2010-09-04T17:07:00.000-07:00

Coming off a DNF in Tennessee and a DFL at Battenkill, the H2H Bulldog Rump at Kittatinny Valley State Park seemed like the best time and place for a humbling debut in Cat 1 on my newest and most awesome race sled, Zena.

I had sworn I wouldn't do any more singlespeed races because they beat up my knees too badly. It's been in my mind to build the ultimate race bike for some time, and over the past couple months I have been selling things and saving everything I could to get this bike built. In previous posts, I mentioned how much I enjoy building custom bikes, selecting each piece, envisioning the finished product, and finally assembling it to see it is exactly as cool as I had imagined. This bike was the epitome of this process and I still look at it and can't believe it's real.

So now I have a geared mountain bike and now I have to race it. As a Cat 1, I am up against guys who have been training and conditioning themselves for the extra distance for years. With my one full year of training, it's all I can do to not come in last in this field. It was time to test my mettle with the big boys, I had a bike that could take the abuse, but I somehow felt like I built a top fuel dragster and installed a Quisinart in the engine compartment.

One thing I like about racing in Cat 1 is the later start time. The extra distance is also great because now I spend more time riding my bike than driving to the races. The extra distance at race pace is another story. KSVP is a really fun, fast course with enough slippery roots and exposed rock to keep one in check. Zena handled beautifully, and her rider didn't do too badly either. I managed to not come in last, so that alone was enough to call the day a success. The mechanic in me was pleased with how well my bike performed.

Battenkilled!

2010-04-26T21:54:00.001-07:00

Sheryl, driving the van home and barely able to see over the steering wheel.

Cresting the hill on Meetinghouse Rd.

I'm not leading those guys. I'm about to be caught by another group!

My friends Nicholas David and Mark Cywin rolling out at the start.

Look out for 736!

It snowed the night before and was windy as hell for the start, barely breaking 40degrees.

From 4/26/10

April 11th saw the kickoff of the Spring Classics road series with the Tour of the Battenkill. I had never done a road race before and since this one was rumored to be one of the toughest in the country, I thought it was a good race to start with. I spent the winter unemployed and got in all the base miles I felt necessary to not do significantly well, but to at least hang on for the duration.

My goals for the day were to simply (ha!) finish and to not come in last. Much to my chagrin, I was spit off the back on the first climb 15 minutes into the race. I knew it was a rookie mistake to go out too hard in such a long race and that the 25mph pace from the gun would surely blow the pack apart and I would settle in at my own pace and eventually start to pick people off. Now I know that this is a cross country racing mentality, and in fact a pack of riders travels MUCH faster than an individual. I did pass someone from my group who had a flat tire, but he eventually passed me again, cementing me in dead fucking last place.

During the race, other groups had caught up to me and I latched onto a few pacelines to rest, but those rides were short lived since I just couldn't keep their pace. At one point, the pro women field had overtaken me and I hung on to the wheel of the last girl in a group of seven. As we passed a feed station, fans held signs that read "GIRL POWER!!!" and were yelling "Go ladies!"

Feed zones weren't the only place to get water. On a lonely stretch of road, a retired Navy veteran had some cases of water to give out. I stopped and talked to him for a few minutes while I restocked. Such long distances on the bike allow for conversations to take place while underway as well. Just before the biggest climb near the halfway point, I was riding solo and approached a guy also riding alone. His name was Jerry and he was in the 50+ group. We were chatting about how we both got dropped and how we were just trying to do our best to finish. He said he was thinking of quitting, but was afraid he would disappoint his girlfriend who was waiting for him at the finish. I talked him out of it and we continued on together until we reached the climb where I eventually had to say farewell and good luck as I pulled ahead.

I was hoping I would see him again. After the race I told Sheryl about him and how I had hoped he finished. Just as I finished saying that, I saw a couple walking towards us and the guy pointed at me and yelled, "That's the guy!" It was Jerry and his girlfriend and he was just telling her about me when we happened upon each other once more. He said to me that it was my words that kept him going and got him to the finish line. Even though I didn't perform like I had hoped, it was that single experience that made the whole thing worth it to me.

It must be said that I was pleased to be riding alone for so much of the race because I was able to really enjoy the scenery. My favorite experience of the day was a result of being alone. Had I been in the pack, this would not have been nearly as cool. As I descended into the town of Greenwich, I saw that the downtown area had the streets blocked off and the sidewalks were lined with barricades and hundreds of cheering fans. The chorus of their voices and the familiar cowbells that reminded me of cross racing fueled a surge of energy in my already tired body. I pedaled as hard as I could through the tunnel of people whom I felt were cheering just for me. I was well tired, but I couldn't help smiling as I tore through those streets. Once beyond the city limits, it was back to quiet solitude and endless stretches of country roads and rolling farmland.

I don't particularly like road racing and I think I will stick to the dirt for now, but I am very pleased with the experience and feel fortunate to have been able to participate in a race like this.

Anniversary

2010-04-26T21:51:00.001-07:00

The infamous water crossing that annually claims its victims. Not me, not this time.

From the drive home. Another one of those sunsets you know will be brilliant long before it happens and we found ourselves in the right place at the right time to enjoy it.

Gee-off, Ryan and I enjoy the largest spread of Mexican food ever.

The Ocoee River from the Whitewater Center in Duck TN. This was during a release the day after the race. What was a barely flowing river with exposed rocks and pools became a violent, unrelenting beast. Ryan and I watched a few kayakers tame the rapids before the long ride home.

At Cracker Barrell. Ryan and I chose this establishment as the restaurant of choice for every pit stop on the way to and from Tennessee. I believe this was visit #5 when I finally perfected my peg removing game skills.

The perfect pre-race meal. Egg-in-a-hole-in-the-bread!

The game reads: "Leave only one - you're genius. Leave two and you're purty smart. Leave three and you're just plain dumb. Leave four or mor'n you're just plain 'eg-no-ra-moose.'" I left seven. What does that make me? I'm off the charts!

From 4/30/10

I returned to Tennessee at the end of April for the Cohutta 100 Mile endurance race. Last year I came down here for the Big Frog 65, my first mountain bike race of my life. Is there a pattern here? This year I opted for the hundred mile, which to date would be the longest race I ever attempted. After the Big Frog, and again after last year's DH40, I swore I would never do a race over 30 miles on a singlespeed ever again. I guess I had forgotten how much pain I was in back then and signed up for the Singlespeed Open division.

My copilot for the trip was my friend and racing companion Ryan Heerschap, a man on a mission to shatter his time from last year, who has been training like a madman for the 2010 racing season. (Since this is being written in the future, Ryan has gone on to murder bitches in the face at every race he's done since this one.) I picked him up late Thursday night and we set out for an all-night, seven state drive.

When preparing for a trip like this, it's important that you bring everything you need. I was staying with some friends in the same cabins we were in last year and I knew exactly what I needed for the weekend, which fit neatly in one duffle bag and a backpack. Ryan was planning on camping at the race venue, which would mean packing as minimalist as possible, but he took with him several Rubbermaid bins filled with crap. I wondered how he planned on moving this stuff to and from his campsite sans a vehicle, but it didn't matter anyway because he ended up staying with us at the cabins.

During the night, somewhere in North Carolina while Ryan was in a french toast induced coma, I suddenly got that feeling that I had forgotten something. My shoes! I don't remember packing them and I know for a fact I took them out of my van the day before. Panic set in and I began to obsess over it. I couldn't reach my duffle bag to check since it was buried under all of Ry's shit, and it was unsafe to look anyway. I thought of all the possible outcomes if I did in fact forget them. Could we find a shop somewhere near Knoxville and I could buy a new pair? I don't have enough money even if they did have my size, which I doubted. Since I paid all this money and drove all this way, would I just use sneakers on clipless pedals and just go for it? That would suck and hurt and be totally shitty.

The next rest stop took forever to get to and when we arrived, I immediately dove into my bag, digging through my cycling gear, searching desperately for my shoes. Not only were they in there, but inside my shoe was an inspirational sticky note from Sheryl, reminding me to bring my shoes and do my best in the race. I would have called her then, but it was around 4am so I waited until morning to tell her how I found her note. It was Ryan's turn at the wheel next and he got us into TN by sunrise. As we started to ascend the mountains in the Cherokee National Forest, I was rocked from my sleep and my seat as Ryan took the corners too fast and was a little too hard on the brakes. I didn't tell him until later that I was one more hot corner away from throwing up as I drove the rest of the way to Duck.

The weather for the day of the race was abysmal. The forecast the night before called for light rain in the morning turning to heavy rains and severe thunderstorms by noon with a chance of tornadoes and hail. Awesome. We fell asleep in the loft to the sound of rain on the roof, inches from our noses. The next morning we arrived at the Whitewater Center and one could tell there was some bad weather coming, although at 7am it was just partly cloudy and the sun was about to make its debut. About an hour into the race, a fellow racer commented on what a nice day it had turned out to be. It was sunny and 70 and all seemed well, but I knew how quickly the weather can change in the mountains and I commented under my breath how I thought he had jinxed us by saying that.

The course for the 100 miler opens with a 3 mile road climb, followed by about 15 miles of great singletrack. From about mile 20 to 55, the course climbs almost continuously to the third aid station where it then descends for the next 30 miles. My goal for this race was to finish under 10 hours, which is a modest goal for anyone fit enough to cover the distance, which I knew I could do. I don't ride with a computer and by mile 15, I began to fixate on the location of the second aid station where I had a drop bag waiting for me. I started to feel hungry and my pb&j and Reese's cups were all I could think about. It was like an oasis in the distance, seeing those popup tents. I made it. I quickly fueled up, filled my water bottles and set out for the hardest section of the course, the climb up to aid station #3 and the highest point in the race. Though I didn't have a computer, I checked my watch religiously to calculate my current average speed and projected finish time. It's funny when you're in a situation where you're suffering and alone, the things your mind clings onto to keep your sanity.

The main reason for my obsession with my average speed was that even though I was on the portion of the course where I would be moving slower due to the climbing, I was absolutely on pace to shatter the 10 hour mark, which thrilled me! I tried to ignore the pain in my knees as I pushed up the never ending fire road climbs, but what I couldn't ignore as I worked my way up the ridge, were the ominous clouds skimming in over the valley below (which was a view only available to the racers suffering out there, which made me thankful to be one of those as it was one of the most incredible things I have ever seen). The storm was approaching and fast. First it became very damp and a light fog surrounded the top of the ridge, putting a pseudo ceiling over my head. At first, the light mist felt good. But it soon turned into a drizzle, which became a light rain. Around mile 45, the sight distance was narrowed to only a few dozen yards, the rain had soaked through my clothes, and the temperature began to noticeably drop. And we continued to climb. Geoff had caught up to me as we neared the top of the ridge. I was happy to know I had been ahead of him all that time and we rode together the rest of the way up to aid #3 and the pinnacle of the course. Just as we set our bikes down and sought shelter under the popup tents, the heavens opened and I shit you all not, I have never seen rain come down harder and heavier than this. The temp had dropped to about 50 degrees and volunteers and racers alike all cowered together in what little real estate there was beneath the tents.

Since I had stopped moving, my core temperature dropped and I began to shiver uncontrollably. The on-site mechanic's wife was an EMT and she handed me a wool blanket. I kept saying how I would continue as soon as I got warm, but I now remember her saying how I had this glazed look in my eye and how I vowed to press on, despite my failing physical condition. There was a small enclosed trailer across the road from the tents about big enough to house a ride-on lawnmower and the mechanic told me to go climb inside it and get warm. I complied and as I sat in there with the blanket over me, muscles convulsing involuntarily, I saw Geoff standing under the tent with these big sad eyes, looking like a puppy left out in the yard. I gestured for him to come join me in the comforts of the trailer and he eventually did. We sat in there with the deafening sound of rain hitting the roof of our sanctuary and we calculated our two 98.6's equaled a temperature too hot for comfort and laughed at how huddling together under the blanket for warmth isn't gay if you're freezing to death. We also talked about the "Q" word, which sickened me to think about. I had never not finished something I had started. Ok, well there's that college thing, lol, but I'm focusing just on racing here, people.

It just so happened that the race promoter's cabin was right there on top of that ridge and many cyclists had opted out and sought refuge within. Geoff was first to suggest going in there and once he left me, I soon followed. God in Heaven! What a beautiful cabin! Complete with a wood burning stove, multiple propane space heaters, and a satellite dish equipped tv! I counted thirty of us riders in there at one time as we all warmed ourselves and attempted to dry off. Introductions were made and we all became friends, people from all over the country, all with their own stories, all congregated on the top of this mountain with a storm outside and no signs of leaving. Some people actually did leave, only to be replaced by new members of our growing family. The people who left missed out on the 100 hot dogs that were cooked for us, as well as the cold sodas and chips. With the Weather Channel displayed on the screen and enough seating for all, we sat with our meals in hand and eyes and ears glued to the set, wondering when and how we would all get out of there.

Fast forward 4.5 hours, the rain was still coming down and the notion to leave became necessity. A few trucks had set out from Duck, 50 miles away, with enough capacity to carry all of us and our bikes back to the start/finish area. A fifty mile drive to most people can be achieved in under an hour, since we're so used to freeway travel. Down there, the roads are dirt and they wind and twist their way over and around mountains. The drive took almost three hours and I slept a little of the way, with no choice but to lay my head straight back over the headrest because we were packed like sardines on the bench seat. I was in the middle and I laughed to myself at how if the driver looked in his rearview, all he would see were my nostrils and teeth.

