By: Raison de Velo Wednesday August 11, 2010

Back in the early aughts, Subaru had a clever commercial for one of their cars. The scene was a family of four eating at the dinner table. The young son was using his fork to power a green bean around his plate. He made rally car sounds. After a few seconds the father says something to the effect of: “Billy! How many times do I have to tell you? Accelerate at the apex and through the turn.” The boy paused, slightly startled, and replied: “I was.” “Oh,” father says. And they went back to eating. I thought of this commercial while descending one of the two best descents in Portland. We were able to cruise the first mile or so but then came upon a Subaru Forester operated by an unskilled and/or unworthy driver. Clearly this driver never received any advice at the dinner table. Il Falco I’ll never be, but I had to ride the brakes the rest of the descent, the good part, to keep from landing in the back of this car.

I don’t live for the descent, as many cyclists do. I enjoy descending and believe it is just rewards for summit efforts but I have yet to break through the ‘what if’ barrier and truly let it free on most descents. I’ve lost more races than I care to remember because of timid descending. Last week I did a long ride with a group that included a longtime professional snowboarder. Every descent we approached he attacked with such control that my being dropped seemed an appropriate and foregone conclusion. Even on roads he’d never ridden, which most were, he chose the right lines with the right speed. I wonder if a more confident mindset, a disregard for consequence or a finely honed feel for balance relative to speed allows for such impressive performances. Likely, it is some combination thereof. If you are lacking in one component, which I am, perhaps more than one, than impressive descending will be a struggle. That is not to say that they are not fun and exciting. By no means do they ever get old.

The Giro always seems to produce race winning or saving descents. In 2005 with Savodelli won with Discovery Channel, Simoni was a couple minutes up the road and in the virtual maglia rosa by the top of the climb. Il Falco seemingly remained calm through the climb only to put on a show that should have made Phil Ligget coin a new catch phrase. Savodelli brought back most of Simoni’s advantage in under ten kilometers of descent, enough to retain the jersey and take the overall. This year in the Giro David Arroyo put on a similar performance in an effort to bridge to Basso and Nibali. Dropped on the Mortirolo (or was it the Gavia?) climb, Arroyo crested several minutes behind Basso and a couple minutes behind Sastre, Evans and Vino. About half way down he caught Sastre with such speed that Sastre was startled when he was passed. Shortly after he put it all on the line and caught Evans and Vino. The conditions were treacherous at best: cold rain, insanely twisty, limited visibility. The moto cameras had trouble staying with him as most of the shots were from the helicopters. Arroyo couldn’t catch Basso and lost the jersey but that descent will live in memory. He was truly the best on the road.

The dynamics of descending are highly complex. In a group, solo, open road or not, atmospherics all play critical roles. The entertainment factor is higher for descending; the likelihood of catastrophe greater, the visual appeal of 180 riders strung out through a series of switchbacks, the immediately noticeable difference in skill. And just like there is always someone who can go uphill that much faster, so too will someone make it to the bottom.

By: Raison de Velo Tuesday July 20, 2010

Some terrible things have been going on around the Tour de France this year. The most spectacularly horrific and godawful has little or nothing to do with Armstrong and Evans falling over a lot, or the strange blood that must be coursing through Vino’s veins, or the teams or the race itself. At least not directly. The most vile of vituperation emanating from the wake of the Tour is the nut filled turd known as VeloCenter. This preview and recap “show” on velonews.com is at minimum the most insulting attempt at race analysis ever broadcast. To watch even one segment is to quickly de-evolve from a once content and excited state of post racing glee to a mush brained Fox Sports style feeling of emptiness and lethargy. Levels of incompetence far beyond what was ever thought possible are reached with great frequency throughout the several minute broadcast. This swill makes the talking head they put next to Phil, Paul and Bob Roll on Versus seem like a seasoned cycling journalist. View at your own dismay. Velonews.com and VeloCenter truly reach for the lowest common Nascar denominator.

Another terrible thing that results from the Tour isn’t really terrible at all. It’s better than in the fall when a similar instance occurs when “cyclocross season” begins. All conversation, regardless of initial topic, finds its way to the Tour and, very likely, Mr. Armstrong. Personally, I thoroughly enjoy talking about professional racing and would gladly participate in such conversations all year long. In fact I do. The down side is when a conversation takes too long to stray from the original topic to the Tour. Dull, forgettable talks about work or social things too often take increased energy to force the digression. Please allow me to change the subject so we can talk about the Tour. That’s what I will people to understand, sometimes to no avail. On the other side of this conversational coin is the chatter on bike rides. Instead of potential long pauses between topics, nary a moment passes without race discussion even under the heavy duress of a significant climb.

