Old Fat-Ass Racing Team

I posted photos of the frame, and now I will post the build itself.

This is a Kirk Terraplane, built by David Kirk of Kirk Frameworks (http://www.kirkframeworks.com/). It’s a custom-made bicycle, this particular one somewhere between 160 and 170 in his ouevre under his own label. This particular bike is a filet-brazed steel frame, most recognizable for its distinctive curved seatstays.

While a framebuilder for Serotta, David Kirk developed a suspension system for road bikes, relying on curved titanium stays and an elastomer piece that restricts the flex in those stays while increasing their “rebound.” While not an active suspension like those of mountain bikes, this design increases the vertical compliance in the rear of the bicycle significantly. This suspension, called the DKS (Dave Kirk Suspension) was available from Serotta on the Hors Categorie (”without category” in French) model. Only about 600 Hors Categorie DKS were ever built.

The Kirk Terraplane recreates some of this design in a unique curving seatstay. Like the DKS, though perhaps not quite as effectively, the curving stays absorb some amount of roughness in the rear of the bike, resulting in a remarkably smooth ride over the worst roads. It’s a great design for a touring bike, though Dave has had some luck with this design in his racing-specific frame, the JKS Special. My own Terraplane is somewhere in between the lightweight JKS Special and a touring frame. While it has clearance for 28mm tires, it is a lightweight frame that still feels right in the hills. It’s not my Moots or my Ridley, but it’s plently light enough, and the quality of the ride more than makes up for any shortcomings in weight.

My build is setup to be a quick, comfortable bike. I’m still not sure how high I’m going to go with the spacers, and I suspect that I may need a slightly longer stem, perhaps another 10mm or so, to be perfect. As built, however, it’s a wonderful bike. Last night at St. George Island, I rode end-to-end and back (34 miles) in 1:45 without really trying too hard. I was in the drops the entire time and finished up with a comfortable tiredness and no problems in my hands.

Kirk Terraplane, fillet-brazed steel bicycle frame with stainless steel dropouts
Shimano Dura Ace 7900 components, including compact crank
Shimano Dura Ace 7810 pedals
Shimano PRO Plt stem, saddle, and bars (classic bend) in ice grey
Selle Italia SLR Gel Flow, Team Edition, saddle
Chris King 1″ headset and spacers in pewter, with UCI World Champion colors
Mavic Cosmic Carbone Pro carbon tubular wheels with Mavic Carbon hubs and bladed spokes
Vittoria Corsa tubular tires, 23 mm width
Fizik bar tape in metallic silver

Most striking, perhaps, is the unusual paint job provided by Joe Bell. Joe is known in the cycling community as painter to the pros and the stars. Indeed, all Kirk bicycles made have been exclusively painted by Joe. Throughout the cycling community, Joe is known for his amazing attention to detail. My Kirk is no exception; the paint is loud, but absolutely flawless. The yellow spots are crisp, clean, and perfect and the fade to metallic silver is a technically difficult detail rendered with the highest precision. Between the perfect joins Mr. Kirk acheives and the “clean teeth” smoothness of Mr. Bell’s paint, this is a stunning bike to behold, as it seems almost created in one piece.

But, you say, what ABOUT that paint? Well, I fully intended for this bicycle to be a statement of both the builder and the painter. I gave Dave my measurements and we talked at length about my style of cycling. He created a masterpiece. I gave Joe some color ideas (red, white, silver, black and yellow) and said, “Do whatever you want. Go wild. I want it to look fast, even when standing still.” After some weeks, Joe expressed some apprehension about creating a design that, while swoopy with the curves of the stays and Dave’s logo, still created some impression of speed. “I’ve got some ideas, though,” he assured me.

Look what landed!

I gave Joe Bell some color ideas and said “Do whatever.” This is the outcome! Think it’s loud enough for me?