Once back at the Whitewater Center, Geoff and I got to my van to find Ryan inside it looking like he had just had a shower, face cleaned, hair combed, and with fresh threads on. He had finished the race like many others had. It was a small contingent that didn't make it to the 30 mile descent before the rains came who chose not to continue. It was a wise decision. With wet clothes, body temp dropped, and nothing but descending for a long distance in the rain would have done nothing to raise my core.

I have a rule about not wearing tshirts gotten from bike races unless I complete the race, but this one is an exception since it was still an awesome and very positive experience. After a huge calorie-packed dinner, conversations about our experiences in the great room of our cabin, and a good night sleep, we said our goodbyes and Ryan and I loaded my backpack and duffle, and his ton of crap into the van and we headed back to NJ. The storm that hit the day before was part of a slow moving system that was working its way north up the coast. We were chasing it down and saw the towering cumulus clouds in the distance all day, until we finally caught up to it in Virginia. After another gut-busting meal at Cracker Barrel somewhere in southeastern PA, it began to rain so effing hard, I was hunched over the steering wheel trying to see where the hell I was going. Everyone had their flashers on and had slowed to about 30mph. I was beyond tired, but I didn't want to make Ryan drive a huge van in such conditions. We got to his place sometime after 3am, I helped him with his Rubbermaid containers, and crashed on his couch. I even made it to work the next morning on time. Hell yeah.

This isn't the first time that I have set out on a long road trip with someone who I didn't know so well. I had thought each time I had done that that it could either be 15 hours of listening to the radio and no one says a word, or I come away with a lasting friendship. Each time it has been the latter that resulted.

Check out Ryan's blog and race recaps here: http://heerscrapple.blogspot.com/

The grocery getter

2010-03-04T13:56:00.000-08:00

From 3/4/10

It's a bit shameful to admit, though I am proud to announce nonetheless, that today I did all my errands via my bicycle. I have gone for a day or more without driving anywhere and I have planned my trips in the van so as to minimize unnecessary miles, but today is the first time those two green ideas have merged.

Upon visiting the bank, the tax man and the grocery store, I was disheartened not only by the absence of bike lanes, but also the lack of bike racks. Not a one to be seen anywhere. We could learn a lot from other model cities who embrace the bike culture, but rather than wait for this place to catch up, I'm going somewhere where I, and my bikes, are more welcome.

By the way... all the eggs survived the ride home.

Spring is in the air

2010-01-18T23:39:00.001-08:00

It's not common for the temperature to creep above 50 in the winter, so I, like many of the other cyclists I saw, decided to go for a road ride. These days don't come often and I feel fortunate to have been able to enjoy it in my own way.

Merry Christmas, bicycle man!

2009-12-25T13:17:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year again; mall traffic, sugary treats, commercials and advertisements talking about the newest gadgets and why we have to have them, and the threat that a fat guy with a beard won't commit mass home invasions while we sleep to give us said gadgets if we've been naughty.

I'm not here to preach to anyone what "the real meaning of Christmas" is, but this year was the best example of what the most stripped-down version of such a potentially commercial holiday is really about. Some of you know that my dad has abandoned our family. For the record, I'm not going for pity points here, no one liked him anyway and we're all better off. It's left me to spend the day with the only members of my family that I deem "normal," if you can call us that.

For our family in years passed, and many others across the country, Christmas morning was just the way the television portrays it, whether it's a heart-warming family special, a disfunctional foray of Griswold-like antics, or some balance of the two. This year, and perhaps like many families across the country, during such harsh economic times, there was no early morning rush down the stairs to see what Santa had left us, no gift opening ceremony, no church service, and no table with twelve place settings. Instead, it was sleeping in, enjoying a ham & egg breakfast and pot of flavored coffee with my mom, going to the movies, and not seeing my brother until he woke up at 2pm.

I had given up on going to church years ago for my own reasons. What's worse than not going at all, in my opinion, is only going on Christmas and Easter. I have come to terms with my relationship with God, and I pray anywhere and anytime. Last night, I decided to attend my own personal midnight mass by going out for a bike ride. I had noticed that the manger scenes set up at various locations were sans baby Jesus, until after Christmas day. I was curious as to who was responsible for placing Him there and when it actually took place, but by the time I made my way around town, minutes after midnight, He had already miraculously arrived. As I neared home, I passed a corner bar with a crowd of smoke-emitting youths standing out front. I kept my eyes straight and braced myself for whatever drunken insults that were about to be hurled my way, when suddenly one of them yelled out, "Merry Christmas, bicycle man!" I gave a couple flicks of my ringabell and returned his well wishes.

Something else that was out of the ordinary for our family in past Christmas traditions was that we had never gone to the movie theater, as I had found that more people than I originally thought actually participate in. Such was the case when I saw that the parking lot looked like the mall the night before. I had seen a preview for the movie "Up in the Air" and was still not quite sure what it was about, but the critics said it is the best movie of the year. Since it's still 2009, I decided it was a worthy claim, since Hollywood had 11 months to do better. It had nothing really to do with Christmas, but rather did have a large bit to do with the sad truth that thousands of Americans had lost their jobs in the last couple years, which relates to me directly. It also had a bit to do with love and relationships, and I liked the message they sent, which relates to me indirectly. I don't know about best movie of the year, but I do recommend it. It stars George Clooney, whom my grandma thinks I share a striking resemblance.

I can smell the scent of turkey and sweet potatoes rising from the kitchen, two floors below, to my old room, which used to be the attic, where I sit now at the desk that used to be mine, before the computer that now belongs to my brother. In a few minutes, I will be seated with the two members of my family that I love the most. Maybe we will lament the fact that it's just we three, but it will only be in passing as we laugh about how no one there is drunk enough to throw a plate of food like a frisbee and make everyone else at the table uncomfortable. Here's to the best Christmas ever and the only real gifts that should matter to anyone, the love for the people in our lives who matter the most to us.

Merry Christmas

P'burg

2009-12-05T19:56:00.000-08:00

This was the final race of the NJ Cyclocross Cup series and my last race of the season. One last chance to correct all my previous mistakes and go for the gusto one more time. The course was perhaps the most technical of the series which gave me an immediate edge. I've found the "roadies" have a great deal of trouble negotiating roots, off camber turns, and mud, but for anyone with a mountain biking background it's a cake walk.

Last week I made the mistake of busting out way too strong and blowing up on the first lap, having not saved anything for later and never fully recovering before the race ended. This time, I knew to sit back near the front, but not in front, and wait until the leaders began to crack before making a move. I started in the front row, but eased back to about 12th for the first lap, keeping an eye on the big guns. If they attacked, I'd be ready. By the end of lap 2, guys ahead of me began fading and I started moving forward without even riding faster, but by then my body was ready to ramp things up anyway. I had seen where on the course I could make up time and I was feeling stronger by the minute. I began sprinting on the short straights, picking up a second here and a second there.

All the racers in the top ten were fierce competitors who came from different cycling disciplines; some roadies, some time trialists, and some mountain bikers. Spots were being traded everywhere. Roadies outran guys on the flats only to be overtaken by mountain bikers on the corners. Alex Belgiovine of Westwood Cycle, a TT'er, gets the medal of honor if you ask me. He definitely had the fitness engine to spank everyone in the C field at every race, but succumbed to crashes and technical problems that kept him off the podium. He was my favorite competition all season and I wish him some better luck next year so he can finish up front where he belongs. After some trouble today, we ended up finishing 8th and 9th and it was a pleasure to cross the finish line with him.

I'm sad the season is over. Since it's my first year of CX, I only just got to know these guys and will miss the scene around the races each week. Today is the hardest day since the 2010 'cross season is as far away as it could be. See you all next year in the B's!

Am I out of focus? Or was I just going too fast?

Finally Jdog and I have a legitimate battle!

Angelo about to pass me and continue on to a podium. Nice job!

The steepest run-up I've ever seen.

The turn of death! My little brother couldn't get enough of the carnage that went on here!

Smiling because we just decided to go to Fudd's. And it was snowing!

It was sticking on top of Jugtown Mountain, but not anywhere else unfortunately.

My victory dance.

Bros.

After we were done eating (actually after Anthony inhaled his burger in 5 seconds and watched me eat for the next half hour), we went for the Air Hockey Best of Three Championship of the Universe. I won of course. Here's some video footage of my game winning goals of games one and two.

Barnstorming: Part 2 - T.N.T.

2009-11-28T15:06:00.000-08:00

So we were back again in Augusta for round two of the Sussex County Cyclocross event and the second-to-last race in the NJ Cup series. After crashing hard last week, I vowed to keep it on two wheels and have a better performance today. I succeeded in both those goals, yet I am left wishing things had gone better still.

I rolled in to the venue with AC/DC's T.N.T. cranking on the stereo. Nothing like a little "fire me up" music to get the head in the right place. The lyrics suggest "winning the fight" among other antagonistic phrasing. I had the song in my head at the start of my race and low and behold, I got the wholeshot and was leading for the first half lap around the time in the song when the lyrics say, "... watch me exploooooooooooode!" Well, I didn't physically explode, but I certainly blew up, as T.N.T. has a tendency to do.

I faded and watched guys go by me, trying not to count them. It took me about a lap before getting my second wind and I slowly began to come back. I was aware of what sections of the course I could make up time in and which ones I could rest and I passed a few guys with ease while others were less willing to let me go.

Some friendships have developed with many of the guys I've been lining up with each weekend, and after I'm done trying to kill them, it makes me happy when I see them have a good race or say something positive about one another. With one race to go, it can be any of us who ends up placing in the state championship and I'm looking forward to defending my now very slim chance, but I would be happy for all of them because we've all worked hard to get there.

I also want to thank Stacey Barbosa of Montclair Cyclery for coming to my aid at the start of my race. I had accidentally ripped my number completely off when trying to remove a layer at the last second, having missed my call-up, and almost the start of the race. She helped me pin it back on and I got to the line just in time for the 15 second warning. Thank you! She got some good karma sent her way as she also had a great race today. Way to go!

HPCX

2009-11-22T20:25:00.001-08:00

This is what cyclocross is about; cold, rain, and a lot of mud. Only someone who has been there could know how it feels to pedal with everything you’ve got through deep mud and to feel like you’re not going anywhere. To quote Garth from Wayne’s World when he was having his hair cut by the Suck-Cut, “It’s sucking my will to live!” Well, it certainly does suck.

I found my spot, once again, in the back of the pack at the start in a field of 54 C racers. I got a decent warmup and prerode the course, so I felt ready for what was about to go down. From the gun, I just went all out and tried to pick off as many guys as I could on the first lap. Unfortunately, I came out too strong and didn’t save anything for the end. I blame it on the mud, since the effort put into powering through it is twice that of what you’d normally expend. I still managed to finish in the top half of the field, which at this stage of the game and this being only my first cross season, is pretty good.

Despite the most abysmal conditions, I had some of the most fun I’ve ever had on a bike. Cross is amazing that in such a short time, one can experience every kind of emotion ranging anywhere from, “This is awesome!” to “Why the f*ck am I doing this?” I can’t get enough of it.

Barnstorming: Part 1

2009-11-22T18:55:00.000-08:00

Lined up in the front row during call-ups. How can I mess this up?

Like this.

Today was day one of the Sussex County Cyclocross event and to date is my favorite course in the NJCup series. It had everything (except mud, but wait 'til next week), two climbs, a sand pit, off-camber technical curves, a run-up, twisty high-speed descents, paved and unpaved roads, and my favorite... a zig-zagging path that took us through several barns. Awesome!

I got a great start and was 4th in a breakaway group including points leader Bill Romollino, 4th ranked Greg Pizarek, Jason Fenton himself of Halter's Cycles, and myself. I was feeling great and happy to be doing battle with Jason who is a worthy adversary, but certain events such as crashes or flat tires have kept us from dueling it out to the end each time we faced off. I buzzed his tire a few times and we traded back and forth in the first half of lap 1, until I removed myself from the chase.

Upon successfully storming the first barn, we made the tight left on a dirt road to enter the second. The turn had a huge patch of loose gravel, making it super sketchy. I had the inside line and overcooked it, lost traction and low-sided it at full speed. As I was falling, my head narrowly missed the red painted bench that protruded from the side of the entrance to the barn. Luckily, I hit it with my hand to protect my melon. There is red paint on my glove and left control lever. I proceeded to slide, crit-style, on my side until grinding to a stop. I felt tears building and my heart breaking as my view perpendicular to the vertical saw a chance of a series title and the lead group disappear.

I picked myself right up, ran into the barn and attempted a remount, but my rear wheel wouldn't spin! Damn it! A quick systems check to find the issue; Derailleur straight? Check. Chain on the chainrings? Check. Brakes? BRAKES!?! The culprit: my left caliper had been shoved beneath the braking surface of my rear wheel as a result from laying the bike down. I quickly popped it back out, made sure it worked, and was on my way.

