Cutting to the Chase

So You've Got a Fat Bike

2011-12-12T13:14:00.000-06:00

The wider Q factor of a fat bike can lead to serious knee issues. I've been thinking about what I did wrong on my fat bike last year and I thought I might share my mistakes. You can do what you want with the information.

Fat bikes are a lot of fun and you should ride yours. But not as much and not as hard as you do your summer bike. Make sure to transition slowly to the fat bike. And when you do fully transition, just have fun. This is the off season; you don't have to make every ride a suffer fest. A fat bike is made for floating on snow, not for perfect body mechanics. Your mechanics are compromised by the wide BB, so doing hard efforts every day might be doing more harm than good.

Get a crankset that is as narrow as possible. Look at the gap between your crank arms and chainstays. If there is more than half an inch, get some narrower cranks. My gap was almost an inch on each side. Therefore, my Q factor was two inches wider than it had to be. Even going as narrow as possible, the Q factor of fat bikes is less than optimal for most people. I think the e13 crankset is about as narrow as you can go. Spend the money. And slide your cleats laterally until your shoe rubs on the crank, or damn near if you're concerned about scuff marks.

Shoes, shoes, shoes. You're already on a bike that is totally different from what you've been riding all year, and to make matters worse you're slipping into different shoes as well. Most of us wear the Lake winter boots. These are awesome, and toasty warm, and that Boa system--awesome. But take a look at the insole. Go do it right now. There isn't one. It's a piece of insulation, flat as cardboard. Why does this matter? Pronation. Pronation is what happens when your arches aren't supported. It causes your knees to be pulled out of alignment. Instead of a straight line between hip, center of patella, and second toe, the line will kink at the knee. Pronation pulls the knee joint in towards the top tube. The wide BB of a fat bike, combined with no arch support will conspire to kill your knees. The wide BB is already pulling the knee in towards the top tube; and flat insoles cause the knee to drift even further out of alignment. This is easy to fix, however. Leave the cardboard in your Lakes and put your summer insoles on top. But if you've got an extra 125 bucks, go see Balser at Penn and he will set you up with some custom molded insoles. They will not only save your knees but more importantly they will make you faster.

Pedals. Hmmm. I don't know a lot about pedals, but I know that crank brothers suck. They should be avoided at all costs. Sure they look cool and the don't fill up with mud or snow, but the engagement is so sloppy. This is particularly a problem with the Lake boots because the tread isn't as tall. To see what I'm talking about, try this: clip an empty shoe into your crank bros. Notice how you can rock the shoe side to side. Notice how you can slide the shoe fore, aft, and side to side.This is slop, and slop is bad for your knees. Slop should not be confused for float. If you have speedplay road pedals you know what I mean. This is what pedals should feel like. They have perfect, slop-free engagement, and the smoothest float you've ever floated on. But you can't ride speedplays on your pugsley. Or can you? I heard Speedplay is coming out with a new mountain pedal this winter. They might be available already, I don't know. Anyways, they're supposed to have the best engagement in the world. If I were you I would look into getting a pair of these. If you must stick to your crank bros, there is a trick to get rid of some of that knee-killing slop. Wrap a bit of athletic tape around the pedal where the shoe lugs contact the pedal. Not too much though because you don't want to eliminate all your float.

Lastly, I can tell you that your adductors (your inner thigh muscles) are going to get really tight as a consequence of riding a fat bike. You wont necessarily even feel it. But what will happen is that those tight muscles will pull your knee even further in towards the top tube. All you have to do to prevent this is stretch. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7aM7ezL1rpU&feature=related Here's a link to a basic adductor stretch. I like to support my weight on a chair while I do it. And don't be afraid to hold it for two, even three, minutes. Like I said, this is a basic one, and you will find a lot more when you google "adductor stretch." If you have a foam roller, you can use than on your adductors as well.

So in review: Start slow, get a new crank, get some decent insoles in your boots, throw your crank brothers in the garbage, and don't forget to stretch your groin.

Hope this helps you stay injury free this fat bike season.

Trek Demos

2011-09-19T09:57:00.000-05:00

A fleet of 2012 models will be out at Murphy Oct 1 & 2. Come on out, trade your drivers license for a bike worth more than your car, and ride.

On a personal note, my knee is getting better, but these tendon things take time. I've been riding a lot on my new Cronus CX Ultimate. Doing some gravel. The bike is pretty and sweet, pretty sweet. Not as stiff in the front end as the Focus Mares was, but that is a good thing for rough cross riding and all gravel centuries IMO. When it comes to the BB, the 90mm shell with press in bearings provides a lot of go when you stand up and mash. Another neat feature is the fork mounted cable hanger, which does away with fork chatter.

Will I be out there at the CX races this season? I don't know. I am terribly out of shape, I have lost weight but it certainly didn't come of my belly, and my knee hurts when I ride hard. But, yes there is a but, after every hard ride I do, given a few days rest, my knee feels better than before.

See you at the demo!

Progress

2011-06-06T21:26:00.003-05:00

Breaking up scar tissue. Tendon gonna be smooth as butter, the good stuff. None of that I-can't-believe crap.

I'll admit, there was a time in my life, not too long ago, when I couldn't believe. Everything tasted like margarine (mainly because I was eating a lot of margarine). But no more. No more, I tell you. Things are changing. Life is starting to taste like good ol' saturated fat again.

What gives? Well let me tell you: blood doping has worked wonders; as well as butter-knifing (as they say [whoever "they" are]); as well as using every possible punctuation mark in one sentence.?! But there is one thing, above all else, that has catalyzed my recovery. . .

It was not this non-believer; that's for sure (burn in hell, Fabio). . .

. . .It was this little dude, reminding us what it's all about.

Enjoy.

