Home Mechanic Fail

Wednesday night, I installed my new studded tires on my Crosscheck. Everything was looking good. Thursday morning, the trails were pretty rough. I hadn't noticed anything while I was riding, but when I got off my bike, I notice the tires were rubbing on something - maybe the fender.

So before my ride home, I investigated.  Nope, not the fender, it's the brake making all that noise. It was way too high on the rim, almost rubbing the tire. So I adjusted the brake pad. But still, it wasn't centered. I tried the adjustments to the springs that move both sides to the left or right, but nothin. Finally, after all that tweaking I found the real problem. My wheel wasn't seated properly in the fork. All I needed to do was loosen my quick release, straighten the wheel, and close the quick release.

My problem?  I started fixing the problem before I knew what the problem was.  If I had patiently checked everything out, I not only would have discovered the problem, but also had an easy solution.  As it was, after the real problem was fixed, I still had to undo all my other "fixes".

The moral - the problem may not be what you think it is. So don't fix it until you know.

l think we often do that with each other. Making assumptions. Jumping to conclusions. It always makes it worse.

The best thing to do is not make a judgement until you know the whole story
   AND
Always assume you'll never know whole story.

Simplifying Almanzo

I've been reading with interest the journey Chris Skogen has been on this year.

The Almanzo 100 is a gravel event in May that Chris has organized for the past 7 years.  I was a rookie in 2013, so I missed the evolution over 7 years of the event. The 2013 ride was bigger and better than ever, but it came at price.

Two months following the event in May, Chris posted about how he had "shut down" after the ride.

I am learning, through the exercise of significantly slowing down, that constantly trying to push the envelope further doesn't always equate to long term success.

He alluded to some changes coming for next year.  He posted again in October saying

there may be a little less frill

In November, he started sharing a few more details about his heart and the ride.

So here is where I am at, for 2014 I’m going to take a break from making deals with industry folks and get back to what truly lies deep in my heart, riding bikes just to ride bikes.

...there will be a lot less frill.

...I am going to take a year off from making t-shirts and packets and fancy things.

... I am going to take a year and focus on riding my bike and figuring out ways to get more kids racing. I am going to take a year and talk about whatever I want to talk about. I am going to take a year to get organized and continue down the path that isn’t paved…the path I’ve come to love.

Most of us, like Chris, figure out that the more complicated life is, the less fulfilling it is.  The more simple it is, the more satisfying it is. This is true in all areas - work, family, friends, faith, etc.

While I hesitate to compare myself to Chris, I do have some experiences that make me think I can identify with his journey this year.  In 1998, I did my first big bike event - the MS150 Bike Tour, an annual 2-day charity ride from Duluth to Minneapolis to raise money for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. My dad and I rode together for two years, then we started a work team in 2000. By 2001, we were the largest team and top-fundraising team on the event.  We kept that streak going for 6 years, topping out with 175 riders.

Every year, we would try and out-do the previous year.  How can we grow the team? How can we raise more money? We need money to raise money  - where is that going to come from? etc. etc. etc.

Don't get me wrong. I didn't do this alone. There were dozens of people that helped. And each year, I got better and better at delegating.  In the end, my role was mostly just organizing, delegating, and cheerleading. But it took it's toll.  My dad rode with the team for a couple years. But he finally quit riding because his son was so busy with everything and everybody that we weren't really getting any quality time together anyway.  As my ability to delegate increased, the work load decreased. But not as fast as my enthusiasm. I didn't even know most of the people on the team anymore. I was just going through the motions trying to figure out how to get off this roller coaster that I had started.

I felt great about the purpose. And I received lots of encouragement from my friends who had a direct connection with MS, as well as the MS Society itself. But the encouragement just prolonged an effort that needed an overhaul.  In the end, we didn't get a chance to figure out how to make it work. The company started imploding, followed by the entire mortgage industry.  It was an easy and welcome exit for me. I still enjoy the ride every year, but I'm enjoying it simply as a participant with no additional responsibilities.

Life is always a balancing act. We want our life to be simple, but we also want it to have impact. And when we experience success at making a difference in an area that is important to us, we want to nurture that and see it grow. And sometimes things start getting complicated - out of balance.  I don't think we ever arrive at a permanent place where we have finally found the balance.  I think life is constantly monitoring and adjusting to ups and downs. Just like riding a bike. Some days we're climbing, some days we're coasting. We shift gears as required (those of us who have gears do, anyway).

So I applaud Chris for stepping back, identifying what is truly important, and figuring out to move forward in a healthy way. I'm so glad Chris has the wisdom to get off the "bigger and better" bandwagon. Because he's not the only one that wins. We all win. Even if the result was no more Almanzo, we all win. We win because we have someone like Chris modeling for us how to put first things first.

