Priorities are disoriented if getting lost on a bike ride is a concern.
- Tim: Cross racing is way different, though.
- Nate: don't care.
- Tim: You can drink beer in the middle of it?
- Nate: I can drink beer while heckling.
- Tim: Good call.
The hotel has hot breakfast…yet he’s cooking bacon and pancakes on the floor. And blowing the room’s surge protector. And making all of my stuff smell like fried pork.
Conclusion? Bike racers are WEIRD, and it’s good I’m not vegan.
Welcome to spring training in the Wasatch, Competitive Cyclist Racing Team edition. Mine and Ben’s offering to Things Organized Neatly.
Swing season in full-effect. Stashable layers, improving power zones, and thumping beats to get the thrash on. Five bucks for the mid-ride waffle and frites stop, and you can almost swear you’ve been transported to the Low Countries. Except the sun’s out, the beer costs more than water, and there’s nary a cobble in sight.
Saturday morning! A glorious time to be awake! Usually. Sadly, in the Valley of the Great Salt Lake, this particular Saturday was forecast to be spoiled by the first harbinger of the seasons frozen onslaught - a high of 32F and snow.
“No matter!”, our tepid cycling protagonist quaffed, and engaged in the hour-long winter pre-riding ritual of donning approximately eighteen layers of various forms of synthetic and natural fibers.
Spotting former (penniless) bike messengers turned (penniless) bike racers 101. Now accepting contributions for a pair of Sidi Hydro boots.
The air was crisp and thick with the vapor of the recent storm, upper elevations of the Wasatch still shrouded in precipitous low clouds. Day in and out climbing of the litany of HC climbs surrounding Salt Lake City is decidedly over until spring.
In the midst of the fog of winter riding stoke, tragedy struck in the form of a disintegrating tire. Mechanically crippled, the boy and his velocipede limped home to finish the work of the day aboard the stationary mistress of mental malevolence.
Perhaps today will be an improvement.
Ghetto Nutrionals, pt 1. Peanut butter. Two slices of bread. Honey. ESPRESSO GROUNDS.
Side bonus: Actually edible. Nice caffeine bite and smoky aroma lent by the grounds. Nom. Easy to consume on bike with a dash of your favorite ER drink.
Stay tuned for my attempts at making my own bars.
so, my second time mtbing in a few years, demoing a cannondale jekyll on a trail i’ve ridden a MILLION BILLION times (but not for half a decade). turns out that trees die in the middle of trails in those timeframes. made friends with the ground twice in about 5 minutes (image=first encounter, rather mild compared to second).
damages:
missing skin
mild concussion
busted rib
obliterated week-old specialized prevail
sometimes i miss crashing. it’s been too long since i’ve woken up glued to my sheets.
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it’s finally summer in utah. bike mojo is back, time to start winning races again.
and i got a compliment on my bike shoes while grabbing lunch. from a guy in a reggae group in town for arts fest.
life is rad. oh yeah, so’s the new death cab album, in case you were living under a rock.
have come within inches of being ended three times in the past week…ex-messenger spidey senses were useless, and all were the fault of the automobile.
between Brynn Barton being killed by a hit and run last week locally, and friend/former coworker Zach Parke encountering the same fate in Santa Cruz the day after, i’m losing faith.
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