At one point during a ride last week, my two riding companions and I were discussing whether another reigning world champion had worn all three grand tour leader’s jerseys without an overall win. We couldn’t think of any but we never checked, either. Anyway, during the discussion, which was immediately following the second nastiest headwind stretch I’d ever ridden, we pedaled over several short, punchy rollers. These were the kind of roller that are usually momentum climbs not requiring more than a shift or two to crest. But the wind and length had other ideas for us. The rollers kept attacking us; lurking around each bend like terrorists hating our freewheeldom. Though our exit strategy was firmly in place, the time and distance it took to achieve the goal was notably greater than the ride guide had foretold. It seemed as though a 15km section of crosswind rollers was left out of the description between the 20km of viscious headwind and 10km of blissful, serpentine descent. But this was of no great consequence, for we had the Tour to discuss and emulate through every pedal stroke.

By: Raison de Velo Tuesday June 29, 2010

Maybe a half mile but could have been a full mile. When riding up a new dirt road distance becomes less a form of measurement and more an increment of enjoyment. We’d passed the road several dozen times as it is on a heavily used route. At first I rode by it because, as usual, the dead end signed deterred me. But I turned around and approached the hill with excitement. The climb isn’t hard. The forest around the road is over grown enough that mystery awaits around every bend. If the road turns into what I hope, it will be a fantastic new way to get from one side of the ridge to the other. The enthusiasm brimmed as more turns appeared. I reached what looked like a false top, a subtle leveling, that curved to the north. I followed the curve and met a gate with a sign that warned me about electronic gates having the ability to cause serious injury and (not or) death, one likely preceding the other. It wasn’t the usual gate that you portage after dismounting the bike or simply ride around. It was installed by a land owner to keep others out. It worked. I turned around a descended to the main road. On the way down was when the brain kicked in.

I had just read a certain book and had seen numerous episodes of suspenseful television that caused me to think about and question what might be around the corners as I descended. I was certain a man would be standing in the middle of the road in the back woods ready position (stable stance, rifle in hands crossing the front of his chest. Hat on.) He would have seen and heard me riding up, perhaps as the first to ride up his hill, and he’d want to address the matter. I wondered if I would just move over to one side and ride right by without any words exchanged or if he would have the ability to take up the whole road by his sheer presence. What would I say if I did stop? Naturally, the first thing that popped in my head was Ray Stantz speech to Gozer in Ghostbusters: “Gozer the Gozerian. As a duly designated representative of the state, county and city of New York I hear by as you to cease any and all paranormal activity and return forthwith to your place of origin or nearest convenient parallel dimension.” I’d probably change the New York part but I think the Gozerian reference is critical when dealing with potentially hostile semi-back woods people. By the time I recited the speech in my head I was at the bottom of the dirt climb and had turned onto the main road. No man in the road. No need for alarm.

A few more ideas wondered through my mind. Should I surprise my man Ryan Weaver with premier tickets to the new Twillight movie “Eclipse?” Publicly we’d laugh at the gesture but quietly we’d be beyond excited. Almost as excited as Bicycling Magazine gets whenever it has a chance to use Lance Armstrong in an article. “Learn from Lance” etc. etc. The smartest thing he could have done was copyright his name. Maybe he did and receives royalties for each use. He seems like a smart guy. Speaking of smart people, I thought to myself, what about those that lump Ghostbusters and Ghostbusters 2 as the same movie? My response would be, obviously, that those who are devoted to and appreciative of Ghostbusters generally don’t recognize Ghostbusters 2 as ever happening. One could liken it to the 2006 Tour de France. Nobody really believes that Oscar Pereiro won that race. Floyd Landis won, despite the “cheating.” Never was there a less deserving winner than Pereiro. Similarly, never was there a less deserving loser than Michael Rasmussen in 2007. Physically detestable as he might look without a shirt on, he did offer lively competition and bravery. Then I thought about how I might put all these things together for a fun story but I couldn’t figure that part out.