Since my knee surgery back in June (just a meniscectomy on the left knee), I’ve backed off quite a bit from the training regimen I was following all Spring. (Hell, “backed off” is an understatement. I QUIT.) For the past month or so, I’ve been back on the bike, riding 90-100 mile weeks, never at any real speed nor much regimented power work. The past three days changed a bit of that. Did about 125 HARD miles since Friday. “Not much,” you say. Again, I rode it HARD, generally with people who are quite a bit faster than I am; in my group, that’s just about everyone. I just kept going and going, which I’m generally proud of, but when your training regimen is characterized by Pop-Tarts and deskwork, you have to KNOW when to stop. Or at least slow down. I’m apparently an idiot that way. “Still,” you say, “that’s only a bit more than a single century.” Again, it was HARD. Dammit! What do I have to do to convince you that I was out there, killing myself!?

Friday morning was a hard, solo ride of 30 miles, followed up by Friday evening’s social ride. Nothing too bad, right? I do it every week. Only THIS Friday night social was witness to the ultimate in transparent cycling attire: the Bianchi Commemorative World Champion kit in white. That’s right, my fat was shoehorned into a full-on white kit. Including matching gloves. I was BLING, baby! I was STYLING. (I was FRED.) Of course, the truth of such attire is that you MUST ride like you deserve to wear it; you are a target for the rest of the riders, less from the meaning of the kit that for the gall to wear one in all-white. I obviously do NOT deserve to wear a uniform of such prestige, so the choice of a 13 mile social ride as a good one. I could attack most of the ride without concern for the vast amounts of riding required to get me home later. I could attack with impunity. (Ha! Always wanted to say that about myself.) And attack I did. (Chris said I “seemed motivated,” rather than simply melting under the withering force and awesomeness of my attacks. Judge for yourself their effectiveness.) Pizza and beer afterward was a welcome treat.

Saturday morning was the Chaires ride. This particular episode included an ill-fated attack up Whitehouse Road (no, I was NOT wearing the white kit). Again, much like the attacks fo the previous evening, my attacks were less withering and more irritating. This one merely spurred the meatheads into a crushing 25+ pace down the remainder of Whitehouse Road. I held on for a few miles until turning onto 59, at which point I was dropped like a hot rock. Thus followed a short interval between the fast group and the string of suffering souls behind it. Luckily, Jamie waited for me at the 59/27 intersection. And I began a long, hard ride keeping up with Jamie. I had some good climbs but Jamie’s newly found time-trialing ability was something to behold; he kept us at 23 or so for a LONG time. (I’m just not capable of a 1 hour 40k right now!)

Sunday’s was a 35 mile dirt-road ride, heading north of Tallahassee into Georgia. The recent rains abated for a few days, making the sand and clay roads pretty much perfect to ride–hard-packed and not too muddy, not too loose. Patrick somehow found a route that included 11 and 12 percent climbs (short, but steep) and Lanae was “riding slow,” meaning she was KILLING all of us. The creek bottoms and low places were the home of a new, unforeseen obstacle: horseflies. I’ve had horseflies attack while riding, but there were HUNDREDS of them. Most of them, on me. It became a race to pass people, leading your own swarm into them and hoping at least a few would find your riding companion a bit easier to eat. Slapping at the swirling cloud of monstrous insects was pointless; I found it easier to wait until one got a good hold on me, then splatter it where it sat–generally on my legs and bottom. This went on for HOURS, and we only cleared them once we found our way back to the east and the day wore on.

I was tired when I finally arrived home. We got lunch and I realized I had BAD heartburn. I never get heartburn unless I eat fried shrimp or raw onions; this was a surprise, and I don’t deal well with it. Milk did little to help, but the pharmacist at Publix suggested Pepcid Complete. After an hour or so, the heartburn was gone and I felt well enough to eat dinner. Afterwards, the kids settled down for a DVD and I lay in bed.

