The on-season

The trail is your future.  You, the bike, and the trail, you’re part of a continuum.  The vehicle is just a means, just an enabler, an extension of your idea.  That’s the joy of it; the journey. --Chris Stevens

I shaved my legs last night.  First time in months.  I was so hairy that I clogged the tub. 

I’ve got a new bike with an uncracked frame.  It's got something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. 

Now it’s time to see how my regime of bowling, yoga and skate skiing works as a race training program.   

Here’s the end of another off-season.

Aristotle, Jimmy Buffett and bit of religion.

On a scale of 1 to 10, where 1 is strictly business and 10 is pure hooptedoodle, today's post is an 8.5.  Hold on tight.  This one goes all over the place. 

Aristotle said that our success at living a good life depends on two things.  One is having the moral virtue that enables us to make right choices day by day.  We don’t have to make the right choice all of the time, just more often than not.  Think of moral virtue as having good habits, like flossing your teeth or riding your bike. 

The other thing our success at living a good life depends on is being [blessed, fortunate, lucky—you pick] with good opportunities.  As our moral virtues and good habits point us in the proper direction and (usually) keep us from doing things that are bad for us, being blessed, fortunate or lucky gives us the goods, means and opportunities that we cannot obtain by our own power or choice. 

Dan, Darren and I headed south to St. George on Friday morning.   Ryan and Aaron, who likes us to call him Seldom Seen except in the presence of his wife, showed up a bit later.  You might say that winter mountain bike trips to Dixie are morally virtuous, or at least a good habit to have.  The weather report called for sunny skies and temps in the 60s, which is to say that we were blessed, fortunate or lucky that the weather would be perfect for mountain biking.  The plan was to repeat last year’s Mardi Gras celebration by riding the Dixie Trinity, but first we cruised a lap on the Desert Rampage race course on Friday afternoon before cutting over the hill to Bearclaw Poppy.    That’s where we first met the mud. 

The Bearclaw Poppy trail is famous for being a smooth, hard-packed roller coaster of a singletrack ride.  It is that way because of a high clay content in the soil and a near absence of precipitation in area, which is part of the Mojave Desert.  But this has been an abnormal winter, especially for St. George.  They got several inches of snow last week, and that snow was slowly melting and soaking into the clay when we tried to ride there on Friday.   

We made it about 50 feet down the Bearclaw Poppy trail before our tires were caked with mud.  We probably could have gone on but chose not to be the guys who ruined a great trail for everyone. 

We tried the JEM trail the next day, and had the same result.  We thought about the Holy Goose but heard rumors that it was sitting under six inches of snow, so we didn’t even try. 

So while we wouldn’t be communing with the Dixie Trinity, we were in a position to ride some drier, lower elevation trails for the first time.   We
unknowingly decided to take a brief tour of some world religions at the same time. 

First up was Church Rocks, which, of course, represents western Christianity and could arguably be a fourth member of the Trinity, but that would make it a Quatnity and that just doesn’t make sense.  I really have no idea why the ride is called Church Rocks.  I’m just making this stuff up, which by now you should expect from a blog called hooptedoodle.  Some people choose to get married in a church.  Others think Church Rocks is a good place to pop the question.   

Next up was the Paradise Rim, where we sampled the relatively new Korean faith of Chundoism and its aims to convert our society into a paradise on earth.  Rather than amaze my riding companions with my astounding knowledge of world religions, I decided not to mention Chundoism to them at this time.  Instead I suggested that maybe there’d be cheeseburgers at Paradise Rim.  You know, “Not too particular not too precise, I'm just a cheeseburger in paradise.”  I bet you didn’t know Jimmy Buffett was a Chundoist.  Don’t worry if you don’t get it.  My riding buddies didn’t get it either.  But go ride Paradise Rim anyway.  It’s “Heaven on earth with an onion slice.”

