No, this blog is just another bicycling blog. Not unlike many of those you've read before.
The story starts when I met Steve, one of Cindy's coworkers at Playmakers, at his house for distance-oriented training ride at 7 a.m. Saturday morning. You may recall reading a previous blog in which we rode with Steve and his girlfriend, Lizzie, for family ride. A guy named Bob went along, too, for that one. We've done that a couple of times now (although not the Bob part), but this particular Saturday ride represents the beginning of training for ODRAM 2011. Oh, yes, you remember that too, don't you! The One Day Ride Across Michigan. Because it's not sufficiently painful enough to do ordinary rides; it's important to seek out the worst; plan for nearly intolerable training schedules, undertake them bound to fail, and then suffer through miles of pain because, well, just because, I suppose. Ah, well, that's coming later.
OK, back to Saturday: Steve and I met at 7 a.m. planning to bust out a quick 60 miles before lunch. I needed to get home to the kids, and so couldn't spend time lolligagging down the road at a leisurely pace. We headed straight north for 30 miles with the wind at our backs. Our average speed must have been over 20 mph. We talked while we rode, occasionally discussing the fact that we riding at an unsustainable pace, and with a return trip into the wind, would really pay for our overzealous start. We did. I did.
I still felt quite strong when we stopped for a break at mile 30 beside a statue of a cow that was larger than any elephant I've ever seen. Pay a visit to Elsie, MI, if you'd like to see it. It's huge (the cow, not Elsie). There's not much else of interest in Elsie. Well, I guess I don't really know that. OK, after our short break we headed north a little further, and looped around back to the south. Yup, the headwind was a killer. By the time we hit mile 40 I was beginning to wonder where I'd find the juice for the 20 miles we had to cover to get home. I'd already used up two Gu packs and Clif bar. I felt hungry so I ate a Clif Mojo bar. Yummy, but dry, and my water bottles were running low. Not even at mile 50 and I'm starting to lose steam; slowing down; and where did these hills come from? Another Gu shot -- this one with a double shot of caffeine. along with a short break in the shade of a tree. Back on the road, feeling better but moving slower, with Steve dropping me on every hill, we made it home.
I crashed in the shade beside Steve and Lizzie's house. Lizzie brought me some ice water. She was probably wondering what she'd do with the body if I died right there in her grass. What would she tell Cindy?
OK, well, you already know that since I'm writing this, Lizzie didn't have to dispose of my body. But what the hell? Am I not strong? Maybe Steve held up better than me because he rides a Waterford. I was riding my Soma; still stripped of it's fenders and rack after the Barry-Roubaix Killer Gravel Road Race earlier this year. That Soma Double Cross is awesome, but I'm gonna call Soma and complain that it's not as fast as a Waterford. It's all about the bike, you know. No! Of course, I don't really believe that; just mocking.
After all those Gu shots, I was just about sick for the rest of the day. I could barely eat lunch. When I got home, I think the kids thought I was going to die on the sofa in the basement. They were probably wondering what they'd do with the body. What would they tell Cindy? But after an hour long nap, and some lunch, I lived. The we went down the street to an "open house" for a local graduating senior and ex-occasional baby sitter. I ate lunch again.
OK, so that was Saturday. Can you guess what we did on Sunday? Yup. We got the mountain bikes out and headed off to Brighton to ride the Murray Lake Trail. I know, you've read about that one before too. Like, right here. But this time we did it differently: Quinn and I took the Black Beast (our Fandango) while the girls rode their Santa Cruz singles. It was just way too much fun!
Quinn and I hammered through every tricky climb, every switchback, over every log. That tandem is awesome! I really enjoy negotiating it through switchbacks lined with trees, letting the front wheel swing a wide arc, under full power, right to the outside edge of every turn so there's plenty room to bring the rear around. It just adds to the swoopiness of the whole experience. Quinn didn't even seem afraid of the land speeder approach to zipping through the forest, although Murray Lake doesn't give quite the opportunity for speed that one finds at Yankee Springs.
I'm pretty sure we never got both wheels off the ground at once this time. We never crashed. We caught Quinn's crank while crossing a log pile -- that stopped us quickly, but we didn't crash. Worse yet, I whacked the stoker bar on a tree along the inside of a sharp 180-degree turn. Quinn got his fingers out of the way so they were not destroyed, but his shoulder, elbow, and knee hit the tree. No big deal, he's a tough kid, right? We just got out the tools and fixed him up. Loosened the seat post binder bolt and straightened out the seat and stoker bars. This is when Quinn came up with the idea for a retractable stoker bar. One that works just like my Gravity Dropper Turbo seat post. When forest is tight, hit the button and slide the bars in. Wide downhill? Snap those bars out wide. Quinn's gonna make millions -- or maybe just bike parts -- for me someday, if he gets over this fever.
The girls did really well, too. Abbey rode the full 9+ miles on her Chameleon with Cindy behind her. I hope Cindy was yelling at her to make her ride faster. You know I would have been. Cindy was trying to work with Abbey on shifting. Abbey understands how the shifters work and uses them well, but still has to think about which hand to use and which way to shift. It should become instinctive. Involuntary. Like breathing. You need to climb a hill, your brain tells your fingers what to do, but the thought never crosses your mind. Like a dog barking at a raccoon. Okay, a dog is a bad example; based on my observation of Amos, a thought never crosses a dog's mind. Anyway, Quinn and I could tell Abbey was having fun when we heard her screaming on short, steep downhills. I could tell Quinn was having fun because he kept telling me he was. And when we were done he wanted to do it all again.
Oh, you want to see pictures? Sure, I took a few, let me look...
Click here to see the Garmin data from our ride.
The next day, after work, I did it again, this time on my Nickel. Click here to see the Garmin data for that one.
It's interesting to note that the bike odometers read close to ten miles on this ride, while the GPS indicates only nine. This I assume must be becuase many of the twists and switchbacks are too small for the GPS to detect.
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