Soon, I started shivering uncontrollably. I knew I was feverish, and Jenny confirmed that I felt hot. Still, no nausea nor anything else came on, just shivering. Jenny brought me some ibuprofren and I lay there, trying to read or sleep, neither of which could I do. I just stared at the ceiling and shook. By 9:30 or so, my shaking subsided, but I still felt cold. I got up and went to the store to get milk and cat food, and by my return, I was ROASTING hot. The chills were gone, but my metabolism was absolutely through the roof. I lay on top of the covers in boxers, just steaming.

Luckily, Monday was fine, and Tuesday even better, but I’m taking a few days off the bike.

After Saturday’s climb up Mont Ventoux in the Tour de France’s penultimate stage, Lance Armstrong made clear reference to my impending assault on the mountains of Alpine France.

“I can’t complain,” said Armstrong after the stage. “For an old fart coming in here and getting on the podium, [it’s] not so bad.”

Although I was surprised at first, I am currently preparing for the impending contract negotiations with Armstrong’s new Livestrong / Radio Shack team for the 2010 season. Lance’s little “slip” made it clear that he’s aware of my cycling ability and telegraphed his intention for me to lead his new team in next year’s outing. I don’t anticipate much racing next Spring and will be skipping the classics, preferring to prepare solely for the Tour, much in the manner Lance has undertaken over the past 10 years. I will hopefully have a chance to enjoy those races after my eighth Tour victory…again, modeling my career in the manner of Armstrong’s. I’m sure he’s excited about working for me as a “super domestique,” although I anticipate bringing along some of my own cycling teammates, notably the Friday night Social Ride crowd from Higher Ground. This may minimize Lance’s role on the team, though I’m sure he’ll still be available for public appearances, bike-a-thons, and century rides. He will want to “spread the word about his foundation” of course, as he has over the course of the 2009 racing season. It’s amazing how much exposure to European crowds increases the rate of American donation, so imagine what AMERICAN crowds will do!

Unfortunately for Trek, their middle-of-the-road, yawn-inspiring piles of carbon fiber will be replaced by various steel beauties from Richard Sachs, who has yet to comment on his new sponsorship commitment. Team colors are yet to be announced, but they WON’T include yellow, nor that godforsaken hieroglyphic crap that Lance has become so fond of.

It’s July, the middle of the cycling season and the middle of the Tour de France, I have a new bike, I’ve been riding, and I haven’t written a single thing. Mostly, I suppose, I’ve been distracted. I’ve been watching the aforementioned bike race on both the Intarwebs and the telly, and that’s taken up a good piece of my evenings and mornings. Afternoons are spent supposedly working while actually reading examinations and speculation of the day’s Tour stage and those to follow. Part of the time is spent posting my own examination and speculation of the Tour, as well as arguing with others about their own damn-fool examination and speculation.

On the weekend, I ride. Unless I’m not. Lately, storms and various other interruptions have been messing up some of that. Rain I can handle, but Florida in July is the lightning capital of the world, and I’m not about to risk creating my own unintentionally-electric Dura Ace group. As it is, I’ve been building up a bit of strength in my recently-repaired left knee. I’m standing up on the pedals, now, which is a relief, and I’m starting to feel a bit stronger. Last weekend’s 50 on Sunday was pretty good…well, 35/50ths of it was EXCELLENT, before the heat and lack of water started getting to me. I stopped twice for iced tea, which is something the Tour organizers really should consider for the boys. It saved my life, and I’m sure that it would add an air of comfort and hospitality to the otherwise-brutal 23-day event.

I was told that my red-stitched black bibs are uber-thin the other day. It appears that my butt crack was NOT in perfect alignment with the center seam in the back, which was compelling/attractive/distracting to the ladies behind me. While I have not been told to cease wearing said shorts, I have been kindly asked to be certain that all seams and cracks are in alignment. In retaliation, I am now determined to purchase a pair of nice, white pro bibs and to wet them thoroughly (with a water bottle…pervs) before social or club rides. Cervelo TdF or Lampre UCI kit might do well, but I suspect the Assos high-end stuff might be thinner and thus more transparent.