By: Raison de Velo Tuesday June 15, 2010

I could write it in the style of several chroniclers, this story I have. It’d be autobiographical, exciting, visual with a reasonably happy ending. The easiest style would be a la Parkin using a straightforward, somewhat predictable style leading from point A to point B. Minimally descriptive though repetitive in colloquial adjective use, his style has the potential for creating tension but usually, whether due to an inadequate story or lack of writing skill, the climb to the climax leaves one wanting. It makes for quick reading; easily identifiable in tone and subject. It might read like this:

“I’d been leading the race for at least the last 40 kilometers. I was wearing the yellow leader’s jersey and carried a slim time advantage over 2nd and 3rd place. At about 40k to go 3rd place leapt off the front followed quickly by 5th place and two others. Racing without team mates, I knew then my job was to bring them back without emptying the gas tank. I needed to keep the pace high enough to discourage other attacks but not ruin my chances in the finale. I soldiered on at tempo until 3rd place finally came into view. The others in his group kept looking back and I knew the catch would be made shortly so I eased off slightly. With 20k to go we were all together. I was still on the front. If I slowed too much the assaults would come quickly. I could feel 2nd place plotting his move. He shot up the left side violently. I swore loudly and darted across with 30 people in tow. Another rider rolled in front of me and blocked the wind for a few moments. I thanked him. Years of riding at the front of category 3 races did not prepare me for this. 2nd place went again but the guy in front of me mercifully pulled him back. All together again I went to the front on the steeper part of the long climb to set tempo and hopefully shed a few also-rans. At 5k to go we were a lead group of 8 or 9 and I was still making pace. We rounded the bend leading to the final climb, 2 plus miles at 8% gradient. I upped the pace a bit hoping to keep everyone at bay but knowing my vision would soon begin to blur. At 1.5k to go 2nd place hit out again. I said aloud ‘now would be a good time’ knowing I wouldn’t have the reserves for a hard effort in response. He opened a gap of 20 meters and a couple others went with him. I kept him in sight, remained seated riding the only tempo I could. Finally, the 1k to go sign. He was still in sight and I had picked up three of the five who went with him, most them had popped like balloons. They whimpered as they tried to stay on my wheel. I make it to the finishing straight, the road finally leveling. I’m 300 meters from the finish and he is crossing the line. A few seconds later another crosses the line. In the final 50 meters I muster the goods to sneak around a would-be 3rd place finisher and take the 4 second time bonus for 3rd. I’d lost the yellow by 50 seconds.”

Or I could rely more on whimsy and indecipherable, if not mixed, metaphor like Bob Roll:

“My unexpected effort the day before laid waste to all comers in the time trial. Usually I feel like a bowling ball going uphill in time trials but by the grace of someone important in the netherworlds I came out swinging and strutted like a cool chicken. Who would have thought that I’d be wearing the most important of colored jerseys in such a race? I kept my rage in check and avoided an angry group wanting a nature break with riders up the road, crashing pre-teens in the very uncool warp-speed feed zone and a furnace of heat not yet welcome after the months of monotonous monsoon that has been our meteorology. Heavy was the crown as those philistines kept trying rip the legs from the dragon. In the end, they finally took me down in my nearly unsuccessful attempt at keeping from blowing chunks sky high all over Mt. Hood. But I was still dipped because 2nd place overall is pretty peachy for a guy who never should have been the leader in the first place.”

I toyed with the idea of mimicking Graeme Fife, a superlative writer with a deep passion and devotion to the sport and the idea of the Beautiful Machine. His style is thick, intensely historical and referential and descriptive to the point that when one discusses his writing one feels a close kinship:

“The race of truth travelled the span of the historic highway used directly by Lewis and Clark during their monumental exploration to the West. Flanked on my south side by the mighty yet dormant volcano Mt. Hood, often conjectured that the “hood” of clouds that frequently vail its peak is the mountains true etymology, and to my north the powerful Columbia river, this day alive with the sea-like white cap waves inspiring its reverence by water loving outdoor recreationists. Their glorious wind was my mortal enemy this day. The lung-searing tempo of the climbs was a welcome relief from the headwind that seemingly deflated my tires and filled my shoes with cement. The kind of argument in resistance usually reserved for feeble acts of diplomacy in warring nations rather than reducing the average speed of a waif-like bicycle rider. Finally reaching the car-free stretch of splendid tarmac, I powered up the climb to the Mosier Tunnels. Used now only for pedestrians and cyclists, the tunnels offer a more direct if not terrifyingly technical passage to the finish line. The wind blasted through the portals, pushing bike and rider side to side through corridor made even darker by sunglasses.”

