Back in the spring of 2004, a couple friends and I went to Sedona for the year’s first mountain bike trip. The day before we left I picked up my first ever set of hand built wheels—Chris King hubs coupled to Mavic 819 hoops.
At the time, one of my friends on the trip was expecting a kid. That kid, who he and his wife named Maggie when she was born, is now a fabulous ten-year-old. I only bring this up because she reminds me that my King hubs have been completely trouble-free over the entire course of her life.
The hubs spent their first four years on my only mountain bike—a steel hardtail that saw a lot of miles during a glorious period of under-employment, abundant ride time and poverty. When I upgraded to full suspension, the hubs stayed on the hardtail in single speed service. Finally, I purchased the King disk adapter for the rear hub and had it laced up for 29 single speed work. I thought about servicing it at that point, but it spun so smooth I didn’t really see the point.
Over this same period of time, I’ve retired one front hub and two rears on other bikes. I’ve been on multiple rides where rear hub failure sent guys coasting and walking back to the trailhead. Friends have shipped $1,000 wheelsets back to the factory with design issues, and I’ve sat at my local bike shop inspecting destroyed hubs from both big and boutique manufactures. Through all that, the basic design of the Chris King hub has not changed, which is almost unheard of in the mountain bike world.
Now entering its second decade of service, the rear hub is finally getting draggy—the bearings are a bit dry—and I finally gave it some long overdue servicing (Chris King recommends service at lease 1x per year). The front hub, however, is still cheerfully wearing out tires on my commuter bike. I don’t know what more I could expect from a piece of hardware that takes so much abuse.
If you’re out riding and there’s something that bugs you when you pedal or hurts when you’re done, that’s a sign that you need to get your bike fit. Photo: Jim Merithew/Element.ly
When I’m out riding I often notice other people on bikes who look awkward and uncomfortable because they don’t have the proper bike fit. Remember, fit is about more than saddle height. There are a number of other aspects that are just as important.
For example, a good fitter will want to know about how and what you ride and will aim to get you in the right position to match your style. Saddle height is indeed important, but there’s also the fore and aft position of the saddle, the alignment of your cleats on the shoes, different lengths of stems and different types of bars that will give you the most efficient and comfortable ride, etc.
Here in the Bay Area, fit is extra important because we have a wide variety of terrain and you need to be comfortable when something new is thrown at you. At the shop we’ve come up with a Bay Area position that we can tweak according to your needs.
I understand that paying for a fit feels like an extra cost, but it’s the best investment you can make after your bike. Most shops will offer some sort of “fit” with the purchase but this usually just involves a quickk saddle adjustment. At my shop we work with the customer to get them the right bike and offer a full fit with the purchase. That’s how much I believe in the need for proper position.
Next time you’re out riding and there’s something that bugs you when you pedal or hurts when you’re done, that’s a sign that you need a fit. Get it done. You’ll thank me.
We’re not the first to discover this, but the excellent Rapha Pro Team Jacket doubles nicely as a wine carrier. You can schlep three bottles with ease, and the pockets snap back into shape perfectly once their cargo is removed. Plus, you’ll impress friends and strangers.
A passing college student declared this jacket to be “rad,” and wanted to know where he could buy one. Obligatory note of caution: A friend of a friend attempted a wheelie while doing this and it ended poorly. Save your Peter Sagan imitation for later.
Sometimes you have to remind yourself how small we really are.
Early morning packing includes boots, food, two gallons of water, spare camera battery, 28mm lens, 50mm lens, and gloves for the cables.
We started the day a little late, but hoped to make up some time.
A welcome or a warning?
Cheaters.
The last 400 ft to the top. We are some of the last people of the day and the north face is already in shade.
The cables are my favorite part of the day.
Two miles to the summit and we are starting to significantly slow down. Knowing that we are close just makes it that much harder.
We got to the top a little later than planned. Just enough time to take a short rest and sketch the view.
We came all this way for the ubiquitous selfie kiss.
Our reward at the top: dark chocolate and a nutella fun pack. Life aint too bad.
Looking out over the valley.
The sun peaks out from behind a ridge from the top of Nevada Falls.