Ben Farver over at Argonaut has asked to borrow my bike for the Rocky Mountain Handmade show. He’s the builder, so I can’t say “no” to him; he’s just a great guy! That said, I’ve had the bike for just a couple of weeks, and letting it out of my sight–even for a short ten days–is unpleasant at best. Thus, I am asking for suggestions for swag or other bike-builder detrius that might make this deal all-even. Pro photos of the bike, maybe a shirt, something cool from the show…you get the idea. Drop me a line with your suggestions!

My Argonaut in SRAM Red

The title of this post is credited to my friend, Patrick. Patrick and his lovely (and faster) wife, Lanae, have just returned from a trip to the scenic Northwest, where they discussed the creation and acquisition of a certain titanium bicycle with a pig on it. On their return, Patrick was disgusted to see this blog languishing in disorder and lack-of-updates, and thus informed me that it was “sad.” He is, unfortunately, correct. Thus, an update has now been made. Thanks for shaming me yet again in a cycling-related activity.

Last night’s social ride was my return to cycling, nine days after my knee surgery. Prior to the ride and right at the beginning, my knee felt stiff and sore, but as the ride progressed, things loosened up. By the end, I was spinning quickly with no pain. Unfortunately, I can’t get out of the saddle without pain, but I’m certain that will return. In fact, I’m convinced that cycling has relieved much of my knee pain throughout this experience. I’ve had a torn meniscus for well over a year and found, throughout that time, that a couple weeks off the bike resulted in an increase in pain–more popping and stiffness. On the bike, and the knee pain was greatly alleviated. It’s purely anecdotal, to be sure, but it’s enough for me. Additionally, I’ve noticed a bit of increase in the range of motion for the knee. Prior to surgery, I could not straighten the knee–”locking” it–whatsoever. Now, though it’s not at 100%, the knee does seem a bit closer to the vertical, compared to my other, good knee. Anyway, it’s something.

Here’s my knee. If these were on my head, I’d have had a lobotomy.

I get the stitches out next week. They didn’t seem to be pulling or tugging at all, but I noticed the vertical stitches had disappeared after last-night’s ride. Haven’t seen them anywhere, and they seem to be completely gone from my knee. Weird. Hope I don’t start spouting synovial fluid like a broken brake line.

I rode the restored Pogliaghi last night for the first time since rebuilding it. It’s a beauty and rides as well as anything I’ve ridden before. Smooth, supple…just buttah. I’ve committed sacrilege for building it with SRAM Rival, but I’m sold on SRAM shifting and 10-speed. Sante would forgive me, and most likely greatly approve, I know. Build photos to follow soon, but here’s the paint:

I’ve got these carbon wheels still for sale, folks! Someone take them off my hands!

SOLD! Reynolds DV46T Carbon Tubular Wheelset - $950 shipped SOLD!

These are sold, but I’m leaving up the prices and descriptions for people interested in pricing used wheels..

These are barely-used Reynolds DV46T carbon tubular wheels. I purchased them while experimenting with carbon wheels, and rode them only once before I found out how much I like Edge wheels. So, I’ve put about 30 miles on them, and they’re in GREAT shape. No nicks, bumps, scratches, gouges, or carbon weevils.

I’m selling them without tires so you can’t blame me for being a lousy tubular installer.

* Reynolds DV46T wheelset
* White Industries hubs
* 16 spokes, radial lacing on front wheel
* 24 spoke 2x on drive side, radial on non-drive side
* Shimano freehub
* No tires or skewers
* braking surfaces excellent

I’d like $950 shipped, and I’ll take a personal check, money order, cashier’s check, or Paypal (if you’ll pick up the Paypal fees).

SOLD! Zipp 404 Carbon Tubular Wheelset - $1050 shipped SOLD!

These are sold, but I’m leaving up the prices and descriptions for people interested in pricing used wheels. I DID end up going halvesies on a new cassette body for these wheels.

Another of my experiments, these are in great shape. Again, no scuffs, scrapes, nicks, or carbon weevils.