Chris seems to be worried that these changes will impact participation.

I know that change is odd sometimes and I completely understand if these changes force you to look elsewhere for adventure.

Well, Chris, this might backfire on you.  I, for one, am more excited than before for next year's Almanzo 100.  See you in May. Or maybe at a winter Almanzo party.

What kind of biker am I?

Sometimes, as I look all my biking friends, I think what kind of biker am I? They all seem to fit in comfortably. What subgroup in the diverse biking culture do I fit in? 

Most of my biking is my daily commute. I call myself a bike commuter. But what does that mean? There are all types of bike commuters. 

I just did the Pacific Northwest's premiere one-day ultra-marathon cycling event, so maybe I'm an ultra-marathon cyclist. But no - I think that was a one-and-done kind of thing. Like my running marathon. It was fun, and I'm really glad I did it, but it's not going to become a lifestyle.

I bike through the winter. Here we go. I am a winter-biker. I like that - makes me a little more unique. A little set apart from the masses. But that's just arrogant - something to feed my ego. Plus - what am I the other 9 months of the year?

I've done more trail riding this summer than any other year, and I really like it. But I don't think I qualify to call myself a mountain biker.

I have a bunch of bike jerseys, so I could look the part of a serious road biker if I wanted to, but I really don't have any interest in racing.  I like watching Le Tour, but I don't really identify with anyone who wants to pursue that kind of racing.

Maybe I'm an urban biker.  Some people don't like riding downtown. The cars really make them nervous. I love it. Yeah, they make me nervous too, but it doesn't bother me. I've got a smile on my face in downtown traffic as much as I do out in the country. Plus, I have plaid socks and a beard, so that makes me kind of hipster, right? Did I mention I ride fixed-gear in the winter? Have I finally found my niche? Not sure.  I don't have the guts to use the correct finger when someone asks me how many gears I have. Plus, I'm twice the age of everyone else in this category.  Nothing wrong with that, but it makes it hard to feel real connected.  Maybe if I moved from Edina to Uptown...  

OK, I admit that I don't really lose sleep over these issues. Because I've discovered a few things about my biking friends. 

Number one is: Fitting in is not required. And it's a good thing because I don't think any of us would.  And the ironic thing is - once you realize this - that's when you start fitting in. Because that's when you just get comfortable being yourself. And it turns out - that's the you that people like the most.

So here's a quick story about wanting to "fit in" - and then we'll call this post a wrap.

Earlier this spring, on a cold March day, Tim and I drove to the edge of town for a group ride called the Slick 50. We were in separate vehicles, but the bikes were both on Tim's car. So when I parked, I jumped out of my car and quickly strapped on my helmet so I could help Tim get the bikes down. The 'quickly' part comes into the story momentarily...

We rode into town where the group was gathering at One on One. Most people didn't know me. But Hurl, who organizes the annual ride, recognized me and complimented me on my helmet. "Hey John. Nice helmet". For a brief second I wondered if it was possible that he really did like my helmet. Then he kindly pointed out that I had my helmet on backwards. I laughed. Everyone laughed. Story over. But on the inside I was incredibly embarrassed. Here's the old fat guy trying to fit in, so what does he do? He shows up at a ride with his helmet on backwards. Ugh.  (Note: it was cold enough for us all to be wearing winter hats under our helmets, so it was hard to feel that something was wrong. That said, I've never seen another rider with their helmet on backwards...)

If I had to fit in - I wouldn't fit, trust me. And the more I tried, the more obvious it would become. But guess what? No one else would fit in either. We're all odd in our own special way. So it's fortunate there's no need to fit in. With every ride and post-ride beer, we just celebrate our love of biking together.

I don't know what kind of biker I am.  I just know I'm almost always happy when I'm on a bike. And in those rare instances where I'm on a bike and not happy, it would be even worse if I were not on a bike.

And this simple shared joy seems to be all that is required to be welcome in all of my various biking circles. And for that, I say thank you to all my biking friends.

Obstacles

June 29 was my first trip to Cuyuna. I'd ridden on single track trails a couple of times, but this was very different.  Miles and miles of trails which are constantly up and down and winding around. It really takes a lot of concentration, especially if you have any speed at all.

Trevor gave me one tip (there may have been more, but this is the one I have held onto):  

Keep your eyes as far ahead as you can. 

I was surprised both by how hard it was and how much it helped.  I kept slipping back into staring at the trail right in front of my tire. When there's a rock in the middle of the path, it screams for your full attention and you stare at it until you've successfully navigated around it.  But as you get good at keeping your eyes ahead, your mind and muscles learn to navigate around the items you have logged mentally without requiring you to stare at them.