PRP

2011-05-23T21:40:00.000-05:00

Fed up with the PT I was seeing, I saw an actual sports doc last week. An MRI the same day showed that his diagnosis of tendinosis (hey, that rhymed) was correct. He recommended a procedure called platelet-rich plasma. Dr. Moser (that's my doctor) told me all about PRP: hemotobin-this, growth-factor-that, mumbo jumbo, insurance doesn't cover it. . . . The internets, however, told me that PRP is an injection that pro athletes have been getting for years, with very promising results. If the pros do it, then it's got to be good, especially if the internet says so. It didn't sound too painful or anything. It involves having 10cc of blood drawn, which is then spun in a centrifuge in order to separate the super awesome blood from all the other stuff. The super blood is then injected into the tendon. A technique called needling is used during the injection, which is a euphemism for viciously stabbing the tendon in various areas for what seems like 10 minutes. At no point during my brief internet research did it say anything about "needling." No where did it say I would nearly pass out from the pain. Do the pros pass out? My vision went grainy like the picture on an old TV that has a coat-hanger for an antenna. I tried tilting my head in different ways for better reception. The florescent lights were very bright. The ceiling tiles were the kind with the little holes in them. "Almost there," he said. I was breathing as if I were having a baby. The similarities were obvious. I was on a table, and a man was standing between my legs. He coached me on how to breath: "Deep breaths now. That's right. Good." I heard someone start to cry, maybe myself. And then it was over. It was the happiest moment of my life. As I hobbled out, taking those first baby steps, the patients in the waiting room looked up from their magazines, pretending not to be amazed. But they were. I could tell.

What the Physical Therapist Said

2011-04-29T10:52:00.000-05:00

One week in PT and I think I'm getting better. Initially she said it was quadriceps tendinitis, which is very rare, and she has never seen it in 15 years as a PT. She gave me a take-home electro-shock therapy kit; told me to do some eccentric exercises--stepdowns with 30lb in a backpack.

I think I am getting better. Maybe. One thing for sure is that the pain has become more localized. What used to be a general ache/burn in the upper knee area, has subsided to an area I can pinpoint on the upper medial portion of the knee. What does this mean? It meant we sat there ($100-an-hour sitting) and looked at an anatomy book for something other than tendinitis. It is not reassuring to hear the therapist say that she doesn't know what to do with me. I don't know what to do with me either. Is there anyone who knows what to do with me?

Keeping my hopes up. I know I'll get back on the bike eventually. Worst case, I'll become an avid canoeist.

What the doctor said

2011-04-16T10:49:00.000-05:00

The joint is fine. The pain is coming from the VMO musculotendonis junction. There is a strain where the tendon meets muscle. With physical therapy, it should be a quick recovery.

Getting Good at Being Lazy

2011-04-09T16:31:00.000-05:00

It's not easy, this inactivity, this couch-sitting, this watching people jogging outside my window. The trick is you have to be orderly. No dillydallying. You have to schedule your inactivity in order to make the best use of time. Intervals are the key. This is what works for me: (3 hours laying on the couch @ HR of 58) x 3 reps. In between reps, un-rest for 5 min by going to the bathroom, making tea, eating spinach, etc.

I think I have quadriceps tendinitis. People have informed me that the burning sensation I get above the knee cap while driving points to tendinitis. Thinking I had a patella tracking problem, I had been doing exercises to strengthen the quad, which is not what you want to do if you have tendinitis. Currently I am experimenting with intervals of RICE, foam roller, and light stretching.

Advice welcome

Don't Do What I Did.

2011-03-30T09:20:00.000-05:00

I did it, single speeded myself into the ground. Or maybe it was xc skiing, or pugging, or running, or_fill in the blank_. As some of you know, my right knee has been messed up for a few months now. It isn't all that painful, more like a dull, background pain that is always there, and flares up with activity. I do a lot of driving commuting to school, and strangely, just sitting in the car is when my knee bothers me the most. It might have something to do with the many fine movements one has to do correct speed. Cruise control would be nice.

I haven't seen a doctor or specialist, but have talked with a number of cyclists who have had similar problems. Rest they tell me. Listen to your body. They tell me to do these stretchy-band exercises. And I do. I do the stupid stretchy-band exercises. But my knee doesn't get much better.

Having a high deductible insurance plan, I have been ambivalent about seeing a doctor. I think I am ready though, ready to shell out the big bucks. But you know what they are going to tell me? I just know what they're going to say: "Well, Cody, your symptoms point to a number of possible problems. Without an MRI I can't be sure just what it is. Go home and rest for a few months. Strengthen your quads. You know where the quads are, right? Here--take this stretchy-band. It's free."

If you don't see me at the races this summer, I'll be at home, in front of the TV, drinking beer, maybe a tear running down my unshaven cheek, maybe not, but certainly there will be a giant rubberband fastened to a chair leg, the other end shackled around my ankle.

I am young and stupid. I did not listen to my body. It's a lot like having a girlfriend or a wife--you have to listen to them (not just once in a while; all the time). Ignore her too long and she will slam your head in a door, throw spike-healed shoes at you, make you watch American Idol. Listen to her or she will make you hurt.

Eligible for an Upgrade

2011-02-22T23:56:00.000-06:00

Electrical tape replaces a long gone battery cover.

They say it's time. Two years only and they send me a letter saying it's time to toss out the old phone and get a new one for 49.99 after mail-in rebate So what if the screen is a little scratched. And so what if I am one of those people who walk around outside with the phone an inch from my eyeballs, one hand shielding the sunlight as I read a text that says: omg I just saw an old fat guy jogging in track shorts wo a shirt on... total barf. I like being that guy--not the fat and running one--but the one who walks around slowly without knowing whats in front of him. If I looked up I might see that fat guy, shirtless and pale as the full moon, the rise and fall.

Nokia doesn't mean anything to you, but it does to me.

A makeshift bottle opener

The Miracle Carwash, Dubuque, Iowa

2011-01-21T19:23:00.001-06:00

It was so bright I couldn’t sleep. Across the street from the Hotel there was a building with a great big electric sign, neon in fact. They must have imported it from Texas, because everything’s bigger in Texas. Like Texas toast. That stuff is huge. I couldn’t sleep because the Miracle Carwash was so bright.

I turned on the TV and nothing was on: a commercial for Pajama Jeans; the amazing Magic Bullet food chopper, dicer, and slicer; also a pill that could give you a beach body in two weeks or your money back. I had about given up on basic cable when I came across a guy putting his palm on people’s foreheads, shouting some angry, devil-be-gone stuff, and making them faint. He even made cripple people get up and walk, but it was the way you would expect a cripple person to walk—kind of a hunched, air-swim/crawl sort of thing. The studio audience gasped and I did too. I did, I gasped.

If cripples could walk (sort of) I could sleep, right? I needed to sleep. It would take a miracle, I thought. If only there was a slick-haired televangelist to smack me in the temple, that would do the trick. But the Hotel Julien was too cheap to have a miracle performing, televangelist on staff. I didn’t even need to call down the front desk; I already knew this, but I called just in case. No luck.

