A day removed from the Mount Wash practice ride, I hopped on the Langey and headed out to Todd's house. I figured if he was home, I'd have him take a quick look at my new cranks; if not, I'd just keep on truckin' and loop back toward Manchester. Of course, I get to his house and he's AWOL. Which is no prob, I just turn back and start motoring along.
I wasn't really sure what I wanted to do today on the bike, effort-wise. I was still kind of wiped out from Sunday, and while you say you're gonna take it easy, no ride on the 16 is truly easy. Even still, I was doing my best on the ride back home to keep out of the puke zone. I was plotting my return route, aiming to pick up a pretty good climb near the end, and so I resolve to tackle it at a somewhat recreational pace. Nothing crazy, since crazy was just two days ago.
I get to the intersection of the climb, and I check behind me for traffic as I think about merging into a turn lane. No sooner do I turn my head than I see another rider come from out of nowhere and pass me as I let up slightly. As always, I take inventory: well-sponsored jersey, Pinarello Price with Mavic Ksyrium ES wheelset. Small guy. Don't know how long he was behind me but he had to be wondering what to make of a guy wearing a worn-out pair of hand-me-down riding shorts, a neon green sleeveless jersey, and a bike with one gear.
We exchange hellos at the stop light and turn up the back side of Mammoth Road. He is running slightly ahead, but as I approach the climb, his pace is just too slow for me to keep momentum up with my gear. There isn't much of a shoulder up this road but I have to pass him anyway, traffic be damned, and I give him a the same line I give most riders I do this to, just to let them know I'm not being a jerk about passing them. "Sorry man, but I gotta go; I only got one gear".
He was of course surprised, and I explained that I was riding a singlespeed. This was all no big deal, and then before I know it we are absolutely wailing up this climb. Side by side. I am silently giving it almost everything I have as we exchange pleasant chatter. I try to glance at my heart rate monitor and I think it's somewhere above 180. It hardly matters because I'm not giving up an inch. I don't know anything about this guy except that his bike costs about $9,000 more than mine and has 19 more gears.
"How long you out for today?" he asks.
"15 miles or so; nothing crazy. I just did Mount Wash on Sunday" I respond.
Talking at this pace and not sounding like you are on the verge of vomiting up your internal organs is a whole other challenge in itself.
"Yeah I did too" he replies. "How long it take you?"
"I did a 1:34. How 'bout you?"
"1:18" he says.
Now it's on for sure. My guts are ripping out but I'm going to hang with this guy the entire climb. As the grade starts to level off, I keep the pace up, and the only thing keeping me going is the sight of the top of this hill. I know we'll be there shortly, and I can let up on the downhill, since I can't really pedal downhill anyway.
As we crest the top, I tell him "Well, this is where you lose me, since I can't really make any speed down the hill". Which I can't; when you have one gear, you top out pretty quick down hills. It was an excuse to be sure, but also a fact.
"I'm in no rush" he says, sticking alongside.
Thanks to the descent I get a few seconds breather, and we dig right into the next climb. This one is nowhere near as long as the first, but it hardly matters. I'm still here, but I'm mashing the pedals just to stay on his wheel. I'm still in the red, and definitely fading. I dig in with everything I have to keep alongside him. Mercifully, my turn to Smyth Road is approaching on the right. I usually could stretch the ride out another few streets but today I'm cooked. "This is my turn - see you in 4 weeks!".
We part ways, and I finally get to breathe again. All over. I'm not exactly sure what I just did, but I'm completely spent. Not the ride I planned on today. But you tend to run into people for a reason. Who knows what this one was. I'll figure it out.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Hi, I'm Bill Murray
Yesterday I put on some jeans, a blue shirt, and left the house, shutting the door behind me only to realize that I didn't have my keys. Eventually I got in with a spare key I gave to Andy, and that was fine. I put the spare on my fridge after I got back inside.Today I put on some jeans, a blue shirt, and left the house, shutting the door behind me only to realize that I didn't have my keys.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Prologue to 6 Gaps
It is worth mentioning that three weeks prior to 6 Gaps, which I hope to write about soon, we took on the 3 Notch Loop up north on our singlespeeds. 3 Notch consists of the front side of the Kanc, Bear Notch, Crawford Notch, and the back side of Kinsman Notch. As some have discussed, slighting the Kanc as 'not a notch' really isn't fair; this really is the 4 Notch Loop. Whatever.