I wouldn't say I'm very good at it yet, but even with just a couple of trips up there, I can see this skill beginning to develop.  And it's a really cool feeling to see a rock or a tree, log it in your mind, and move on, and discover your body really is able to handle it without giving that one obstacle your full attention.

I also noticed that as I get tired, my eyes start to come closer in, until they are staring at the trail in front of my front tire - even when I'm not mountain biking. On my commute home, I find myself staring at the trail instead of looking ahead or enjoying the scenery. I have to tell myself - "Come on, John. This is no way to enjoy a bike ride! Look up. Look around. Soak it in.  Enjoy!!"

I think we can learn to do this in life too.  We give obstacles too much of our attention. We stare at them until we have successfully overcome them.  And we miss a lot of life when we do this.  We need to remind ourselves to keep our head up, looking ahead as far as we can.  Because when we do that, we discover that we handle those obstacles just fine. We didn't need to be staring at them after all.

It's really hard to enjoy life when your staring at the ground. Look up! Look around! Soak it in! Enjoy!

Thanks for the tip, Trevor!

RAMROD

Last week I completed a ride that had been on my bucket list for a few years. RAMROD stands for Ride Around Mt Rainier in One Day. Here is the ride recap.

What is RAMROD?

Credit to the Redmond Cycling Club for the following information

RAMROD [Ride Around Mount Rainier in One Day] is the Pacific Northwest's premiere one-day ultra-marathon cycling event. It combines the incomparable scenery of Mount Rainier National Park with a challenging course featuring 10,000 feet of climbing over 149 miles. The course begins in Enumclaw, WA and takes riders through the rolling hills near Eatonville, Elbe and Ashford before entering the Mount Rainier National Park. You'll be challenged by three climbs: a 12 mile ascent to Inspiration Point (4,850 ft), the 3 mile Backbone Ridge climb and the challenging 9-mile Cayuse Pass ascent (4,694 ft).

 
 


Preparation
In preparation for RAMROD, I signed up for several local challenges.  In March, I did the annual Slick 50, a 50-miler in Minneapolis. In May I did the Almanzo 100, a 100-mile gravel ride in Spring Valley, MN. In June I did the MS150 Bike Tour, a 2-day, 150-mile ride - but I turned it into the MS300 by foregoing the Friday bus ride up to Duluth and riding up with 5 other guys.  All that and a couple of solo centuries and I hoped I was good to go - in spite of the fact that Minnesota has no way to replicate a 12-mile climb.

Obstacles
The ride was July 25th.  On June 29th, I broke my nose mountain biking at Cuyuna near Crosby, MN. Didn't keep me from putting in one more century ride on July 7th, but that was the end of my training. I had major nose surgery on July 10th that had me laid up for a few days. On top of that, my heart went into atrial fibrillation while I was under anesthesia and didn't self correct like it was supposed to do. My confidence dwindled quite a bit. When my cardiologist gave me permission to ride, I was elated, but I honestly didn't know if I could even do it. My plans were to enjoy as much of it as I could.

Finally, the night before we left for Seattle, my heart returned to a good strong steady beat. I was obviously delighted, but there was a tiny part of me that thought - there goes my excuse. I still didn't know if I could do it or not. I hadn't ridden for a week and a half, and the surgery took a lot out of me.

But I got a few 20-30 mile rides in after getting to Seattle, and my confidence started to return.

Ride Day
Up at 3:15 am, on the road by 3:45 to get to the starting line by 4:15.  Breakfast at the high school cafeteria was... was...  was the reason we arrived early.  Next time I'll get 30 more minutes of sleep.

Riders could depart anytime after 5am. Not having any idea how long it would take me, I wanted to be ready to go right at 5am. The route closed at 8pm, so I wanted my full 15 hours in case I needed them all.

It was still dark at 5am. And much of the first 30 miles were foggy. I wanted to not over-do it, and I didn't think I was, but my speedometer was reading 20 mph. That seemed fast when I still had 140 miles to go. But I was just spinning freely and not working it, so I decided not to worry about it. Tom from Boise passed me and I started riding with him. We were a good match.

The first rest stop in Eatonville was welcome. I was starting to feel it in my legs, and I hoped it wasn't a bad sign. Couple of blueberry scones and some fresh water (to which I added Nuun electrolyte tablets - which I prefer to all the sugary sport drinks like Gatorade and Powerade) and I was on the road again.

