Chilies and Voyeurs

I’m spending this week in Santa Fe for some high altitude training before the 12 Hours of Sundance this Saturday.  Well, I’m really here on business, but I did arrange to borrow a bike so I could see the city without depending on a car, fighting traffic, paying for parking, burning foreign oil,…It's my way of supporting the troops. 

Riding through downtown Santa Fe, I came to the conclusion that it’s a nice little city with a big tourism problem.  There were gift shops peddling Indian jewelry, Chinese-made fridge magnets, and authentic New Mexican salsa made in Ohio.  Oh, there were over-priced art galleries galore.  The only thing missing from this tourist trap were boutique shops selling ‘homemade’ fudge.  I did find some spectacular New Mexican food, but it wasn’t near the plaza downtown.  It was on the ugly drag leading into the city at a place called Tortilla Flats.  The Steinbeck lover in me made me go there.  The chili rellenos made me never want to leave. 

After pedaling around to take in the centuries-old architecture, I decided to sample some of the more recent history of Santa Fe.  What better way is there to acquaint oneself with a city than to visit its thrift stores and see what the denizens throw out?

I was browsing the used book section, hoping to find a New Mexican cookbook to tell me what to do with the twenty pounds of roasted chilies I bought earlier in the day, when I came across a spiral notebook.  I’ve seen spiral-bound cookbooks before, so I thought I had hit the jackpot. 

I had, in fact, hit the jackpot.  It wasn’t a cookbook, but it did contain the recipe for delicious reading. 

It was the journal of a woman named Maria. 

Go ahead and call me a voyeur, but honestly, do you think you could pass up the chance to read someone’s diary?  Don't make me remind you that you are reading my blog, which is basically just an online diary. 

I happily handed over the 59 cents the Goodwill wanted for my priceless treasure and rushed back to my room to see what nuggets it held.  I wasn’t disappointed.

The first page outlines what appears to be an exorcism for somebody named Larry.  I present it below exactly as Maria wrote it:

1.    Light 1 white candle.  3 or more people holding hands in the center of the room.  3 clearing breaths. 

2.    Prayer:  Call in spirit guides of entities, ask that they surround them in love + Light and carry them home.  Now feel that.  Be aware.  Feel them go (circled).  Thank you for going home.  Ask all guides of everyone present to be there and participate—pause—(feel their presence). 

We command that you now leave. 

Only those energies that are appropriate connected participating in Larry’s highest good, joy, good health, growth, are welcome here.  All others cannot enter here.  be allowed in this house

Now that your are gone and never to return this house is now protecting Larry from all that is not at his highest good

This house is now filled with light and joy for ever more. 

Call in his guides help him to know that nothing can harm him in any way, no fear.  His energy field if free of all energies that don’t belong to his process.  Crown (circled).  Solar Plexus (circled). 

Stay tuned for more exciting events in the life of Maria, including partying on Ecstasy in Hollywood, her unexplained move to Santa Fe, and her plea to God to send her a man “who loves that I am a healer and believes in me.” 

My dear Maria, I believe in you.  I believe you have healed me of my boredom. 

AMC Stage 3: Dark Hollow

I rode much of stage 2 within sight of Pua Sawicki.  She was riding strong and was on her way to the overall victory.  So it should tell you something that I rode much of stage 3 within sight of Heather Irmiger, who finished second to Pua in the last two stages and was the fifth woman overall.  That’s Heather in pink in the photo above.  You can see me just behind her, coming through the trees.  

The morning of the race I had no motivation to race.  I forced myself to eat breakfast.  I couldn’t believe that I had to go out and do another 48 miles of racing when what I really wanted to do was stay in bed.  When I got on my bike and rode to the start, I was strictly in survival mode. 

The course was two laps around the NORBA course.  I had heard that the descent down Dark Hollow was very technical and very long.  That kind of news doesn’t sit well with a poor downhiller like me.  But before I got to the descent, I had to nearly to the top of Brian Head Peak—twice—just to make sure I was good and tired before starting down the treacherous descent. 

That’s where I started riding with Heather.  I think she was in survival mode too.  She told me her hardtail was beating her up, which made me feel even slower because she passed me on our first time down Dark Hollow.  But I was glad she had passed me because otherwise she would have seen me walk down a few of the sections that were too much for me.  It was the most technical descent I have ever raced down.  

I caught and passed Heather on the second lap.  That’s when she looked like she was just trying to survive.  By the time I got to the Dark Hollow descent again I was so tired that I was riding over the sections that I had walked down the first time.  I think my exhaustion was suppressing my fear of flying over the handlebars, and somehow it worked because I was able to clean the whole descent without getting off. 

My time for Stage 3 was 4:51; my second lap was 12 minutes slower than the first lap.  My overall time was 13:44, good enough for 18th place overall at 2:45 behind Jeremiah Bishop, the overall winner.  