I stood up and put my palm to forehead as I had seen the man on TV do. I pushed pretty hard and muttered a few commands: drive the Devil from this man and let him sleep in peace once again. I must have been doing something wrong, because I couldn’t make myself faint no matter how hard I pushed. I noticed (it was hard not to notice because of how bright it was) that the Miracle Carwash was able to perform its phenomena in a way that was touchfree (how this was possible I wasn’t sure, but carwashes sometimes work in mysterious ways). This was the answerer, then. It had to be. It was like a sign from a sign. I put on some socks, tall ones with the stripes; a hat and jacket; and walked down to the front desk where I purchased two rolls of quarters from the lady who was drinking coffee out of a mug with a picture of her wiener dog on it, Poochie.

The fifth time through, the sounds of water jetting against metal became soothing like waves on the ocean, but really loud like you are right by the ocean, maybe sleeping on the beach because you are homeless and you drank a lot of Black Velvet while watching the sunset, comparing its beauty to your shitty life, that you passed out there, the water lapping at you like a dog licks its wounds. Each time through I became drowsier. The sounds of water were putting me to sleep like one of those machines people put in their bedrooms to simulate a waterfall, or a rainforest, or the ocean, but in the carwash there weren’t any whale calls or other strange animal sounds.

I ran out of quarters. I got out of my car and began picking up rocks to throw at the sign that was keeping me awake. Miracles, I decided, were impossible, and I decided to decide this forever. If suddenly Jesus walked up to me and asked if I knew what time it was or if I had change for a five so he could wash his rusty Ford, I would tell him to go jump in a lake. I would ask him why don’t you just make your own change? In between stone throws, I'd tell him I’m busy here, can’t you see. Jesus, being the guy he is, would say let me give you a hand with that. He’d take aim at the flickering, blue Miracle, winding up like a Major League pitcher, releasing with perfect force and timing. The sign would explode, showers of colored sparks snowing down on the both of us.

Cold Bear #1

2011-01-09T21:32:00.000-06:00

DNF. Broken chain on the late night, last minute, not tested pug build. FYI don't try to reuse the pins on Sham chains, as that is what I did and likely the reason it broke. Nevertheless, by the time of the snap (a half lap to the finish) Brendan was, for the most part, out of sight. I was starting to get more comfortable with the pug though, and was picking up the pace, chasing.

Next weekend I'm heading down to Iowa for the Triple D, a 60+ mile trail race. I did 50 miles on the snowmo trails the other day averaging 14 mph on a 29er SS 38x16. Might be a road race if these conditions hold up.

Cold Bear

2011-01-08T13:27:00.001-06:00

The Cold Bear Challenge is tough. It is often cold. The trail conditions can be unridable at times. What's more is that some participants push morbidly obese bicycles up the steep and copious hills. Last year I put my blood sweat and tears into the seriess and came out in second place in the advanced category. For my efforts I was rewarded with a cup. However, my prized pint glass/ trophy from the Cold Bear Challenge has broke, shattered into a hundred little pieces. This happened months ago, and I have been mourning ever since, slowly progressing through the five stages of loss. My therapist says I should move on. Maybe I should. No. I can't. I can't move on because I keep stepping on the glass' invisible shards, the ones that scattered into the kitchens corners upon impact, the ones so tiny that not even a broom can sweep them up. A pin prick in the heal every now and then, a cold jolt in a big toe. I dig out these thin shards with a tweezers and hold them up to the light. The tiny reminders shine with my blood. Like I said, the Cold Bear is tough. This time next year I hope to be stepping on first place, pug catagogy shards of glass.

That's right the pug frame I've had hanging on a hook for the last year is coming together. Ben at Milltown Cycles is setting me up with some wheels (White non-trash Darryls). Due to a ordering mix-up with White Industries however, only the front wheel will be ready for tomorrows race. If you need some better wheels for your Mukluk call up Ben. He's got some Darryls on hand, and I'm sure he wont mess up your order. Sponsor plug aside, one of my cohorts may lend me a rear marge. That is if the aforementioned individual has forgotten about my reputation of breaking wheels. I've said too much. Peace out.

Abducted by Aliens

2010-12-18T10:33:00.001-06:00

Last night in a dream I was was abducted by aliens. Seriously. They swooped over me with incredible acceleration, and in the traditional fashion, a blue shaft of light came down and levitated me into their saucer shaped craft. I had a pair of xc skis in my arms. And I was smiling as the blue force field picked me up.

This is how it happend

A few things contributed to this strange dream. First of all I watched the trailer for Cowboys and Aliens last night (looks like an hilarious movie eventhough it's not supposed to be). Secondly there's this new humidifier I bought and placed at my bed side. The product boasted about calming effects, which sounded good while I was in the store. But when I got it home and set it up next to my bed, it turns out that the calming effect is that it emits a shaft of sleep-deprivingly-bright, blue light at the ceiling and makes a loud humming noise not unlike a hovering spaceship. But the third is perhaps the most complicit factor. . .

. . .I picked up some classic xc skis yesterday afternoon and spent the rest of the evening watching various youtube videos on waxing (about four hours worth) until I couldn't keep my eyes open. I know a lot more about wax now. There is about a bazillion (that is 10 x a gazillion) different waxes for different snow temperatures and conditions. They sell little thermometers you can stick in the snow to get a reading to the nearest tenth of a degree. On top of that you need to know the moisture content of the snow, wind direction, does it have sharp or rounded crystals, did it fall on a full moon, etc. I believe you also need a telescope and astrological calender to determine the arrangement of certain planets and stars, their alignment being a chief factor in how fast or slow your skis will be be with a given wax. And that's just what goes into selecting "the wax of the day" (that's right, you have to do this every day). I wont even go into putting the stuff on, which involves hot irons, toxic solvents, scraping tools, wire brushes, two sacrificial goats, and a pact with the devil.

WTF?

Aliens are rarely confused

My unconscious mind, completely confused and disoriented by the world of youtube, concluded that ski waxing is a task beyond human comprehension and thus a job only an advanced species could get right. In my dream I actually wanted to be abducted. I was standing on my roof with my skis under my arm, shouting at the sky. The aliens, with their advanced knowledge of physics were going to show me how to wax my new skis. They were going to dispel myths of layering and tip-to-tail. They would tell me the optimal iron temperature and the exact amount of time I should let the wax cool. These brilliant creatures were going to give me waxes that defied the laws of molecular chemistry.