Mentally, my race could have ended right there, but I wasn't about to let it. My hand ached, my control lever was askew, and I had no idea my leg was hurt yet, but quitting never crossed my mind. I continued to race at full speed and the gap the leaders had on me never grew, but it didn't diminish either. I just didn't have the ability to ride at 2x my capacity to bring them back and I settled in to the position I was in when I recovered from my crash. I still managed a respectable finish and am really happy that I was able to enjoy such a great course.

Afterwards, I was talking with my friends about our race and how I wiped out when one of them pointed out the blood coming through my shorts. I hadn't felt anything, but I pulled them down to reveal a nice raspberry on my thigh. As my adrenaline wore off, the pain began to set in. Bill Romollino was so kind as to supply me with some first aid supplies to take care of my leg. On the course, he was the only guy I really wanted to beat the crap out of today, but off the course he is one of the nicest people I've met through racing. His dog, Camper, is awesome, too.

I stayed until the last race and enjoyed cheering for all my friends and I'm happy that they all did well in their respective races. Now, I'm going to take care of my leg, keep up with my training, and continue to prepare for next Saturday, which will be a return to Sussex and another chance to do better and not eat it on the gravel. I was a little bummed about what happened when it happened, but I'm over it now and will use the experience as my ammunition to kill them next time. In the FACE!

1st degree MURDER!!!

2009-11-08T19:44:00.000-08:00

Ok, I just had to call it that. Check back soon since I am yet to collect all the photos from this race and a full report is yet to be written. One thing I can say is, this was the best day of my life.

Hup! Hup! Hup!

I would have gone faster, but I think my number was acting as an air brake.

I love this picture because it depicts two polar opposite states of heart rates. I'm turning myself inside out and the lady in the chair is passed out. Greg Pizarek is seen nipping at my heels.

I'm a model, you know what I mean?

2009-11-08T15:34:00.001-08:00

Of all the things I am, a model I am not. However, I volunteered myself to show off one of the latest pieces available from DeathRow Velo cycling wear at one of my races this weekend.

http://rutgers.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=3775033&id=57346057572#/photo.php?pid=3775033&id=57346057572

Happy Birthday to me!

2009-11-07T14:23:00.001-08:00

I was a little undecided as to what to name this post. A few good titles came to mind, i.e. "Gettin' my kicks!" since my race number today was "66", "2nd degree MURDER!!!" which you will see the relevance of as you read on, but sounded a little too menacing, and the one I chose since yesterday was my birthday and I gave myself the best present ever.

I turned 29 yesterday, my last year as a "twenty-something" before I hit that milestone that suggests to some that they are no longer young. I'm not really worried about that. It was however my best birthday thus far for many reasons. The birthday wishes began the night before and continued all through the day with a few unexpected surprises. My day started with a ride with my boss on the cross bikes before heading in to work. It was as perfect of a November day as a birthday boy could have asked for. The woods were literally golden with the early morning sun shining at a low angle through the last of the leaves still on the trees boasting their most vibrant shades of yellow. Once at work, while receiving a birthday phone call, suddenly the lights switched off and a chorus of voices rang out to the tune of "Happy Birthday" and a candle-lit ice cream cake hovered through the darkness in my direction. I was as blown away by the kindness of my coworkers as the candle was after the making of my birthday wish. Later that night, I headed over to my Mom's house for pizza and, yes, more cake! Looking back, it seems that a diet of cake, pizza, beer, and cake is just what the doctor ordered for the day before a race.

I'm not really 31.

Everyone was in the birthday spirit!

Today was the First Annual Horseshoe Scramble cyclocross race hosted by High Gear Cyclery in nearby Warren, NJ. A special surprise was the attendance of my sponsor DeathRow Velo's creator, John Landino, whom until today was more of a pen pal than a team manager. I arrived early enough to chat it up with him and get a good warmup and a pre-ride of the course, which I was very familiar with since I helped create it and turned plenty of laps in the weeks leading up to today's race. I pre-registered for it over a month in advance, but still found myself lining up worse than mid-pack during the call-ups. For once, my mind was clear at the start and from the whistle, I just went to work picking people off. The course was very fast and didn't offer any areas where riders could take a rest from the intense pace. By the time the pack entered the first technical section, I had worked my way into the top ten.

Now, fully aware that I was near the front, I knew I had to keep the pedal down to make my passes stick. The cheers from my friends were all I needed to slay people as I overtook them over the barriers, around corners, and even on fast straight sections. I was hauling ass and my body showed no signs of letting up. As I passed the start/finish area (not sure of what lap it was) I heard the song "Panama" by Van Halen (for those of you who don't know, it's the song played in the movie "Superbad" when the cop is doing donuts in the police car) playing over the PA and it fueled yet another attack on the riders ahead of me. When the race ended, John was quick to point out that he thought I came in 1st. I didn't believe him, since I was sure there were riders ahead of me and figured myself to be no better than top 5. I went to see the officials and asked who came in first and they gave only a number (not mine) and not a name. I asked where #66 placed and they said 2nd. WHAT?!? I was so shocked, all I was able to say was, "I'm 66!!" with a huge beaming grin. I couldn't believe it! I felt I was killing it out there, but 2nd? I murdered them in the FACE!

It was really the best present I could give myself, a podium finish. Also, what better way is there to make a good first impression to your sponsor than to get on the podium? I also found out later that the leader and I did an extra lap because we were so effing fast, we were among the lapped riders as we came through the start/finish area. Unsure if the race was over, but given the impression by the cheering crowd, I raised the front wheel in true Nick fashion as I crossed the finish line. I know I say this all the time, but I really mean it when I say that THIS was the best day of my life!

Wheeee!!!

My winningsesseses.

Along the D&R

2009-11-02T15:54:00.000-08:00

ABC and I went for a recovery ride this afternoon along the D&R towpath. Having left so late in the day, I was sure of two things: I was going to witness the sunset and it would be dark by the time I got back. The autumn sky is capable of some pretty amazing things. The air smelled of winter and a growing season's worth of detritus had covered the trail almost completely. The only sounds were of an incessant crinkling of leaves beneath my tires interspersed with the high-frequency buzzing of one getting captured in my brakes.

Aside from the awesome sky, a highlight of the ride was on a portion of the trail where the canal and river are right beside each other, with only the towpath to separate them. It was nearly too dark to see, but I noticed a four-legged creature on the trail. I initially thought it was a dog, but did not see it's owner anywhere and as I got closer I realized it was much too large to be a dog. It was a huge buck and when he noticed me, he began to run. Only he had nowhere to go since the river bank was on one side and the canal's on the other, so he ran straight down the towpath with huge leaps and bounds. I immediately gave chase, following that flashing white tail with everything I had. As soon as he had some room to get off the trail, he slipped into the trees and vanished.

Halloween critical mass ride

2009-11-01T19:03:00.000-08:00

This Friday was the monthly Marty's/Morristown critical mass bike ride, but since it was the day before Halloween, all the participants were invited to wear their costumes. I dressed as a hipster, which was pretty easy and a good excuse to wear really tight pants. I don't dress like a hipster, but when I put together the right combination of clothing articles from my usual rotation, I was able to create a convincing ensemble. I added some knuckle tattoos for good measure.

I can hear you

2009-10-26T10:04:00.001-07:00

This past sunday was the Westwood Velo Cyclocross event at Campgaw Mountain, which, for me, was the race that almost didn't happen. I had gotten a little mixed up to say the least regarding my race schedule. I thought I had pre-registered for this race, but in actuality it was for a race two weeks later and what happened was basically I found myself at the right place at the wrong time. When I approached the registration tent and answered the attendant's question of "What category?" he then pointed to the race currently underway and said, "There they go." My heart sank under the weight of the realization of my error. Since there was no other race that day that I could "legally" participate in, I settled into my role as a spectator and cheered for my friends. It looked like a really fun course that only got better as the day went on and I was seriously bummed that I couldn't ride it.

About an hour before the Cat 2/3 race, my friend Jdog rolled up and asked why I wasn't racing. I explained what happened and how I couldn't race with the B-men. When he asked, "Why not?" I really didn't have a good answer. He said he was going to, so why couldn't I? Good point. He marched me over to the registration tent to not ask, but tell the guy I was going to race as a Cat 2/3, even though my license permits me to only race Cat 4. I needed $30 for the day-of race fee and I didn't have it. Thank you, Art for spotting me and yes I DID get your money's worth! I learned later that it's allowed to race up, but not down. In either case, the guy said if I podium they wouldn't be able to count my points. I said if I'm in 3rd at the end of the race, I'll hit the brakes before the finish line. We laughed and he handed me my number.

I was super excited and I ran all the way to my van, passing Laura in the parking lot waving my number over my head yelling, "I'm going to race!" A quick change into my Superman uniform and a short warmup later, I was lined up at the back of the pack just in time for the 30 second warning. Moments later we were off! My friend describes 'cross racing as having nowhere on the course to win, but only places where you can lose. I'm reminded of motorcycle racing in the respect that the riders are pushing their tireless machines to the absolute edge from the start of the race to the bitter end, and only when an opponent makes an error does he get overtaken. Cross racing is as close to motorcycle racing as I've ever experienced. When I raced XC, the field was so spread out that oftentimes I would ride entire laps without seeing another racer. With cross, the course is much tighter and no sooner do you overtake someone, you can immediately set your sights on the next guy. Whoever can push their bikes harder into the corners, use their brakes less, accelerate faster, and negotiate the barriers better will find themselves moving up through the field.

The first two laps, the pack was still bunched up and passing was a little tricky. Once things spread out a bit more, I was able to take the best lines and carry more speed through the corners allowing me to close gaps on the guys in front of me. My favorite thing about cross racing is how involved the spectators are and how awesome it is to hear them cheering your name. My friends were littered throughout the course and were cheering for me each time I went by. With every time I heard my name, I got a surge of energy that carried me until I passed my next cheering fan. I had a mantra going through my head as I rode faster and faster and passed more riders; "I can hear you. I can hear you." I thought as their voices fueled each attack. It's one of the best feelings in the world. Thank you. "Thank you."

Overtaking a rider on the staircase.

The best place to be cheered for, at the top of the hillclimb of pain!

I can hear you.

Recovery day

2009-10-19T21:04:00.000-07:00

Since the one spill I took on Sunday left my knee a bit tender and unwilling to bend, I decided to exercise the joint and went for a summit hike on Mt. Tammany. This was certainly one of those spiritual hikes that are great for clearing one's head. I was in the woods alone all day. There are no words to go with these images. Only thoughts. Okay, maybe some words. Enjoy.

Halfway up. In the crack.

A slab-tastic discovery! This thing is HUGE!

Note to self: Bring climbing shoes next time.

They weren't even afraid.

Mt. Minsi

I lowered myself onto this little outcropping with a sheer drop before me. I was actually shitting. I hope my mom doesn't see this.

The swimmin' hole. Gotta come back next summer.

An entire hillside of ferns.

This is no rolling stone.

This reminded me of that scene from Into The Wild when he's on the PCT.

The rainbow tree.

Where I was (above).

A stage of life complete and a whole new chance to grow and learn.

I almost step on bugs. Then I take their picture.

Wissahickon

2009-10-19T18:53:00.001-07:00

Dig, dig, dig!

Cold. Rain. Mud. The ingredients for a perfect cyclocross race. ABC and I succeeded in achieving the two goals wet set for ourselves (not to be lapped and not to come in last) and I couldn't be more pleased about this.

I decided to race with the B-men, which included not only the Cat 4's, where I belong, but the Cat 2's and 3's as well. I did this for a few reasons, some personal and some logistical. Needless to say, these guys are pretty fast and the field was huge. Since I rode Singlespeed in XC, there weren't more than 20 guys in my class at any race. There were 117 starters here! I was late to the staging area and lined up in the very back of the pack, immediately at a disadvantage but felt I haven't earned the right to be any further up. Also, I believe, in 'cross, priority is given to the faster racers. So in either or both cases, my work was cut out for me.

From the gun, since the pack was so large, the leaders were entering the first turn by the time I even began moving. There was a huge pileup on the opening stretch that slowed me down even more and saw me in just about dead last. Once underway, I was in chase mode. It was an incredible feeling to pick off so many riders on the first lap. Within the first few turns, I must have gone by 15-20 guys. I began to second guess myself. "Am I riding too fast?" "Is my pace too quick to control my bike in these conditions?" "Will I bonk if I keep up like this?" A lot goes through your mind out there and I tried to suppress my analytical self and let my physical self take over, who reacts based on instinct rather than logic. I went primal, yo!

I managed to stay on two wheels the whole race, save for one major wipeout. The course came off a gravel road back onto the grass in a gently sweeping left turn. The inside line through the apex was where ABC wanted to go, but it was deeply rutted and muddy. I noticed a high line on the outside that was smooth and dry, but it required leaning away from the turn and riding up an off-camber mud slope. It was as if my brain and eyeballs left my body and watched from the sideline and thought, "Hey dummy, that's physically impossible!" It was too late, I went for it and immediately my tires slid down to the left, back to the low line and I ate shit. I was all by myself though, jumped right back up, and didn't lose any positions.

I was totally psyched when I passed the Start/Finish area at the end of my third lap and wasn't waved off. One more! I was still feeling strong and battled with a few more guys. I had to take a few B-lines to pass them, which meant going through some soup rather than tracking easily through the grassier stuff. When you exit a corner and realize you just pointed yourself into the worst line possible, you immediately think, "Oh no!" But I put the hammer down and motored through that shit and gained a position.