AMC Stage 2: The Peak

They called Stage 2 ‘The Peak’ because they intended us to climb to the top of Brian Head Peak, 11,307 ft above sea level, during the race.  But first we had to ride for about 45 miles on rocky dirt roads.   The roads seemed so long that climbing to the peak seemed more of an afterthought—that is until I actually started climbing it. 

I started out a bit more conservatively this time, in hopes of others in front of me blowing up after such a long stage the day before.   We climbed up a paved road for a while, then turned onto a dirt road and climbed some more.  In fact, we got within a few hundred feet of the peak, only to turn onto some single track and roll into a very long descent.   You may find it hard to believe, but I actually caught and passed some of my competitors on this descent.  That doesn’t happen to me very often. 

The first feed zone was at the bottom of the descent, Mags hadn’t arrived yet so I pushed on without filling my bottles.  I wanted to stay with a guy that was riding well and had been working with me.  Eventually we put together a group of five riders, including Pua Sawicki, the eventual winner of the pro women.  We all worked together for the next 20 to 25 miles.  Well, we all did except this one guy from Ohio.  I never saw him take a pull.  He’s either a chump or a smarter racer than me, because he finished the stage four minutes in front of me. 

I got dropped by the group when the roads turned uphill again.  I was feeling a bit deflated by the final feed zone—my body, not my tires this time—and we still had a huge climb in front of us. 

I put my head down and focused on pedaling circles.  I could see Greg Gibson in front of me, and I nearly had him reeled in three different times before he would stand up and put a little time into me. 

The road came to a saddle, which I had convinced myself was the top, but we turned onto some single track and continued climbing.  Ten minutes later I was sure we were at the peak, because we stared heading downhill.  Nope, the trail turned uphill again.  I was demoralized. 

There were at least four false summits, and I wanted more than anything to be done climbing.  Finally we came to the dirt road we had climbed up at the start of the race.  I thought I was done, and that all that was left was returning on the road the way we had come.  The course marshal at the junction had something else in mind for me.  This was where the real climb to the peak began.  Oh the humanity!

Somehow I managed to get to the top.  It was more willpower than cycling strength.  Thinking I was finished, and mentally I was, I started to relax.  Little did I know that the last five-odd miles to the finish were down the Super D course.  Have I mentioned that I’m not a great downhiller?  Especially when I’ve got 50 miles behind me for the day?

After the race, my time was 4:04—forty minutes behind the stage winner, all I wanted to do was sit.  I couldn’t bring myself to eat, I couldn’t sleep.  I really had no desire to move.  I just wanted to sit. 

How was I going to do this for one more day?

AMC Stage 1: The Rim

Stage 1 of the American Mountain Classic was a 53 mile point-to-point race.  It was entirely above 9,000 ft, and much of it was above 10,000 ft.  It started with a short descent down a dirt road that was so dusty I couldn’t see the ground five feet in front of me.  The road turned uphill for a while, which cleared some of the dust, but didn’t make the riding any easier.  Then it turned downhill again. 

It was a long downhill.  And fast.  The picture above is of me keeping the pace with Tinker Juarez, (he's on my right in the green and black) which, admittedly, didn’t last long.  Twice on that descent I whacked rocks hidden in the dust with my back wheel.  One of those rocks jettisoned one of my water bottles.  It was twenty miles before the first feed zone.  I was a bottle behind for the rest of the stage—always just a little thirsty. 

Next we stared climbing to the rim on some single track.  I stared to feel my back rim clunk against smaller and smaller rocks.  Then it was making a thud with every downed tree branch I crossed.  I was getting a flat, but thought I could ride it until I got to the feed zone.  Then I came to a switchback. 

The tire nearly rolled off the rim.  I stopped to air it up; thinking my sealant inside would plug the leak easily.  Instead my Big-Air valve broke the barrel screw off of the stem on my wheel.  I would have to replace it with a tube. 

I installed my tube and started to air it up, but in the process broke the barrel screw off of that valve stem too.  I searched through the weeds where it landed but never found it.  I needed yet another tube. 

About that time Aaron, my teammate, came by.  He gave me his Big-Air canister and his spare tube—he was going to have to ride on faith to the next feed zone.  I installed his tube and tried to air it up, but the valve stem was too short to protrude out of my deep dish Reynolds wheels.  I didn’t know who to curse; the wheels or me for leaving my valve extender back at the room.  I wasted the entire Big-Air trying to get air into the tube. And failed. 

I stood there looking helpless for a while.  Its funny how many racers will ride by and ask if I had everything I needed, but would keep on riding when I said “No, I could us a pump and another tube.”  Finally, and this was at least twenty minutes after I initially stopped, one guy actually stopped and gave me his spare tube and a pump. 

I promised him I would catch him and return the pump and he was on his way.  I was on my way too, after a couple minutes spent installing a third tube and pumping with his tiny pump.  I spent the next 40 miles chasing down my group.  Oh, and I whacked my helmet on another low-hanging tree, but Reed Wycoff wasn't behind me to tease me this time. 