The one short, flat part at Little Yosemite Valley gives us a well needed break.
Yosemite has always held an important place in my heart. Every summer for as long as I can remember we took family vacations to the valley. There is a favorite photo of mine where I’m no more than two-years-old on my father’s back at Mirror Lake. In the photo he’s not much older than I am now.
Having lived in New York for the past few years my love for California has only strengthened, so when my wife and I were deciding on what we wanted to do for our honeymoon, I couldn’t think of a better experience then hiking Half Dome together. I was expecting some push back to be honest. Instead of spending our honeymoon on a beach, I was asking her to walk up and down a mountain for 12 hours. In the end she was game. Not ecstatic, but game.
We spent a couple months prepping for the trip with lots of cardio workouts and a few hikes in the Hudson Valley. Once we were in Yosemite, we discovered the first six miles to the summit were a breeze. But as we were approaching the top the heat and thin air took its toll and we starting having a hard time. I could see the end of the tree line and guessed the summit had to be just beyond. I was wrong. After every turn there just seemed to be more trees.
Finally we poked through, which gave us a much needed second wind. It was a little later than we had planned so the cables to the top were relatively uncrowded. As we peered up I promised Bernadette the cables weren’t as bad as they looked. “Trust me,” I said. “It’s not that steep.” We put on our gloves and started climbing.
Once we found our rhythm the cables went by quickly and finally, after six hours of hiking, we were on top.
We have a family story about my dad sitting in Curry Village after a long hike waxing poetic about the simple things in life over a pitcher of margaritas. At the time my brother and I laughed at our dad, the square, getting drunk in the woods. Now I see that my dad knew something I didn’t. Crappy pizza and strong margaritas with a loved one after concurring a mountain is about a good as life gets.
White Pine Touring guide Shaun Raskin-Deutschlander rides a wooden roller at the Trailside Bike Park in Park City, Utah.
White Pine Touring guide Shaun Raskin-Deutschlander leads the charge on some beautiful aspen-lined Park City, Utah singletrack.
White Pine Touring Director of Marketing Scott House weaves through the aspens in Park City, Utah.
“We’re number one.”
I’d been in Park City, Utah for less than an hour and Scott House, White Pine Touring guide and marketing director, was already proclaiming Park City’s trails to be the best.
House—and Park City tourism propaganda—touted a list of attractions that only served to ignite the cynical journalist in me. More than 400 miles of trails, lift-served riding at three resorts and the world’s first ever International Mountain Bicycling Association Gold Level Ride Center. Yeah, sure, sounds a little too perfect. Those 400 miles of trails? Probably just a bunch of sanitized, four-foot-wide, “multi-use” thoroughfares. And what the hell is a “Gold Level Ride Center” anyway? I couldn’t even find the designation on IMBA’s website without help from Google. Hmm…Moab is only four hours away. Maybe it’s not too late to find a rental car.
My mind began to change, though, as I dropped in on some six-inch-wide singletrack off an alpine ridge. Lost in the beautiful view, I clipped a pedal on the inside edge of the narrow hand-cut trail which snapped me back into focus for the ensuing wormhole of stellar singletrack. Buffed-out descents tempt you to skip braking entirely as you pump your way through whoopy rollers, slingshoting from one slightly bermed corner to the next. One descent, “Twist and Shout,” surprised me with switchbacks featuring butter-smooth straightaways funneling into tight corners packed with rooty drops. There’s nothing quite like hauling ass into a semi-blind corner before realizing there’s a mess of roots and a foot-and-half drop smack dab in the apex.
With climbs topping out over 10,000 feet, I was feeling the altitude, but most climbs ended well before tunnel vision set in. Vistas of the eastern slope of the Wasatch were the reward before sliding into yet another psychedelically-colored descent through the changing aspens.
One wonderfully gradual singletrack climb called “Team Big Bear” reminded me that Park City hosted NORBA and World Cup races beginning in the early 1990s. Turns out Park City has been at this trail building thing for a while. While there are certainly plenty of newer, machine-cut trails, there’s also plenty of raw, ’90s-style narrow singletrack that occasionally plummets down the fall-line in a very IMBA-unlike fashion. Despite this, the sheer volume of trails meant that braking bumps and blown-out corners, even in September, were rare.