Looking back, the conditions really couldn't have been much worse and yet I had an absolute blast out there. I always say it, but this was the most fun I've ever had on my bike. I can't wait for next weekend, but now is the fun of tearing my bike down completely and rebuilding it. A to the B to the C.

HVCX

2009-10-11T16:59:00.000-07:00

Gotta love the tongue-outta-the-mouth-concentrating-on-not-eating-it-face.

Downing Park in Newburgh, NY overlooking the Hudson River

Perhaps the world's smallest CX fan leaning in to catch the action.

You did well, ABC. Though, I'm sorry you have a horse's ass for a mechanic.

The gear my bike decided to be stuck in.

Not my Halloween costume, I swear.

Today was day two of the Hudson Valley Cyclocross event at Downing Park and my first cross race of my life. To sum things up, it was awesome, it sucked. I loved it, I hated it. When's the next one?

My race would begin at 11am and I knew when I would have to leave my house to make sure I got there with enough time to warm up and survey the course. I ended up leaving late, largely in part due to my inability to escape the confines of my bathroom for more than 5 minutes before needing to return. Once on the road, I grabbed breakfast and a coffee, but was too nervous to swallow it. I got to the park with 30 minutes before starting time, not enough to get a proper warm up. I also learned that pinning my race number to my jersey is much more difficult than fixing it to the front of my xc bike. I got it right on the third try and made it to the start with minutes to spare. I was concerned about my lack of a warmup, but in actuality my heart rate was elevated since the moment I woke up.

It turned out that the thing I was most nervous about during the race itself was one of the things that ended up not only being a blast, but an area where I excelled in. I'm talking about the barriers. The first one came as a total surprise since I was within the pack on a fast straight when all the sudden I was upon it. It amazed me how poorly many of the riders handled their bikes on the sharp corners. I guess anyone with an mtb background has an immediate advantage over the dedicated roadies. I not only overtook riders on the barriers with my smooth and efficient dismounts and mounts, but also in the corners. I didn't even come close to crashing the whole race! ABC and I were rocking it... until disaster struck.

On lap 2, I noticed the indexing on my shifter was off and my chain couldn't decide what cog it wanted to be on. I struggled with it for half a lap, searching for gears while riders caught and passed me. When I had gotten frustrated enough, I pulled off and gave the barrel adjuster a couple turns, thinking maybe it got bumped somehow. Back on the bike and another half lap later, the real problem revealed itself when I lost my shifting altogether and my derailleur settled into its most relaxed position over my smallest cog. What actually happened was my cable pinch bolt lost its death grip on my shifter cable. I'm mystified by how it came loose, perhaps sabotage, but this was no time to ponder the wonders of the universe. I was in a race and since Goonies never say die, I needed to keep moving forward.

I loved riding my singlespeed xc bike all season long and the thought of ss cx is not unheard of. What IS unheard of is choosing 42:12 gearing to do so. I did my best to power through the sections of the course that were either level or downhill, which included both barriers, super twisty off-camber turns, and the stairs. ABC and I were flying at these times and no one could catch us. I overtook riders on each lap in these sections, but was left helpless on the climbs as I had to dismount and run as I slowly got passed by more riders than I could catch. To all of you who cheered louder, clapped harder, rang those cowbells more vigorously and ran beside me as I shouldered my bike, I love you. Thank you. Your encouragement made it impossible to give up.

My overall goal for the day changed from finishing in the top half of the field, to not getting lapped, to not coming in last. The leaders went by me as I completed my second to last lap. I succeeded in only the last of the three goals, but barely. After the race, I felt every emotion possible all at once: joy and pain, elation and frustration, thirst and satiation, alive and dead. It was the greatest racing experience I've ever had. Cross involves a combination of all the disciplines I enjoy most in cycling. It's no wonder that this has become an immediate favorite.

Stink eye

2009-10-09T07:21:00.000-07:00

That's what they should call "pink eye." There is nothing fun about people avoiding you like the plague. I have had a 16 year streak of never missing a day of work that has been broken yesterday when my boss requested that I don't come in, in the case that I am contagious and get the other employees sick.

Yesterday was one of the worst days ever. Unlike most people, I love my job. Being stuck at home and not being able to work was depressing. I longed to be at work like people at work long to be home. To make matters worse, my boss told me to stay home today, too. I barely made it through yesterday by reading (with one eye), doing housework, and cooking. Now that my house is clean and the fridge is full, I don't know what I'm going to do. This stinks.

The moment of truth

2009-10-04T19:43:00.000-07:00

I have successfully done what I had set out to do. No pressure, be myself, and just have fun. Things went as well as I could have hoped. Perfect weather, perfect conditions, and the perfect setting. Today was a great day.

Doin' things right.

Oh, and as far as this relationship is concerned... I didn't get shot by a Cupid's arrow. Instead, I got stung in the ass by a bee. Draw your own conclusions.

ABC

2009-10-02T20:59:00.000-07:00

Another Bad Creation rolled out of the shop tonight. "Rolled" is the key word there, since I have been waiting over a month for my wheels. But now that they are here, I couldn't be more excited about this bike. We're both looking forward to our first race, but not before we get some good practice time in. A to the B to the C!

It's pants weather

2009-10-01T21:46:00.000-07:00

I woke up today feeling really good since I got to sleep in a bit. I also had a great dream that in actuality only took a few seconds, but left a lasting mark that would set the tone for the day to come. There was definitely a chill in the air when I left my house this morning and the overcast sky suggested snow. Winter will be here soon. Some unfortunate people suffer from that seasonal affection disorder, but not me. This is my favorite time of the year. A transition period. When I left work, the smell of the air and sight of my breath brought reminders of good times spent on nights just like this. How can anyone be depressed by that?

Another good thing to happen to enhance the mood of the day is that my long awaited cross wheels have arrived and I began at once the process of gluing my tires. I'm excited for cross season for a few reasons and now that it's getting colder, it fills me with anticipation and excitement that what's to come is drawing nearer. On the drive home, all the right songs were coming up on my shuffling iPod. I opened my windows and sunroof and enjoyed the rush of cold air. I'm thankful for the seasons. I'm not one for routine and the same old, same old and I love how a change in the weather brings changes in me.

Going steady and another failed attempt at a relationship.

2009-09-27T15:05:00.000-07:00

So I went on a blind date today. It's funny. I never saw myself as the type to do such a thing, yet I've found myself on no less than five blind dates this season alone. I subscribe to the belief that it's important to get to know someone well enough, perhaps become more familiar with them, build up some trust, or at the very least be their friend first before taking things to the next level. That way I can be sure I know what I'm getting into. But that never happens and this time was no different.

I won't give up any names here, but their initials are "J.H." and although I like to take things slow, I jumped right in with this one like I always do. In the past, every time I thought I had a shot, I'd get all nervous in the beginning, not be myself, come on WAY too strong, and ruin any chance I might have had by falling hard. Today, I "fell" head over heels. Twice! By the time I realized that I was taking things too fast, there was really no way to salvage the relationship. A steadier pace and holding back just a little may have helped. Maybe that's why they call it "going steady?" It seems the only way for things to come to that point is to take your time in reaching that comfort zone and letting things just kind of happen on their own.

To say the least, this relationship was destined to be rocky. And it was. Ah, love on the rocks! It was a turbulent... Okay! We get it! Well, the important thing is that I always end up learning a little more about myself each time and realize my mistakes and how to avoid them in the future. I believe that we're put in a succession of relationships that are indeed destined to fail to help shape us into the people we need to be when the right one does come along. I know when it does, I will be ready. It will be amazing, beautiful, and unlike any other I've ever known.

The good news is that I have one more chance to put my new-found skills, gained from the last failure, to the test next weekend, since I actually have another date. This one won't be blind though. As a matter of a fact, I'm quite familiar with this one since we've had a few moments together in years past, and a few others more recently. I'm hopeful that it will go the way I want it to, but there's only one way to find out and I've got nothing to lose. Wish me luck!

And nice guys don't always finish last. Sometimes they come in 8th place. ;-)

Me, coming on strong.

The tunnel of love.

Common Threads

2009-09-26T19:37:00.000-07:00

Photo dump. Words to come.

5am, Newark Airport.

Sunrise at the Cycle Hostel.

I call top bunk!

Preferred parking.

Jamie and Erin from Vancouver and their V-dub.

I just had to.

Lawrence successfully bleeds his own brakes.

We return by car to capture Mt. McLaughlin with a decent camera

And we're greeted by some unexpected visitors.

My new best friend.

The two best signs to be seen one after the other.

Dave and Damion

Dave and Damion's van, Falcor.

I've taken a lesson from these two.

A brush fire that broke out way too close to us. This was just the beginning.

The graduating class! Back row, (L to R) William, Jeremy, Greg, Mike, Canadian Kris, Nathan. Middle row (L to R) Nicole, Suzy, Dave, Adrian, Tim, Lawrence, Susan. Front row, (L to R) Texas Kris, Nat, Jamie, and Me.

Nice work, Tim.

5am, Medford Airport.

From the airplane, Mt. Shasta still with snow on her peak in late September.

The most epic ride ever

2009-09-19T15:47:00.001-07:00

The beginning. Shapes on the horizon eluded to the ride that was to come.

Starting to climb what would become 19miles of amazing switchbacks.

No guardrail between us and a 1,000ft drop.

Still climbing...

A glance aft, the road we were just on barely visible on the hillside below and Ashland, OR in the distance.

Looking ahead, we'll be there soon, still climbing...

And we made it, 19miles later.

Yeah, Jeremy!

Edge of the world, straight ahead.

A place where I could live.

Mt. McLaughlin. All 9,800ft of it. Wait til you see the pics I took with my good camera!

This cow somehow found its way out of the confines of the fence. You're free!

Midway through the 9 mile descent back into Ashland, a picture at 30mph and one big smile.

Pausing to take it in one last time before returning to Ashland.

Photos now, words later.

Adventures at 30,000 ft

2009-08-23T11:53:00.001-07:00

It's tough to see from these pictures, but the surface of these clouds looked like the pictures of ice floes in Antarctica that appear in one of my favorite books, Endurance.

It IS possible to see every kind of cloud all at once.

When it comes to air travel, there are few things we should complain about. And I'm not talking about the petty things like delays or crying infants. The ability to end up somewhere 900 miles away from where you were only 2 hours ago is something many of us take for granted. When I travel, I accept and embrace all the experiences that come along with it, both the good and the bad. I understand fully that an entire network of people are doing their best to ensure that I have the safest flying experience possible, so when the odd hang up does occur, I "turn lemons into lemonade" and make the best of it.

Now, don't get me wrong. There are still a few things we ALL hope won't happen to us. I'll admit to playing the "Who do I hope to not get stuck next to" game in the terminal before boarding. I don't enjoy an unruly tot kicking the back of my seat any more than I enjoy sitting next to someone who should have purchased two seats instead of one or anyone who doesn't get the idea that when I put on my headphones while you're talking to me, you should give it a rest. Today, I would have traded my hand for any and all of those aforementioned circumstances than to have dealt with the cards I was given.

As the first round of beverages were served, I was sound asleep and missed my chance at a cool drink to wash down my pretzels. When the steward returned to collect the garbage, I asked if I could still get something. He quickly returned with a cup brimming with a sparkling, throat tickling, carbonated beverage that, no sooner did he walk away, did I proceed to knock over and watch in slow-motion horror as it cascaded off of my tray table and onto my lap. All 8 ounces of untasted, ice-cold soda began soaking into my pants and formed a pool under my ass. My four-lettered expletive was audible even to myself through my noise canceling headphones. I sat there, shocked by the cold on my most sensitive of areas and not believing what I had just done when the severity of my situation began to sink in. Walka, walka!

I dared not move, lest the soda that had not yet been absorbed by my skivvies would spill off of my seat and perhaps onto someone else's belongings. Unfortunately, the surface unto which my soda was collecting beneath me was none other than the seat cushion that can also be used as a flotation device in the case of a water landing (the little label on the seat before me reminded me of that for the remainder of the flight). Naturally, in order for that cushion to remain buoyant, it must be made of a material that would not absorb moisture. So I buzzed the steward and requested a towel or something to soak up the mess. He returned moments later with perhaps the only thing less absorbent than the cushion itself; a stack of those crisp, square airline napkins. I took the whole wad and jammed it in my crotch.

It was the longest 1:10 of my life as I dreaded finally having to stand up to exit the plane once we'd reached our destination. I envisioned a giant wet spot covering both my front and my back and having to walk through groups of people who'd thunk I had messed myself. Here is the only upside to the story. Lucky for me, I was wearing my Columbia pants with Omni-Dry technology. We've all seen the commercials with Mom and her son, testing the limits of Columbia outerwear in the most extreme environments in some sort of kooky way. I thought of writing them to let them know that their product passed the spilled soda air dry test at 30,000 ft. By the time we landed, my pants were barely damp (which is more than can be said for my undies) and showed almost no sign of wetness. Thank God! I still dreaded standing up, expecting to see a puddle on the seat, but there was none.

The ironic thing is that on my way through the terminal to meet my plane, I almost stopped to buy a bottle of soda, but didn't because I didn't want to spend the typically over-inflated airport price. In retrospect, I would have happily paid two, three, even four times the price for the soda and sat on Louie Anderson's lap just to ensure I had a spill-free flight.