We get to the top of the Kanc, and things are fine. I eat a little bit, and we descend the back side. Somewhere about halfway down, something strange is happening. The bike. It's starting to shake. The entire bike is slowly developing a rhythmic wobble. This is scary because at this point I'm going 40+ mph. It is getting worse and worse by the second it seems, and I start applying brakes. I scrub off something, but I'm still flying. Then I sh*t my pants basically because braking is doing absolutely nothing to stop the wobbling, and in fact it seems like it is getting worse. I can't figure it out. I don't know what the hell is going on. It could be a crosswind. Maybe it's the front wheel. I have no idea. I'm probably down to 30-something mph but I am now making plans to crash the bike. It seems inevitable and I am coming to terms with how bad this is going to hurt. Hopefully I won't feel a thing until it's over. This is all happening very fast and I am reduced to a passenger on a crashing plane. I have no control whatsoever.
Then I remember, for some reason in an instant, one piece of sage advice that Grampie gave me a few years ago. I tuck my knees in and brace them against the top tube, and the wild ride smooths out to near-normal. I grab the brakes again and thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you. The bike has stopped shaking but I'm just starting. Try getting that out of your head, knowing you have about 70+ miles ahead of you that day.
It was so close. The Langster is not the bike for this kind of riding. I knew it was sketchy from a similar incident a year ago on Kinsman and things haven't changed.
So were that not enough, of course I bonked. I got over Crawford and I hadn't had any sugar for hours. I rolled along through Twin Mountain, hating life, tuned out and despondent, and as we get within half a mile of the turn into Franconia, I have to take leak. I get off the bike and my cleat rips right off my shoe.
This sucks. This sucks because there are still 30 miles to go and no matter how you cut it, there is no easy way home from here. I ride the rest of the loop, miles 60-90, including the climb up the backside of Kinsman, on one gear basically on one leg. Sometimes I could get a few pedal strokes with some power behind it on my left, but it was like tightrope walking. I'd inevitably slip off the pedal like it was made of ice, which you can see from the bottom of my shoe happened ALOT. We finished up in Lincoln, and I was so wiped out I could barely eat.
We get to the top of the Kanc, and things are fine. I eat a little bit, and we descend the back side. Somewhere about halfway down, something strange is happening. The bike. It's starting to shake. The entire bike is slowly developing a rhythmic wobble. This is scary because at this point I'm going 40+ mph. It is getting worse and worse by the second it seems, and I start applying brakes. I scrub off something, but I'm still flying. Then I sh*t my pants basically because braking is doing absolutely nothing to stop the wobbling, and in fact it seems like it is getting worse. I can't figure it out. I don't know what the hell is going on. It could be a crosswind. Maybe it's the front wheel. I have no idea. I'm probably down to 30-something mph but I am now making plans to crash the bike. It seems inevitable and I am coming to terms with how bad this is going to hurt. Hopefully I won't feel a thing until it's over. This is all happening very fast and I am reduced to a passenger on a crashing plane. I have no control whatsoever.
Then I remember, for some reason in an instant, one piece of sage advice that Grampie gave me a few years ago. I tuck my knees in and brace them against the top tube, and the wild ride smooths out to near-normal. I grab the brakes again and thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you. The bike has stopped shaking but I'm just starting. Try getting that out of your head, knowing you have about 70+ miles ahead of you that day.
It was so close. The Langster is not the bike for this kind of riding. I knew it was sketchy from a similar incident a year ago on Kinsman and things haven't changed.
So were that not enough, of course I bonked. I got over Crawford and I hadn't had any sugar for hours. I rolled along through Twin Mountain, hating life, tuned out and despondent, and as we get within half a mile of the turn into Franconia, I have to take leak. I get off the bike and my cleat rips right off my shoe.
This sucks. This sucks because there are still 30 miles to go and no matter how you cut it, there is no easy way home from here. I ride the rest of the loop, miles 60-90, including the climb up the backside of Kinsman, on one gear basically on one leg. Sometimes I could get a few pedal strokes with some power behind it on my left, but it was like tightrope walking. I'd inevitably slip off the pedal like it was made of ice, which you can see from the bottom of my shoe happened ALOT. We finished up in Lincoln, and I was so wiped out I could barely eat.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
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