Whether they did or not I cannot say. See you on the trails! I'll be the one leaving a track of blue light in the snow.

Focus CX For Sale

2010-12-13T09:37:00.000-06:00

My Focus Mares 2, fancy-dancy race machine is for sale. Full Carbon frame and fork. Ultegra. BB30. Tappered Steer-tube. Size large 56cm. Will do complete bike for 17 or frame-set for 12. Here's the website.

Snow Fort: Tunneling into All-grown-up Land.

2010-12-11T15:55:00.001-06:00

mine was more awesomer than this

When I was younger snow like this meant one thing. It meant that my dad would go out in his Chevy pick-up and plow all the snow form our driveway into huge piles. It meant days and days of endless digging, tunneling, and carving out huge rooms in the snow. One year when we got a lot of snow, I made the biggest snow fort in history. It had several large rooms all connected eith tunnels you had to crawl through. It was a never ending process, the rooms always growing. As I scraped snow from the walls and hauled out sled-fulls of the stuff, I imagined the parties I would have, who I would invite. Certainly my older brothers would not be invited. And not Joe, my next-door-neighbor (he was the kind of kid who would ride his bike up to a jump like he was going to do it but veer off at the last second). No cry-babies would be allowed in my humongous snow fort.

Perhaps my standards were too high because no one ever came to the fort, and the parties I envisioned, where me and a dozen other kids would sit around drinking apple juice from crystal wine glasses, never happened. I suppose I knew there wouldn’t be any parties. No apple juice. No soft jazz playing in the background. So why did I keep digging?

I remember having a collection of icicles. They were diamonds and I was rich. And come to think of it, I never just sat in my fort, relaxing. I was always digging, making it bigger. My hands would get cold, my thin Power Rangers gloves soaking wet, but I wouldn't go inside. This fort was going to be bigger than my bedroom, bigger than my parent’s bedroom, bigger than the whole house! When the fort was big enough, I would know it because I wouldn't have a bed time anymore; wouldn't have to go to school; all of the sudden a beard would sprout under my face mask and Stephanie from down the street would be my wife. When the fort was big enough I wouldn't be a kid anymore and I would be able to do whatever I wanted; even eat a whole batch of cookie dough without getting sick.

When I went inside that night, I kept my fort a secret, but somehow my mom knew. She told me about a kid in the next town over who suffocated when his snow fort collapsed on him. I wondered if it was the same “kid from the next town over” who lost all his fingers when he reached under the lawn mower, or the same kid who burned his house down playing with matches. Nevertheless, I imagined the snow fort collapse as if it happened to me. I imagined the weight of it all; trying to take a breath but not being able to. Not being able to move my arms to dig myself out. The next day I continued enlarging my snow sanctuary anyways. But my desire for a humongous fort, and thus freedom, was weighed down by thoughts of suffocation. Was I making the walls too thin? Would the roof hold? I contemplated the thought that this thing that made me all-grown-up could collapse and suffocate me at any moment.

At some point I got bored of being an adult and went sledding at Dead Man’s Hill with all the other kids.

catching some sweet air

A Detailed Training Regiment for 2011

2010-12-07T11:48:00.000-06:00

The Art of Neti-Potting

2010-12-04T15:26:00.004-06:00

When I woke up this morning there was 12 inches of fresh, fluffy snow on the ground here in Northfield. It was all crap though. You couldn’t even make snowballs out of the stuff, or build snowmen, or dig sweet snow forts. I guess you could go sledding. But who the hell goes sledding?

On top of it all, I have a cold. It’s the worst one I have ever had, ever. Probably got it from school; some jerk student who sneezed on every door handle in Armstrong Hall or something like that. My mom would say it was because I didn’t wear a scarf last week when I rode my bike twenty-five miles into the country on icy, gravel roads, and then twenty-five miles back in a head-wind. What does she know? Scarves are stupid anyways.

Whatever the origin of this disease, one thing was certain: every time I tried to blow my nose, the cement-like stuff up there didn’t come out. Nothing happened. It just felt like something inside my ears was going to turn inside out, or that I’d blow so hard I’d crap myself.

But this morning I bought a neti pot. I don’t know why they call them neti pots. They should call them awesome pots because they are awesome.

When I got the thing home, I mixed in the 1 tsp of natural, organic, free-range salt with 8oz of warm water. I stuck the end of the spout up my left nostril, and like it said, I tilted my head down and sideways so the warm water would flow into one nostril and out the other, flushing out the source of all my troubles.

On my first attempt I almost drown. “Did Dick Cheney invent this thing?” I thought. Cruel and unusual. The salt water went in the one nostril but it backed up into my mouth and went down my wind pipe. It reminded me of my first swim in the ocean, jumping in with my mouth wide open, shocked at how salty it was. It was like that except there were no hot chicks to pull me out of the kitchen sink (which I was doubled over into) and give me mouth-to-mouth.

When I finally caught my breath, I gathered the courage to try again like any bad ass such as myself would do. I was not going to let some sissy, little piece of porcelain get the best of me. Full of vigor, I cocked my head sideways like the way a stupid dog does when you tell it to sit; inserted the spout, and the warm, salty liquid into my head. My brain began to tingle and burn. It felt like I had just been dared to snort a line of pepper and did it. Despite the burn, I continued holding my breath. And just about when I couldn’t do it any longer, the dams broke free. I closed one eye and was able to see the stuff coming out of my nose. It was a bubbly, yellow, sludge. There were chunks of stuff every now and then. And I think I saw a few long lost nickels drop into the drain.

I could breathe again. I could smell that the garbage was ripe and ready to be taken out. I looked outside at the children playing in the fresh fluff. The sun glinted off the snow in just the right way. Birds were chirping. There was laughter in the world again. And I was sure, absolutely positive, that I could smell flowers—Daffodils and Daisies—under the snow, waiting for spring.

Smud.

2010-11-16T00:09:00.000-06:00

It's a bummer I had to miss out on this.