In the end though, I guess I should probably tell the story in my own style. Whatever that may be.

By: Raison de Velo Tuesday June 1, 2010

If given the wit and wherewithall (read: level of desperation), I’d start an Internet Weblog called UrbaneVelo. The content would focus on sophisticated (and perhaps sophist) cycling and conversational cycling. It would discuss in detail the guidelines for manifesting the talismans of sophisticated cycling.

Layout will include but will not be limited to the following: essays justifying riding style and etiquette, passive aggressive sound bites circularly defining said etiquette, a multi-part diatribe about which color ornamental shoe cover to wear during a 92 mile road race held in 95 degree heat, and made-up interviews. The interviews must be contrived because the likelihood of a well spoken advocate for sophisticated cycling participation actually existing is minimal. Besides, in true urbane, sophist-like ethos, hearing one’s own voice is better than hearing others. These interviews would heavily quote important thinkers and social icons usually without credit.

There will also be criticisms of certain cycling related causes. These will likely be the segments with the most substance and voice but will be infrequent enough that the essence will never have the fortitude to affect any change. An example of this criticism could include a call for reasoning behind holding a petroleum protest with the bicycle as the metaphorical center of the argument. Boycott petroleum, ride a bike. Ideally, show up to the boycott riding a brakeless fixed gear adorned with plastic spoke cards advertising the event, colored poly-ethylene pedals attached to a $200 elsewhere built frame that travelled the span of several seas before landing in semi-truck for delivery to the other side of the country allowing you to drive to the retailer to pick it up and take it home, skidding your petroleum based rubber tires down the yellow brick road of uninformed, write on this wall activism.

The first piece will be a guest editorial detailing the iconoclastic yet talismanic virtues of Twitter and Twitterable devices on proper road rides. Important topics include when and how to use, the never-found but overwhelming desire for pith and the importance of the number 140. It will cover the colorful history of everything from amulets, trinkets and jewelry displayed by professional cyclists in critical moments to certain gestures and movements riders make that sometimes dubiously affect race outcome and level of sophistication. Armstrong’s and Sastre’s necklaces, Anquetil’s removal of his water bottle from cage to back pocket, the salute when crossing the finish line, winner or otherwise, even warming creams and ornamental shoe covers are all important factors leading to the addition of cellular technology and thus abbreviated conversational necessity. The guest editorial, whatever the content, gives the sense of accomplishment, prestige and duration to the site despite its obvious lack thereof.

The end goal is to report and purport the guidelines followed by the superficial manipulators of cycling rhetoric and dialect. And with a quick nod to Plato and Jonathan Swift I remind that this may be sarcasm.

By: Raison de Velo Tuesday May 18, 2010

I spend a considerable amount of time deciding which bike to ride. This is not a boastful statement about how many bikes I have or my unfettered cycling elitism but more a critical commentary on my need for acceptance. And with that in mind, I will extrapolate this need onto others, for I mustn’t be lonely in my shortcomings. Some people interact socially and seek acceptance at drinking establishments and venues for rhythmic ceremonial ritual while others update virtual status on social media platforms. Most do both. I choose to seek acceptance by the bike I select to ride and the way I ride it. Choosing the right bike for the ride is important for many reasons most notably the type of riding; road, off-road, cyclocross, transportation, time trial etc. For the sake of fewer arguments, we’ll narrow the scope to road and mountain bikes.

I try to avoid cliché situations and, in doing so, very likely become a cliché myself. Working in bicycle retail and seeing every facet of cycling enthusiasm, the cliches materialize frequently and thoroughly. Bike Snob did a wonderful write up about the major cycling cliches in one of his earliest posts: The tri-geek, the “roadie,” the frog man, etc. (See how I sought acceptance there by asserting my knowledge of cycling culture? That was like picking the rigid single speed 26” MTB for the 5 hour prodigious single track ride. Very classy.)

