In the beginning...

Beginning cycling must concentrate first and foremost on fun. It must be fun to ride a bike.

The difficult question is: what is fun? We must answer this question by looking closely at the cycler, the beginning cycler in our case. This can be a child, an adult in good shape, an adult in really bad shape, an adult who barely knows how to ride. (And on and on ad nauseum.) We may be dealing with a person who barely remembers how a bicycle shifts gears. Why three big cogs up front and all those little ones in the back? We mustn't take the newbie for granted. We must explain some basics first. Why two brakes? Why not just one in the back or one in the front? How should we use them and when?

We must explain basic handling. How to keep the bike straight on the road; how to maintain our position on the road, relative to cars, pedestrians, etc. We must explain the importance of "feeling" the bike. You know that feeling of maintaining control, knowing how long it takes us to stop, what happens when we brake hard or when we "feather" our brakes ever so slightly to slow us down just a bit so we regain control under the right speeds. Let's feel the fun of what a bike is, what it does and what we can experience/do with it. It's way too zen for me, but it's true: we must try to feel one with the bike.

Let's know very, very slowly what our limits are. (Again, let us know ourselves or the people we are helping to get started.) Let's take a careful look at our route, at the hills we may encounter, the traffic, the weather conditions, and how we may handle different sorts of situations. (It was sunny when we left and now it's raining and the road might just be slick.)

Let's learn to stop when we can't go any further. (Let's do that with everything in our lives and then we'd really begin talking about knowing ourselves.) It's alright to stop today -- our knees are beginning to hurt -- and to try tomorrow and see if we can improve on today's performance. One terrible experience in the beginning may be the end of cycling for a person. We should not take this lightly and we shall not take for granted what others can do and what their reasonable limitations may be. So we shall begin slowly and increase our time on the bike slowly. We must be patient. We should ride three or four times a week if we can maintain those outings -- resting in between those rides so we ride one day and rest the next day and so on. This is only the beginning folks! (I prefer days off between rides whenever possible. It works for me. Think about how it may work for you or the beginner you are coaching.) We must make those first outing "easy", moderate, at cruising speeds, taking advantage of these easy-fun rides to get us acquainted with the bike and with good technique on the bike.

We must know the importance of rest and how critical it will be to our cycling and to our progress on the bike. Ride + Rest = Fun. We cannot have fun if we do not feel good, if we do not feel the bike, if we do not progress.

All of this I'm thinking out loud to start my wife on her riding program. Slowly.

A Bike of Her Own

Well, it was about time. The Mrs. gets her own hybrid and she’ll be back on the road after her fall and previous cycling disappointment. The Kelly Visage is being set up at the LBS and it will be my wife’s first bike EVER! Can you believe that? Can you believe that she never had a bike of her own as a child? Now, I’ve been married for 21 years – God Bless! – and I really never knew that my wife never had her own bike. (And I’m frankly tired of seeing her, oh so jealous, when I go out with our three children for a ride!) Well that’s been fixed. Little “Envy” that someone let us have didn’t work out for her (was in bad shape and I just don’t know how to fix her and at the LBS it will cost almost like a new one to get up and running) so the only way to get my wife cycling and to overcome her fears was to get her a decent hybrid – her size – all set up and ready to go. I’m so excited! More than her. Now I get to plan her routes, a little training, bike shopping and we’ll all get to ride together: that’s five of us – I get to carry the little critter. More on the bike shortly, once we know more about it in practice since in theory I’m pretty much okay with it as a starter bike – similar to my Specialized Crossroads. Now I’ve got to think of a name for her. Any ideas?

NO!

Learn to say no.

Sometimes we just can’t ride. Not to commute, not to go to the shop, not to do a little training. We might need some time off the bike, but it isn’t as simple as it sounds. How do you know you’re just putting things off or whether it’s a legitimate NO situation? Though it isn’t what we want to hear the fact remains that there is no simple answer, no simple rule. It requires that bit of intuition that we can’t learn and that no system can teach, despite what some gurus might suggest. There is one answer, of course, but it’s the one we don’t want to hear: We need to know ourselves. And since we’re all different this can become quite a psycho-drama type of thing. For me it’s become rather simple over the last year:

- My legs feel heavy, especially when I climb stairs. Not the type of heavy like when you finish a work-out, but rather the heavy that sits there for a couple of days. I call it heavy-heavy. I need a couple days’ rest and it goes away.

