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Yesterday morning my buddy Doug called to see if I was up for a ride. I had no plans, so we talked about where to go. I secretly hoped for someplace other than Auburn. Naturally, that was the ride Doug chose. Auburn was the last local ride on my recovery checklist, a ride that I knew would be a challenge. To be truthful, the idea of riding there scared me a bit.

I started my comeback by riding Granite Bay, the least technical of my local rides, way back in July of 2008. It was only about six months after my wrist was repaired, and it was tough going even though the ride is really very smooth overall; it's a place you can take a very green beginner. Even with a suspension fork set up as plush as possible, I would finish the ride in pain with an angry, swollen wrist. Now I ride there almost every Wednesday, and I have progressed to the point where I now ride with a rigid fork with little difficulty.

In the fall I rode Sly Park with Doug and it gave me some problems. I was very slow on the singletrack descents, and the exposed ledges around the lake freaked me out. I walked down a number of technical sections. I cursed at myself for wimping out, but at that point I just wasn't ready. My hand still wasn't doing what my brain told it to do, and psychologically I was still flashing back anytime a ride feature looked similar to the one I crashed on.

This spring I started riding in Cool, which introduced steeper, rockier terrain and longer descents. Again, at first it gave me problems. On numerous occasions my hand nearly slipped off the bars. My hand strength was slow to return. Since the left hand is responsible for most of the braking, I had issues with fatigue on long downhills.

This summer I rode in Tahoe, where you get into longer downhills, often with features like drop-offs, stair steps, boulders, tight switchbacks, and deep sand. I spend much of my riding time there uncomfortable and timid. I walked down a stair-step drop that I used to do without much thought, a trail feature I used to look forward to doing. It sickened me. I wondered if I would ever ride like I used to.

The turning point came when I did the 50 mile race at Cool. In hindsight, I should have raced much sooner. In the racing environment I completely forgot about my wrist. Instead, I worried about fuel, hydration, cramps and chasing Doug down every hill. I finished with a little soreness, but during the race my wrist didn't hinder me much at all.

A couple weeks ago I tried Salmon Falls. It's a rough ride, but it gave me no issues. I could feel my confidence and speed increase as the ride went on.

Yesterday I arrived at the trailhead and Doug was already there. After dressing and gearing up, we rolled out. I asked Doug whether he wanted to just (hopefully) roll down Stagecoach, or hit the Manzanita Trail. Again, he wanted the tougher of the two options.

When we first hit the trail I felt a bit apprehensive, but before long I was in the groove. At the end of the trail section there is a sheer rock face, about 30 inches tall, that you have to wheelie up. When I saw it I thought, "Oh crap," but it was a pretty easy move. After that I felt like I was going to be fine.

We then descended the rest of Stagecoach and started the long climb up Clementine. It seemed like it went on forever, and it was undoubtedly the longest climb I have done on a single speed in a couple years. After that we did the Connector trail, which is one of the best trails anywhere. Then we started the Forest Hill Divide Trail (FHDT). I had forgotten how much climbing this ride has. The first half of the ride seems to be nothing but climbing. When we hit the 16 mile mark, I was seriously wondering if I was going to make it. When we crossed Forest Hill Road, Doug assured me that we were at the high point, and the rest of the loop was mostly downhill. And it was.

The second half of the FHDT and the Connector on the way back was some of the most fun I have had on a bike in years. The trail was in perfect condition. The mostly downhill, rolling singletrack was fast and buffed, with incredible traction. I was up front and riding well, as comfortable on the bike as I used to be. I was smiling to myself as we ripped along, carving through perfectly radiused corners, many of them with berms. So fun.

We dropped down Clementine rather than bombing the Culvert and Confluence trails. My wrist was tired and a bit swollen, so I opted to play it safe rather than ruin an otherwise perfect ride with a fatigue-induced mishap.

All that was left after that was the climb up Stagecoach, which has always been one of my favorite climbs.

Doug:



Me:



We ended up with 29 miles. It was a super fun ride, and I rode everything just fine. My wrist isn't perfect, but I have learned to ride with it, and it doesn't limit me too much at this point.

I feel like my wrist has been a central theme in my life for a while, and I am tired of talking about it. After yesterday's ride, I feel like I can close the book on that chapter.

I won't mention it again.

Later.

