My Favorite Winter Biking Hack - The Wooly Apron

"There's no bad weather - just bad gear"

Winter biking gear is interesting, because each person's experience is unique. It's impacted by how "warm-blooded" you are and how long your rides are. My Minneapolis winter commutes are 55-60 minutes each way. Except for my fingers and toes, I don't have much of a problem staying warm in winter. I'm actually more concerned about not getting too warm.  The one place where I've noticed I get cold is on my chest. The wind beats against it and the cold seems to press in.  So I've spent many hours on my bike brainstorming how to add a layer just where I need it and not where I don't. Because I'm not cold on my arms, or my back, and another entire layer is just going to make me sweat - especially in the pits.

My solution? The Wooly Apron!  I took a merino wool sweater from the clearance rack at Target, cut off the sleeves, and turned it into an apron, which I wear just under my top layer.  Both the front and the back of the sweater became two layers of warm wool on  my chest. It's amazing and I don't go anywhere without out it. If I don't have it on, I have it in my bag.

And it was easy.  

Step one: Cut off the sleeves

Step 2: Cut a horizontal line across the backStep 3: stitch the front and back together where the sleeves were removed and put a few hand stitches across the top of the horizontal cut

Step 4: Ride warm and happy!

The Mental Ride

May 10, 2014 - Fulton Gran Fondo!

Me 30-miles into the ride - gorgeous day!

Amanda and Mike were my riding buddies!

Yesterday's Fulton Gran Fondo was supposed to be an easy 100-mile warm-up for next Saturday's Almanzo 100. It started off fine. The sun was out. I was riding pretty easy. Not pushing it too much. But 45 miles in, my legs started getting tired. It's one of those feelings you try to ignore because you know you still have a long way to go.  Then sometime after the midway point, we took a right turn into a stiff headwind, which wasn't that bad, except we were still 50 miles from home. 

With every turn of the crank, I began to wonder how long my legs would last. I look at my speedometer and divide 50 by my meager pace. Ugh. But sometimes biking is like that. It's just hard work and you have to keep on pedaling. I was taking all those feelings and imagining how it was going to be next weekend on gravel roads. My mental "game" was shot. I was still pedaling, but I was defeated. 

We stopped at a Holiday Station and refueled a bit. I decided I better pull out all the punches and try Peter Akimoto's secret weapon.  As we took off, my legs were still tired and now my stomach was a little uneasy. So the mental gymnastics continued as I tried to convince myself I was going to make it.

To be honest, I don't know when I started feeling better. When my mind says I'm feeling bad, I just believe it. Because I know it is right. At least it was right earlier, so why question it now?  But then something happens. You hit a hill, and without thinking, you attack it. Whoa, where did that come from? I think I'm feeling better. And I straighten my mind out. I give myself a talking to. "OK, stop it with all the poor me crap. I'm fine. We're doing this thing."

My legs were great for awhile, but they didn't last. The legs had been wanting to cramp up, and eventually my right leg did with about 5 miles to go. But I was able to shake it out and keep going - even pedaled with one leg for a few strokes while my right leg was incapacitated.  My straightened out head, however, did last. It never slipped back into victim mode. I felt like I had a good positive attitude the rest of the way in.

I think this head thing hits us in all walks of life. We have a bad (or maybe a good) experience and we latch onto it. Our head takes that experience and decides what is truth. All supporting evidence is logged to support that truth. We rationalize ways to ignore evidence to the contrary. It takes a significant experience to shake up our head and re-evaluate what we've been believing. 

I know I've done that a lot lately - re-evaluated my thinking on various topics. When my experience contradicts my beliefs, it's time to revisit those beliefs.  While it's true that any given experience is not always trustworthy, over time my experience should support my beliefs. If I am not willing to revisit something I believe, in spite of my experience to the contrary, then my beliefs cease to be genuine. 

If you want more specific examples, you'll have to let me buy you a cup of coffee or a beer. Or I could let you buy me one.

30 Days of Biking - 2014

I've done 30 Days of Biking for 3 years now, and I look forward to it every April.  This was the first year I tried to post photos of my daily adventures.

I love 30 Days of Biking.

I love that it changes my way of thinking. Slowly, either/or questions like "Should I do [fill in the blank] or ride my bike?"  get transformed into "I need to do [fill in the blank], I wonder if I can ride my bike?".  By committing to ride every day, biking becomes a way to get somewhere rather than an activity to do. As a suburbanite, I think this change comes more slowly than if I lived in the city, but it still comes - at least a little. And I like it.

I love that it comes in April. One of the most common questions I get is "Why April?".  And then the questioner gets even more agitated when they find out this all started in Minneapolis - so we have no one to blame but ourselves.  While it's true that April hasn't been the most stellar of months lately, it is still the month where we see the most dramatic changes in the season.  I love seeing the landscape change from brown to green from the seat of my bicycle. And learning to ride in inclement weather is a good thing. It challenges the mindset that we can only bike on sunny days. And once we get over that hurdle, we discover there is joy to be found on a bike, even on "those" days.

I love the community that 30 Days of Biking creates. It's not just for hard core bikers - it's for everyone. Several bike shops promotes group rides during the month, so it's easy to meet new people.

I love the commitment "ride your bike every day", even if it's only around the block. Was I successful? No. I missed a day. And I could be bummed about that. But that would miss the point entirely. The point is not to have a difficult accomplishment to point to and say "See how great I am - I did it". The point is to challenge the way we think about biking. The commitment is what helps us challenge our thinking.  So I embrace the commitment. And if I miss a day, I don't dwell on it. I wake up the next morning with the commitment still intact.

Looking forward to celebrating another year of 30 Days of Biking at the Finale Dance Party!

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!