- Waking up in the morning is a real chore. (I know it always is, right?) But I think you know what I mean. You’re just dragging yourself out of bed. You’re late as it is; you don’t even have time to make a cup of coffee – oh, you never do? Well, you see, we’re all different. When I don’t have my cup of coffee – make that two – and some toast I’m hurting.

- I drank two extra beers the night before because my friends couldn’t help changing the world. Ok. I’m dehydrated the next day and I’m hurting.

- And my favourite, like today. I just don’t feel like it and don’t know exactly why. It involves a certain bad feeling or sensation like something wrong might happen. This is very rare. I don’t know what it is and I don’t really care, but when I feel it I don’t ride it.

So over the past year I’ve grown up a bit in my cycling. I know when to say no and, incredibly, my cycling has improved considerably. If I don’t ride or do my little training ride – which I try to do at least 3 times a week independent of other riding – it’s OK. Nothing happens. Things just get fresher and better when we get back on the bike again.

What makes you say NO?

Why I must still like the Tour

I like the Tour de France for the cycling, the struggle and the determination of the racers. I’ve always like that; it was a family passion I shared with my dad during many summers. My father never even owned a bike—not sure he could ride one—well he could because in his only riding story from childhood he saw this elderly woman dressed in black at the bottom of a hill and when he began his decent said rather fatalistically: “I’m afraid I might run her over!” And he did, without any serious consequences, thank god, and as he claimed in his typical honourable manner: “Believe me when I say I never meant for that to happen.” Other than that he never owned a bike.

But summers without the Tour for us just would’ve been the same. Here in Spain we planned our lunch – and we have big lunches here – and even our siesta strictly around the Tour (well, except in the very flat stages where we could take a nap here and there without anything happening in the pelotón; heck, if they could rest why couldn’t we?) And so like my father I liked the Tour before I liked cycling. This is true. I didn’t know what a brand-name was and didn’t care whether someone rode an Orbea or a Cannondale or a Bianchi, or why they used culottes, gloves or energy drinks. I just loved those guys giving it their all, I thought. Who couldn’t respect guys like Mercx, Indurain or Armstrong defending those jerseys year after year. And who couldn’t just love some unknown cyclist giving those boys hell climbing the Pyrenees?

We were naïve I guess. We never gave much thought to doping or cheating or all the money that has eventually ruined the sport. Isn’t money the only “legal” drug that ruins all? Still, as disappointed as I am, I must still like the Tour. It’s like that member of the family that has gone astray; I’d like to take him back, you know, despite his errors and imperfections. If anything, I must like the Tour as mere payback for those lovely summer afternoons with dad. And in case this goes wrong, we still have the Vuelta! www.cyclingnews.com presents the 94th Tour de France

¡¡¡ Adios, Monsier Rasmussen !!!

Rasmussen s'en va !

Is this fun or what?! Never mind who wins...let's just bet on who leaves. (What color do we make the YOU'RE OUT DOPE JERSEY?

¡¡¡ Vino Positif !!!

Vino positif, Astana s'en va ! - Cyclisme - Eurosport: "Vino positif, Astana s'en va !"

Am I dreaming?

Summer

I was tired and chose between reading and taking a ride with the little one. The weather just cleared today after two weeks of basically winter weather. This is good and bad. The tourists came out of their hiding holes, hungry for summer and sun. The traffic getting to the bike path was nervous as though everyone were busy trying to get something out of this non-summer month. Behold summer! Then we end up not getting onto the bike path along the shore because some moron parks his car precisely on the entry way and there is no way I can lift Xabi and the bike together over the small fence. I wait there for a couple of minutes to see if this driver shows up – I really want to let him know how damn stupid he / she is.