The reason I spend notable time on choosing which bike to ride has little to do with terrain. That part is determined during the initial ride conversation. Time is unnecessarily swallowed by the internal style argument. What bikes will work best given the crowd I will be riding with or crowd I may inadvertently pass while riding. For example, if I decide to participate in a competitive cycling event like, say, a road race with a couple thousand feet of climbing per each 17 mile lap, I’d be expected to choose, and rightfully so, the ultralight carbon bike with carbon wheels. Lighter is faster, better and more efficient on hilly rides. The paradigm says I’d work less hard. But that choice would be a cliché, would it not? If only for the simple reason that that decision is popular, highly repetitive and self justified, then, yes it is a cliché. That is not to say that the choice is unjustified. That selection may very well be the best choice for the situation. But, given my need for acceptance via different channels I choose the custom built titanium and carbon bike with traditional geometry, round tubes and brand name most riders associate with professionals that have letters after their names. (For good measure I did choose wheels with carbon rims.) The rationale thus becomes: if I can outride even a few of the competitors (especially uphill) with lighter, faster bikes while riding a 19 pound unmarketed bike then my quest for acceptance is on the right track. Does this prove that the paradigm is fairy tale? That it truly isn’t about the bike? Absolutely not. If it weren’t about the bike than I would never find acceptance. Whatever “it” is.

Certainly there are rules involved in bike selections. In this region, for instance, the weather determines the bike choice almost as much as social acceptance. If meeting for a group ride, road or off road, and it is raining or the chance of rain is greater than 30%, a fendered bike must be ridden. This rule is a courtesy to others in the ride as well as a display of integrity and respect for equipment and self. Even if the group ride lends itself to becoming a friendly race, this rule need be obeyed. Once obeyed, the questions arise: does this ride require simply a bike with appropriate fenders or a bike with painted to match fenders? What will others be riding? If others show up on light weight bikes with clip on fenders does the juxtaposition with a 29 pound steel bike with matching alloy fenders and 28mm tires afford the necessary irony and thus acceptance? Probably.

If nothing else this social pathology will become the zeitgeist. For me it is the well charted treasure map to many a fruitless fortune.

By: Raison de Velo Monday May 3, 2010

Acherli Pass outside of Lucern, Switzerland is not a famous climb. It’s never been featured in any race of note and probably isn’t on many lists of climbs to conquer. But it should be. This pass has the ingredients of sadistic cycling showdown, to mix the metaphor. The terrain, gradient, road condition and weather all play significant roles in its difficulty not to be out done by other factors of nature perhaps not considered.

In 2005, three of us, Ross, Amy and I, went on a ride from Lucern, Switzerland , where we were vacationing. Ross had ridden the pass the previous year and was desperate to show us this climb. It was about 35km from our hostel to the base. We rode out of Lucern along the lake and past the cliffs of Burgenstock. As we head south to the eastbound pass we can see the summit looming. It was mid September, partly to mostly cloudy with temperatures in the 60’s. No wind to speak of.

To put the ride in a little context, Ross was in Lucern for the Lucern Music Festival. Amy and I came over to visit, be tourists and ride in Switzerland. Ross had been there the previous year and knew plenty of great rides leaving from town. The day we set out for Acherli Pass he had a performance he needed to attend in the early evening. The total ride distance is almost 55 miles.

We turned east onto the Pass and the climb started immediately. The first 3km cross between the pastures of two very old farms. Cows saunter with massive bells strapped to their necks. The scene is bucolic Swiss propaganda. Picture Switzerland outside of a city in late summer. It looks exactly like that but the grass and trees are greener, the houses are older and more authentic, and the cows are bigger; their bells deafening. The road climbs straight for about a kilometer then switches back sharply and heads the other direction for the same distance. It does this one more time before we enter the forest. These first kilometers have a 7% average gradient.

Once in the forest the pitch levels briefly but never really lets up. The views to the south grow more climactic the higher we climb. From time to time when we’d exit the forest we could see the summit lightly shrouded with wispy clouds. After about 5km, the climbing truly begins and does not cease until descending the other side. Long switchbacks make up the entire climb with a few short and very steep twists thrown in for good measure. We stopped to fill bottles at a spring. We’d been climbing for only 6km. The road surface is unpainted, one lane and surprisingly smooth, except the one short section of gravel. After 8km we exit the trees and enter yet another pasture, this one more heavily occupied with bell clad bovine. A number of old porcelain bath tubs lined the road at one point. This seemed an odd juxtaposition against the backdrop. We realized their purpose a turn later when roughly a dozen cows trotting down the pass greeted us in the middle of the road. We dismounted and stood still as the passed. Their size daunting to say the least and the ringing of their bells vociferous. On the left side of the road was an obviously electrified fence. In a moment of slight panic, Amy stepped off the road and under the electric fence, bike in hand, so as not to disturb the cows’ passing. Ross and I stood in the road motionless as these Fiat sized animals passed clanging their tuneless melody. When they all finally passed we watched for for a few moments. They stopped a couple hundred feet later at the bath tubs to drink.

