How low can I go?

I'm bike commuting again.  Not as routinely as this spring and summer, but I am still riding.  Last week I put in two days, and this week I am hoping for 3, maybe 4.  Last year I stopped riding in October, so I am already out in front of my previous record.  Now, every day I roll up to work on my bike is just an extra reason to personally celebrate my commitment to bike commute as much as I could this year.

This morning was a bit chilly.  I purposely didn't look at the low temp for today, so I don't know what the actual temperature was but it sure felt crisp!  I was nice and toasty on the bike, though, with two layers on my legs, 3 layers on top, a hat under my helmet, and my fleece mittens.

Two areas seem to be problems in the cold for me.  My feet and my hands.  The issues are the complete opposite, too.  My hands get too warm and I have to constantly vent my mittens to regulate the heat, pulling the fingers off and on as I need to keep them from sweating too much.  Luckily, the mittens can do this, as they are the combo half finger gloves that have the mitten part which folds over your fingers when needed.  My feet, though, always seem to get cold.  I think this is due to several reasons.  One, probably the decreased blood flow when riding because more blood in being used to keep the core and muscles warm, leaving parts further from the heart to fend for themselves.  However, I think the biggest reason for cold feet is due to the wind.  When riding your feet are really one of the most stationary parts of your body.  While they provide leverage to the pedal, the joints and muscles in the foot aren't really actively flexing like your knees, hips, etc. do, and are especially stationary compared to the motions they make when walking.  This means warmth is quickly lost to the wind constantly rushing around the foot when riding.


So, as I continue to commute as the tempuratures drop, I have been making a tough decision in the moning before saddling up.  How many layers do I need, and how much colder can I ride without having to purchase special gear for it.  My personal goal is to make it at least until the temps get into the 20s.  I am in no way ready to ride on ice and snow, and I don't see studded tires in my future, so once we start getting that in Indiana I will be taking some time off.  I still wonder, though...how much cold can I tolerate for the love of riding a bike to work?

Wet Leaves!

I rode to work this morning, after it had rained all night last night.  A lot of the leaves around Indiana have come off, and are now on the streets.  The funny thing about wet leaves on pavement, is that they somehow create the perfect slippery surface between your tire and the road.

So, if you are riding anywhere in the midwest where we get a true fall season, be sure to watch for those wet leaves on the sides of the roads where you are riding.  They can be awfully slippery!

Old AT Trip photos

I dug out some old Appalachian Trail photos from a trip I took a few years back.  I think this was the second trip I took down.  As you can see from the photos, my friend Joe (the bearded one making the tomahawk out of a rock and stick) is quite the character.  He was a tank Commander in the Army, and is quite the leader on these trips.


http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2010990&id=1001269121&l=f9b6fd70f4

A Hilly Review

Yesterday I completed my second Hilly Hundred bicycle tour through Morgan and Monroe counties in Indiana.  It is a two day ride, filled with many ups and downs, both physically and mentally.  I feel like since I have completed two of these tours, that I can provide an objective review from a novice-intermediate cyclists point of view.

The Hilly is not a race, it is a challenging tour, as they like the say.  Everybody has their own goal.  Some people have a certain time they are trying to beat.  Some people, like me, are just trying to get over all of the hills without walking.  Yet others are there for the people, the experience, and the food.

I think I can say this with confidence - everybody who rides in this tour loves bicycles, the bicycle culture, and meeting other people with similar passions.  It is a really surreal experience.  Imagine being surrounded by almost 5,000 cyclists of all types - racers, triathletes, tourists, commuters, and people who do all of the above and just like to ride.  Young and old alike, people come from both coasts to enjoy a fall weekend in the Hoosier hills.

Saturday started off cold and rainy.  When I finally talked myself into crawling out of my tent, it was nearly 7:00, still dark, and ice was forming on my rainfly.  It wasn't rain, but more like a mist.  You know how at your local grocery store when they mist the veggies?  That's what it was doing.  I personally think that kind of rain gets you wetter, quicker, because you can't control it.  It floats into everything, under jackets, into hoods, into the crooks and cranies of everything, and in no time you are wet without even realizing it.  I think the tempurature was hovering somewhere between 38 and 45 most of the day, with wind whipping like mad.  A fellow rider summed it up quite well at the secure bike storage area, when he asked me if I had the number for a good psychiatrist.  Obviously, I said not, because I was getting ready to head out, too!  But, I told myself, I have waited all year for this...and I am going riding.