A woman with a baby stroller on the other side of the path faces the same problem except she can’t get out of the path. We stare at each other like morons. Eventually we have to turn back because I can’t help her with her carriage and she can’t help me with my bike and baby. Oh well. I didn’t bring my cell phone so I can’t call the cops to have the car towed away. I swear I would have done it. Damn. So I take another route and try to enjoy the ride. That’s the beauty of cycling – and more so with children. In a second I’ve forgotten the incident ‘cause Xabi says some little word about seagulls overhead. It’s great to hear him try to make his first sentences. I know, son, it’s a beautiful day nonetheless.

No Honks Among The So-Called Brutes

It was the third time I entered into a traffic circle improperly while riding my bike, luckily not at great speed. And three times I found courteous drivers – two male and one female, for stat purposes – who did not yell, scream or honk when they had to stop…well…so as not to run over me. I’m usually a very conscious and careful rider – or so I thought – so I’ve no idea what I’ve been thinking about lately. By the way, I apologized to the drivers on each of the three occasions, a little hand-wave here, a little I-know-I’m-dumb-look there. They even smiled.

Cowardice

Now, I’ve no picture here ‘cause I’m a coward. You see there’s these dogs that have chased me on occasion. I’ve no idea why they’ve chased me and why they don’t chase me any longer. They are the same dogs. I’m the same rider (well...slimmer...handsomer...no doubt.) Does the moon have to triangulate with Venus on the Mars quadrant for them to chase me?

My astrologer doesn’t exactly know. My astrologer doesn't exactly care. Neither do I. Well I do, sort of!

Now, I could stop my bike right by the dogs – one sleeps on one side of the road opposite the other – like some kind of Cerberus joke and they open their eyes as I pass but do not make a move. Am I such boring prey? But, damn it!, I know they will eventually chase me…again. So I ride slow past them risking a bite – my ass! – instead of having them throw me off the bike. What’s worse?

What to do? I want a picture…just to show you how small they are and what a coward I really am.

Those Days

Le Kazakh a perdu 1'20".

One of those days. It starts with the helmet not feeling quite right. The strap bothers my left ear (yet no one has touched the strap in months – it’s just today that it isn’t right!!!); the sunglasses aren’t as crystal clear as they should (how clear should they normally be?!!!); my shorts feel too lose (they are size large and I wear medium but I swear the medium was too tight when I bought these!!!); and, I’m breathing hard on the first little climb and my heart rate is barely 117 (whatever that means – I could be dying – it felt that way!!!).

The last time I felt like this I bonked pretty damn good. I didn’t bonk today, yet somehow I didn’t feel very hydrated. I ended up drinking 5 12-once cans of whatever Isotonic drink I had at hand. And I wanted more. I gotta blame something, don’t I?

Not a great ride. 34 kilometers (21.13 miles) in 1:34 hours. Oh well. It happens. Vino fell off his bike today!

My Girl's Bike

Ready for all kinds of weather!!!










The little yellow helmet tells me this is circa 2005.

No Granny Gear

Brakes

"Ne te quaesiveris extra."

Yeah. Right!

Being self-sufficient is an ideal; self-reliance a goal, perhaps. For me, certain limitations are truth. I’ve said it before: I am an idiot with my hands; tools under my power are weapons of evil.

Ok. I didn’t exactly kill my wife. I tried (not to kill her, I mean), but to fix the rear brake on her bike. It kept loosening for some reason ever since someone gave us the bike last year. (Is that why they gave it us last year?) My wife barely rode it, for it always rode badly. The tires were out of true; the gears jumped and skipped; the brakes, well, the brakes….

I wanted to be self-sufficient or just somewhat sufficient. Just this one time I didn’t want to go to the bike shop. I mean you just loosen this bolt and tighten that one…no? The bike – aptly named Envy because should she feel she must feel, well, just as inadequate as me – just can’t become a normal bike. And that’s all I really strove for; a minimal level of bike mediocrity. But it wasn’t to be. I read some Kent Peterson for encouragement. He can turn a $ 5 bike into a tourer / commuter. Could I do the same? No. I read some Sheldon Brown – hey I can read – for technical information and gathered interesting details on breaks caliper, on breaks cantilever, on breaks this and breaks that. Sheldon’s breaks work. Why can’t mine?