Tom and I rode together all the way to Inspiration Point, the end of the first big climb. I was feeling good and rocked this climb. I lost Tom somewhere on the downhill, probably because gravity loves me much more than him. The second climb was tougher, but much shorter.  I rocked that one too. And my fan club (Kristen, Marcia, Don, Linda, Phillip, and Samee) was there cheering me on, ringing the cowbell like crazy. Cowbell compliments of Zach at Cascade Bicycle Studio!  I stopped for a kiss from my favorite fan. At this point in the ride, I was passing more people than were passing me. That was about to change.

Climbs in cycling are rated from Category 1 (hardest) to Category 5 (easiest), based on steepness and length. A climb harder than Category 1 is HC, which stands for hors catégorie (“beyond categorization”). I was about to face my first Cat 1 climb.

I was a little surprised how soon into the last climb I found myself dropping into my lowest gear (my bike has 3 front rings and 9 rear rings, making 27 gears). I thought I was doing fine, but the climb just kept going and going and the legs were starting to lose it.  I saw someone pull off the road and stretch. That looked like a great idea so I joined them. Just getting off the bike and walking around a little bit brings new life to dead legs. Couple minutes of that and I saddled up again. The new life lasted a little while, but not long.  I started watching the odometer and setting goals.  My legs had nothing left. I'll try and go 2 miles before I stop again.  The next time it was one mile. My mental game was gone as well. The time after that it was less than a mile. But I finally made it.

Fresh water at the top of the climb, and few minutes of rest, and I started the most exhilarating part of the ride. No pedaling required. I coasted at 30-35 mph for almost 20 minutes (10 miles!). And it was on smooth, fresh pavement. It was heavenly!!

At bottom of the descent was the lunch stop. Lunch was made-to-order deli sandwiches so the line moved pretty slow. Had a nice chat with Jeremy, who was also a RAMROD rookie, to help pass the time. Probably spent close to an hour here between getting my lunch and eating my lunch.  30 miles to go!

The stiff headwinds on the last section eliminated the benefit of the slight downhill grade. I was working pretty hard to go 16-17mph and the legs were complaining. I felt that twinge inside my thigh that comes before a major cramp. So I backed off a bit and hoped I could get to the end without cramping up. People passed me.  More people passed me. I would have loved to hook on to their train, but it wasn't in me.  Eventually though, I started to feel better and a group of 3 passed me that I decided I might be able to keep up with.  So I kicked it up a notch and hung on to the end of their line. Not sure if it was the benefit of a pace line or just the mental help of having someone else set the pace, but my legs came back to life and I stayed with that group at 20mph the rest of the way in. The front two guys were strong riders and took turns pulling. I'm sorry to say I didn't take a turn. But believe me, I thanked them profusely when we were done!

I finished about 4:45pm - 11 hours and 45 minutes.  That was with about 2 hours of non-moving time. The moving average on my bike computer was just over 15mph.



Was it worth it?
If I just look at the day of the ride, then I'm not sure. There were moments where I really tried to soak in the beauty around me. But mostly I was focused on completing the ride. So it's hard to justify everything for the experience of that particular day.

But when I look at the last 4 months, it's a different story. The ride was fun. But what's deep in my soul is the experience of setting a crazy goal, working toward that goal, and seeing it happen. That is life-changing kind of stuff. That is totally worth it.

Plus I lost weight and got a nose job to boot. I'm like a new person!

Post Ride 
So now what? RAMROD has been checked off the bucket list. I don't even want to know how much we spent on this. Between bike gear, airfare, hotels, meals - it's not something I plan to repeat soon. Yes, I'll keep signing up for challenging rides (like Almanzo, which I'm totally hooked on), but they will be local ones for awhile.

On the other hand, Kristen really does want to go to Europe. I'm sure she wouldn't mind if I squeezed in a ride somewhere along the way, right? Maybe a stage of Le Tour?

The Rhythm

I think all athletes talk about finding 'the rhythm'.

I definitely see this in cycling.  I love the rhythm of the bike.

And when you are feeling good, it is effortless.  The rhythm seems to carry you.

When you hit a hill, with a little extra effort, you can maintain that rhythm.

But once you lose the rhythm, it takes a lot of effort to get it back.

Before you find the rhythm, it can feel like work - even drudgery.  The action of cycling requires your full attention.  You don't stop to smell the roses because you don't even see the roses.

After you find the rhythm, you are set free to enjoy the world around you as you let the rhythm do all the work. You see things you've never seen before. You hear things you've never heard before. And you have a new found grace for others on the road who are still trying to find the rhythm.

The rhythm feels good and right and satisfying.  And you'd like to stay here all the time.

You can talk about the rhythm, and make lists of everything that help you find your rhythm, but you can't give it to anyone else. 

Each cyclist has to find it for themselves.

Cycling is a lot like life.