I tried to prevent frozen toes - something I learned about all to well last year, by putting some plastic baggies over my toes, between my socks and my shoes.  My thought here was that it would block the wind from coming through the mesh in my cleats.  For about the first ten miles I was fine.  Then, at the first rest stop, on my way to grab a banana (and probably in a semi-endorphin induced stupor), I stepped into a 3 inch deep puddle hidden under the grass and instantly my feet were wet.  Bad news.

I had extra socks with me, but against my better judgment, decided that once I started riding again the body heat would dry them out.  WRONG!  All day was a struggle to keep feeling in my feet.  By the end of the day I had no feeling from the ball of my foot to the tips of my toes.  The only thing that was able to thaw them was a warm shower at the school, in which I watched my toenails turn red, then blue, then purplish black, then red, then normal colored.  After the shower, and walking around for a while, I was able to feel my toes again.

Let me interject something here...there are WARM showers at this ride.  That's a huge plus!

Thankful for the fact that I still HAD toes, I decided it was time to head to the vendor tent (another huge plus for the ride - a fully stocked vendor tent with some really great deals!) for some shoe covers to hopefully prevent this type of thing from happening on Sunday's ride.  Luckily, I found a pair of Pearl Izumi amFIB shoe covers, but only after finding that most everyone had the same idea as me, and the pickings were very slim.  I also grabbed a pair of DeFeet Woolie Bullies - some semi-thick wool cycling socks.  The shoe covers worked great.  They have a rubber covering on the outside to stop the wind, neoprene to stop the cold, and a layer of fleece right next to the shoe to help with the heat.  I was really suprised by how well they worked.  While I still had some cold tootsies, overall it was way better than before.  I think most of the cold came from the bottom of my shoes, which would only be remedied by toe warmers or thicker insoles.  The Woolie Bullies are very nice socks.  They were pretty inexpensive, as far as wool socks go, so as I get to wear them more I will provide more information on them.

Sunday was a beautiful day.  Colder than Saturday, but not as windy.  The sun made it feel like an entirely different ride.  Even though it was freezing, a little warmth on the black shorts and sleeves of my riding gear made it feel much better.

I haven't said much about the actual ride.  It is a great tour - hands down the most fun I have had on a bicycle all year.  Even though I didn't know anyone, I never really felt like I was alone.  There is always someone to talk to, and someone who will approach you to ask about your ride, how you are doing, how you like your tires, seat, bike, whatever.  Since my bike is an odd looking duck at these rides - with the vast majority of the riders mounted up on high-tech aluminum and carbon fiber "go fast" bikes, my simple steel steed tends to look like a dinosaur in comparison.  Add to it the fact that I have a handlebar bag, a GPS on the bars, fenders all around, and a rear rack with a bag full of dry clothes inside, and I look like the guy who must be carrying all of those racer guys' stuff!  I'll tell you this, though, I can still hang with them.  Maybe not in the hills, but yesterday on some of the flat sections I was in line with a bunch of team riders, and even pulled the line for a while.  I am sure they were thinking "is this guy serious?"

I (thankfully) have a super low set of gears on my bike, so handling the hills is no problem.  I watched many double chainring'd bike riders ditch it on the hills and walk up them.  It was those times I wasn't envious of the fast bikes...because the 'Trucker is easier than walking, even at it's slowest speed!

And the food....my goodness.  Three stops are included in the ride each day.  Each are about 10-15 miles apart.  One in the morning, one for lunch, and one in the afternoon.  They have everything from bagels, apples, bananas, muffins, ice-cream, cookies, and PB&J fixings, to fried chicken, potato chips, pasta salad, and veggies with ranch dip for lunch.  The constant favorite, though, and an actual wonder-drink - is cold apple cider.  I never knew the refreshing powers of cider until this weekend.  My, what a boost!  After drinking water all day, the cider was a welcomed treat.  I don't know how many calories I burnt riding this weekend, but I assure you, I more than made up for them eating!  You won't go hungry.  They have entrees for both meat eaters and veggies alike.  I'm not a vegetarian, but I didn't eat a single piece of meat all weekend, and I was full with plenty of options to choose from.