MN State Cyclocross Championship

2010-11-14T10:54:00.000-06:00

Conditions were great at state cross this weekend--heavy snow and mud. A lot of guys who ride on the road most the year surprised me with their bike skills, Jordan especially. That kid is going to be untouchable in a few years. As for me, I finished 6th overall, not the result I was hoping for, but like I said a lot of guys were surprisingly adept in the slick stuff. Marko Lalonde showed up and Adam Bergman gave the mountain biker a run for his money--well there wasn't actually any prize money involved for this race, just prestige. The Ukrainian national road champion--or something like that--showed up, but wasn't much of a factor in the race. Doug had a good ride, coming in 3rd. Then it was Jordo, who had a horrible start but somehow worked his way up there. Josh Roser killed it for the 35+. He could only get one pedal clipped in. I finished right behind him.

I wish I could make it to the Zac Dap today, but I pulled calf muscle during the running start yesterday, and now I can hardly walk. Hopefully it comes around for Jingle Cross.

Limping my way up the stairs. Check out the gloves. $4.95 at Menards!

velocx and gopher gallop cx

2010-11-08T17:47:00.000-06:00

3rd on Saturday, behind Adam and Jordan. 2nd to Doug on Sunday, Eppen 3rd. Here's some pics from the Gopher Gallop on Sunday (some by Josh of Angry Catfishery, some by Tim Gut, fellow fishery teamate).

Starting the second lap.

Taking a bad line though the sand to avoid Eppen after he plowed into the pile on the right of the photo.

A short but steep (and rough) climb.

This is a little climb right after a very tricky, off camber corner.

Top of a somewhat steep climb out of the woods. On the last lap, Doug made his move here. My gaurd was down as I didn't think he would attemp a pass in the single track.

Green Acres CX

2010-10-25T09:49:00.000-05:00

The run up during the cat 3 race. Barry Tungseth was the only one who was able to ride it all the way to the top.

My Team-mate, Owen, making his way through the mud at the front of the 3 race.

Me and the birthday-boy, Pat, who went on to take the win for the day.

I ended up 4th behind Pat, Adam, and Tuftoy. After lap two, Pat and Adam were gone. I was left yo-yoing off Tuftoy, and when I struck a pedal (I have to stop doing that) he got away. I tried to get back for a few laps, but he was too strong. If the race were a few laps longer, I bet he would have caught the leaders. I was just trying not to get caught by Fisher and Cj, who were charging for me about 20 seconds back.

Check out this 45+ rider trying to make it up the climb with half a handlebar.

Photos by Tim Gut.

Big Ring Flyers CX

2010-10-18T10:05:00.000-05:00

I took my first CX win this weekend! Got the holeshot and maintained about a 15 to 20 second gap for the rest of the race, which consisted of about a million 180 turns, two longer power sections, a really bumpy section, and zero hills. All the turns made the tempo really punchy, which suited me well. The single barrier that I was able to hop was also in my favor. All those years of BMX are really paying off.

The new bike, a Focus Mares 2 carbon, is awesome. Super stiff. You stand up on the pedals and all your power goes to the rear wheel. And the robust fork, while contributing to front-end stiffness, doesn't allow even a hint of brake shudder. The Rapha CX kits are pretty sweet too, and warm. You wont find a better chamois. Chamwow!

2010 Wirth Classic CX - Mens Cat 1/2, 35+

2010-10-12T14:59:00.000-05:00

Vid from Wirth by Skinnyski

Crossotober and Wirth

2010-10-12T09:42:00.000-05:00

Two races last weekend. Two very different races. Saturday I pulled off 4th on a flat, power course. It was the kind of course that when I went down in an off camber corner I couldn't catch back on to the lead group, and spent the remainder--about half--all alone and in the dark. That's right. It was a night race, sort of. The course was deceptively boring, but I guess it's more "euro" so that makes it cool. Nevertheless, it made for a close and exciting race.

A lot of roadies seem to get all worked up about courses that might, just might, slightly lean toward a mountainbiker's favor. That was Theo Wirth, although it's not at all mountain bike course as many were claiming. After Pat ate shit, which you can watch on skinnyski.com, I took over the lead. I kept the pace high enough that only Bergman was on my wheel after a few laps. With one to go, Bergman pulled in front and took off. I have to learn to be more aggressive. Earlier in the race, I could feel he was slipping off in the technical sections, but I used that time to rest instead of attacking.

I have to go to school now. Practice cross race in St Louis Park tonight, then homework induced rest is on the schedule.

A weekend in St. Cloud.

2010-09-28T22:20:00.000-05:00

The singlespeed state championship kicked off the weekend of racing in St. Cloud last weekend, followed by the elite race on the same day, and the Pork Chop cyclocross race on Sunday. I was focusing my energy on the singlespeed race, ending up 2nd to Brendan by a few seconds. I was running a 2:1 on the ridged two niner wraped in Bontrager mud x tires. Anyways, we were off and I spun myself into the singletrack first. It was pretty slick in the corners but not that bad. I felt a bit rusty in the twisty stuff, as I hadn't ridden the mtb since 24 hours of Afton. I have to say, I love the big wheels, but they are definitely not an advantage at the jail trail. I was hitting by bars on trees, sending showers down on Brendan. I started to feel more comfortable on the second lap, though. I even gaped Brendan for a little while, but he caught me when things got really tight again. I should of expected his attack on one of the last open sections. Once he got around me, I made sure to stick right on his wheel for when the last open section came. This last section was really the finish sprint, as the actual finish didn't have much of a strait, so whoever came out of the corner first, baring a crash, would most likely take the win. When that last open section came up, Brendan hammered, and I gave it my all but couldn't get around him, or even stick on his wheel for that matter. And that was where the race was won. Congrats to Brendan for the win. I'll be there next year to try again.

An hour or so latter, I lined up for the elite race. It was a short lived race, however. I got my first DNF of the year, when I took a bad line though some rocks and snapped my derailleur off at the hanger. What an awful sound. It's too bad, because I was feeling pretty strong sitting behind SamO. Sam and I, by the way, had a battle to work out over 2nd place in the series. Good job with the win, Sam!

Sunday was CX. What an awsome course--lots of climbs and really fast descents, a mountain biker's cross course if one ever existed. I came out 2nd in the one twos race. The long and short of it is that Matt Allen, Jake Boyce, and myself traded pulls for the entire race. Jake dropped his chain with 2 to go. I forced the pace on the last lap, but I took a risk near the finish that ultimately made me second best. There was a set of barriers half way up a hill, Matt was on my wheel, I made the decision to hop back on the bike after the barriers instead of running the remainder of the steep hill. Problem: it was a steep hill. I couldn't turn the pedals and had to hop off. This set me back about 5 seconds. I wasn't able to take it all back before the finish, which came about 40 sec after my mistake.