On the other, flatter side of town sits Trailside Bike Park. Making maximum use of a 150-foot hill, Trailside offers options for every rider to test and progress their limits. I was instantly jealous. Why isn’t there something like this in my town? Littered with wooden features, drops, jumps, endless berms, and a dedicated return trail, Trailside offers a template for mountain bike advocates everywhere. This is how you take a modest hill and turn it into a tool for the riding community, giving everyone a place where they can gain the skills needed to ride any trail.
Built and maintained by the local public parks district, Trailside is an example of the holistic way Park City has approached mountain biking. In the midst of a string of shitty winters and with the specter of global warming looming, many ski resorts are looking to begin or expand summer operations. Mountain biking is a natural fit, and resorts across the West are cutting new trails. The difference in Park City is that the trail system is a sprawling network of trails across private and public land that just happens to span three different resorts. You’re welcome to ride the lift or not. You can ride right from town and earn your turns the hard way. Feeling lazy? Book a cheap shuttle to the top of 9000-ft. plus Guardsman Pass and choose your own adventure down. The 20-mile Mid Mountain trail stretches across the area allowing for dozens of different loops of varying difficulty. It’s the sheer variety and interconnectedness that makes the Park City trail system unique.
The next day found me donning a full face helmet for a day of lift-served downhill riding at Canyons resort. After a morning of lackluster laps on standard bike park fare, I followed local pro Eric Porter‘s wheel into a selection of his favorite trails. The grin spread across my face as we marched through dense trees, popping from one perfectly paced jump to the next. The grin faded and I broke out in a sweat as we dropped into the new advanced Double Down trail. Porter made it look easy, sailing over the massive drops and gaps. I tried to not shit my pants. Truly sphinctery trails in Park City? Check.
Park City won me over completely during my last day on the trails. We started down a rocky spine with the Wasatch panoramically spilling out in front of us before sliding into dense trees and drifty corners that steadily tightened as we raced down. We climbed past abandoned silver mines before slaloming through another beautiful grove of aspens—grips clipping bark as tires fought for traction. Spitting out right into downtown, we stopped by the local dirt jump jam. Groms sailed through the air with the nonchalance of a life spent on two wheels in the dirt. Younger siblings scooted past on push bikes as their moms chatted in the shade. Organizers tossed out swag like it was Halloween candy.
The former silver mining town is no stranger to big events, hosting the annual celebrity-packed Sundance Film Festival and a good chunk of the 2002 Winter Olympics, but it’s managed to maintain much of its small, mountain town feel. Local ordinances have kept mining-era shacks and buildings preserved right in downtown, except now they house spendy restaurants. The High West Distillery, which can be found in a 1907 house and livery stable, also claims to be the “world’s only ski-in/ski-out gastro distillery.” It’s luxury and high-end hedonism wrapped up in the trappings of the old west. Somehow, it just manages to avoid total kitschiness.
My preferred day on the trail is long, hard, adrenaline-soaked and miles from civilization, but lunch at the Silver Star Cafe made me rethink that a bit. Handfuls of energy bars usually get me through my typical rides. Not in Park City. Turns out, I hadn’t had to eat a bar all week and now I was eating great food just spitting distance from gorgeous singletrack. Initially disdainful of Utah’s 3.2 percent draft beers, I was now enjoying multiple pints of “adult Gatorade”—as one White Pine guide called it—without worrying about drunkenly tomahawking myself down the trail later.
Still, lunch rode a little heavy as I followed House’s wheel up a hot climb and promptly onto a chairlift at Park City Mountain Resort. I didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty drifting upward through the trees as my lunch digested in peace. I can’t remember whether I even pedaled once on the CMG descent back into town. I do remember not being able wipe the shit-eating grin off my face.