Nervous Nellie

2009-08-16T16:55:00.001-07:00

When examining something complex, sometimes it's best to break it down into parts. Today's race was a perfect example. To simplify things, we'll look at the best and worst parts. With the good comes the bad, and one cannot exist without the other.

My coach and I had been looking forward to the 7th Annual Darkhorse 40 for a few months now and it was our plan to have me peak for this event. A small part of me wishes I hadn't known that, as was the case in the KVSP H2H Race when I just felt like a million bucks and learned after the fact that I was peaking that day. It put some pressure on me because I was thinking I should have felt better than I was, causing me to second guess myself. Actually, it doesn't really matter now, since my race was practically over before it even began... and it almost didn't even begin. We'll come back to this.

The last three days of training were squeezed into two, resulting in me getting up earlier than normal to do the previous night's ride before work and then doing that day's prescribed ride after work. My diet and fluid intake were the same for the days leading up to raceday as any other, but it was my sleep that ultimately took the back seat on my list of priorities. I only got 4 hours of sleep last night because "Mr. Can't plan anything for shit" decided it was going to take 3 hours to drive to Stewart State Forest in Newburgh, NY, when both other times he went there he got there way too early.

This time was no different. I made it there in an hour and a half and had plenty of time to kill before the race. It was for the best, though, since for some reason I had a lot of anxiety (the bad kind) about this race and found myself with a sour stomach. I made several trips to the port-o's and noticed the abundance of mosquitos as I walked. There was one in my personal space, so before I offered him some tender flesh to sink his teeth into, I launched a preemptive strike. He narrowly escaped three solid attempts at his life by flying out from under my pointed finger. I finally left him alone when I decided my motive was unjust since he showed no interest in biting me in the first place. Instead, he stayed put right on the wall the whole time.

Rewind to the night before the race, which was to be spent packing all my gear, preparing a recovery meal, and making last minute repairs to my bike. I got out of work at 6pm and had full intentions of getting all that done and going to bed by 10pm. Four hours is enough time to do all that, right? Wrong. I didn't get to bed until after midnight and I still hadn't gotten everything done. One major oversight was the new cleats I attached to my new shoes. I will be the first to admit that it's a bad idea to make such a major equipment change mid-season, let alone right before a big race without ample time to break them in. I thought I had positioned my cleats properly and they did feel good when I tested them out, but on this morning's warmup ride, they were too far forward and felt very, very wrong. There was only 15 minutes before we had to begin staging, so I quickly dove into my toolbox and began loosening the screws. First shoe, done. Second shoe... a stripped bolt! NOOOOO! Now I had two unequally adjusted cleats, one with a stripped screw and no way to fix it. I went in search of a mechanic tent, as they are normally present at every race. Why would there be one today? I was forced to fend for myself and used my MacGuyver skills to somehow quickly create a surface on the head of the screw that some tool could fit in. I reached for a phillips screwdriver and my pedal wrench, which I used as a hammer to bang the head of the screwdriver into the screw. It started to work, but not well enough to be able to remove the screw. And even if it did, I would not be able to retighten it anyway. To add insult to injury, I inadvertently mistook my hand for my shoe and gave it a good womp with the pedal wrench. That was it. I'd had enough, I was sweating bullets in my van, the start of the race was minutes away, and I had to just ride with my shoes the way they were.

The course was changed from the usual 2, 20mi laps to 4, 10mi laps consisting of 98% singletrack. This race, being the second longest I've ever done (the longest being the Big Frog 65) was the hardest race of my life. The endless singletrack doesn't give the body any relief in the form of open fireroads to spin the legs out or rest in the form of coasting. From the get go, it was immediately clear that I was unable to pedal efficiently with my feet offset. Furthermore, it was nearly impossible to find my feet every time I had to clip back in because for one, each foot was different, and two, the cleats were new and it takes a little more effort to pop them in. It took a lot of excess pressure and twisting my feet in weird ways to get back in, which caused unnecessary strain on my already tired muscles. I knew if I wanted to finish the race in under 4hrs, I would have to maintain an average speed of 10mph. I succeeded in doing so for lap 1, with an average of exactly 10mph. That scared me because I was riding hard and I knew if I was going to break the 4hr barrier, I would need to maintain that pace the whole time. The goal became further and further out of reach as I saw my average drop over the next two laps. I knew it was a direct result of my shoes and lack of ability to clip in and out easily and that the effects of that were only going to worsen as the race progressed. To add, well, injury to injury, I crashed really hard on the first lap after conjuring up some camera courage for Luke and went hot into a loose corner. I lost the front end and fell, you guessed it, right onto my already bruised hand, jamming my thumb. I bent my brake rotor in the crash and my headset began to creak, so I had to listen to my bike crying the whole rest of the race.

I spent at least half of the first three laps unclipped, which means I was only able to exert downward force on my pedals rather than being able to pull up equally and evenly with the opposite leg. This put terrible strain on my quads, and though I never cramped, by the final lap I simply ran out of strength. I did not clip in at all during lap 4 and resorted to walking up almost every climb. On the descents, I used my thighs to squeeze the saddle to stay in control and prevent my feet from slipping off the pedals, making my legs even more sore. Actually, before I even completed lap 3, I debated attempting a 4th lap and almost turned back once I started it, but we won't talk any more of my temporary willingness to give up, since I never wholeheartedly submitted to such a crazy notion. As I was walking on the final lap, I couldn't help but think of Chris Eatough and the film 24 Solo that I had recently seen. He resorted to walking at times, and if Chris could walk, I could walk. I was determined to finish. I had set goals for this race, but they were now traded out for the goal of simply finishing, even if it meant walking across the finish line. Besides, I had noticed that I wasn't at all the only racer who was feeling the effects of the heat and conditions and many were dropping like flies. If I had chosen to throw it in and DNF, I would never know how close I was to actually finishing well if that was the case. Also, many of my friends today crashed and sustained injuries (I'm glad none were too serious) and some couldn't finish. One of my closest friends and teammates, Jim V., was unable to attend this race due to an injury sustained on a training ride and I decided that I was going to finish this race for him. There is another Jim V., (more famously known as "Jimmy V"), who was an inspiration to countless others in his lifetime, whose words were with me while I was out there. I love many of his quotes, but my favorite is perhaps the most simple, "Don't give up. Don't ever give up." As long as my bike was rideable and my muscles worked, I was going to keep moving forward. Even though I was suffering, there were some really fun parts of the course that just HAD to be ridden. One such section was a climb that was short and steep with a giant tree with exposed roots that split the trail in two just before the top, where it got a little steeper. Riders had to choose the left or right fork, but I saw a super fun line that went right up the middle, over a few roots and just to the right of the tree. I cleaned it on every lap and each time destroyed other riders in the process. It was so cool hearing them behind me expressing their astonishment. On the fourth lap, I hammered up it next to a girl riding for Overlook whom I chatted it up with leading to this hill and passed her right at the top using my sick line. I crested it and yelled, "I'm not even clipped in!" and stuck my feet out. She wasn't impressed.

Near the end, I was going so slow that the mosquitos were keeping pace with me, which is pretty sad if you can't outrun tiny winged insects. My slower pace also carried the onset of heat exhaustion, since I was no longer creating the apparent wind to cool me off. I was too nervous to eat all of my oatmeal this morning and knew I needed to replace some calories during the race, but I tried to eat a cookie at a rest stop and I just couldn't swallow it. I did stop at the beer tent on mile 8 for a cold PBR on lap 3 and 4, but couldn't finish either one. I was burping up Strawberry HEED, chocolate flavor Hammer gel, and PBR. Yuck-o. I wanted to hang around and see the results and awards afterwards, but there was little shade and nowhere to sit. I was feeling faint and sick and knew the best thing to do was get the AC cranking in the van to lower my core temperature and once hunger set in, get some food in my system. I know that my body has to feel hunger before I can feed it well after a race, so I kept the fluids flowing and headed to Qdoba Mexican Grill for a celebratory burrito. It hit the spot. Oh, and a few things I learned today about endurance racing: I will never, EVER wear a Camelbak again as long as I live and I will never ride a singlespeed in any race over 30mi. With a geared bike, if you tire out, it's possible to downshift and keep some kind of pace going. On an SS, it's all or nothing. I did give it my all on the homestretch, though. As I emerged from the singletrack, a Darkhorse singlespeeder was right behind me and said, "Come on, Dude!" and launched an attack. He thought we might have a mellow drag race to kind of push each other the last 1,000ft, but I had no idea of his intentions so I clipped in and sprinted for the finish and beat him by about 900ft.

So, all of these aforementioned ramblings sound like they sum up the worst part of today's experience and it may be hard for some to imagine how there even could be a best part. What was the best part? That there was simply nowhere else I would rather have been.

**Update** I learned today that I didn't finish in second-to-last place or even in the back half of the field like I thought I did. My willingness to press on and not quit was almost enough to let me reach one of my goals of getting a top 10 finish. Out of the 31 starters, only 17 finished. I got 11th. Fuck yeah!

Mano y mano

2009-08-03T18:07:00.000-07:00

August 2nd was the Plattekill Mountain Challenge, stop #2 in the NYS MTB series, in Roxbury, NY. I heard a few racer friends of mine mention going to this event, so I signed up. Right up until the night before the race, when I checked to see who else was registered in my division, I was the only Cat 2 Singlespeed entrant. That sounded kinda cool, since all I had to do was show up, complete the course and I'd get a gold medal (my first ever). I was still hoping that others would register day-of so I would actually have to work for it. I was very pleased to see my friend, Sal from Darkhorse Cycles, riding back from registration. He said he saw that I was all by myself and he didn't want me to race alone. What a guy! As it would turn out, and as was evident in past races, Sal is a very worthy opponent and we regularly finish seconds apart, so this was going to be a grueling battle to see who would come out on top.

The race course was actually a ski slope with lots of singletrack linking the ski runs together. It was one of the most intense races I've ever done. The loop was 8 miles round trip and was essentially 4 miles up and 4 miles down. We were to do two laps. The lap began at the base and went straight up a ski run. While we were staging up, we could see racers pre-riding the course waaaaaaaaaaay up on the slope, traversing the ridge. I said, "We're going up there?" The riders looked so tiny! Climbing such a hill on a singlespeed is a brutal task, which maybe is why there were so few of us present that day.

Now, a lot of time has passed since the race and all the memories of the pain and suffering I endured and desire to sell all my bikes after the race have given way to only the best moments of the day. For example, on the climb up at the start of lap 2, a rain storm swept in over the course, but only on the top of the mountain. We ascended into thick clouds and what started out as a misty fog soon became torrential rain. I was soaked through, but it felt amazing! My glasses immediately became useless, so I ditched them. Unfortunately, they were very necessary on the ride down when the trails became rushing streams with actual mini rapids. I wished there were photogs present to have captured my visage as I scrunched up my face and left only enough space between my eyelids to keep the mud spray out, but still see where I was going.

Sal and I exchanged places all during the first lap. I made two wrong turns, one in the middle and one at the end of lap 1, where I lost the lead I had worked so hard for. The first wrong turn was due to a poorly marked turn and the second, well, I was just stupid. I followed a rider off course as he went to retrieve a bottle from his feeder station. Once I realized my error, I turned right around and climbed back up the hill to regain the course just in time to see Sal emerge from the woods. D'oh!

I caught him on the climb on the second lap and really began to work some strategy into my game plan. I knew that if Sal could physically see me, he would feel like he could catch me. So I did everything I could to get through a technical section at speed and then sprint long enough after to disappear around the next corner. I found out later that my plan had worked perfectly when he told me that once he lost sight of me, he just settled in and rode at his own pace. Me, on the other hand, I wanted as much distance between us as possible so I rode like the wind and hit everything as fast as I could. The downhill portion was very rocky with water rushing down it. My hands ached so badly from the vibrations and staying on the brakes, that I thought the whole time I would lose control and crash horribly. I knew that being out front means taking those risks, but also riding as smart as possible.

When I reached the finish line, the MC knew my name and my team and announced it over the PA as I crossed the line. That was pretty awesome. It was also quite intense waiting during the awards ceremony, seeing the podium and knowing that the top spot belonged to me. Even though I am proud of my achievement, I'm still hoping for an actual legitimate podium. My third place at KV was kind of a fluke, but hey, I'm not complaining! I learned also that my time would have earned me 3rd place in my age group, Cat 2 19-29 if I was racing with the geared guys, which is very cool. I felt good that day, I enjoyed the course, I was happy to do battle with my friend, and I came away with a gold medal. Best day of my life. :-)

The perfect storm

2009-07-29T13:54:00.000-07:00

When just the right combination of simultaneously occurring conditions converge on themselves, it is sometimes known as "a perfect storm." This rarely happens in the meteorological world, but the term itself can be applied to any combination of obscure happenings that result in a unique outcome, which is also typically rare. Today, two perfect storms materialized and I found myself caught in both of them.

I quit my job this morning. I have worked at the same garden center for almost 15 years and today was my last day. The last decade saw a major decline in our profitability as competing nurseries sprouted up (no pun intended) all around us. The owner of the business, despite our suggestions, refused to do anything to change the way things were being run and so we began a downward spiral towards our own demise. The economy is certainly playing a role, but the effects wouldn't be so hard felt if we made some slight changes. The owner's stubbornness resulted in the business' worst year ever, barely making payroll each week, and ultimately the first layoffs in its history.