We finished the remaining 2km and began the glorious descent to Dallenwil. More generous with its switchbacks, the far side of the pass begins casual and quickly becomes a zigzagging roller coaster complete with cattle guard at every turn. About 2km down we are stopped by a largely built woman herding her cattle up the road. She exclaims to us in heavily dialectic Swiss-German that (we learn later) the road is closed ahead by a landslide and that we must go back up and over the other side. That was out of the question. We were in no mood to climb and to descend the same side we climbed would likely destroy what brake pads we had remaining. So we pondered briefly. The woman pointed with her horsewhip (cow whip?) to a building about 300 meters up the road saying something indiscernible. The building was the top landing of an ancient gondola. The towers and cables now becoming visible, we pedaled the short stretch back up the hill and went into the gondola building. Clearly, this gondola was the first gondola in history. Nothing about the structure looked modern or even renovated in the last 70 years. We looked for an attendant or another person to see if we could use the gondola but saw only an older man boarding one of the cars with a grocery bag. We noticed that he turned a crank inside the car and spoke into a microphone, likely alerting someone that he was ready to come down. Another gondola car came around and we piled in. It was far too small to fit the three of us and bikes so we hung my bike (that I purchased two days befoe leaving for Switzerland) and Ross’ bike to two metal arms protruding out the back of the car, much like a trunk mounted bike rack, but scarier. Amy’s bike we crammed inside with us. Ross cranked the phone and said “drei personnes and drei velo. (three people and three bikes)” Someone down below responded. We closed the door and waited. We jolted into motion and down we went, two bikes hanging perilously outside. Another sign of the gondola’s age was the distance between the towers. At any ski resort at least two towers would fit between each span. We swung low in between each tower, soon hovering over the massive landslide the destroyed the road. As the car rolled over the pulleys at the towers our hanging bikes bounced around. We could finally see the bottom station and started to feel some relief. The sign said Dallenwil so at least we were to land in the right town.

The gondola car came to a stop at the bottom and we exited. I unloaded the bikes from their “rack” and we headed to the ticket booth. The attendant said something quickly in Swiss-German. At our pause she looked up and at us. “Three Swiss francs each.” Ross was about to pay when he spotted a refrigerator. “And three Good Humour bars, please,” he said. We paid, at our ice cream and headed for the main road. We had an hour and a half to make it back to Lucern for Ross’ performance. Amped up on the most outrageous ascent and descent we could have possibly imagined, we time trialled back with time to spare.

Ascending Acherli Pass is 10km long with an average gradient of 9.9%. The descent is slightly longer and only 9%. Unless you do it in a gondola… Sadly, between the three of us we only had one broken camera. The included photo is from the previous year.

By: Raison de Velo Monday April 19, 2010

Cats would likely be the best bike racers of all the animal kingdom. Sure other animals have greater strength, perhaps greater speed, better power output, better listening and responding skills and better physiology for riding a bicycle, but house cats would still dominate road bike racing both domestically and internationally. Whe I say cats I mean I mean domesticated cats: little kitties, kitty cats, house cats, pets, not the big cats like pumas or silver panthers. The obvious attributes for kitten racers are agility, timing, incredible balance and sense of position mid-air. Cats can pounce as well as any other animal, always a good indicator of acceleration and explosiveness. The feline endurance mentality is second to none, proving that the mind is strong and confident. Patience and an overwhelming distaste for losing round out the cat’s powerful capabilities in pro-peloton prowess.

When you think of what makes a great racer the aforementioned qualities are always listed. When studied in the context of the feline bike racer, the importance of patience, confidence and disdain for defeat become intensified. Imagine the kitten in training (looks fun, doesn’t it?). Energy levels are high and focused. When the session is finished recovery begins immediately; a few bites of kibble or fish smelling can-filler (maybe a little treat if the workout was particularly intense. A few licks of peanut butter or some “fully loaded” potato chip crumbs usually suffice), several dozen laps of water and a nap with legs up, out and sideways, eyes closed within seconds. Because of the kitten’s young muscles and high resting heart rate, they are able to workout and recover numerous times a day without fear of burnout or overtraining.