The northern Peruvian dessert is one of the most miserable stretches of the planet I have ever seen. Photo: Alex Washburn / Element.ly
Pineapple vendor on the side of the road in Mexico. These small pineapples created the most delicious juice we had ever tasted. Photo: Alex Washburn / Element.ly
This was our second day of riding on the Baja Peninsula - when our riding suits were still black! Photo: Alex Washburn / Element.ly
A woman carries marigolds traditionally used for Dia De Los Muertos decorations through the town of Xoxocotlan Mexico on October 31, 2013. Photo: Alex Washburn / Element.ly
Nathaniel floats in Cenote Samula in southern Mexico.
Nathaniel takes a last look at Ecuador as we prepare to ride the last bit of pavement into Peru. Photo: Alex Washburn / Element.ly
Riding the Bolivian Death Road was one of the motorcycle related highlights of the trip. It was not as scary as we had imagined although in 2006 one estimate stated that 200 to 300 travellers were killed yearly along the road.Photo: Alex Washburn / Element.ly
Protestors carry a faux coffin adorned with Peruvian President Ollanta Humala’s name, photos and a dead rat in the Plaza De Armas of Cusco, Peru before setting it on fire on Tuesday, Feb. 25, 2014. Thousands of gathered from various regions of Peru to protest corruption within the Peruvian government and prevented traffic from flowing through the city. Photo: Alex Washburn / Element.ly
Between La Plata and Popayan Colombia we found the Staleticia waterfall. We pulled over without discussing it and just stopped to appreciate it for a minute. Photo: Alex Washburn / Element.ly
An overall photo of the central portion of Otavalo Ecuador's Saturday market. It is particularly well known for textiles. Photo: Alex Washburn / Element.ly
A Brazilian girl dances for her boyfriend’s camera on the Salar de Uyuni. Tourists usually bring props to play with the strange perspective the salt flat creates so I found this especially ethereal. Photo: Alex Washburn / Element.ly
The Plaza Mayor in Valle De Leyva Colombia is one of the biggest plazas in the Americas. It’s a huge open cobblestone square with a small fountain in the middle and a handful of eateries on its edges. Photo: Alex Washburn / Element .ly
One of the motorcycle related highlights of our trip was riding off road with a collection of a dozen plus locals in Bogota Colombia. I managed to fall four times that day but both the bike and I held up. Photo: Alex Washburn / Element.ly
Somewhere along the 'coastal highway' in Belize. Ironically the road is neither coastal nor a highway. What is is is very muddy and beautiful. Photo: Alex Washburn / Element.ly
Arepas are a national staple in Colombia and the contents differ greatly depending on the region. However, the arepas con jamon y queso in Cartagena were our favorite. Photo: Alex Washburn / Element.ly
Yup. It's Machu Pichu. Alex Washburn / Element.ly
Casa Del Sombrero is a Cuencan (Ecuadorian) institution and sells some of the finest Panama hats in the world. Photo: Alex Washburn / Element.ly
After 60 miles of an awful dirt stretch of Ruta 40 Nathaniel was so thankful to reach pavement. Photo: Alex Washburn / Element.ly
I journeyed 15 hours round trip from San Jose Costa Rica to the sloth sanctuary of Costa Rica to pet the baby sloths. I ended up renting a car, destroying the clutch and battling a german GPS in the rain. Photo: Alex Washburn / Element.ly
This was the last river of a 4 stream, 3 river crossing day in Costa Rica. It was one of the roughest days of the entire trip and we were please Nathaniel's dad was there to witness it. Photo: David Chaney / Element.ly
Alejandro, the only mechanic of Tecka Argentina tells us about Yerba Mate as he putters about his shop fixing a hole in my bike's radiator. Alex Washburn / Element.ly
Nearing the end of our trip Nathaniel and I ran really short on gas crossing Tierra Del Fuego from Argentina to Chile and back again. Coincidentally we filled the tanks up in front of a mine field. Alex Washburn / Element.ly
Today is not the day I graduated college, the day I met my significant other or even the day I got my first grown-up job out of college.
Today marks one year since Nathaniel Chaney and I officially ditched the corporate life, climbed onto our Kawasaki KLR 650 motorcycles and started riding south to where the Autopista Ends. We had only been riding motorcycles for a few months but when we purchased the bikes it was with the intent of riding to South America.