I saw all of this coming, we all did. And knowing that this was not the future I wanted for myself, I knew when the chance came I would jump ship before it sank. A few books, some important and influential people, and some recent life experiences have led me to the realization of what my Soul Purpose in life is, and before it was too late, I put a series of events in motion to be sure that when the ship did in fact sink, I would have a well-stocked life raft. The news came out last month that the ship had struck something and was taking on water when I learned I would be getting laid off for the month of September. Knowing I had more than a month to prepare for my exodus, I felt secure that I would be prepared and ready to become full-time at the bike shop by that time. Last week, disaster struck as the hull separated and the "abandon ship!" call was made as I learned I would be laid off for the month of August as well. In a panic, I threw what essential items I could grasp into my life raft and shoved off, setting myself adrift on a sea of the unknown.

There was a mix of emotions this morning. I was excited to finally quit that place, having thought about it for so long. I was sad to leave my closest friends behind, happy I would never have to see my dad again, and slightly nervous about what would happen next. To clear my head, I did what works best for that affliction and went for a bike ride.

Normally what happens on days such as this is I spend the nicest part of the day confined to my job, bored to death, and wishing I was 1,000 other places but there. I wait all day until closing time when I can finally get on my bike, but either I am too out of it to want to ride that late, I need to cook dinner, or most often a massive thunderstorm hits and ruins any chance of getting out anyway. Today since I left work early, I took advantage of the opportunity to go for a mid-day ride. The weather forecast called for late afternoon thunderstorms, possibly serious, with heavy rain and hail. I figured if I put in a full day, my plans to ride would have certainly been foiled. As I neared Round Valley just after noon, the already overcast sky began to darken and tiny rain drops began hitting my windshield. NO! Not again!

I parked my van and debated just going for it and getting rained on, which I wouldn't have minded and actually enjoy. But knowing that this wasn't just a passing shower, I decided to wait about 10 minutes and see what happened. Holy crap was that a good idea! The storm that ensued found me cowering in my van, wincing at each crack of thunder with the full belief that the wind was going to blow my van right over. The sound of sheets of rain hammering my sheet metal walls was deafening. The song "Riding The Storm Out" by REO Speedwagon was playing in my head as I imagined that this is what it would be like living inside a snare drum if it were at all possible.

Eventually, the storm abated and I was able to get on with my ride after all. This storm wasn't quite the perfect storm, but perfect is exactly how I would describe the resulting weather after it had passed. The air was cool, the darker grey sky was giving way to a lighter one, and the late afternoon sun was trying desperately to break free one last time before disappearing behind the horizon. It was the best conditions I could have asked for and..., alright Nick! Every day you have the best ride of your life, we get it! But with the perfect storms now dissipating, I was able to find a slate washed clean, a calmer sea, and my new course in life clearly marked ahead of me. Sail on.

This is the view out of my perfectly clear rear window of my van. The rain was so heavy you couldn't see a foot in front of you. Make sure your volume is turned UP!

The tail of the storm

Caught in suspension

Action photo!

I don't recommend doing this

A really gnarly tree

Hey-o! Look what I found!

My kinda sign

For sizzle!

2009-07-25T18:37:00.000-07:00

Before I get into this new post, I'd like to show you what my latest batch of trail mix looks like. Enough Reese's Pieces that one would become ill before coming close to finishing them all. That sounds like a dare, Harry!

So the H2H series has taken a break for a while, not seeing us back again until September, but the racing action elsewhere is in full swing and I wanted to get in on some of it. The Mid-Atlantic Super Series progresses straight through the summer and I decided to participate in stop #9, the Denzeisen and Quigley Summer Sizzler at Gloucester County College in Sewell, NJ.

Preparation for this event was no different from any other so far, except that this was going to be my first time heading to the venue the night before and camping in Vanzilla somewhere on the premises. Well, that didn't go over too well. Upon arrival in an empty, well lit parking lot on the campus, I was instantly met by a security vehicle. What? Can't a suspicious, white, unmarked cargo van drive onto a college campus and park curiously in the middle of the night? Actually the security guard was pretty cool and I did the whole "yes sir, no sir" routine. Since there was no way he would let me stay (I didn't press the issue), I asked where he'd recommend I go and his best suggestion was an all-night diner up the road. I was cautious, but since he reached into his bag of ideas and came up with nothing, I decided I'd try to follow his directions and maybe along the way I'd find something better. Find something better I did, but more on that later.

His directions stunk and I found myself immediately lost. I was getting tired, it was late, I didn't feel like driving anymore and I was running out of patience. That's when it hit me! There must be a Walmart somewhere close by, I'll go there! A quick call to the directory assistance got me the number to the nearest location and the night operator there was about the sweetest woman I've ever conversed with via the telephone. I was sure to ask if it was cool if I spent the night in my vehicle and explained why I was there and she said the manager was all for it. Walmart rules.

Like a beacon of hope. Welcome to Walmart!

She gave me excellent directions and I found it with no problems. I was so pleased with her kindness, I called back once I arrived just to tell her I made it safely and thanked her again for being so helpful and friendly. She wished me a good night sleep and good luck in my race the next day. Needless to say, I went to bed with a smile on my face. It's amazing how easy it is to be kind to others, yet so many people are douchebags. I love nice people.

Another nice thing about Walmart is their impeccable restrooms. I've never been to a public restroom that I can say actually smelled pleasant. But this one did. I made use of it before going to bed and once more before leaving in the morning. I noticed the supply of hand towels and paper ass gaskets had been replenished by the restroom gnomes during the night. I slept so soundly that I actually was awakened by my alarm clock. Upon entering the store one last time before leaving, I was reminded how much I love the sweet little old ladies they station by the door whose only job it is is to say "Welcome to Walmart!" and smile. They serve double-duty as receipt checkers and personally I would love to see one try to thwart a shoplifting attempt.

I arrived back at the college, secured my parking space among the fleet of roof rack-equipped vehicles, and began cooking my oatmeal tailgate style. I met a few nice people in the parking lot who compete in the MASS including Travis and Blake, who are fellow Singlespeeders and ended up finishing 2 and 3, respectively. Nice job, guys! I made my way over to racer check-in and was met by a cute girl wielding a Sharpie marker. It was her purpose to mark every racers' right calf with their designated class. She giggled and commented on my courage to race with only one gear as she dropped to give me my semi-permanent "SS" tattoo on my freshly shaven leg. When she moved up to the guy in front of me, he lifted his pant leg to reveal an unusually hairy gam. I kinda felt bad for the girl and probably felt better about shaving my legs than I had since I first went through with it.

Bam!

After getting my shit together, I headed out for a warm up. I ran into my friend, Mark Waters and we chatted it up as we paced each other around the campus. I hadn't set any goals for this race because I was coming off of an intense week of training leading up to the KVSP/NJSC race two weeks before and a very light load in the week passed, but I then decided that I was going to try to hang with Mark since he's been finishing strong and slightly better than me in previous races. The start of this race was a little different than how H2H events begin. Rather than being stacked up in rows, the entire field was spread out only one rider deep and 20 riders wide, encompassing the entire SS field. It was like a motocross land rush start where it's a free-for-all going into the first turn. I kept with my usual strategy of getting up front early and settling back like I always do.

As we entered the first portion of single track, I found myself in the top 5. I had no idea what the course was like, except for that it had lots of roots and some short, steep climbs. The first three guys had pulled way ahead, leaving another rider and myself leading a freight train through the unknown. Since what was around every corner was a mystery at this point, I found myself braking hard trying not to blow off the trail and then trying to regain my momentum afterwards. Not even ten minutes into the first lap, I overcooked a sharp, root infested left turn, my bike was out from under me faster than I could get my feet out and I laid there having one of those "Shoulda had a V8" moments. It was the hardest crash I ever sustained in a race, but I got right back up. Unfortunately, since the trail was so narrow, I was forced to let the rest of the freight train through before I could get going again. I never heard so many people say, "On your right, one more, one more, one more, one more..." I had gone from about 5th to 14th in the blink of an eye. I was totally bummed, but knew the longer I lamented the fact that I had so much work ahead of me, the more work I would be creating. So I just settled in and began my epic comeback.

I was pretty much all alone the rest of the first lap. Each group was separated by two minutes and the SSers were the fourth group to leave. Naturally, some of the back of the geared field in each group is quick to get overtaken by the non-geared riders and these people were my only company as I picked them off one by one. The entire 6 mile loop was contained within less than two square miles, so it wasn't uncommon to see the same riders that are ahead of you passing you multiple times heading the other way as the trail double-backed over itself. Mark was the caboose of that freight train and I saw him more than a few times as I attempted to reel him in. By the middle of the second lap I had bridged up to him and, though I didn't feel like I was riding as fast as I was, I was certainly hauling ass. I rode his wheel for a few seconds when I knew I could easily outrun this group. I got past Mark and hit the afterburners and began working my way back through the SS field.

On the third lap, I was passed by one of the guys way off the front in the beginning who suffered two broken spokes on the first lap. He was also chewing his way back to the front and when he went by me, I said, "Nice recovery! I saw you with the technical earlier. Keep it up!" I latched onto his wheel and we both approached a rider, Kevin, who was sitting comfortably in 8th place. At several points in the course, there were log rides in the race line with bypasses along side. Only a few times the bypass was the faster way, but I chose the log rides also because they were so much fun. "Technical recovery guy" passed Kevin and now I was behind the both of them. We climbed a small hill with a log ride on the left with a sharp right turn at the top. Both of them took the bypass while I saw my chance to kill them both and surged over the logs thus passing Kevin and kept my momentum up to successfully pass recovery guy on the inside of the right turn. I was pumped that it worked and kept the flow going for the next mile when recovery guy then passed me and left me for the last time.

My third lap proved to be my fastest. In the entire 1:34:52, lap three was sub 30 minutes. I was cooking and felt awesome. One of my favorite sections of the course was a horseshoe curve whose apex was the highest point with a tree right on the inside. Its roots created a sort of staircase up one side and down the other. The first two laps saw me forced to get off and run because of riders in front of me unable to clean it. Lap three I was hauling ass and saw the turn was almost completely vacant except for one guy hike-a-bike-ing around the outside. I dug in and ascended the rooted staircase, lunged up and over the exposed protruding stump at the apex and flew down the other side. I was so jazzed that I screamed, "YEAH!! WOOOO!!!" Kevin, who was a ways back told me after the race that he heard someone whooping it up.

He actually gave me a good run in the final miles. I noticed he was catching up to me as we passed each other in opposite directions. I made sure I hammered up each of the two last steep climbs before the final switchback descent into the start/finish area. I wasn't going to give him any chance to catch me. When the trail finally opened up to reveal the finish line, I put the pedal down and thought he was farther back than he actually was. If it wasn't for him letting out a roar as he accelerated towards me, I would have never known he was there. Kevin's friend, I forget your name, sorry, who joined us after the finish commended me on how fast I reacted to the attack and began sprinting. We had an epic drag race to the wire where I just locked my core muscles and proceeded to pedal complete circles, pulling my feet back through the bottom of the pedal stroke and ultimately edged him out. It was so close that neither of us knew how it ended, but once the results were posted, he came up to tell me that I had beaten him by one-tenth of a second! WOW! I learned that that earned me 8th overall, my second best performance of all time.

I can't say that I'm not upset about crashing and that I am not wondering how it would have turned out had I ran that pace without crashing, but that is all a part of the experience. This was the first time that I was not the lead dog and had the actual physical ability to claw my way through the field to get back to the front. My making up six places and turning such hot lap times can only be seen as a testament to how far my fitness has come and how effective my training has been over the last few months.

So remember when I said earlier that the security guard's shitty directions actually led me to something better than a place to sleep? While I was driving around aimlessly during the night, upon making a wrong turn past an old used car lot, I noticed a cluster of old bicycles chained together on the roadside. One of them in particular stood out from the rest, as it was clearly much larger than the others. I made a mental note of its location and figured I'd go inspectigate after the race the next day. Mark and I went out for a few beers and a burger I had been craving since days before the race. While we talked about many things bike-related, I was reminded about the bikes I saw the night before and Mark got really interested. We decided to go check them out and after many more wrong turns, we finally found them. It turned out that not only did the fellow who owns the lot sell used cars, but he is a classic bike collector as well. He had some really old stuff, some of which in exceedingly good condition.

I spotted the bike that caught my eye the night before, an all-original 1966 purple Schwinn Twinn tandem, and she was even more glorious in the daylight. Upon closer inspection, I realized that I had to have it. Now, I have been pretty good at controlling my impulsive spending habits lately. Currently I am in the process of getting laid off from my full-time job of the last 15 years and am switching careers into a full-time bike mechanic gig that will pay half of what I make now if I'm lucky. I have to sell my car because I can't afford to make payments anymore and I don't have enough money to cover my mortgage next month. I wouldn't call Mark an enabler by any stretch of the imagination, but his reasoning for why I should buy the bike were exactly my sentiments and perhaps I just needed to hear it from someone else. I figured I could not let such a gorgeous bike get away from me and I would regret not buying it the rest of my life if I looked back on this day and decided not to buy it simply because I couldn't afford it. Instead, I looked forward and imagined the awesome experiences I would have while riding it and all the joy it would bring me and the deal was sealed. A quick bit of negotiating and a trip to the nearest ATM and I was the proud new owner of this beauty:

I can't wait to bring it into the shop and get to work on restoring her. Also, had I not made the choice to purchase a van to use as my mobile residence, I wouldn't have had a way to bring it home and perhaps would not have even thought once about buying it. It's funny how things work out. After all the events that occurred today, I can honestly say that this was the best day of my life. I didn't place in my race, but I still brought home some metal.