Cats rarely have to target endurance in the training as they are seemingly born with it. Most studies indicate that their mental fortitude outperforms their physical durancy. This makes for more productive training as it is always easier to tune the engine than overcome the mind. Often to keep their synapses firing efficiently the feline racer with cross train in creative venues, much like Team Saxo Bank’s famous survivalist training camps. As an example, a cat will assume the ready but unwilling position on a table next to the clock radio with a cable antenna. Seated in proper kitty posture (as seen in the photo) with both front paws next to each other in perfect symmetry and tail draped over top, the kitty begins the session. At first the feline will nonchalantly note its surroundings and then begin to test the properties of the cable antenna. Being roughly 24 inches of plastic coated wire, the antenna reacts differently than strings when provoked by the kitten’s paw. The outside front paw will reach over to the antenna and hopelessly try to scoop it up without the aid of opposable thumbs. The antenna usually slides through the tiny kitten digits but sometimes, especially when claws are available, the antenna is picked up and regarded at closer range. The kitten’s mind runs several levels of thought, recognizing the antenna’s foreign feel in the paw, its lack of odor and taste, and its rigid movement throughout. The kitten’s internal monologue obfuscates the unnecessary and thoroughly reasons with if-then statements. “If I pull the cable laterally then it moves as a whole and drags slowly across the table’s edge. If I pull at it three times in succession then the cable jostles more mellifluously. If I stare at it then it does not move.”

The beauty of feline racing preparation is in the fact that it will occur without obligatory provocation. The kitten is born with a deep passion for the beautiful machine and the beautiful sport. And while it takes its preparation and performance seriously, the cat will never dwell on its accomplishments or defeats. It will race proudly throughout the year, never focusing too intensely on a single event but always recognizing its strengths. Kittens prefer simple race machines and often turn an uninterested eye to modern technological advancements. The pure pleasure of preparation and performance is what makes the kitty the dominate animal in the cycling world.

By: Raison de Velo Tuesday April 6, 2010

The group ride is the second of two monuments in blissful cycling. The first is any ride that transcends the rider from the physical act of riding and the surroundings to an indescribable place of harmony. Terrain, climatic benevolence or interruption, equipment kindred or foe become actors in the grand scene of extended climax and denouement. This ride can begin with group or as a race but must be finished solo. This place is reserved solely for the solo ride. While neither intentional nor frequent, the harmonious monument is every rider’s raison d’etre (raison de velo, perhaps?); the star for which one reaches.

In the solo ride pedals turn over with meaning and purpose but without unrepentant effort. The duration, location and choice machine are not factors in finding this transcendental bliss but once found, these factors can heighten the sensations many times over. The cellist finally masters the phrasing of one of Bach’s Cello Concertos on an heirloom cello in a concert hall. Hairs stand up, focus determined.

The group ride is the second monument because by its nature it cannot reach the ontological standards of the solo ride. The interference of other riders or, rather, more gently, the presence of other riders eliminates the possibility of the transcendental moment. If for no other reason than one must pay attention and a certain amount of credence to their presence. The ambitions of the other riders in the group, and of yourself relative to the other riders, make the Walden Pond moments impossible. This by no means lessens the importance and value of the group ride. For if the transcendental solo ride is few and far between, the kinship and progression involved in every group ride provides its own gratification.

This year’s Tour of Flanders is a prime example of the group ride leading to a solo ride leading to a transcendental moment. Nearly 200 riders began the group ride in Brugge (like the movie!), Belgium. After an appropriate amount of flogging, a large number of entrants remained in a different group ride. Later, the group ride happening up the road slowly dwindled in number until it was about 8 and then, not willing to dwell gregariously, just two. Perhaps sensing the edge of Walden Pond, Boonen and Cancellara set off on their own with a race acumen that dwarfed the incredible ability of every other rider. Boonen, the homeland hero, did not have the cause for, nor the inclination to, surreptitiously provoke Cancellara even one kilometer before the the finish line. And Cancellara, Spartacus, neither instigated nor asked for folly on the part of Boonen to pave his path up the pave’ on the Muur du Gramont. Cancellara, atavistically summoning the namesake of his moniker proceeded with the fury of little thing called cadence. (get it? (And did you notice that I used all three words that start with “dw” in that paragraph?)) Once Cancellara left Boonen he quickly found the shores of Walden Pond and began to dip his toes in the water. With but five kilometers left to ride he was fully immersed in the Pond soaking in its pleasures and omnipotence. Crossing the line first becomes the warm towel after emerging from the Pond; a new found sense of being is clearly evident.