So I learned my lesson. Self-sufficiency is oftentimes self-insufficiency. Self-reliance a brutal mistake. When I saw my wife go head over heels (and believe me this was no love story) I nearly died. Envy’s chain somehow jumped the crown when she shifted on a slight downhill to which she reacted by hitting the brakes, the rear first…but…there was no brake…no stop…so in running wide on the coming curve she hit the front brake hard in a slight panic and JAMB…THERE SHE GOES FLYING OVER THE HANDLE BARS. Nasty gash on her elbow, swollen palm (she was not wearing gloves because her gloves were left on the kitchen table next to the nice cyclamen arrangement…they looked nice next to the cyclamen, sort of blending in with all those spring colors).

I called her Flying Dutchman after the fact – hours after the scary fact. My wife is way too kind and forgiving. We laughed together...until she said: “But you had just fixed the brakes hadn’t you?”

“No, no, dear, I swear. I didn’t fix them.”

Bike Day 2

Well it was bike day again this past 10th of May. Lots of people out – almost 500, I think – mostly kids. The organization, as usual, left something to be desired: some people riding without helmets (which is against the law in Spain), people riding on the sidewalks (which is against the organization’s rules), people riding on the left side of the road (cause this isn’t England!), and overall a bit of everything that makes riding with a one-and-a half-year-old just a bit unnerving. There was one light fall in front of us involving two or three slightly reckless children, though no one was hurt for the course and all had good fun.

Alberte, as usual, did best, though he complained alongside me for most of the ride, criticizing all the poor riding habits of our fellow cyclists. Carme and her friend Elisa had a little trouble with the big hill because they refuse to concentrate on their gear changes, but on the return climb they got it right and made it. I was very proud of all and eventually won a little mini-tool set for the bike as part of the give-away-gifts the organization presents to the participants.

Mom didn’t join us because Envy (her little green BH mountain bike) almost killed her the day before when the rear break failed and her front break jammed hard on a slight downhill. Luckily only on a slight downhill. She flew off the bike head first and hit the pavement pretty hard. Hurt her right hand and her right elbow – the elbow much the worst for the road rash. I won’t say who played with her breaks – me, myself and I – trying to adjust them. Can you believe that?! I felt pretty shitty. Great job! Sorry, Mom.

Home

Well I was away but the Three Wise Men weren’t (with a little help from Santa as well.) What do you think?
This picture after climbing to Mount Curota – round trip 1:48:56. Maximum ramps 12%. Average 5.44%. The climb itself is about 10 kilometers. A bit cold today and foggy. (But there’s a café at the top…just don’t tell Mom.)

Reaching the top...

Wow!

My boy’s asked Santa Claus (well really it’s the Three Wise Kings here) for this little beast:

Me thinks I gotta SMART boy!

Toys

Excess. Need. What is excessive? Too much? Needed?

I’m obsessed, it seems, for now. But I’ve been hanging in there, stopping myself from jumping head-first through the exhibit glass of the my LBS and hopping onto that road bike.

But I’m too much of a coward. I can’t make up my mind or deal with my guilt. Do I really need a road bike? How foolish. None of that is needed. None of this…yet I never imagined one Saturday morning ride with my kids last year would change my life the way it did. I like riding my bike. I really do but this winter will be a long one.

Will my obsession last longer?

Wretches

I’ve no idea why tools should scare anyone. Around here, though, a mere Allen wrench -- in my hand -- is cause for mutiny.

"Mom, Dad’s got your bike discombobulated!"

Now isn’t that what we called squealing squealers back somewhere then?

So I’ve taken the wheel off -- off my wife’s bike (god forbid I did that to my little Piglet) -- and there seems to be cause for alarm.

"Mom, you won’t be riding this weekend."

That was my daughter (little “$%&%$!!!). But my son comes to the rescue. "You’re not riding for sure, Mom!"

