Dirty Pigs

The swine flu is coming. This is fact. I know it because my employer, the illustrious State of California, is preparing for it. The government of California is never wrong.

Witness the new sign in my restroom at work:



It joins the helpful sign from earlier this summer which pleads with us to save our water:



The hand washing sign goes into great detail regarding the proper way to wash one's hands:



I especially like the part where you are told to leave the water running, walk to the paper towel holder, dispense the paper towels, dry your hands, walk back to the faucet, and THEN you carefully use the paper towel to turn off that precious water.

Nice. I wonder why this state is bankrupt?

Later.

Breakin' the Law

Sometimes life gets a bit boring. When it does, I like to get a shot of adrenalin by performing death-defying feats on the mountain bike. When that isn't enough, I ride the single speed to make it tougher. If that doesn't do it, I ride at night to make it even more difficult and dangerous. And when that doesn't do it for me, I like to go out and break the law and get chased by the fuzz, man. What a rush.

Today I was out doing the normal single speed ride around Lake Natoma and Folsom Lake. For the last few rides I have been adhering to the rules, as ridiculous as they are, and not riding on the illegal trails. Today, however, I decided to poach a couple little stretches that I really like. The first section was fine, but when I reached the end of the second section, a ranger was there waiting for me.

I quickly turned around, hoping he didn't see me. In a couple minutes I got back to the start of the section, and what do you know: another ranger was waiting there.

They pretty much had me trapped.

I turned around again and rode while I looked for a place to bail. I decided to go over a ridge and down to the main gravel levee road, the very one the rangers were parked on.

I ran and pushed as fast as I could over the ridge. My plan was to get back to the first ranger so quickly that he would think there was no way I could be the same guy. As I approached the road, I looked both ways and I couldn't see any rangers. I mounted up and rode as fast as I could toward ranger one.

When I came around the last corner, there he was sitting on the bumper of his truck. As I rode up to him I said, "How's it going?"

He eyed me for what seemed like forever before giving me a very slight nod.

I rode past and waited for him to stop me, but he didn't. I think being bold and aggressive might have saved me. Whatever it was, I was thankful to escape the lecture and/or $270 fine.

A couple minutes later I looked down and my socks were full of foxtails. I was so obvious I went boonie crashing. I really think he gave me a free pass.

I enjoyed the rest of the ride, as always. On the way back I kept it cool and avoided the temptation of the forbidden singletrack.

About the only other thing worth reporting on was this Western Pond Turtle sighting. I can't recall ever seeing one this far from the water before. It was a big one, about nine inches long. Not very interested in coming out for a picture, though:

Later.

Goats Head Soup

The basic plan for Wednesdays is to go mountain biking. However, since I did a couple tough rides on Monday and Tuesday, I wasn't up for a full-on mountain bike ride yesterday. I opted to do an "easier" dirt/road combo ride from the house.

I have a general route that connects a lot of the trails in the area, but yesterday I did it in reverse for the first time. You don't really realize how much descending you are doing on a ride until you reverse the route and climb up all those fun downhills.

The first section was the trail through Serrano, which is basically a gravel road. Then it's on to New York Creek, a great little piece of singletrack. I usually do this ride with a rigid fork, but yesterday I was riding the Jamis Dragon with a Reba, and it was so much more fun. Since I have been hitting the dirt a bit more, I really feel like my handling skills are coming back.

The next trail is Hidden Acres, another cool trail that almost connects New York Creek with Brown's Ravine. It's a no-no trail for bikes, and since a park ranger was camped out at the gate, staring me down, I rode right on by.

After a short road transition, I was on the Brown's Ravine trail. I really like that trail. Again, I felt like my old self. Finally. Just riding and not worrying about my wrist. It is what it is, and I've learned to ride with the "handicap."

It's sad to see Folsom Lake without water again. The marina is empty. All the boats are in the parking lot.



On the plus side, without boats the lake is calm and peaceful.



After Brown's, it's another short road transition on Sophia Parkway to the next trail, which is another gravel fireroad. It's about two miles long with a tough climb at the beginning and a ridiculously steep climb at the end. I had to climb it out of the saddle in a 32x32, stuck in that precarious place between spinning the rear tire and flipping over backwards. Very steep.

After a short singletrack descent I was back on the road where I noticed I had a rear flat. I stopped and found the goathead. I looked for a shady spot to throw in my spare tube.

When I got going again I jumped on the trail that links Iron Point Road to El Dorado Hills Blvd. This is where I got the second flat, this time with five goatheads in the front tire. I patched the previously flat tube with only one hole and put it in front.

On the long singletrack climb back up through the back side of Serrano I picked up a couple more thorns in my front tire. I didn't seem to be losing air, so I just kept going.

By the time I got home the front tire was going a little soft, but I made it. Within an hour it was totally flat.



It was a really great ride, especially since doing it backwards made it so much different, but the flat tires took some of the fun out of it.

Later.