Ushuaia, Tierra Del Fuego, Argentina is the southern most city in the world you can arrive to by vehicle and to get there you must drive through some of what are arguably the most dangerous countries in the world.
When Nathaniel first blurted out the idea for the trip one night I thought for a few moments and said “Yeah, okay.” The next day I was researching bikes for the journey and checking out visa requirements. The rest, is history.
The number one question we get about the trip: Did you have any problems?
Answer: Nope.
After 7.5 months, 15,500 miles and over a dozen countries we had one flat tire and zero problems with police, locals or fellow travelers.
Achievement doesn’t have to come in the form of a paycheck or things. The greatest achievements in life are not going to be handed to you. Reach out, take them, screw the things.
At first glance, the Element.ly article These Are the People You Need to Know in the Bike Industry is a solid list of industry rockstars. Everyone wants to know the quiet (and not so quiet) leaders, the mainstays, the ones who have been around the block, using their passion and experience to drive the industry.
But Element.ly failed to notice all the other people that you need to know in the bike industry. You know, the ladies.
There could have been at least a few women in the lineup without much additional effort, but it does indeed require effort. On the surface the bike industry and sport is made up of a lot of dudes. The term MAMIL (middle-aged men in Lycra) exists for a reason.
It is a real thing.
However, it doesn’t take long to realize that while they are a large part of the whole, they are still only part of the whole. I’d like to add a few amazing women to this list but instead I’m going to call them “Women You Want to Know Because They Are Badass”
Of course, there are many, many more names that should fill this list. Having worked in the industry for a decade, I focused on the women that I personally know and have had the distinct pleasure of working with. These women are incredible examples of leaders, elemental components of companies and advocacy organizations, as well as innovators and entrepreneurs.
On a side note, I would be remiss without mentioning the other blatant truth here. Gender diversity is not the only diversity that we as an industry and sport are lacking. Race, ethnic, cultural, age, and economic diversity is largely absent.
Diversity creates equality and breeds innovation. Without those things we risk stagnation and miss out on an entire population of would-be cyclists and bike riders.
I won’t pretend to know how to fix all of these issues but if we start with growing women’s cycling, I think we can make some progress. Women are generally known to be incredible community builders.
We could go on at length about why or how we got here. But I believe there is a universal sort of idea that we can start with to be our guide to a better future.
While the bicycle played a significant role in women’s history, women have not played a significant role in the history of cycling, or so the story goes. Just like in the tech world, women have largely been omitted from the history book of cycling.
Women are left without the stories of endurance, grit, innovation, leadership, and heroism. We are left without a history of women riding bikes.
So, how do we go about creating that inclusive culture, one where we all have a place?
The first answer is simple, we all need to invite someone different from ourselves into the world of cycling. We can do this through programs, clubs, teams, group rides, and other initiatives that speak to an audience that we are not a part of.
The second answer is simple too, support those that are doing the inviting. And make a commitment to stick with it for the long haul.
The third answer, also simple. Tell really good stories with words and images of the different bikers and cyclists, old and new, the inviters and the invited.
Here is your challenge Element.ly. I challenge you to write really good stories and take really good pictures of people riding bikes who don’t look like you, act like you, smell like you, eat like you, talk like you, or even live by you.
“Isn’t four days a bit ambitious for a first backpacking trip?”
Several of my friends, all far more experienced with such things than I, tried to hide their concern as we wrapped up some last-minute planning. No, I thought, it’ll be fine. Some combination of pride, independence, and stupidity prevents me from backing down from most challenges, so I packed a bunch of borrowed gear into a borrowed backpack, donned my trail runners, and set out for what I assumed would be a few days of moderate hiking on northwest Montana’s Alpine Trail #7.
While Glacier National Park is an obvious choice for all manner of outdoor adventures, nearby Flathead National Forest offers similarly stunning views without the crowds or park rules. Alpine Trail #7 is so underappreciated, in fact, that no one, Forest Service rangers included, seems to know for sure exactly how many miles nor what type of terrain it covers. Armed with only a district map, we mentally committed to 50-plus miles over four days with relatively few opportunities to call it quits.