This is getting long, but one last thing: I took the dubya from Matt at tonight's cross race in St. Louis Park. Three of the six barriers were hoppable, two of which were at the base of a hill, which allowed me to ride the hill while others had to get off their bikes and run. It's unreal how much time you can save by staying on your bike whenever possible. Risky, but it gets cheers, so what the hell.

I'll get some pics up soon if any exist on the nets.

Oh yeah! I'll be racing this cross season for Angry Catfish bike shop and the regional Rapha/Focus team. Bike and kits are on their way!

What wire?

2010-09-24T12:02:00.000-05:00

Getting the single speed ready today.

Tuesday Night Cross

2010-09-14T22:43:00.000-05:00

Today I ventured over to St. Louis Park for some weekday cross racing. I got third. This is where the excuses begin... My Sham force shifter has been on its way out for a few weeks now. When I downshift, half the time it doesn't stay--it springs back into the gear I was in. So when I went down in a corner, it totally crapped itself to hell. After I got back up, spun the chain back on, I was stuck in 42x11 for the next two laps. When I attempted to downshift it made a lot of crunching noise like when those circus freaks chew on light bulbs--yea, it was like that--and as soon as I'd let go of the shifter paddle, the chain would drop back to the little cog. Luckily I have cronies stationed around the course waiting to lend me their bikes. So I spotted my buddy, Nate and told him I needed to use his bike. Immediately he started sprinting to his car. No shit--I looked back and he was sprinting. On the next lap, he was waiting with his chilli con crosso, and we did the ol switcharoo. Pretty damn smooth, too. His saddle was about two inches too low, so I stood most the way. The Challenge tires, though, were sweetness in the grass. I didn't wipe out with his bike. Nearly toppled over the barriers, but no wiping of the out. At any rate, I am happy with third given that I did two laps--hilly laps--in 42x11, and did the rest on an unfamiliar bike with a low saddle. Plus, I have a bunch of excuses to tell people. Getting third without having any excuses would just plain suck.

In related news: A study by some elementary school kids somewhere found that there is really only two reasons most of us have blogs: 1) to brag about how we won a race; and 2) to list all the reasons beyond our control why we didn't win a race. The later of which being more prevalent.

Seriously, though. It's time to drink more beer. Seven dollar and seventy-nine cent a pint beer. Imported from the land of wooden shoes beer. Tastes like it was brewed in a gym shoe beer. The titanium--no, carbon fibre--of beer. Yes, that kind of beer.

Or whatever you got. Cheers to getting third and having the excuses to back it up.

Snow Shoes

2010-09-11T09:15:00.000-05:00

Imagine a Salsa Mukluk wearing these shoes!

Snekka

2010-09-10T11:16:00.000-05:00

Today Rawland Cycles announced the Snekka as a concept design. After several days of input from the public, it is a 700c, canti bike made of quality, light weight steel tubing. Up for discussion today on the blog (link here) is geometry. Sean, owner of Rawland, has posted preliminary geometry as a starting point. As it stands, this looks to be a great bike for Gravel road riding and racing, as it will be a bit more stable than the common Cyclocross bikes that most people use for these events, which are not designed for descending at 40 mph down loose, rocky gravel. I like the way this design is going. Maybe next year I'll be on one of these as I ride in a 350 mile loop around Iowa.

Time for a run. A run with a bike on my back. And up a hill. Over and over and over.

2010-09-09T09:33:00.000-05:00

Rawland Cycles is talking about doing a bike called the Sogn, the namesake being the wonderful Sogn Valley. The floks at Rawland are leaving the design, in part, up to us. On their blog, rawlandcycles.blogspot.com, each day will bring a new topic of discussion. For me this bike would be the ultimate gravel machine. 700c. Steel. Canti. Geometry similar to a cross bike but with a lower BB. Tire clearance for 38c... Go to the blog and tell Rawland what your perfect multi-surface bike would be like.

I'm off to school now. bye, bye.

Sogn Valley Gravel Loop

2010-09-04T16:20:00.005-05:00

One of the great things about not living in the metro is gravel. No cars, no stoplights; I'd eat the stuff for breakfast, lunch and occasionally even dinner if I could. And whats more, it's hard to get board on those long rides--you can always play "whats that smell", trying to guess if it's a hog or turkey farm you're passing; or try to guess the denomination of the next church you'll see (tip: always go with Lutheran. The things rise up out of the hills ever mile or two); and as your mind starts to fail you, you can play the always entertaining, "where in de heck am I?"

No getting lost for me today. I kept it to a 50 mile loop I know quite well, a trip to the scenic Sogn Valley. The glaciers that passed through some time ago were angry with this land. My Norwegian kinfolk in later years found it a nice place to settle no doubt because there were plenty of hills to build churches upon. So many in fact they ran out of church building supplies and left a few hills bare, but not many. Needless to say, all that climbing drains a man's canteen right quick, and I was soon looking for a house with a spigot to fill my bottles. I thought about taking a drink from one of the many streams which run through the valley (I hear there is a rainbow trout or two in these streams), but decided I could make it to the Dennison gas station.

On the way, I ran into a little detour...

I may come off as a macho man (not unlike Randy Savage) to some, but as you may infer from my fear of dairy cows, I am really a sensitive guy who enjoys long rides on the beach-sand that is gravel, watching the sun set behind hills and churches, drinking my fruity sports drinks with a straw. And the endless fields of tassel-topped corn, gold with sun, galloping with wind, remind me of the ocean and make me cry. If you need help getting in touch with your sensitive side, and think a ride in Sogn Valley would do just that, then I have good news...

I will be there hosting a clinic titled "you, too, have a sensitive side. It may be buried deep within your Slim-Jim-snappin, single-speed-pushin, cheep-beer-drinkin exterior, but by golly it's there." The title was too long, which is why it's not on the poster. In the clinic I will teach all who are interested how to not ride a casual tour as if you were in a race, how to coast, how to shift into an easier gear (we will go over both front and rear derailleurs), and lastly, how to drink from a water bottle using only your thumb and pointer while jutting your pinkie finger out and up. The trick is getting the angle of your pinkie just right. This will bring you exactly half the way to being fully in touch with your sensitive side. That is all I can do. The rest you will have to find within yourself.