California Dreamin'

When I set out to partake in an activity, I usually assess whether or not the activity is worth blogging about. Does it have blog appeal? Does the activity inherently possess the ultimate essence of blogginess?

If so, I grab the camera as I head out the door and start formulating the post in my head as I drive. Today's post was to be about a really great ride I did, in a place I haven't been to in a while, and all the great memories the area would invoke: the 24-hour races, the cross-country races, the victory, the defeat, the heat, the cold, the dust and the mud, the friendships that were forged, and encountering Sasquatch in the night. I would expertly weave all these things together, and produce my greatest post ever. My epic. My Moby Dick. People from every corner of the world would be saying, "Did you see SS29er's last post? It was . . . awesome. It changed my life."

Then I arrived at the trail to find this shiny new sign, and everything vaporized.



California is crumbling: our economy, our jobs, our infrastructure, our government, our parks. The standard of living we were used to is gone. Our status in the world is gone.

So due to budget problems, the parking area that was free for as long as the recreation area has existed now has a day use fee. Is it two bucks? Nope. Four bucks? No, it's TEN freaking dollars. Really, how many people are going to drop a ten spot to ride around in circles on a boring loop? It's not like it's Tahoe, Crested Butte, Marin or Moab. It's a dusty damn fire road in Cool, California.

Schwarzenegger took 15% of my pay, but he wasn't getting my ten bucks, so I drove across the street to a church and parked. But when I saw this sign, I left. I thought they were just too damned pretentious. I mean, what makes them cooler than the next Lutheran church?



Then I drove a little farther and found this:



Park and ride. How appropriate. I find it very funny that this free, state-run facility is a quarter mile from another state-run parking lot that charges $10. Suck it, Schwarzenegger. Dirty bastard.

With ten extra bucks in my pocket, I went out and did my ride. It was not epic. It was not that fun.

I rode the loop from the 2007 24-hour race, which is about 11 miles. One of the trail sections built for that race was overgrown and obviously had not been used since then, so I took about 1000 star thistle thorns in the shins. So nice.

Most of the loop is wide, dusty, rocky, rutted fire road with the occasional piece of singletrack. The only thing that keeps the loop from being completely useless is the tough climbing. People usually get readings between 1200 and 1500 feet per lap on their GPS units, so at least it's good training.

On the next time around I avoided the trail of shredded shins and took a new trail that looked to be recently built. It was actually pretty good, and a nice departure from the crappy fire road. Unfortunately, the damn horses had turned everything into powdered sugar. Worthless beasts. After a couple rains it should be nice.



This section gave me a break from the sun, and I briefly forgot that I was riding the boredom loop in Cool.



Although I set out to do three laps, the boredom kept me to two. I wanted 30 miles but settled for 24.

Later.

Dirt Wednesdays

With the start of first grade, for the first time since my son's birth I will have enough time to do legitimate mountain bike rides on my Wednesdays off. Unfortunately, starting this year, the school chose to let the kids out an hour early on Wednesdays. At "back to school night," the principal blathered on about better test scores being the reason, but I fail to see how this hour per week matters one bit. So they can get home an hour earlier to watch TV? Because you know that's what most of these kids are going to do.

Anyway, that missing hour makes a long ride an exercise in planning and execution. Today I rode conservatively and made it back to the school with time to spare. I'll keep stretching it out and seeing just how far I can ride in my time window.

I chose to ride from Lake Natoma out past Folsom Lake because it's the shortest drive from the school. Once I reached Granite Bay, I did a couple laps on the race course which means . . . I rode over the Rock of Destruction. Twice.

When I first rode the area again in July of '08, I actually walked over the rock. The flashbacks freaked me out. I hadn't been back until today.

When I rode over it today, the rock came and went so quickly that I almost missed it. After rolling over it, I thought to myself, That's it? You crashed on THAT?

In the 17 months since I broke my wrist on that little obstacle, the legend of its difficulty grew in my mind. In my memory it was a sheer 20-foot drop with a nasty rock garden at the bottom, something better traversed with a freeride bike than the rigid single speed I was on:



. . . a deep chasm that would eat many riders alive.



In reality it's just another feature on a pretty easy trail. A granite boulder, maybe six feet high, with a gradual decline and easy exit chute. On my second time around I had to stop on top and take a picture. Much ado about nothing:



In the end I put in a solid 39 miles and had a good time. It was great to get out and rail some singletrack on the single speed, and feel the deep fatigue in the legs that only a single speed can give you. Until it starts raining, Wednesdays are going to be fun days.

Later.

The End

Well, my son goes back to school on Monday. Summer is almost over. This is the end, my little friend, the end.

So yesterday was our last Wednesday trail-a-bike ride of the summer. We went out in grand style.

Once again we started from our normal spot at the aquatic center and headed east on the bike trail, around the south side of Lake Natoma, and headed up towards Beal's point. Normally we turn around a little past Beal's when we hit the magic 10-mile mark, which occurs about a quarter mile down the dirt levee road. Yesterday, though, he wanted to keep going. "You want to ride farther on the dirt?" I asked. "Yeah, more dirt, Daddy." Music to my ears.