Oh, raspberries

2009-07-21T06:34:00.000-07:00

If there was ever anyone to make the most and the best of his only day off in months, it's me. It began after we closed the shop on Sunday afternoon and five of us guys rode our bikes to Five Guys Burgers and Fries. We took our cruisers and fixies for the 12 mile round trip from Morristown, through downtown Madison and into Chatham. The place is awesome and the burgers were killer. It's the second burger joint I've ever visited that offered grilled onions as a topping. Nice. The ride back was slower since our bellies were full of greasy goodness. Since I was continuing on northward the next day, I decided to spend the night in my van again and leave for my friend's house in the morning.

I met Laura and Howie for a bike ride through Harriman State Park in NY which, upon its inception, was only to be around two hours long. That sounded fine to me, but even still had me wondering how I'd hold up against a couple of A+ riders after not only doing a 30mi group ride the day before where I got dropped, but also the burger cruise where I filled my guts with crap. When we arrived and finally discussed our loop, the two hour ride grew to 4 hours. I was excited to be able to ride in such a beautiful place I'd only heard about, but I was dreading being dropped by someone I look up to and hold in such high regard as a cyclist and an athlete and someone I'd met only an hour ago. Fifteen minutes into the ride, I was convinced that I was going to die. I debated with myself, "Should I speak up and ask them to slow down a bit?" "Fuck no!! Keep pedaling and shut up!" The last thing I wanted to do was tell Laura that I couldn't hang. The feeling can be equated to an embarrasing sexual performance and being told, "It's okay, that happens to lots of men." It would have been the worst thing for my self esteem and it wasn't gonna happen. The good news is that the further into the ride we got, the better I felt and soon the notion of dropping out was as far from my mind as returning to work the next day.

With my body now in tune with my mind, I was able to start really enjoying the ride. I had never experienced such sustained climbs and long, twisty descents and I found myself swerving unintentionally as I marveled at the scenery. This one road climbed up from the Hudson River valley on a shelf carved into the mountain, twisting along up and up. It was two lanes wide and had a stone wall to keep travelers from falling over the edge. The view was breathtaking and so was the climb itself. I felt like I was in another country, somewhere where I've seen those mountainous routes in cycling magazines and was thrilled to be experiencing something like this so close to home. The ride down the other side was equally as exhilarating. We reached speeds topping 40mph as we yipped and carved our way through the corners. I couldn't discern whether the huge smile on my face was from pure joy or the direct result of the effects of the wind from riding so fast, but I'll take it either way. When we reached the bottom and our bikes lost momentum, we had the chance to glance back through a clearing to see what we had just ridden down. I wished I had a camera to capture it, but the image has been permanently etched into my memory.

Later on in the ride while crawling up Bear Mountain, Laura pulled off suddenly. I don't usually like to stop on rides, especially one such as this, because it can be very hard or even impossible to start again. But in this case, there absolutely could not have been a better reason to pull over. All along the hill beside the road were wild raspberry bushes! I was grabbing at them with two hands and began shoving them in my mouth until my cheeks bulged. I am salivating as I'm typing this just thinking of that tangy sweetness exploding on my tongue. It was a true pleasure to enjoy one of nature's many wonderful gifts, right there on the side of the road, free for the taking. Free for anyone who happened upon them and had the time to stop and enjoy them. I feel fortunate to be one of those. I could have spent an hour there, gorging myself on those wild raspberries, but it was necessary to keep moving. I had felt the pang of hunger a little earlier in the ride and with only my vitamin-enriched water (which I happened to be temporarily out of), just the knowledge of putting solid food in my sytem did wonders for my spirits.

The last portion of the ride was a long winding descent and was the perfect way to complete the loop. Pedaling wasn't necessary, but I just wanted to go as fast as possible. I was amazed that I still had energy to hammer as well as enough wind in my lungs to whoop it up around the many tight turns. Once back at our vehicles, we stripped off our cycing gear and dove into our recovery drinks. On the ride back, rather than taking big scooping handfulls of trail mix, I noticed Laura was selectively picking through it. It was a homemade blend that I threw together and I knew exactly what she was doing. She was eating only the Reese's Pieces. When I called her out on it, she threw a great analogy at me relating trail mix to what life has to offer us. There is something in it for everyone and it's up to us to pick and choose what we want to get out of it. Some people like walnuts while others like dates. She likes Reese's Pieces. But I do too and was left with only coconut shavings and nut fragments thank you very much! Laura is right, though. We do have the choice to create the kind of lives we want to live for ourselves and thus take from those experiences what we will. So my next batch of trail mix will consist of nothing but Reese's Pieces.

It was difficult to drag myself into work today and I will submit that I did EVERYTHING I could to put it off as long as possible. When days off only come about once a month, it's a pleasure to spend them in the company of good people doing the things we love. Best day off ever. And, oh, I wouldn't be myself if I didn't say this, too: Sunday I had the best ride of my life.

The funky bus

2009-07-14T20:30:00.001-07:00

No matter what orifice you're leaking from, we've got you covered.

The "eyes rolled back in the head" photo. Leading the charge up the first climb.

Utah Joe and I bombing downhill on lap 3.

Snaking my way through the trees before hitting the switchbacks for the last time.

Following the previous post, I have been super psyched to have my retro-cruiser up and running and anxiously awaited every chance I would get to ride it. Such was the case last Saturday when I was putting in a full day at the bike shop and counting down the minutes until closing time when I could hit the streets of M-town. My plans were awash when a thunderstorm decided to strike just as we flipped the "Open" sign to "Closed."

I sought refuge in my van, which was parked behind the shop and was to be my shelter for the night, since the morning would find me waking early to head for the NJSC race at Kittatinny. It was barely 7pm when I had finished eating some cold spaghetti while listening to my iPod and decided this was going to be a long night if it continued to rain. I'm very excited about the living in a van (down by the river) idea, but didn't enjoy the feeling of being stuck in it with nothing to do for hours. I vowed to make sure I had some form of entertainment for the future, but luckily the storm dissipated and I was able to get on the bike after all. I ran into my friend and coworker, Jay, at the Dunkin Donuts, who was also riding his bike. We cruised around for about an hour until a second wave of storms hit so we decided to call it a night and I fell asleep to the sound of torrential rain pounding on my sheet metal ceiling.

Sunday morning, I got up before my alarm went off and I gotta say I was feeling awesome. I made my oatmeal on my camp stove and grabbed a coffee from the bakery next door. I was to meet another coworker, Geoff (pronounced "Gee-off"), at the shop so we could rock the tour bus to the race. It's an old retired school bus, painted up with our shop's name and logos and is definitely a head-turner. Our boom box was barely audible over the sound of the struggling diesel engine and the squeaks and rattles coming from within as I bounced from my seat sans a safety belt. The last few roads were bumpy and winding and I began to feel my oatmeal doing an about face in my digestive system. Great, here comes pukey kid. Fortunately, the sheer awesomeness of riding in such a cool bus took the focus off of my guts and before I knew it we had reached our destination.

After checking in, I returned to the bus to hang out with some Team Marty's riders under our tent. Someone brought up the fact that this was indeed the NJ State Championship race and if you hold a USAC license, you are eligible for contention. I was told if I thought I had a shot at placing, I should go buy an annual license right there on the spot. It's amazing how the next series of events unfolded, and why I acted on them is miraculous. I was feeling great since I awoke that morning, and I felt my week of training leading to this race went well, but did I really think I had it in me to place in the top 3? I figured it couldn't hurt and it's beneficial to carry a license anyway, so I borrowed the $60 and got my USAC license.

After a short warm-up session, I proceeded to the staging area. It was a large field with a mowed roadway through it where we lined up in anticipation of the start of the race. The SSers were first to go, so I began walking along the edge of the tall grass to get to the front when suddenly dozens of bees began emerging from beneath my feet! I yelled to warn everyone and attempted to flee, but the nearly 100 cyclists were packed so close together, it was impossible to move. I escaped without getting stung, but many riders weren't so lucky. Fortunately, there were no allergic reactions and everyone was able to race.

My strategy is to get a jump on the field right from the line and to hang in the front as long as I can. What usually happens is, one by one, riders pass me as I move backwards through the pack until I settle in where I am comfortable. The start of this race was no different. I was in 2nd place from the gun and held the leader's wheel all through the prologue, up a short climb and into the first technical uphill section. Once we got into the single track, the lead guy began to pull on me and I decided it was way too early for an attack, so I kept the pace up, but not so that I would burn out. With the first place guy now out of sight, I was now leading the pack. The first climb was brutal because my heart rate had just been elevated from the super fast start and now I knew I was the man to catch.

When I completed the first lap and tore through the Start/Finish area for the start of lap two, I was still in 2nd! A crowd of people who I didn't recognize was cheering my name and it gave me this surge of power like I hit the afterburners. Some geared riders caught and passed me on the second lap. When I heard a bike approaching from behind, I would listen carefully for the distinct sound of derailleurs and chain slap and would be relieved that it wasn't a singlespeeder catching up to me. My friend, Leo, who I met in TN earlier this year, is an ex-Columbian National champion. He caught up to me in a fast, flowing portion of single track with banked turns. I didn't know who it was until he shouted something like, "You're doing great, Nick! Keep it up!" I recognized his voice and said, "Leo, you wanna pass me just say so!" and he said, "No, you're doing fine." Knowing he was behind me and hearing his words of praise gave me another burst of energy. Once the trail opened up a bit before a climb, Leo shot past me and took off at a ridiculous pace not to be seen again.

Two singlespeeders passed me on the second lap at different times. One was mtbNJ's own Norm. I calculated that this put me now in 4th place, not a podium spot, but by far the best damned finishing position thus far for me. I didn't learn until later that Norm was just riding a single speed and was not in my class. The other guy to pass me was indeed in my class and I hung onto his wheel for a while but had to let him go.

Heading into the 3rd and final lap, actually in 3rd place but thinking I was in 4th, I was still riding at the same pace as when I started. I marveled at how my body was not slowing down and how every time I needed to attack, the power was there every single time! I would clean a climb or a technical section and had enough steam to sprint at full speed to widen the gap on the guy behind me. I noticed that after an effort like that, and even a few times during one, I would get one of those deep, cleansing breaths that allow you to draw more oxygen and breathe slower. I use that as a sign that my body has recovered and I can put the hammer down again. Two other single speeders passed me about halfway through the third lap and I hung onto the latter of them. A mile or so later, he bonked and I ate him up. In the final mile, my friend Utah Joe caught up to me. I also offered to let him go by, but he said I was killing it on the downhill portion and he didn't need to pass me just yet. Once the trail opened up into a field, I let him through. He was the eventual winner of his class and he told me the last SSer he passed was a good several minutes behind us. This gave me the breathing room I needed to just focus on my riding and get myself to the end.

I prayed that I wouldn't get a flat, probably something I shouldn't even have been thinking about, but I was so excited to be in the top 5 for the first time, I didn't want to blow it. Utah dropped me on the last steep climb on the course and I was alone for the rest of the race. I wove my way through the trees leading into the super fun switchback corners for the last time and hauled ass down the fire road to the finish.

I knew I had done extremely well for myself, but it wasn't until the results were posted that I learned about Norm and realized that I actually had come in 4th! That was intense in itself, but nothing could have prepared me for the shock that was to come. Out of the three guys to finish ahead of me, one of them had either not been from New Jersey or simply did not have a USAC license, so that bumped me up to 3rd place in the State Championship. My first podium! During the awards ceremony, my heart was beating faster than it had during the race itself as I waited for them to call my name. Leo did the honors of capturing the proudest moment of my life.

On the ride home, I told Geoff that I decided that when we got back, I was going to go to Qdoba Mexican Grill to celebrate with a huge, honkin' burrito. He liked my idea so much that we hit it up on the way. When I got home, I couldn't wait to notify my coach about how well I did and how great I felt that day. That was when he informed me that he planned on having me peak for this event and that I delivered for him at exactly the right time. He said it made his day and that in turn made my day to know I made his.

I know I have said this before and I am positive that I will say it many more times, but this was the best race of my life... until the next one! :-)

In with the old

2009-07-10T20:10:00.000-07:00

It gives me great pleasure to reveal to you my latest creation, "The Hulk." Unlike its namesake, it is not doomed to roam the face of the Earth alone for eternity. It has been resurrected and given the freedom to roam the streets instead. I may have mentioned before that building custom bikes is a hobby of mine. I don't think you can beat the feeling you get riding a bike that, rather than being built in a shop and sold from the showroom floor, you have taken the time to dream up what you want it to be and how you want it to look. The satisfaction of selecting each piece, assembling it, and watching it take form is almost Godly.