Breathe

Tuesday was a rough day at work. Tension is high. Furloughs, budget cuts, deadlines, low staffing levels, ill-conceived projects, the oncoming tax season and the general dissatisfaction that has crept into the minds of most Californians all contribute to a very tense workplace. Tuesday I had two arguments with guys who are normally very laid-back and level-headed. I could have prevented either or both arguments by simply keeping a level head myself, but I didn’t. Quite frankly, it felt good to lose it a little bit. Unfortunately, I sit right next to my boss, who heard it all. He doesn’t handle conflict well, and it drove him over the edge; he’s back on the glue again. We all have our ways of dealing with life.



Wednesday I was looking forward to my weekly single speed ride more than usual. I needed a release. I needed to breathe.

After dropping my boy off at school, I headed down to the trailhead. The morning was clear and cool, but not cold, the morning dew providing perfect, grippy soil conditions. I warmed up briefly, then quickly settled into a fast and somewhat uncomfortable pace. Over each rise I hit it hard, relishing the resistance of the pedals as I powered over hill after hill.

The frustrations of the previous day melted away as I became more and more absorbed with my ride. It was just me, a narrow trail, and one gear. No thinking, only reacting. The world beyond my tunnel of vision faded away, the trees only a blur in passing. The fall colors wrapped around me like an old, comfortable blanket.

Before long I had traveled 15 miles. I sat up and ate an energy gel on a smooth section of trail. I cruised slowly and looked around a bit, enjoying the scenery after redlining it for over hour. A call of “on your left” brought me out of my daydream as two guys motored by. I stuck the empty gel pack in my pocket and went after them.

I tend to ride under control on singletrack these days. Anybody who has ever suffered a head-on collision with another rider probably does. So when a couple guys go by at race pace, it’s fun to jump on the train because you can ride at otherwise dangerous speeds without worrying—you have two crash test dummies ahead of you.

Because they were on geared bikes, I had a difficult time catching up to them at first because the terrain was flat. As the trail became more hilly, I reeled them in with each successive climb. Finally, I bridged up on a long, steep ascent. I rode behind them for a few more miles before they turned off and I continued on to do another loop.

I stopped at the top of a hill overlooking (the mud puddle that once was) Folsom Lake. I rarely even set foot on the ground when I ride, preferring to ride straight through. On this day, however, I had a different mindset. I sat down and enjoyed the day. The warm sun felt good on my face. I called my wife. I called a friend. I drew in the dirt with a stick. I took a picture.



After about 30 minutes, I started the 14 mile ride back to the truck. The rest of the ride was more mellow. I rode at a good tempo and finished the 41 miles feeling tired but fresh, if that makes sense.

The only hiccup in the whole ride was when I realized, after reaching El Dorado Hills, that I had left my front wheel in the parking lot back at Hazel. I rushed back down, terrified that I had lost my DT Swiss wheel. When I arrived, I was relieved to see that some nice person had placed it in the dirt median of the lot where it wouldn’t be run over.

Thanks, nice person.

Later.

El Viento Grita Maria

When I woke up yesterday, I wasn’t motivated to ride. I could hear the strong wind blowing from the north, and I don’t care for the wind. In fact, give me anything else—searing heat, freezing temperatures, rain—and I’ll be happy to ride in it. However, the wind and I have always had an uneasy relationship. When I say this, I’m just trying to be nice. The truth is, we absolutely hate each other.

Until the last few years, I have always been a pretty skinny guy. Even now, at 5-10 and 167 pounds, nobody would call me fat. But as recently as five years ago I was racing at 148 pounds. The wind has its way with someone that size on a bike. The wind is a bully. It pushes, shoves, pulls and kicks sand in your face. It laughs at you. Calls you weak. Says stuff about your mom.

Ask a big, strong rider how he feels about the wind, and he might just shrug; it has little effect on them. Ask a skinny guy, and he will tell you in great detail how much he hates it, his diatribe most likely peppered with expletives.

Years ago, I remember my buddy Steve and I setting out on our daily training ride on a windy day. We were planning on a ride around Folsom Lake, which was about 65 miles round-trip from where we lived. After around 15 miles of the wind blowing in my face, I turned around and went home. Steve completed the ride alone, and didn’t speak to me for a couple days. I loved riding with Steve, but I hated the wind just a little bit more.

Since Wednesday is the only day I’m guaranteed a mountain bike ride, I felt like I had to go. I dragged myself out of bed and prepped the bike, ate breakfast, and headed out the door with the kids. After dropping them off at school, I drove to the trail.

It was clear and cold, and the north wind made the 46 degree morning feel much colder. I spun out of the parking lot eager to reach the woods where the wind would be blocked somewhat by the trees.