Back at it

2010-09-03T18:39:00.003-05:00

My pseudo-coach, Kirk, wanted me to take a full week off the bike after the salsa 2-4. Beings he's not certified to coach at any professional capacity, I only took 5 days off the bike. I did, however, keep it simple. I went out on gravel a 1.5 hour gravel loop on the fixie (47x19). It felt great. Arm warmers, or as I like to call them, snot wipers, were a must, which brings me to my next topic...

Enough said.

24 Hours of Afton

2010-08-31T16:45:00.001-05:00

I had everything ready to go for this event nearly a week in advance. Gear, food, first aid, and camping equipment was neatly laid out across the living room floor. I was a bit excited. I brought everything from a spare bike to spare bolts, Vaseline to hemorrhoid cream.

Kayla and I headed up on Friday night to set up camp, stopping at Chipoltle on the way where I ate two chicken fajita bowls because Kayla didn't like hers. Fine by me. Over-eating in such a fashion would normally fill my belly with guilt, as if I were a ninth grade school girl cheating on her diet. But knowing what was coming the next day, I instead took on the persona of a jolly sumo wrestler.

Anyways, let's get to the race. Well what I remember of it anyways. It was a la mans start--not a bunch of guys helping their pregnant wives with breathing techniques--but a mad dash. We ran up a hill and around a shed, then back down the hill to our bikes, which we had to find among hundreds of others strewn about the ground. It was a bit like playing pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey where you are blind folded and spun around seven times. And riding up the first few singletrack hills in a tight group (all going in granny mode) was a test of balance to say the least. Like with field sobriety tests, some of us passed and some of us hit the ground. Perhaps some were still feeling the effects of the previous night. I was feeling pretty shitty the first few laps. I was keeping an eye on Charley, but also on my HR monitor. I was quick to let him go, knowing his pace was unsustainable for me. Whenever I felt I was pushing too hard, I asked myself, "self, can you really maintain this for 24 hours?" The answer was always no, so I'd slow the pace a bit. As for Mr. Popp, I knew he would be super consistent, perhaps even stronger as the hours ticked by. I did know, however, that I could make up time on the more technical portions of the laps (the plunge was my favorite). So that's what I did. I tore it up as if in a xc race on the descents and (it sounds paradoxical) rested on the climbs. In fact, I looked forward to man handler because it was one of the few non bumpy sections, allowing me to sit up, straighten out the back, and rest. I ate a sandwich or bar each lap on shady lane. I was loving the climbs.

Probably about the fifth lap I got into a rhythm. Riding that long, you start to shift into the same gears at the same spots, get out of the saddle at the same spots, learn the best lines (usually on the grass), get through the pit quickly, and you do all this without thinking. What you think about, though, is that you are not even halfway done. You think about the blister on your right pinkie toe. When climbing shady lane in the dark, unable to chew down that bland bar, you try and send telepathic messages to your pit crew to cook some mac and cheese. You think about what a fresh chamois will feel like. You break the lap down into climbs: there's shady lane, the switchbacks, the man handler, and then you're done. You think about dry socks, sharp rocks. You think about back rubs and those warm towels that first class passengers put over their face.You think about how much better night time is than hot day. You feel sorry for the team riders racing by at xc pace, while, in comparison, you are sitting on a beach sipping some fruity drink with one of those little umbrellas. You think "Oh shit, I forgot to drink this lap." You wonder what your brother is doing. You want to know what time it is. You think about one more lap. And then another. Your light burns out and you ride with a guy whos name is Dean, a solo rider who just turned fifty and races dirt bikes and goes on two hour road rides standing in the big ring the whole time and wants to beat his record of 15 laps and claims a 29er hardtail is all he needs and thinks fishing is boring and can somehow tell whole stories without missing a breath while you can hardly keep up. And then the sun finds its way into singletrack. You start thinking about math. You think about how many more laps you have to do to make sure you don't get beat by a girl. You tell everyone you will never do this again. You start to think about next year.

What kept me going: Perpetuem drink mix, peanut butter banana sandwiches, Macro bars, potato chips, the guys on top of man handler, pretzels with peanut butter in the middle, mac and cheese, pretzels with cheese in the middle, my crew girl, ramen, and electrolyte pills.

Hawk Chase

2010-08-23T15:01:00.000-05:00

photo from skinnyski.com

Last Sunday was the Hawk Chase in Duluth, a new stop this year for the mn mtb series. Once again it was a race which left the bike decorated in mud. There were only a few really muddy spots. But it was the kind of sticky, clay mud that warrants the use of a mud tire, which I didn't bring with. I was running the semi slick Bontrager 29.0s. Needless to say I was sliding around a lot. Anyways, off the start it was Doug, Brendan, Erik Tonkin, Sam, Skj, and myself. Doug lead in the single track for the first lap then let everyone by. Sam moved up into the lead. But we were all still a group for a while. I knew there was going to be a break in the pack coming soon, and I wanted to go with it so I got around Scott. A little while later I went down in a slick corner. Scott went by but I caught back up. Then the three in front road away from Scott and I. I decided to hang behind Scott since he was riding awesome in the mud, picking great lines through the slick rocks, roots, and bridges. Each time we came to mud he just road right through like nothing, leaving me chasing on foot. When I'd finally get back on the bike I'd have to chase for a minute or so just to catch back up. On the last lap, though, he insisted I go on ahead. I told him it wouldn't be fair to pass him now after all the work he did, but he gave me the go ahead, and I went ahead. I finished 3rd behind Tonkin then Sam. Brendan flatted at some point. After awards (all the prize money going straight to the gas station), Kayla and I hit the road on a trip plagued by road construction and the entire population of the greater twin cities coming home from the cabin all at the same time. 5 hours later we were home, and I was already thinking about the upcoming 24 hours of Afton. See you there!

A Tale of Two Bucks

2010-08-01T21:50:00.000-05:00

Thursday's Buck had your noble author leading out up the hill with Brendan soon taking over on a paved climb, only to let me by as he clipped a pedal on a stump. While dodging his tumbling body, I asked if he was Ok. He said yea, dude, never been better. At this point I pulled a Contador and took off like a bat out of hell...no...more like a Contador out of saddle. I proceeded to take advantage of Brendan's misfortune for the next three laps or so. But suddenly guilt struck me. It was so strong, I could feel it like a hunk of burning lead in my legs. Thus, I decided to let up and let him pass.