Every bike that I own, except for one, was pieced together as per my own specs. The difference between them and this one is that this is the first bike that was built only by me. I have been fortunate over the last few months to learn the necessary skills to assemble every component on a bicycle. I have gone over every part, overhauled every bearing, and even built my first wheelset. I got a little help with the wheels, but only my hands touched them. That's the way I wanted it.

I took the Hulk for it's shakedown run today and it was stellar! What a fun bike! It's exactly the kind of ride I was hoping to get out of it, one that cements a smile to your face that lasts long after you've swung your leg over. Awesome.

The "before" photo (not the actual bike).

The very first wheel I've ever built.

On the workstand while NOT working at the bike shop. Don't tell my boss!

Nitto Moustache handlebars. Nice.

Purple chain. Kinda like Purple Rain, but different.

The crown jewel, a Brooks B67 saddle.

Ta-da!

Thank you, Wendy.

Three-day weekend

2009-07-06T19:52:00.000-07:00

The view from inside the van, where I slept wrapped in sheet metal and the warm orange glow of the halogen security light in the Marty's parking lot the night before the race.

Breakfast time at Lewis Morris Park. Oatmeal anyone?

The mobile bike mechanic. Last minute prep before race time.

I'm failing to come up with any creative way to describe last Sunday's race. To put it simply, it was just about the best weekend I could have had, and a much needed one at that. I've been working two jobs, seven days a week so I haven't had much time to myself. With the 4th of July falling on my normal day off, I was awarded an extra day off for an awesome three-day weekend.

Friday I worked at the bike shop, which I don't really consider to be work, and came home to celebrate my brother's 19th birthday. Saturday was spent at a BBQ/birthday party with friends from the shop and of course, Sunday was H2H race #4, the Lewis Morris Challenge sponsored by Marty's Reliable Cycles. Rather than drive home the night before the race only to return to Morristown the next day, I parked the van at Marty's and spent the night inside it.

On raceday, I woke up feeling fresh and walked over to Rico Pan Bakery for a large coffee then drove over to Lewis Morris to secure my parking spot and begin cooking my breakfast, tailgate style. I love the moments leading up to the start of a race. I threw my bike up on the stand to swap out my rear wheel for my other one with a smaller cog. Most SS racers were running a 32:20 gear ratio, but I knew that LM was a park where I could gear up and not be at a disadvantage. I opted for a 32:18 and it proved to be the best idea ever.

I've grown used to mashing a big gear from all the time I've spent riding my fixie and SS almost exclusively for almost a year before beginning my training. I knew I would have the strength to clean what climbs there were and be able to really kick it down on the flats and descents when my competition would be spinning out. My plan worked perfectly. Not only did I claw my way through the SS field, I also caught countless geared riders who began their races ahead of me. I not only overtook racers on the flats, where I really thought I'd make my moves, but also on the climbs. When they would downshift excessively and slow down to a crawl, I had no choice but to gun it and hammer past them. I surged on the adrenaline rush I got when I crested a hill and still had the power to sprint after it. At any moment when I allowed my cadence to drop on a flat, I yelled at myself, "Come on! This is why you chose this gear, NOW F*CKING PEDAL!"

Lap 2 saw a great cat & mouse battle between me and mtbNJ's own Woody. He would pass me on climbs only for me to reel him back in on the flats and descents. We went back and forth into the first climb on the 3rd lap when he finally dropped me and secured 7th place. I then waged war against a rider named George from team NYCmtb. We traded spots for all of lap 3. One thing I really love about racing is how, even though it's a heated race, one can still have a conversation out there. George was humbled by my courage to run such a tall gear and cheered me up each hill. On the last climb before the final downhill, he blew up and I never looked back. I powered to the finish line to learn later that I took 8th place, my best finish ever!

On another note, a rivalry of sorts has developed between myself and my friend Joaquin from Team Marty's. I beat him in the first two H2H races by only a small margin and he caught me in the final turns of Singlespeed-A-Palooza in a total upset at Stewart. I sought redemption at H2H race 3 at Stewart and I beat him by 6 minutes, but I learned later that he was dealing with a stomach bug. A win is a win, I guess, but I didn't feel I could count that one. Last Sunday, I smoked him! Fair and square. That made me very happy. =) We're very evenly matched, so I'm looking forward to seeing how we do in the second half of the season.

After my race, I exchanged my riding gear for my camera gear and hiked out onto the course to shoot video of my friends. They thank me like it's a chore to do it, but I enjoy it immensely. It's a great scene around the Start/Finish area and I meet great new people at every event. Marty's provided each racer with a commemorative pint glass with a coupon for a free beer at Sona Thirteen in Morristown, so a group of my closest friends and I headed over for a post-race pint and some much needed carbs. I savor these moments. Some coworkers of mine showed up just as my friends were upping to leave, so I decided to stick around and hung out with them until almost 10pm. I really wasn't looking forward to returning to work the next day, so I was milking this good time for as long as I could. One highlight from the evening was after we left Sona, my friend said she needed some sweets for the energy to drive home. I proceeded to say the creepiest thing I have ever said to a girl, which was, "Why don't you come with me? I've got some candy in my van." A riotous laugh ensued and rightly so.

Next Sunday is race #5 in the H2H series at Kittatiny Valley State Park. I haven't ridden there before, but I hear it is a little more technical and less steep than LM, so I think I'm going to stick with the taller gear. We'll see how it goes!

Roots, Rock, Reggae

2009-06-29T17:12:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since I've cruised my local trails. With all my training being done on the road, the only time I ride my SS is during races. For today, my coach gave me the go ahead to take a leisurely spin through the woods. So I jumped at the opportunity to load the race machine into the van and headed straight away for Washington Valley Park. My racing experiences have taken me to many far away and amazing places with awesome vistas and the most pleasurable single track one could ever dream of, but there's just something about returning to your local digs and being reunited with my old friends. It was nice catching up with the stream crossing, shaking hands with the outstretched arms of overhanging tree branches, and hugging the switchback turns.

I had forgotten how technical Chimney Rock is. Perhaps not as much as other parks like Ringwood, but there is hardly a section of plain dirt that isn't covered with exposed rocks and roots. A benefit to not having ridden at CR in so long is that my skills and fitness have improved greatly since the last time I was there. I took great pleasure in cleaning all the rock gardens, stream crossings, and all the technical sections that used to see me clipping out and regretfully and shamefully walking over.

When I ride, aside from my own thoughts that are often voiced out loud, there is always a song or two in my mental playlist to fit the occasion. I usually like to listen to reggae music when I'm feeling happy because it boasts such a positive vibe and a groove you can just move to. The song "Roots, Rock, Reggae" by Bob Marley came into my head for obvious reasons as I did the 29er shuffle over my rooted and rocky dance floor. The rocks chattered and the protests of the snapping roots sent all the furry woodland critters running for their lives.

It was great to ride off road for once without the pressures of being in a race. Even though I gladly took familiar sections at full speed, it was simply for the fun of it. I liked being alone, moving at my own pace, and being able to experience the outdoors in my own way. I don't know how long it will be before I can do another training ride in the woods, but I know I will be looking forward to it.

He who has the most fun...

2009-06-22T19:35:00.001-07:00

Vanzilla makes its first race appearance.

One last look at a clean drivetrain.

Team DRV sticker, guaranteed to scrub 10 seconds from your ET.

I sculpted a bike out of mud.

Lips pressed tightly together, a lesson learned in the first few minutes after being forced-fed a hearty serving of minerals.

I usually don't hot dog it during a race in the event that I may wipeout, but I was really feelin' it and having so much fun that I just couldn't keep the front wheel down.

In some circles, the term "mudslinging" carries a connotative definition. At last Sunday's Dark Horse Gallop, there was certainly a lot of mudslinging going on, but of the ultimate, super awesome, fun kind! If any of you have been privy to the abysmal, unseasonably cold, rainy weather we've been having, you can imagine how disastrous the trail conditions might have been. If I have described the last two races as muddy, they may as well have taken place in the Sahara Desert compared to this one. Now, even though I overheard many complaints about racing in such conditions, there are some sick people out there (myself included) who absolutely love mud! This race was, without a doubt, the most fun I have ever had on a bicycle. Period. I think as children, some of us took a certain pleasure in getting ourselves dirty. There was no shame in having mud in your hair or stained clothes like there is when we're adults, lest we be viewed as unclean by our peers. I will never be one to say that I've lost touch with my inner child, but even though I've resisted, in some ways society has made me feel a bit grown up.

Last Sunday, my inner child and I were reconnected once more as we plowed our way at full speed through giant puddles of chocolate milk and peanut butter-like mud of a consistency that makes this awesome splattering sound when tires roll through it that only a mountain biker could know. There was no room for avoiding any hazards this day. There was no way around it... we were going to get irrevocably filthy effing dirty, and with that acceptance early on, that inevitability was met with an immense feeling of freedom and youthful giddiness. We laughed as the chilling muddy water sprayed wildly up our back, in our face, up our nose, and into our mouth; carrying with it projectile specs of dirt that dried to our skin like drops of cement in the rushing wind as our churning tires sent a continuous assault while we pedaled tirelessly and incessantly onward.

Although my results don't support this, I feel like this was the best race of my life. My mind and my body were in tune and for the first time ever, I didn't bonk. Perhaps it was because I drank more than usual during the race, or was it the coffee I drank on the drive up? I like to think it was because I was just so thrilled to be there, to have the ability to enjoy such an experience, and to have teeth that looked like I just ate a fudge brownie, that the idea of being tired or wanting it to be over never crossed my mind. Something that did cross my mind out there though, was the revelation of how I would like to spend my future; an activity that ties in all the aspects of living free, traveling, and of course... riding my bike. I won't elude to what it is exactly as it can be fodder for an entry of its own. A teaser! How suspenseful!

By the end of the day, competitors' colorful kits were hardly distinguishable as everyone had taken on a few different shades of brown, depending on their various stages of wetness. I can only hope that future events are as fun as this one. I'm looking at the 7-day forecast and it's not looking good. The Lewis Morris Challenge is in two weeks. Let it rain!

It's Not What You Know

2009-06-16T21:43:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday I was working at the bike shop when a customer came in for some new tires. He noticed our calendar near the register in which the current month sported an incredible picture of some singletrack overlooking the cobalt waters of Lake Tahoe. He remarked on how he'd been there and he and I began chewing the fat about what an awesome place that is. It turned out that he is not only from California, but that he was here on tour as the sound guy for Huey Lewis and the News. He enjoyed our great customer service so much that he offered to put any of us on the guest list for Tuesday night's performance. Since no one else was available to take him up on the offer, I graciously accepted.

I had totally heard of Huey Lewis, but couldn't tell you one song he's done. I knew his accolades date back to the 70's, and since I enjoy classic rock, I was sure I was going to enjoy the show. It turned out that I actually know many of his songs. My lost voice is a testament to that. Their lead guitarist was amazing and played some insane solos that melted my face. Not literally. That's a proprietary term. They also had a brass section that I really enjoyed. Jim, the sound guy, did a great job of mixing and every vocal and instrument was balanced perfectly. I planned on calling him the next day to say thank you once again, but was fortunate enough to see him as we were leaving. Smiles, compliments, and handshakes ensued and I wished him well for the rest of his time out East.

It was a great experience and my Mom and I were both glad we went. Sometimes, going into an experience blind is the best way to go. Without any pre-judgments or biased reviews from outside sources, one can be open-minded and be left to interpret it in their own way. This was also a reminder of how much I enjoy live music and going to shows. I'll make it a point to do a little more of that in the future.

A Van Down By The River

2009-06-16T21:11:00.001-07:00

Matt Foley would be proud of me. Many of you who know me well have most likely heard of my ambition to attempt to free myself of mostly all financial obligations and seek out an extraordinary and different way of living. Recently, a huge step has been taken towards reaching my goal... I acquired a van. Oddly enough, it was only the second van I looked at, but it came at exactly the right time and in the exact way I had envisioned. It's reassuring when, taking such extreme steps towards the uncertain, things just sort of go your way. A lot of people, including all the "non-believers," spend too much time fretting over all the small details of life in a van or "van dwelling" as it's aptly named. "Where will you shower?" "What will you eat?" "Where will you poo?" I have logical and reasonable answers to all of these questions, but I have not given them much thought. It's not like me. I live by the notion that everything will work out as long as I stay true to my mission, and if it doesn't, I'll learn why it didn't work and how I can make it work. Besides, it's mentally exhausting to take the time to explain how one can utilize a camp shower or a port-o-potty only to have them dismissingly say, "Okay. Whatever." So, getting back to the van. It's in pretty awesome shape and needs no work to make it roadworthy, which means I can dive right in to making the interior space livable. I know a few people who are skilled in different areas whose knowledge will be invaluable during this process. I have great friends who are supporting me and offered their help in getting this done and I am really excited to have all of them contribute in their own awesome ways.

"Young man, what do you want to do with your life?!" I want to live in a van down by the river.

This Is Only The Beginning

2009-06-13T21:01:00.000-07:00

Perhaps someday I will tell of the events that led me here, but for now, sit down and accept that you've missed the first hour of the film and you have to figure out the story line as we go. Hold on as we reach a major turning point in the plot that hopefully will build into a satisfying climax. We can't guarantee a happy ending, but maybe in some way you will associate with the characters and even take something from the experience. Welcome to my movie.