Riding in the woods on a windy day has always given me the creeps, and yesterday was no different. It’s unnerving to ride under huge trees and hear the creaking and groaning coming from above as they sway in the wind. It was only a couple miles before I saw proof my uneasiness was not unfounded:



The branch was so freshly snapped the scent of pine was still in the air. Nice.

I rode on and enjoyed myself in spite of the cold. When I reached Beal's Point, bulldozers were working on the dyke. The dirt levee road was blocked off and a detour sign pointed me down the entry road to the left. When I reached the bottom I found this sign:



Yep, the detour was through illegal singletrack.

While part of me was happy to ride some of my favorite trails without fearing The Man, part of me was also pissed. If riding these trails is such a horrible, heinous crime against humanity that it carries a $270 fine, why is it OK now? Shouldn't we be routed out to Auburn-Folsom Road so that no horsies or hikers lose their outdoor experience? So that no calamitous collision occurs between equine and our knobby-tired killing machines?

Yes, I'm being over dramatic. Sue me. But if mixing user groups on these trails is a huge problem, a dangerous situation, then wouldn't the trail just be closed to mountain bikes during the dyke work?

Later.

Got Milk?

The last race I had planned to do this season was yesterday, and I was not there. I elected to skip it because I was feeling pretty tired.

Last week was rough as far as rest and relaxation were concerned. The typical week is crazy anyway, with long work days, the kids’ homework, Taekwondo, running errands, making dinner, etc. We never get enough rest considering we get up at 3:30 a.m. for work.

Normally Friday night is a time to lie around and unwind, but we scored free tickets to the last Sacramento Kings preseason game Friday night. After working our 10-hour shift, we rushed home to grab the kids. We then ran errands related to the next day’s birthday party before grabbing a quick bite to eat and barely making tipoff at 7:00. After the game was the long drive home for me, in horrible post-game traffic, while everyone else slept. My head hit the pillow at 11:30 p.m.

On Saturday we got up (too early) and started preparing for my son’s sixth birthday party. It went off fairly smoothly, although herding six-year-olds through a movie and pizza party can be a bit stressful. We were finished and back home by 3:00. I was exhausted and knew at that point it would be dumb to race.

Yesterday I woke up and lounged around, eventually parking myself in front of the TV to watch the first half of the 49ers game. At halftime, with the Niners down 21-0, I suddenly wanted to go for a ride. Although it was late in the day, I decided to go mountain biking.

I performed a quick maintenance job on my single speed, which hadn’t been touched since the race two weeks ago. I threw it in the truck and headed to Salmon Falls.

I had not been to Salmon Falls in about two years. Due to how rough the ride is, I didn’t want to do it until I felt my wrist was ready. After banging through the 50-mile race a couple weeks ago with no issues, I was ready.

Right out of the parking lot is the most technical, rocky climb on the ride. I almost made it all the way up before screwing up right at the top. After that I cleaned every hill and rock garden the rest of the way.

Along the way I saw this guy:

Since I had my camera out, I took the obligatory MTBR bike + scenery shot:

Towards the end of the ride I was feeling a little weak. I really needed something other than water. That's when I saw this Holstein cow:

I hadn't milked a cow since high school agriculture class, but I figured I would give it a shot. I needed some energy drink!

It was tough to aim the milk into the small mouth of a waterbottle. Milking a cow is much easier with a proper milk bucket. I wish I could have taken pictures, but my hands were full of teats.

After the milking I continued to ride while the milk cooled in my bottle. Who wants 101.5 degree milk? (That's the body temp of a healthy cow.)

After a few miles I stopped to try it out:

Hot damn, did that hit the spot!

Later.

Race Report: Knickerbocker 50

It’s been a while since I typed the words “race report.” It feels quite nice.

Saturday was the Knickerbocker 8-hour/50 miler, which took place in Cool, CA. Since my first couple attempts at 8-hour races were not very successful, I opted for the 50 mile option in the Beginner/Sport Single Speed class. I’m OK with being a sport class racer, but I hate the fact that “beginner” is part of the class name. I have been racing for a long, long time, so I am no beginner. However, by no means am I an Expert/Pro anymore, which was my only other option for racing single speed.

I broke one of the cardinal rules in racing by making a big change to my bike the night before the race. I had been running a 34x20 (1.7 : 1) gear for the past few months, but last time I rode the Cool course the gear was a bit tall for my liking. I called around looking for a 21-tooth freewheel, so I could run a 34x21 (1.619 : 1), but this podunk cow town was fresh out. I had to switch out my cranks to get a 32-tooth chainring on there, which gave me a 32x20 (1.6 : 1) gear.