Not waiting to be seated

Sunday's Buck had Brendan leading up the initial climb with your author in toe. By the time we started the second lap, it was down to Brendan, me, and Eric Thompson. I took the pull on the second lap. The first lap went by smooth, but the second I may have set the pace a bit too high for my own good. By the third lap, on the grassy part of the climb, I was waving for Brendan or Eric to take a pull, but they didn't want it. On the paved part of this climb, however, they blew by me, sneaking into the singletrack in front a lapped rider who apparently couldn't slow down for one more half a second to let me in. Oh well, the way I was hurting, I couldn't have stuck with those guys for much longer anyway. The next lap was spent alone except for all the lapped traffic. SamO came and gave me company with two to go. We had a thoroughly indepth conversation about life and all its complexities for a lap and a half. He was really haulin. I fell off, and he ended up gaining 50 seconds on me, and catching Eric all in the final half lap. That kid knows how to pace a race.

With one more Thursday Buck left, that will make it ten for me this season. Ten times 4 laps plus the six from Sunday puts me at 46 laps. It will be a relief to be done. It will also be sad to be done.

Reverse Psychology

2010-07-23T19:12:00.001-05:00

A persuasion technique involving the advocacy of a belief or behavior that is opposite to the one desired, with the expectation that this approach will encourage the subject of the persuasion to do what is desired: the opposite of what is suggested.

It was reverse Thursday at Buck this week. After the start there was a rush to get things sorted out because the revised course had us filing into the single track just 1/3rd the way up the hill. After a bit of charging I was able to get around some guys and up to Brendan and Chris, but burned more than a few matches doing so. Once Brendan slipped into the darkness of the woods, we never saw him again. Chris went down on a wet root, and let me by, only to stick to my wheel for the next 3 and a half laps. This course set-up was tough. Basically the only recovery came on the paved decent on the back side of the hill. It lasted about 5 seconds, and actually raised the heart rate due to a precariously placed patch of gravel on the asphalt where we had to turn into the wooded singletrack at 30 mph. Well it seemed like 30 mph.

The difficulty of this set-up showed in the amount of lapped traffic. I think there were a number of racers out there who weren't used to getting lapped, and thus were a bit reluctant to let folks pass. After the race, Brendan told me he called, "race leader" to a particular racer a handful of times before said rider let him by. Upon passing, the rider said to Brendan, "Some leader... It's only Buck." Apparently it's easy to win this race since it's "only Buck." It's not like it's a tough race like Hillside or anything. Seriously though, it seems the guy getting lapped was actually using a complex method of reverse psychology known as sarcasm as a means of ensuring Brendan's victory, encouraging him to prove precisely the opposite of what was suggested--that he was in fact "some leader," going on to win by over two minutes.

Meanwhile, Buck had me suffering, suffering its punchy climbs, its 120 degree corners, its no-recovery, its reverse mind games. I'm glad I didn't have to ride it alone, however. I might have got lost in the reversidness (yea, I made that up) if Chris hadn't been back there navigating for me. But I lost him on the last lap when he called out something that sounded like, "Alright, Cody. I've had enough of a workout." Well put, Chris. I think all of us who showed up this week got worked. Even though it's "only Buck."

Arms up, legs hairy.

2010-07-22T09:30:00.000-05:00

So I won a race. It was just last year that I was threading Wellgo platforms into my first ever mountain bike. Soon thereafter I got some padded, baggy shorts and crankbros for my first race ever--the rec class at Buck--and it was all uphill from there. I soon found myself in bib shorts, and liked the way the Lycra felt on my rear. I traded my white, cotton socks for real cycling socks, and made sure they were color-coordinated with my shoes . I bought a tub of chamois butter, and, as the directions recommended, I "applied liberally."

Such things--leotards, 15 dollar socks, excessive amounts of ass lube--may seem a bit gay (not that there's anything wrong with that), but one must not read into it too much; they are no more than rights of passage for us mountain bikers. The ultimate cyclist ritual, however--leg shaving--seems to me a waist of time. Not to say the thought hasn't crossed my mind. In fact, after my mighty win at Hillside, I sought to ease my curiosity on the subject, turning to none other than the all-knowing, Google. I typed: cyclists+leg+shave+why. At the very top of 112,000 results were the 5 reasons why coach Levi (whoever that is) shaves his legs, his number one being to "look good." Here's what coach Levi had to say regarding the matter: "you can have a fancy kit, sleek helmet, top-of-the-line bike, but if you pair tight spandex with hairy legs, the cycling fashion police will be forced to haul you away." I quickly concluded that coach Levi himself might be a bit gay (not that there's anything wrong with that), so I decided it be best to postpone the date with my girlfriend's Sheek razor and flirty mango shave cream.

Although Google placed coach Levi at the top of their list, I wasn't convinced that he was the premier source on the controversial topic of leg shaving, thus began my search for Jack Hinkens. I found him at an undisclosed bicycle shop, sitting on the couch, watching the TDF. His Incredibly smooth legs gave him away. They must have been freshly shaven and oiled, for the flash of sun off his calves nearly knocked me on the floor. After regaining my balance, I said, "Yo Jack, what up with the hairless legs, bro."

Jack's shiny shaved legs

He looked at me with his squinted eyes as if I already knew the answer. This is what he had to say: "beside the obvious benefits of aerodynamics, I do it because...well...it's not my choice really. As you know, I've been spending a lot of time in Europe, and I found this girl. Her name is Helga, a sweet, little, Swiss gal. But you can't tell anyone. You can't tell anyone that she doesn't shave her own legs...or anywhere else for that matter. That's why she makes me do it. She likes to watch. Mainly, though, she likes to run her hairy legs up and down my smooth ones, whispering unspeakables into my ear. But don't tell anyone, man."

"Don't worry, Jack." I said, "Your secret is safe with me."

My interview with Jack was very helpful. I realized the true reason why cyclists shave their legs. It's not about looking good or even making band-aids easier to pull off (ouch). The real reason cyclists sport smooth legs is that their wives and girlfriends make them do it, and these guys are not man enough to put their foot down. It's a sick world out there, I know. In protest, then, I have decided to keep my legs hairy, even though it will mean constantly looking over my shoulder, awaiting the arrival of the cycling fashion police to haul me away. I just hope they don't confiscate my sleek helmet.