So, I can't recommend the Hilly Hundred enough to anyone who enjoys cycling.  It is a challenge, yes, but it isn't a race.  I kept the Appalachian Trail mantra of "hike your own hike" in my mind all weekend, but modified to "ride your own ride".  Whenever I would get passed by a guy going way faster uphill than me, I would just say to myself, "ride your own ride", and that was my key to a happy, enjoyable ride in some of Indiana's beautiful fall colored hills.

Wolves.

Check out this passage from Aldo Leopold's "A Sand County Almanac":

A deep chesty bawl echoes from rimrock to rimrock, rolls down the mountain, and fades into the far blackness of the night. It is an outburst of wild defiant sorrow, and of contempt for all the adversities of the world. Every living thing (and perhaps many a dead one as well) pays heed to that call. To the deer it is a reminder of the way of all flesh, to the pine a forecast of midnight scuffles and of blood upon the snow, to the coyote a promise of gleanings to come, to the cowman a threat of red ink at the bank, to the hunter a challenge of fang against bullet. Yet behind these obvious and immediate hopes and fears there lies a deeper meaning, known only to the mountain itself. Only the mountain has lived long enough to listen objectively to the howl of a wolf.

Those unable to decipher the hidden meaning know nevertheless that it is there, for it is felt in all wolf country, and distinguishes that country from all other land. It tingles in the spine of all who hear wolves by night, or who scan their tracks by day. Even without sight or sound of wolf, it is implicit in a hundred small events: the midnight whinny of a pack horse, the rattle of rolling rocks, the bound of a fleeing deer, the way shadows lie under the spruces. Only the ineducable tyro can fail to sense the presence or absence of wolves, or the fact that mountains have a secret opinion about them.

My own conviction on this score dates from the day I saw a wolf die. We were eating lunch on a high rimrock, at the foot of which a turbulent river elbowed its way. We saw what we thought was a doe fording the torrent, her breast awash in white water. When she climbed the bank toward us and shook out her tail, we realized our error: it was a wolf. A half-dozen others, evidently grown pups, sprang from the willows and all joined in a welcoming melee of wagging tails and playful maulings. What was literally a pile of wolves writhed and tumbled in the center of an open flat at the foot of our rimrock.

In those days we had never heard of passing up a chance to kill a wolf. In a second we were pumping lead into the pack, but with more excitement than accuracy: how to aim a steep downhill shot is always confusing. When our rifles were empty, the old wolf was down, and a pup was dragging a leg into impassable slide-rocks.

We reached the old wolf in time to watch a fierce green fire dying in her eyes. I realized then, and have known ever since, that there was something new to me in those eyes - something known only to her and to the mountain. I was young then, and full of trigger-itch; I thought that because fewer wolves meant more deer, that no wolves would mean hunters' paradise. But after seeing the green fire die, I sensed that neither the wolf nor the mountain agreed with such a view.

Since then I have lived to see state after state extirpate its wolves. I have watched the face of many a newly wolfless mountain, and seen the south-facing slopes wrinkle with a maze of new deer trails. I have seen every edible bush and seedling browsed, first to anaemic desuetude, and then to death. I have seen every edible tree defoliated to the height of a saddlehorn. Such a mountain looks as if someone had given God a new pruning shears, and forbidden Him all other exercise. In the end the starved bones of the hoped-for deer herd, dead of its own too-much, bleach with the bones of the dead sage, or molder under the high-lined junipers.

I now suspect that just as a deer herd lives in mortal fear of its wolves, so does a mountain live in mortal fear of its deer. And perhaps with better cause, for while a buck pulled down by wolves can be replaced in two or three years, a range pulled down by too many deer may fail of replacement in as many decades. So also with cows. The cowman who cleans his range of wolves does not realize that he is taking over the wolf's job of trimming the herd to fit the range. He has not learned to think like a mountain. Hence we have dustbowls, and rivers washing the future into the sea.

We all strive for safety, prosperity, comfort, long life, and dullness. The deer strives with his supple legs, the cowman with trap and poison, the statesman with pen, the most of us with machines, votes, and dollars, but it all comes to the same thing: peace in our time. A measure of success in this is all well enough, and perhaps is a requisite to objective thinking, but too much safety seems to yield only danger in the long run. Perhaps this is behind Thoreau's dictum: In wildness is the salvation of the world. Perhaps this is the hidden meaning in the howl of the wolf, long known among mountains, but seldom perceived among men. 

Bliss

Last night, after the twins were bathed and put away for bed, Lauren and her mom and sister sat down to watch a movie.