Finally we visited the Zen Trail.  It’s like Gooseberry Mesa on a slant.  It twists its way across a rocky slope with biting rocks and oppressive drops that only a transcendent cyclist can master.   

We found an ancient Anasazi bicycle seat at the top of the Zen Trail.  Aaron, who reckons himself an authority on the ways of the ancients, decided to demonstrate for us how it was used,

but in doing so he slipped out of his Zen state and dropped it.  I’m pretty sure he’ll be cursed with visits from evil spirits.

Mass transit

Mags and I went to see the Peking Acrobats on Saturday night.  If you ever get the chance, go see them.  It’s worth every penny.  The thing that stuck out most to me was the absurdity of the stunts they did.  I mean, who would ever think about diving head first through a hoop five feet off the ground? Or why would anyone want to do handstands on a platform held 10 feet in the air by martini glasses?  What about lying on your back and twirling an end table in the air above your feet? Who would ever even consider that? 

Toward the end they had a man on a bicycle riding in circles on the stage, at every turn he would pick up two passengers, somehow finding room for them on his bicycle.  He did this each time he went around until there were ten people on one bike. 

The most people I’ve ever had on my bike was three, counting myself.  That was when I carried Mags and one of her friends across a parking lot.  We were coming home from dinner and I think I could have made it all the way but my passengers were starting to complain that their butts were sore. 

Another time my brother carried me and two of his brother’s-in-law on a BMX bike.  It was so easy for him that he decided to do it backwards, sitting on the handlebars.  Also note that the back tire is almost flat.

When I look at  that picture now I can see some places he might have fit one or two more passengers, and with a bigger bike we might be well on our way to ten.  All we'll need then is some pink leotards. 

Rednecks and materialists alike

I helped out a motorist this week.  It was on my evening commute after a snowy afternoon.  It wasn’t very cold, but I was bundled up nonetheless because if I don’t wear my extra layers home in the evening they won’t be available for me when I need them the next morning.  I’ve been wearing extra layers over my entire body—except my face; for some reason I never wear anything over my face—to deal with the single digit temperatures we’ve been having lately.  Over all of those layers I had on my über-bright hi-vis cycling jacket.  I quit thinking über-bright cycling jackets were dorky a long time ago, but I think some people still do, and based upon how I looked on this particular evening I’m sure they would have thought I was an über-dork.

Anyway, I was waiting at one of the 18 stoplights I curse every single morning and evening when I smelled the acrid stink of burning rubber.  There was a guy in a pickup truck on the other side of the road that was stuck in the snow-packed gutter. 

I judged him.  He was a younger guy with a goatee (the mullet of the new millennium). He was dressed like a manual laborer.  He probably likes NASCAR and I found out later that he has the grammar to prove it. 

I deigned to watch him spin his tires a few more times to let my perception sink in before I mercifully decided to go over and give him a push. 

It took me less than a minute to push him out.  He didn’t seem to be aware of the rock-back-and-forth technique to free a snowbound vehicle but he caught on quickly.  When he got out he thanked me and I said it was nothing.  I suggested that he get some sandbags or bags of kitty litter in the back of his truck during the winter so this kind of thing wouldn’t happen again.  He said he would.  Then he said something that completely reversed the roles I had projected onto him and me. 

He asked me if I wanted any money for my time.

I felt like such a jackass.  Here I had decided that this was an uneducated redneck who needed to learn a few things about living in modern society, but in his mind I was the one who needed help.  Was it because I was riding a bike?  Or was it because I was dressed like a dork? 

Is this how the general public perceives cyclists, as either elitist snobs like I was acting that night, or as dorky ne’re-do-wells that can’t seem to catch a break, like I was looking that night? 

The perception that cyclists occupy only the bottom rung of the economic ladder is more common than you’d think, in spite of my one-man crusade to convince people otherwise. 

Just last night I was reading an article in the alumni magazine from my undergraduate university.  It was about reducing materialism and it offered some questions to determine if we are materialistic.  The last question read:

Do you look at the person in the luxury automobile and assume that he is more successful and more intelligent than the individual riding a bicycle?   