We started on the Columbia Mountain Loop Trail, which climbs somewhere around 4,000 vertical feet in just six miles— exactly the kind of surprise you don’t want when your pack is at its heaviest and your legs are the most uncertain and your brain is screaming “maybe this was a bit ambitious after all.” After muscling through the climb, we camped that night on top of the ridge where Alpine Trail #7 meets the Loop and our reward for a tough first day was the sunset over the Flathead Valley.
The next morning we woke to see the sun rise over the rocky peaks of Glacier National Park. On that second day we covered many miles up, along, and down the mountains of the Swan Range, on steep and narrow ridge trails and through wide valleys and over snowfields that managed to survive the summer heat.
We spent another entire day crossing Jewel Basin, a “hiking only” section of Flathead that contains 27 lakes so blue that you think they can’t possibly be real. We swam in the frigid waters of Crater Lake, lost and found and lost our trail again countless times, and didn’t see another person for miles at a time.
Tired, dirty, sunburned, and covered in bug bites—I’m still wondering what the swarms of Montana mosquitos eat when they can’t find humans to torture—we walked out of the woods on day four. It had been less than a week, but I’d learned a lot, like the basics of propane stoves to how not to panic when you lose your hiking partner for three hours on a two-mile stretch of trail. I’d also gotten a crash course in independence, in humility, and in the sometimes unforgiving quality of nature.
I was glad to be back in civilization, but to be honest, after a shower, a burger, and a beer, not necessarily in that order, I was ready to hit the trail again.
Karissa Bell reviews the new Brooks shoes. Photo: Jim Merithew/Element.ly
I got back into running (after a years-long hiatus) as part of my rehab after blowing out my knee. The first few weeks were predictably rocky and bad shoes caused me some pain.
It wasn’t until I started running in Brooks’ latest Adrenaline GTS shoe that I appreciated just how much of a difference the right shoe could make. As soon as I started running in these kicks I could consistently run longer and longer distances without needing to pull the ice pack out afterward.
The ultra minimalist shoes so many runners seem to favor may work for some, but the rest of us just need a little more between our feet and the ground. The Adrenaline GTS have just the right balance of cushion (seriously, you’re arches will thank you) but don’t feel clunky or heavy.
The shoes are versatile enough to go from the street to the gym and they look good so you won’t mind wearing them in between. I can’t ever remember having a shoe that was this comfortable straight out of the box—no need to break them in, no first day blisters, nothing but rock steady support.
In fact, the shoes are so comfortable that even after dozens of miles I can’t remember a single time when I actually had to think about what was on my feet. And that’s a very good thing.
It can take up to 30 minutes for everyone to get across the start line.
A group of celebrities at the very front of the queue.
The roads around Occidental, CA are absolutely breathtaking.
M&Ms or fresh fruit.
Highway 1 rips along the California coast.
These two "fans" like the fit men in tight shorts and sit in this spot on Hwy. 1 every single year.
Coleman Valley Road is a heartbreaker.
Don't mind if I do.
I rode my very first Fondo on Saturday. I know it seems kind of crazy, but ever since moving to Northern California 15 years ago, the idea of paying to ride the same fabulous roads I ride every weekend seems ridiculous. Plus, there is a group ride going off somewhere in the Bay just about every hour.
Anyway, I was invited to Levi’s GranFondo and I figured I better go check out this growing phenomenon. The route is one of the most beautiful in all the world and the event is organized with loving precision.
As a way to cover the Fondo I was going to do a little “Tales From the Road” story. But I had so many random pieces of advice pop into my head during the ride I figured the experience was best told as a listicle.
So in no particular order, here’s what I was thinking during the big day.
If you book the cheapest motel that comes up on a list of cheap hotels, you can assume the motel is going to be cheap.
Bartering through a tiny window while standing in the parking lot of said motel is pretty much useless. Especially if the motel is sold out.
Booking ahead is a must, even for scary ass fleabag motels.
Following the local guy who appears to be disregarding all the traffic cones and common sense usually leads to a great parking spot at the Fondo.