* Zipp 404 carbon tubular wheelset
* Zipp hubs with carbon bits
* DIMPLES!
* 18 spokes, radial lacing on front wheel
* 24 spoke 2x on drive side, radial on non-drive side
* Shimano freehub
* No tires or skewers
* braking surfaces excellent

I’d like $1050 shipped, and I’ll take a personal check, money order, cashier’s check, or Paypal (if you’ll pick up the Paypal fees). If you buy ‘em and you don’t like ‘em, you can punch me in the face!

The arthroscopy for the torn meniscus in my left knee was Wednesday. I am currently rooted to the couch, with my leg up and a computer on my lap. My knee is swollen and hurting, though considerably less so since I became really aware of it Wednesday night. By “aware” I mean “howling in agony.” Of course, there’s not much a little hydrocodone can’t fix. I can walk around a bit, now, and it looks like things are on their way to recovery. I get to take the dressings off soon and see what’s left under there. Film at 11.

Bike in a week? 10 days? We’ll see!

Sorry this is so LATE. It’s been sitting in the queue, and I’ve got other things I really need to post.

The Cheaha Challenge was everything I thought it would be, and a bit more. Cheaha Mountain is the highest point in Alabama, and unlike Brasstown Bald, the road to the summit is a comparatively easy climb that goes right over the top and down the other side. When you’re 230 pounds, however, “comparatively easy” is the funny part of the last sentence.

The ride started with the threat of impending storms. A slow front stretched from Texas to the East Coast, and the Anniston and Piedmont areas were right in the middle of the good stuff. When I awoke, I didn’t really see how it was possible we were going to ride for more than an hour or two before the storms arrived. And, as the Weather Channel warned, these storms carried a “strong possibility of large hail and tornadoes.” Not exactly perfect riding weather. Still, we went to Piedmont for breakfast and found that, thought wet, the course was clear. So, a bit of yogurt and cereal, and off we went.

The ride out was uneventful, discounting the inevitable multi-sport athletes and their insidious insistence on riding aero bars in the middle of a large group. There’s nothing like finding yourself surrounded by them and having to sprint away just to keep their cooties from dragging you to the pavement. This occurred on more than a couple of occurrences, and our little group soon found itself separated as the ride split into smaller and smaller packs, split by the intervening no-man’s-land of triathletes and their lane-clearing ways.

We rolled out quickly, at 18 to 20 mph or so, and passed the first rest station. The terrain was rolling and pleasant, with no surprises or difficult hills. It was fun to see the variation in jerseys and body types as we rolled. My favorite was a particularly attractive young woman, Annette, who must have had the aerobic capacity of Armstrong; she seemed to be happiest when talking as quickly and as loudly as she could, and she received a LOT of attention from those around her. I was to ride near her for a good part of the ride, and although I never actually spoke to her, I felt as though we were life-long friends by the time she dropped away. I knew so MUCH about her, it was difficult to see her go.

The first climb, just short of the second rest stop, was surprising. A long, curving climb of 5 to 6 percent quickly separated the newbies from those riding compact and triple gearing. For the first time in my life, I was riding a triple in a century and I was sure happy to be able to spin easily up the hill to conserve energy for the climbs to come. We regrouped a bit at the rest stop. I really must applaud Mike Poe and the ride organizers; the rest stops were insanely well-stocked. Each station had porta-potties, citrus, drinks, fruit, sandwiches, cookies…and who knows what all else. It’s a shame that I confine myself to gels, Powerbars, and water on these rides to keep my stomach at bay; I really must go back to Cheaha with the intention of eating my way through the ride. I never saw a rest stop run low, and everyone seemed happy to gorge themselves. A good feed, to say the least.