OK I get the point.  While I’m out there justifying my suffering through winter bicycle commutes by thinking elitist thoughts and misjudging people by their appearance, rednecks and materialists alike are looking at me from behind their steering wheels and misjudging me. 

All four tires

Whaddaya think? Did I do the right thing or did I let this guy off too easy?

Bicycle seduction

You’ve heard me rave about the wonderful things a bicycle
with baskets can do for you, but did you know riding your Grocery Getter can get you a
date? I’ll let Mags tell the story…

So, you don’t think a bicycle is an implement of seduction?
Say, as sexy and provocative as a mustard-colored, fully restored and souped up
50s era Cadillac El Dorado convertible? Well, think again. The scene: 3^rd
East and 7^th South, Salt Lake City. The bike: an aquamarine Gitane
of indeterminate age with three enormous wire baskets and white sidewall tires.
The come-on: (a direct quote), “You look good on that bike.” (From guy in a car
at the intersection.)

“Thanks,” I say.

He crosses the
intersection then slows until I catch up and he continues the conversation
through the window at me. He’s driving a Ford Sebring and I’m on my bike—we’re
both moving—a conveyor belt conversation.

“We should go on a
ride together,” he says, “I’ve got two bikes.”

“Why aren’t you riding one of them now?”

“They’re at home. But, I do have two bikes- one’s a Schwinn
and the other’s a (fill in a bike name here; I can’t remember what he said).
I’ve got an antique store and I sell some there and some on E-bay. Where are
you from? You look like you’re from Europe.”

“I’m from here.”

“Oh.” He looks at me. “I’m going to stop.” Apparently, he’s
had enough of conveyor belt talk and he pulls over in front of the Tongan
church on about 450 East.

He jumps out of the car; but leaves it running and I stop.
Hell, why not, this could be interesting. He’s got a faux suede jacket and a
thick multi-colored scarf tied in the front. He’s probably just about my
height, maybe an inch taller, and I outweigh him. Yeah, I’m not worried.

“I’m Saber. So, where are you from?”

“Here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought maybe England or something like that.”

“No.”

“Where do you think I’m from?”

He’s got black hair, poking out beneath his hat, olive skin,
some facial hair. “The Middle East.” I say.

“Close, but farther south.”

“O.K. Morocco. Algeria.”

“No, nearby.”

“Give me a hint.”

“It begins with a ‘T’”.

“Nothing’s coming to me. Yeah, I can’t think of the
country.”

“Tunisia.
It’s Africa, I’m from Africa.
But, I’m not black.  Africa is a continent not a country.
Many people here think it’s a country.”

I nod.

“You know in Star Wars, the planet Tatooinne? That was
filmed in my country.”

“The desert scenes?”

“Yes.”

“So, why did you come here?”

He smiles. “For you.”

Umm, how to respond?

He continues. “When can we go riding together?”

Anyways, you get the drift of the conversation. He tries to
get me to take off my sunglasses to see the color of my eyes. I tell him that
they’re brown but don’t remove the sunglasses and casually mention that I’m
married.

“What? And I waste 30 minutes talking to you?” He pauses. “A
happy marriage?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any sisters?”

“Not available.”

“Maybe some friends who ride bicycles?”

“Maybe.”

He gives me his cell phone number to pass along to my
single, bike-riding female friends. He shakes his head as he gets in the car
and drives off. As I’m riding home I realize that he never even asked my name
yet he was willing and ready to go riding into the sunset (on bikes of course)
in a split second. Ah, such is the power of shiny chrome and a shifting
derailleur. Or, maybe he was just desperate.

Either way, I’ve still got Saber’s number if you’re interested.