Little &"·!;%$&%”!!! Why bring them to the world? Why love them? You can say goodbye to that ivy league community college edu on my account, little squealing b...bikers!

Ok. I can’t couldn’t true the wheel…and now it’s like some sort of round snake, sinuous thing, biting its own tale. It’s still round, though, for God’s sake!

Wrenches.

Fishin'

Sort off. Been out for work to Durban, South Africa, and then to Mauritius; trips for work which have kept me out most of the month. Try as I might during these forays to our commercial fishing vessels I find no energy for the internet, blogging or much else. Miss my cycling, though. In Durban, which is supposed to be a very dangerous city – crime wise – they have what seems like a nice bike club. The East Coast Pedal Power Association does nice routes on Saturdays and Sundays, very early in the morning: out by 5:30 a.m. or so I heard. Sprightly group. Should I return for another week’s work or so I might try some sort of cycling exchange thing. [Do they pedal backwards in the southern hemisphere?] Maybe I can rent a bike or borrow one. (Shihhhh…don’t tell my Piglet.)

Bonkers

Exhaustion does not kill a paradigm, it merely signals it has lost the ascendancy.

I don’t much believe in witches though I’ve sought their council – involuntarily – as early as the age of one. It was an alleged issue of life and death, my Mom explained once, though I don’t recall the actual witchcraft that was performed on me. And indeed there is a saying in my land that pronounces: “I don’t believe in witches, but witches there are aplenty.”

Not too long ago I was talking to Bill on the list about bonking: that physical low experienced during hard physical activity. A weak definition, really, by any account, since the real feeling is that type of awful that dictionaries can’t handle in definitions, not without pictures and groaning sound effects. And so I was telling Bill, who apparently recently bonked and found himself helpless alongside some mountain road until a kind motorist came to his assistance (because some drivers are nice in spite of bicycles), that one ought to avoid those bonking things by resting right, eating properly, hydrating, you know all those little things that make us wise bike riders. Mind you, I said all of that with a certain degree of authority because I bonked once and that made me, well, a bonking authority.

This is where the witchcraft comes in: no more than a couple of days after Bill raises the bonking issue that I bonk after a mere three hour ride. And once again – as happened the first time – I didn’t think I’d done anything unusual; after all I had done this particular 64 kilometer loop before at a 19.7 km/hr. pace. Nothing unusual, I thought.

I should’ve gotten a hint that things weren’t right as I climbed my first hill – the Bicycle Eater, as my son calls it – and I was nearly out of breath at the top of it. That was only 4 kilometers into the ride. I felt very tired. (A little voice told me to turn around but I failed to hear it.) So I pushed on and apparently convinced myself that things ought to get better.

I HAVE THE DAY OFF, THE KIDS ARE IN SCHOOL, AND THE SUN IS SHINING SO I MUST RIDE MY BIKE!!! DO YOU MIND?!

I’m not so sure whether things went better or worse…they just went. Somehow I maintained my normal pace and drank my two liters of energy drink, though I had this strange desire to make it home quick.

I bonked as soon as I got through the garage door; sat down without one wink of energy and no desire to do a thing. I ate and drank like a desperate man soon as I could and then slept for two hours – killing most of the afternoon, ‘cause the morning had killed me – until I began to feel slightly normal again. I thought I had a fever or a cold. My legs were cramping. I was dead tired.

Then I thought about it. What happened? It was the bonkers spell again. The night before I had had no dinner, which is very unusual for me; instead I had two beers. And then again, for some strange reason I had a light breakfast. Only one toast and a cup of coffee: European cup of coffee-thingy, small, tiny. Again, fairly unusual for me. (Nowhere in European etiquette – not even in the most hermetic French baguette circles – does it say that you cannot have 3 tiny thingies to make up for one normal real thingy.)

So I should’ve listened to my advice to Bill: you’ve got to fuel properly and rest properly. That’s what I told him just a couple of days ago, lest you want the bonk to get you. Almost sounds like a spell, doesn’t it?