Rest stop 3 was at the top of Horseblock Gap, one of the steepest climbs on the route at 8.84 percent on the outbound and 10 percent coming back. This was the first climb I really felt, and I dropped all the way to the granny gear to get to the top without a struggle. The last couple hundred yards were a real bear, too. Only the sight of the devil, leaping up and down at the summit, goading riders to harder efforts with his pitchfork and red tail, made it possible for me to stand, drop a couple of gears and power to the top. The rest stop at the top was a Tour de France victory celebration, too. Podium girls and yellow jerseys and really cute berets with sunflowers. At this point, however, I was just not in the mood for the celebration; I had a long way to go, and a short time to get there (Put the hammer down and watch ol’ Bandit run?), and my bike was just NOT shifting properly. I leaned over the bike and started fiddling with the derailleurs. Once a proper head-rush had been achieved from said leaning-over, I went and smoothly conned Sandi into resisting the urge to turn around on the metric route and press ahead to Cheaha.

The next ten miles were an absolute nightmare. Where Six Gap is six difficult climbs, the ten miles to the summit of Cheaha Mountain is a relentless series of short, 8 to 10 percent climbs. I don’t care who you are; this sort of interval training sucks the life out of you. The leaders (on the full 102 mile ride, no less) passed us in this section, their carbon wheels and stern faces betraying them as “hard men” as they blew past the pale, sticky, Cinnabon-kind-of-men on the still-outbound side. We saw Sandi’s son, Mait, in the top ten and cheered. I surreptitiously waited for Sandi at the top of a couple of climbs (out of the goodness of my heart…right), and we pressed on to the foot of Cheaha together. At this point, I lost her.

Cheaha proper is a three mile climb of 5 to 7 percent. It really wasn’t so bad, compared to the treacherous rollers we’d just left. But, on Cheaha, the number of riders choosing to dismount and walk became a distraction. As is the case in so many of these rides, I picked up a leapfrog–that guy who figures he should be outclimbing you, so he powers past out of sight around the next bend, only to be overtaken and passed again, with a mournful expression as he stands roadside. This generally repeats several times. My leapfrog was in a talking mood. “Tough one, eh?” “Gonna just get worse.” “Hehe.” That’s right, just a chuckle was getting under my skin. I hated seeing this guy. He’s probably great in person, but MAN, he was driving me nuts! The next time he passed, I stopped for a break and just stood roadside, straddling my bike and watching the descenders coming down the mountain.

I got into a rhythm in my granny gear. People were bailing out on the side of the road and each one was giving me fits, smiling sheepishly as I passed, and distracting me from the task at hand. I kept pedaling, just spinning the pedals until finally, there was the rest station. I pulled in and immediately got off the bike to get water. One old fellow had the right idea, and was asleep under a tree, his bike lying beside him. Talk seemed to revolve around the weather. A large group was considering turning back because of approaching storms, but in general, people seemed convinced the weather would hold off and allow a full finish. My friends Tim and Betsy decided to continue on to Andy’s Gap, about 6 miles down the road. I sat, unsure and pretty darn happy to just be resting for a bit.

Soon, Sandy and her SAG friend pulled in, having driven all the way to Andy’s Gap and back. She asked if I wanted to go with her to the second rest stop and ride in from there, a distance of about 25 miles, giving us about 70 miles for the day. I shook my head, then thought better of it. The hills between Cheaha and Horseblock were the toughest of the ride, and I did not relish climbing them under the pressure of an approaching storm. We piled into a small Subaru and took off.

I was amazed at the number of riders still FAR back on the course, still outbound. We passed Juan, a Tallahassee rider, still puttering along on his Surly touring bike (rigged for touring, too, no less). He had just passed Horseblock and seemed content. Other riders were in obvious trouble, struggling mightily with the relentless steep, short climbs. As at Six-Gap last year, I was astounded that these riders continued on, into the heat of the day, with what seemed to me an almost insurmountable task of returning to Piedmont before dark, much less before the impending storms broke. Later, I am sure these same riders were those stuck in homes, stores, and other makeshift shelters when Emergency Management pulled them off the course.