I headed for the garage. I had new toys to play with! I sold a camera lens that I hardly used after going digital, and had enough money to buy some bike parts and save some for "break-down money" in case I had a part on my commuting bike go south this fall/winter.

Bottle of Dundee's Honey Brown lager in hand, I began to wrench. First order of business was to assemble the new Park Tool PCS-10 bike repair stand I ordered for myself. Thanks to the low prices and quick shipping of Universal Cycles (a Portland based distributer with a Minneapolis warehouse), I had everything I needed for a night of fun.

The stand went together very quickly, and I must say, I am very impressed with it. From the pictures I saw online, I knew it would be well built, but nothing near the actual product. It is certainly not as tough as the bike shops have, but I have no doubt that it will hold any bike I ever own, and will be around probably as long as I am able to ride bikes. Knowing Park, I'll also be able to replace any parts on it that should ever break.

Once the stand was built, it was time to hang a bike in it. The two other purchases I made with said lens money were a new set of fenders and a new saddle for my commuter bike. Both of these things were in need of replacement. The fenders were donated from a previous bike I built, where due to the front suspension on the bike I had to cut the front fender short. While functional, this also allowed spray from the front tire to blow back - basically making riding into the wind in the rain a pretty wet experience. Plus, the fenders, while still serviceable, just never did have the rigidity I had hoped for. The new set of SKS/ESGE fenders are much nicer, double the support braces, and are made of a composite material of aluminum sandwiched between two layers of almost rubbery plastic. I have a set on the 'Trucker, and they are excellent.

With the bike in the stand, I could now see why everyone always raves about having a work stand for working on bikes. It sure beat sitting on a bucket trying to keep the bike from falling over! The fenders went on in about 45 minutes. There was some misc. tuning in there, too.

Once the fenders were on, it was time to install the last of the purchases, a new Brooks B17 saddle. I tell you what...if you ever want to buy me something just because, buy me a Brooks B17 saddle. If nothing else, I will just sit and look at it. They are things of beauty. Still made in England the way they have since 1866 - well, maybe not exactly, but the same quality is there!

I prepped the saddle with some Proofride leather treatment and moved to remove the old, ripped up seat. Once it was off, and some minor cleaning of the seat post, the new Brooks was fastened to it's new companion. I had to just take a step back to look...she was a beauty.

A quick treatment with Proofride on the top of the saddle and a quick shine and rub-down with a cloth and it was time to get the bike down and go for a test ride. After a quick jaunt and a couple of adjustments, I hung the bike back up, took another long look, and went inside for bed.

The commute this morning was just a little sweeter, thanks to a new seat and fenders that didn't rattle. I will post pictures of the mods this weekend.

Bike Weather

I'm always surprised when I comment to someone about a particularly windy day, how many times people look at me like I'm crazy and say "I didn't notice." I think when you are on a bike, you tend to note things like humidity levels and wind speed/direction a lot more than someone who isn't on a bike.

For example, my favorite kind of day is a day (like what they are predicting tomorrow to be) where the wind comes from the west about about 5 mph in the morning, and then shifts to come from the east at about 5 mph in the afternoon. This means I get a tailwind both coming AND going from work. How about that!

In a car, a 5 mph wind is nothing. You don't start to notice the wind in a car until it's moving semis around, which is probably 15 to 20 mph. At those kinds of wind speeds, I'd rather walk than ride a bike! But sometimes you have to, and you just hope you're either getting that wind from the back or at least the side. If it's a headwind, I have to just prepare myself for slow going, low gears, and lots of grinding to make any forward progress. On those days, I tend to dislocate the bike computer and put it in my pocket. I don't want to know I am only going 6 mph!

I think on a bike you also notice little things like humidity changes a lot more than in a car. Probably because you're soaking in it on a bike for a longer amount of time than walking from a car.

And then there is my favorite kind of bike weather. Rain. I am being truthful here...I actually love riding in the rain. Not a complete soaker, and certainly not a thunderstorm, but just a nice little shower. Yesterday was a good example of this. As I was turning down the first street on my commute home it started to rain. It was just enough to get the street a little wet, and for the smell of rain to rush in. It was great. Cool and refreshing, without all the drama of a thunderstorm. I'll take a summer shower any day over a hot, sunny day with too much humidity. And you know what the best part of the rain was? After it stopped (only about 10 minutes) the humidy was WAY lower, probably 20% lower, and it felt like a whole new day.