The quest for transcendental satisfaction in riding is known throughout. By its definition it is found without forethought and often unnoticed until the ride is an afterthought. This is the true beauty of the ride; a purpose that exists regardless of knowledge, ability and intent.

By: Raison de Velo Monday March 22, 2010

True or not, Albert Einstein has been quoted as saying “I thought of it while riding my bicycle” when referring to his landmark paper on Special Relativity. It certainly makes sense that he would think of such trivial matters while cycling, especially when the essential postulate of the theory is that the speed of light is the same for all observers regardless of their state of motion (noodling, climbing, sprinting, posing with an espresso). But rather than delve into things that are relatively incomprehensible, it’s best to discuss a different kind of special relativity: perception and its effect on performance.

One of the best examples of this special relativity is the legend of Jacques Anquetil’s climbing habit. Before every climb of significance, Anquetil would remove the water bottle from its holder on his bike and put it in his jersey pocket. The mass of the bidon and its contents remained on the moving object (rider and bike), the overall weight of that which is being propelled had not changed. Tim Krabbe surmises in The Rider: “A rider, said Anquetil, is made up if two parts, a person and a bike. The bike, of course, is the instrument the person uses to go faster, but its weight also slows him down. That really counts when the going gets tough, and in climbing the thing is to make sure the bike is as light as possible. A good way to do that is take the bidon out of its holder.” His perception of the weight of the instrument affects his climbing performance. Does the fact the weight that was once on the instrument and now on the person physically change the actual performance of the person on the instrument? Perception is relative. And reality.

But what about non-competitive group rides? What’s the special relativity relationship there? Naturally, the answer is in the conversations on the ride, both aloud and in the mind. Take for example, a 4 hour ride with 2-5 regular riding partners. About three hours in is a 15 minute climb with no traffic and a grade sufficient to maintain conversation (which, of course, is relative to the pace…) Somehow, one riding partner spits out a brief, sound bite quote from Ghostbusters. It’s Ego’s question to Vinz Clortho “what sign are you looking for?” One could, and probably should, applaud the partner for quoting one of the two finest movies ever produced and laugh about it. But what if another riding partner finished the entire quote?

He’d say, in Egon’s voice: “Vinz, you said before you were waiting for a sign. What sign are you waiting for?” In Vinz’ voice: “Gozer the Traveler. He will come in one of the pre-chosen forms. During the rectification of the Vuldrini, the traveler came as a large and moving Torg! Then, during the third reconciliation of the last of the McKetrick supplicants, they chose a new form for him: that of a giant Slor! Many Shuvs and Zuuls knew what it was to be roasted in the depths of the Slor that day, I can tell you!”

The effect of the lengthy movie quote is at least two fold, usually positive but sometimes counteractive. First, lengthy recitation, akin to reading dialog in a book, shortens the duration of labor. When a reader reads a long segment of dialog the pages fly by relatively quicker than when reading important backstory or description. Likewise, listening to a riding partner recite dialog hastens the relative time of physical exertion. The listener (observer) wonders if the quoter will accurately depict the characters’ voices, recount the correct words in the correct order and, in most cases, wonder how long the quote will go. This version of special relativity applies to frames of reference and the inertia there of. Speed of light aside, the state of motion of the observers to the lengthy recitation may remain constant but relative to the duration of the climb, the state of motion seems accelerated due to the change of state of reference from the duration itself to the recitation. Perfectly clear. Second, longer quotes affect the state of motion based on the diction and intensity of the quote. Similar to riding with music, the flow of the words can positively or adversely affect one’s cadence and tempo. (Someday I’d like to do a test riding a local 16 mile climb first without music going full gas and then with music a bloc.) Negative connotations of lengthy quotes come more frequently from poor quote selection. If a riding partner were to quote, say, The Edge, with Alec Baldwin, it would likely be a poor quote selection. “What one man can do another man can do.” Really? Not just poor quote selection but bad writing. What would Sam Seaborn say?

Surely Einstein isn’t the only famous thinker to thank cycling for being a muse. And perhaps, like Anquetil removing his bottle, once Einstein removed the heavy idea of Special Relativity from his mind (the instrument), he (the person) could perform more efficiently and effectively. He rode his bike to work frequently when he worked at the patent office. And like Dr. Venkman said “Einstein did his best stuff when he was working as a patent clerk.”