We arrived at the second rest stop in high spirits. After a quick drink and a toilet break, Sandi and I took off at a good clip, passing a single rider on the last steep downhill. Once on the flats, I got my second wind, and was able to keep a steady pace between 20-22 mph, which really brightened my ride considerably. I was happy to find a rhythm again and be useful in some manner. Sandi and our new compatriot hung on, and I pulled steadily to the first rest stop. Another quick break, and we were off again, this time picking up several new riders. Again, I did what I could to find a steady pace and to pull as hard as possible back to Piedmont.

We pulled into Piedmont and got our combined time of 7 hours (including off the bike times). This sucked, but I didn’t hurt and generally felt pretty good with my ride. As I took my bike to the car, the tornado alert sirens went off. Looking around, we asked, “Is this a drill?” A woman with a walkie talkie smiled and said, “No way! There’s been a touchdown Southeast of here. We need to get inside.”

Great. I’ve always wanted to SEE a tornado, but I’ve never desired to be a part of a news story along the lines of “Cyclists hit by tornado. Hundreds killed.” We meandered toward the community center as I pulled up the NOAA site on my cell phone. Piedmont was at the very end of the projected path, some thirty minutes along. It was unlikely that we’d see a funnel, but there was definitely some stormy weather about to hit. Anniston, and my hotel, was actually CLOSER to the storm than Piedmont, so staying for the spaghetti and dying with a full stomach became the order of the day.

Luckily, an hour inside–a few moments of which were spend in the basement in a janitor’s closet with a plate of spaghetti–and the all-clear sounded. Members of our Tallahassee group were still unaccounted for, but were soon located in various locales around the course. Thus, all safe and accounted for, I left for the motel. First stop however, was Krystal for burgers. The evening was spent with burgers, television, and much-needed sleep.

Overall, I was pretty happy with my ride. I never walked. I made it up the mountains I desired to climb and actually felt reasonably good afterwards. My final miles of strong pulling were VERY good. I am disappointed that I did not complete the entire ride, end-to-end. The Cheaha Challenge is an excellent ride, and while not in the realm of torture occupied by Six Gap, still presents a sizable challenge. The climbs are short, steep, and very numerous. The organizers of Cheaha really took care of us, with some of the best aid stations that I’ve ever experienced. The out-and-back format makes the ride accessible to the novice, who can choose the challenge best suited to him, and gives the advanced rider the benefit of excellent support that isn’t about to pack up and leave due to time constraints. I have rarely seen better support or more numerous options on a ride.

Overall: My ride, B. Cheaha Challenge, a solid A.

For some damn-fool reason, I’ve decided to engage the talents of Sean Burke, a professional trainer and a very patient man, to aid me in attaining my cycling goals this year. As my old college roommate, Glen, says, “I’ve hired a conscience.”

You’d think it’d be pretty easy, considering my chief goal is “finish Six-Gap,” but the levels of laziness I can attain and the amount of mental effort I can expend to rationalize why I shouldn’t be riding are both high hurdles to clear. Luckily, Sean’s in San Diego and he’s not forced to contend with my lies first-hand. The email and online logs buffer him somewhat, else he’d be overcome.

The first two weeks, I actually tried to do what Sean says. This means I’ve been training. This also means I’ve been lurching around on a bicycle while wheezing and snorting and generally being a nuisance. Then, last week happened. I got in the hard workout, then everything simply fell apart. Exams, then sick kids, then sick me, then a weekend trip, then more sick. This has sucked. This means I’m wasting money, irritating my coach as well as myself.

This weekend will be the first test of the new me. I’m off to the Cheaha Challenge. A bit of a test, really, to see if what I’m doing is right and if September’s Six Gap will be better this year. More about this Monday.

I don’t normally post Youtube links, but this is Kenny, the King of Trick Riders.

I am just not sure if this guy is for-real or not, but there’s a plaintiveness in his expression and voice that leads me to believe he is. Someone must know something more about him and his $4500, nitrogen-tired Huffy 300 tall-bike.