I caught and passed a few of the elite men, but I was over an hour behind the winner.  My time was 4:48, but for the record, the guys I was riding with when I flatted finished in about 4:15.  Could my flat have cost me half an hour?

Clean as a whistle

Today's post was supposed to be about Stage 1 of the AMC, but I had a unique experience on my way in to work today.  

Bicycle commuters face lots of hazards.  From inattentive drivers to inclement weather, from poorly placed storm drains and broken glass on the roads to disgruntled lawnmower drivers, I thought I had seen it all in my thirteen years of commuting by bicycle.  But today I had new experience to add to the list. 

I got sprayed by one of these:

It was parked at the side of the road as I came by.  The driver started up the sprayer at just the right time to get me.  I got drenched. 

I don’t know what those street sweepers spray on the roads, but I can assure you it doesn’t taste like plain water.  I appreciate that they’re cleaning all the debris off the shoulders of the road where I ride, but must they do it during the morning commute?

Stay tuned for my report on Stage 1 of the AMC…

American Mountain Classic: Prologue

I felt a twinge of fear signing up for a race against Jeremiah Bishop, Manny Prado, and Jeremy Horgan-Kobelski, so when we lined up for the prologue on Thursday I set myself up on the back row where I had a good view of the real pros up front.  I hadn’t seen the course, and only had a general idea of how long it was.  There were thirty of us so my only expectation was to not finish 30th. 

From the start, which was down a paved road, I was amazed at the pace set by the front row.  All I could do was put my head down and try to draft them.  They didn’t let up when the race turned onto a gravel road, but I could see a left turn onto some single track coming quickly.  I had to unlock my front shock but first had to conquer my fear of taking my hand off the handlebars and reaching for the lockout at that speed.

All I remember about the next twenty minutes was how much my lungs hurt.  I think the course was twisty with lots of rocks and roots.  Oh, and I nicked my helmet on a low hanging tree branch, and was teased by Reed Wycoff about it from behind. 

I crossed the finish line in 17th place with a time of 23:19, three minutes behind the winner.  I realized the obvious, that I wouldn’t be able to compete with the guys who do this for a living, but I also realized that I had no reason to fear the rest of them. 

Evanston, the AMC and Wingnuts in San Francisco

The Wolverine Ridge Race in Evanston, Wyoming was nearly two weeks ago.  It was mostly uneventful for me, except that I felt good the whole time, and managed to stay upright and keep the air in both my tires. One memorable instant did occur on the first lap, on the long steep, straight, powdery climb, when I actually caught up to, and passed Bart G.  It was the deepest into a race that I had ever been in front of that perennial winner.  Apparently, he had left his climbing legs in Canada.  Riding in front of him was just an instant though, well two minutes maybe, because he blew past me as soon as the trail turned downhill and I never saw him again.  I gotta learn to descend. 

Speaking of descending, I signed myself up for the American Mountain Classic this weekend.  That means for the next four days I’ll be lining up with Jeremiah Bishop, Ryan Trebon, JHK and, rumor has it, Tinker Juarez.  With a group like that, you can expect to see my name descending rapidly to the bottom of the GC standings.  But how am I ever going to learn to race with the pros if I don’t race with the pros?  Go ahead, call me a wing nut. 

Speaking of wingnuts, Vince called my attention to this article in Today’s Wall Street Journal.  Apparently some nut in San Francisco is saying that allotting more street space to cyclists could cause more traffic jams, more idling and more pollution.  He’s stymied the City’s construction of bike lanes for two years by demanding an environmental impact analysis before they begin. I’ll surprise many of you by agreeing with him that crowding cars into fewer lanes can result in more pollution since they’re spending more time idling and getting nowhere, but he’s taking a very shortsighted perspective and thus is missing the point.  That’s why I call him a wingnut. 

Motorists have been subsidized by governments for over half a century.  We’ve built roads, parking lots, and entire communities that made it easy to get around by car; all at the expense of pedestrians and cyclists.  It was an incentive to get people to buy cars, and it worked.  (It worked really well for Ford, General Motors and Chrysler for a very long time.) Now we have a better understanding of the symptoms of car addiction—pollution, stress, obesity—so we as a society need to make driving less convenient.  We need to provide some disincentives to driving cars.  Traffic congestion is a natural disincentive.  Parking fees and toll roads are good ideas too, and they’re easy to implement.  Short of rationing gasoline like we did during WWII, taking road space away from motorists and giving it to cyclists may be the best way yet to make driving less convenient.  It’s not an “attempt by the anti-car fanatics to screw up our traffic on behalf of the bicycle fantasy”, as the wingnut from San Francisco so succinctly put it.  Building bicycle lanes in our cities is a sound use of public policy to steer behavior in a healthier, more sustainable direction.