 

The Tao of Cycling

I’ve been reading a bit about Taoism lately because December 27 is Ta Chiu, the Taoist festival of peace.  While I’m certainly no expert--my understanding of Taoism is more The Tao of Pooh than Tao Te Ching--I do know a thing or two.  Taoism is an ancient Chinese philosophy, or religion depending on who you ask, that embraces harmonious living with the natural world.  In a nutshell, it’s the concept that things in their original simplicity, such as an uncarved block of stone, contain their own natural power.  But the power is lost when that simplicity is changed, like when a chisel is taken to the uncarved block. As people, our simplicity is lost when we add arrogance, pride, selfishness and busyness to our lives.

This has got me thinking about cycling (what doesn’t?).  Cycling itself is a very simple, harmonious pastime.  It’s fun, it’s practical, people of all ages can and do enjoy doing it.  But we have complicated the uncarved block that is riding a bicycle by racing them, by making them into beasts of burden, by making them immobile.   

So what is the Taoist approach to riding a bike?  What form of riding is in greatest harmony with nature?  I’m not exactly sure, but there are a few cycling disciplines I know are not Taoist. 

Racing is absolutely not a Taoist thing to do.  If you ever see me, or any other racer, fuss about in preparation for a race you’ll quickly see there is no natural harmony involved.  Nutrition, hydration, lubrication, tire pressure, sunscreen, eyeglass lens color, I could go on and on.  It all has to be just so, calculated and exact.  Otherwise there’s no point in racing.  Somewhere amidst all that chaos the simple act of riding a bicycle is lost.  No, racing is more of a Confucian activity.  Confucius tells a story of a master who would not sit on his mat unless it was straight.  Imagine trying to be that master’s bike mechanic!

Bicycle commuting is not a Taoist thing either.  I know, just last week I said that riding to work is the highest use of a bicycle, and I still believe that; but by assigning the purpose of getting to work to a bicycle ride the bicycle commuter is taking a chisel to the uncarved block.  She’s carving her ride into something utilitarian instead of simply riding for the pleasure of riding.  As a bicycle commuter I also know that there is nothing simple about riding a bicycle in rush hour traffic, or about seeking out streets with the least traffic and the widest shoulders.  A commuter busies himself choosing between the safety of the side roads and the directness of the main thoroughfares.  The only harmony for the bicycle commuter occurs in his mind; the harmony that comes from making one’s way through the melee of a typical morning commute that he did not create and that he has consciously chosen not to participate in.  No, commuting is more of a Zen activity, where the world is a revolving wheel of pain with bitter and oppressive winds and where man’s purpose is to transcend it.  The bitter winds of traffic lights and myopic drivers stand in stark contrast to the windless state that Zen Buddhists call Nirvana and that this bicycle commuter calls the highlight of his day.   

What then is the Taoist form of cycling?  Like I said, I don’t exactly know, and I believe it is different for everybody, but I believe the life of a bicycle tourist is the closest fit to the natural harmony and simplicity that Lao Tzu described. 

The Tao is about allowing nature to fill in the void spaces that are not already filled in.  This is a perfect description of a bicycle tourist’s day.  She doesn’t always know exactly where her ride that day will take her and she doesn’t know what will happen to her on the way.  All she can do is turn the pedals and take things as they come.  Bicycle touring also reinforces the Taoist concept of simplicity.  Tourists don’t encumber themselves with needless or frivolous items that slow them down.  Frugality comes natural to the touring cyclist because if she can’t eat it or use it immediately, she doesn’t buy it. 

On a bicycle tour, nothing is something, and some things are really nothing at all.  In that way, touring is the most childlike form of cycling.  On a tour a cyclist can go wherever he pleases.  He has no deadlines, agendas, or meetings to parcel his day.  When something comes along the road that interests him he can stop and investigate it for as long as he likes.  Or he doesn’t have to stop at all.  And most childlike of all, a bicycle tourist burns enough Calories that he can eat as much of anything he wants.

What do you think?  What form of riding is in greatest harmony with nature?  Tell me what your uncarved block that is a bicycle ride looks like.