Up to this point he had never wanted to ride in the dirt, preferring smooth pavement. I figured he didn't feel secure sitting behind me, not being able to see, and being bounced around without much warning.

We rode on the flat, dirt levee road. When we reached the end, my stoker commanded me to push on.

At that point the road narrows a bit, becoming hilly, curvy and a bit bumpy. I could hear laughter behind me. The rougher the terrain, the more he laughed. When we reached the end, at Granite Bay, I was told again to keep going.

We hit the singletrack. At first my partner was fighting the bike a bit, making it hard for me to steer. We hit a couple steep little downhills, and he thought it was the greatest thing ever. He laughed and laughed, and said "this is fun" every time we hit a sharp corner or downhill section.

After a couple miles I could feel him relax, and we found our flow, snaking through the singletrack as a team. He was leaning into the corners with me, and we were carving perfect arcs. It was one of the coolest experiences I have had on a bike: I was there the day my boy fell in love with mountain biking.

Even though mountain biking is fun, sometimes you have to grit your teeth and make it hurt:

As we neared the 15-mile mark, I told him it was time to turn around. Although he didn't want to, I knew by the time we reached the truck he would want off the bike.

The return trip was even more fun. Much of it is downhill, and I was thankful for that. Hauling 60 pounds behind you can get tiring. When we arrived back at the truck, I was the one who wanted off the bike.

We rode over 29 miles, which was our longest ride of the summer.

While it was the end of our summer rides, hopefully it was the beginning of his love affair with the bicycle. With any luck he will discover the joy and freedom I did when I bought my first mountain bike in 1984.

Later.

On the Road

“My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have,
but in my lack of control of them.”

- Jack Kerouac

Since I started cycling some 26 years ago, the road bike has always been an integral part of my fleet. Although I will always pledge my first allegiance to mountain biking, the truth is I have always tallied far more miles on the road than on dirt.

When I moved up to the hills six years ago, I had a nice Lemond. I had been road racing on a local team, so the bike was set up more for speed than comfort. When I look at it now my back hurts.



As I have mentioned before, the area around my house is characterized by narrow roads that are often pot-holed, chip-and-seal ribbons of punishment. Some are gravel and even dirt. One local road is absolutely horrendous because the locals want it that way. They discourage through traffic by keeping it rough, and it hasn't been paved in many years. Patch after patch after patch has been applied. It's so bad my spouse refuses to drive on it.

After spending many years riding a rather flat and boring bike trail in Sacramento, I was excited to move to the hills and enjoy epic road riding. It took about a month of flat tires and spine hammering before I tried to cram bigger tires on the road bike. I managed to get a 28mm in front and a 25mm in back. It helped a little, but not enough. Since I had quit road racing, the frame went on eBay.

After that my cyclocross bike became the primary ride.



It was closer to what I wanted, but being a racing bike the position was still pretty aggressive and the braking left something to be desired. Cantilevers can either be set up to work well (short straddle cable, pads close to the rim) or to give you the tire and rim clearance (long straddle cable) necessary for riding and racing in the dirt and mud. On more than one occasion lousy braking caused some close calls in traffic. Plus, quick adjustments in the middle of a ride are a hassle. I like caliper brakes much better for day-to-day riding.

In early 2005 I bought a Karate Monkey 29er.

It's original purpose was for mountain biking, but I quickly discovered it was a pretty good bike for my area. The tires were fat, it was comfortable, the brakes worked and it opened up more options around my house as far as terrain was concerned. It's been my primary ride ever since.

A couple years ago, I caught the road bike bug again (probably during the Tour) and bought a Surly Pacer. Touting that "Fatties Fit Fine," I thought it would be perfect. However, I was only able to successfully run 28mm tires. When I tried 32s, the front tire hit the brake return spring and the rear tire was just barely missing the front derailleur clamp. The frame went on eBay.

I went back to the Karate Monkey and things were swell. Still, sometimes I wanted something a bit faster than a porky 29er.

Perfection in my eyes has always been the Rivendell A. Homer Hilsen. There is nothing I dislike about the bike. Caliper brakes, big tire clearance, laid back geo and a quill stem. I have no doubt it would immediately end my quest. I mean, look at it (not mine).



But at two grand for the frameset, it's not going to happen anytime soon.

This spring I again decided I wanted a road bike. I researched and read, looked at pictures, pored over geometry tables, and came up with the Salsa Casseroll.

My intent was to buy the frame for $550 since I have all the necessary parts sitting in a box. But when Webcyclery put the complete single speed on sale for $735 and threw in a bunch of goodies, I pulled the trigger.

Here's what she looked like out of the box:

Relaxed geo, long head tube, and the ability to run huge tires (currently 37mm) with caliper brakes. Lots of clearance still:

I'm in the process of building it back up with gears, and the parts I don't need are going on eBay. I will easily make up the difference between the frameset price and complete bike, and get a lot of free stuff in the process. Pics to come when finished.

Later.