I went to bed that night and had a tough time sleeping. It had been 21 months since I last toed the starting line, and my wrist was still a question mark. I had not stressed the joint like it would be in this race. I was concerned about my wrist, my fitness, the distance, the cramps . . .

One thing that helped greatly was my buddy Doug deciding to come out and race. I felt a lot better about my chances of finishing the race with a partner to ride and pace with.

On race morning it was a bit cool and breezy. Reports from the course all said the same thing: super dry and dusty.

The course would be a 12.5 mile loop that we would ride four times, each lap with about 1750 feet of climbing.

We started with a Le Mans start, which means you run to your bike. I really hate having to run in cycling shoes, but the intent was to spread out the pack before hitting the trail in an effort to make the dust more manageable. I don't think it helped much. The dust was pretty bad for the first couple miles.

After that things spread out a bit and the dust was manageable, but still ever present. Doug and I settled into our race pace, which was a pretty comfortable tempo that never really taxed me much aerobically.

Lap one was pretty uneventful. There was more singletrack than when I last raced there in 2007, so I was actually enjoying the ride. We walked up the steep climb out of Knickerbocker Creek. I ride this climb during regular rides, but there's no reason to do it in a race; you can go just as fast walking and not destroy your legs.

The climb out of Salt Creek was great. My gearing choice was perfect and I was very comfortable on the climb all day. When we crested the top I was actually kind of surprised how easy the lap was. I felt confident I could finish the race.

Not too far into the second lap I had a twinge in my calf. I could not believe a cramp was coming on already. I upped my fluid and fuel intake and hoped for the best.

The second time up the Salt Creek climb the cramps really started to creep up. They weren't full on cramps, but I could feel them lurking. When we arrived to the start/finish area, I gorged myself on energy drink and gels. After lubing our bone-dry chains, we rode off for lap three, and I felt uncomfortably full.

On the third lap my triceps started cramping, so I tried to stay seated. Doug was spending much more time in the saddle on the climbs, so I tried to do the same to give my arms a break. At the rest stop, which was mid-lap, I again fueled up with a small cup of sports drink and a gel. On the third trip up Salt Creek my legs wanted to blister it, but I was still barely holding off the cramps, so I rode a nice tempo. Even so, I was passing quite a few people. It's a weird feeling to have really good legs and not be able to use them because of cramps.

Before the fourth lap, I drank about 30 ounces of sports drink and ate another gel. We soft pedaled much of the first half of the fourth lap because both of us were on the verge of cramping. At the rest stop they gave us some Endurolytes, which are capsules filled with electrolytes. I don't know if it was the capsules or just the fact that I was smelling the barn, but on the fourth trip up the Salt Creek climb I felt great.

After that we rolled down to the finish and it was over. I felt pretty fresh, and were it not for the cramps, I really felt like I had another couple laps in me.

Doug killed it. He consistently pulled away from me (and others) on the downhills with the rigid fork, and he climbed really well even though his 32x19 gear might have been a little tall for 7000 feet of climbing. I certainly couldn't have pushed that big gear.

We ended up first and second in Single Speed Sport. This may sound more impressive than it was since there were only four people in our class. Still, I think we both rode well enough to be near the top even if there were many more entrants in our single speed class. Had we entered the regular sport class, we would have finished 5th and 6th against the geared riders. Not bad.

We had a cold keg of microbrew waiting at the finish, which tasted pretty damn good after the effort. It was a fun day and it felt great to finally get back out there and do some racing.

On to the pictures. Me after the race:

Doug bringing it home right after me:

"Are you talking to us?"

Talking to Roger as he refuels for his next lap with a PBR:

Roger describing how he passed me like a rocket:

Tinker wins the overall Leave No Trace series title:

Tinker attempts to run over me with his new scooter:

Todd and Roger mugging for the fans:

It was a great day filled with friends, family, single speeds, racing and simply being immersed in the cycling community again. After 21 months of wondering if my wrist would ever reach a point when I could do this again, I finally had my answer. And it was an emphatic yes.

Later.

Go Time

Doug's getting ready rumble!

Redemption Song

After my horrible ride on Wednesday, I was dying to get back out and see if it was just a fluke, or if I was going to have cramping issues in my upcoming race.

I was supposed to go on a field trip with my son today, but he ended up getting sick. Since I had the day off anyway, I slipped out for a ride.

I rode the same route I did on Wednesday and had no issues with cramps. I felt good and rode strong. I guess I just had an off day last time.

Later.