A great parking spot is one of the simple joys in life. Just like ice cream, Sylvester Stallone movies and afternoon naps.
If you can, get yourself a VIP badge or a media invite, because being up front at a Fondo with 7,500 people is the bomb.
Being up front, next to the speakers where the MC thinks he is announcing a WWF wrestling match, is not as cool as you would think.
If Barry Bonds asks you to take a picture for him, you better not mess it up.
If you work somewhere where you all have matching kits you should feel pretty damn lucky. I am putting in an application at Capo and Patron this week. They have bomber matchy, matchy kits.
Bring a partner who can help you with your race numbers, sunscreen and last minute checklist.
A pair of cyclists sporting the new Capo Fondo Kit, whip along the Pacific Ocean on Hwy 1.
The start of a Fondo with 7,500 people is ridiculous because it takes 30 minutes for everyone to just cross the start line.
The road bike game has a huge douche problem.
Here’s a short list of how not to be a douche. Don’t race up the inside of the road hoping to move up a couple of spots. Don’t roll across the double yellow going into a blind curve. Do communicate with those around you. Do be aware of your position in the pack. Don’t get in over your head.
Knowing your ability will be the difference between being a positive force and being a douche.
I realize this is a race. Sort of. And you are being timed. Sort of. But if you really have the rage raging through your veins, you might want to find some other form of bicycling outlet. Crushing and winning a Fondo is really nothing to be proud of.
We all think we are amazing bike handlers. I, of course, am. But some of you who think you are Danny MacAskill, are not. Ask your riding partner for an honest assessment. Better yet, assume you are all over the bike and all over the road and adjust yourself.
It doesn’t matter if you ride a vintage steel beauty or a brand new carbon fiber wondership. Sooner or later the bonk is going to reach out and crush you. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon.
In the old days, “sports” drinks were delicious and apparently not that great for you. Today, sports drinks taste nasty but apparently give you what your bodies need. I’m not sure I like all this new hydration research.
When you are four abreast and 20 deep on the first climb of the day, you can pretty much assume someone is going down. The sound of carbon on rubber on pavement on spokes is a horrible sound. The massive “thunk” that a falling rider makes is heartbreaking. As much as your brain tells you to, do not look back. Watch the wheel in front of you and think positive thoughts for your fallen comrade.
Headphones? Um, no. Save it for spin class or at least until you are not out on the road with 7499 other cyclists.
Rest stops are really not meant for resting. Resting happens when you get home. Rest stops are there to break up the monotony of pedaling and allow you to eat a bunch of crap you wouldn’t otherwise touch.
I’m torn between the healthy snacks at a rest stop like watermelon, banana and fig bars, and the things that remind me of my childhood. Is a Fondo really a great time to let it go and flashback to eating Oreos, Nutter Butters and M&Ms? I guess my advice is to alternate. At one stop I eat healthy. At the next stop I eat like the emotional cripple I know I am.
There really is a rhythm to climbing. You are trying to find the perfect spot between what your heart can handle and what your muscles can handle. If you are spinning like a madman or slow churning like you’re making butter, you have probably not found your sweet spot.
With 7,499 other bicyclists on the road there is always a wheel to suck. And for the most part everyone is down. I love this. This is what is going to get me to sign up for another Fondo. After the herd thins, it’s wheels, wheels, everywhere a wheel.
If you are trying to be friendly as you go by me on a climb, shut the fukk up. Can’t you see I’m fat, old and out of shape? Let’s chat on the way down the other side, you skinny little bastard.
With my head down, my knees slightly achy and sweat pouring off me in the unseasonably warm weather, all I can think is let this be over. Then I come upon a mother and daughter team doing the last couple miles of the Piccolo (shorter) route. The daughter is decked in all pink. Pink shoes, helmet, bike, sunglasses and even pink gloves. She is grinning from ear-to-ear. She wins. She is the winner. She is what Fondos are really all about. And because she wins, I win, too.
I’m not a big beer drinker, but a free, ice cold IPA after a hot day on the bike in Santa Rosa is just downright delightful. I’m just saying.
A set of cattle guards and a warning sign set the tone for the climb up Coleman Valley Road.
