You're Home! You're Home!

I have sat here in the garage peacefully waiting. And waiting.

(If you didn’t see the story "Bikes Having Feelings Too" you should read that first. That explains my wait.) 

I do not fully understand time, nor do I hear anyone does in. But when my friends left without me they took all means for me to judge the relativity of the time. Since then I have been sitting here, leaning against an old dresser, the air slowly leaking from my tires as I sit and wait and the strings of time continue to pass by.   

But this is not about physics. 

This is a celebration of the return of my friends! Those bikes  and pump! All home! So much of our time is spent as we sit and wait for the door to open. So many times the humans simply walk right past us. They climb into those “other” machines and ride away. No wind in their face. Global warming be damned. 

Today we forget all that as they are home, the bikes, the pump, and the riders too! I am overcome with joy as I hear the door open! My bell rings with excitement! I know that now they have returned I have a chance to head out with their butt on my saddle and my pedals turning! There is nothing like that feeling when a hand brushes you on the handlebar, that pump attaches to your valve, and finally your wheels begin to turn, and you move towards the door!

I am to be ridden! The mud awaits! The exhilaration as the air rushes into my tires. The exhilaration of the air pressure as it is fine tuned to just the right setting. Perhaps 8 pounds per square Inch (PSI) for some fresh snow? Maybe 11.5 PSI if we are going dirt today? That PSI can always be adjusted. 

The simple joy of my wheels, full of air, two hands holding me tightly, the Garmin in place with the tires rotating below, pedals being turned in concentric circles. 

I really don’t care how long I sat here, by myself, leaning against that dresser, all by myself, as long as I am to be ridden again. That is my mission, that is what I live for. And now they are home, at last, and my chance to be ridden is back! 

It’s a good day.

A very good day! 

It's Not About the Bike.

An insomnia fueled thought. Beer** with me.

Three hours on a bike seat, in and of itself, is not pleasant. Sitting on this not at all ergonomically anything platform, in tights, and on purpose, what are we thinking? And don't get me started on those seats with the cutout section built for more "comfort". Try one of those, in January, in Minnesota. Chilling and numbing, speaking from experience.

We don’t revel in the joy of that click when our shoes attach to our pedals or shuffle across the coffee shop floor. 

The first squeeze of the brakes is not an occasion to celebrate. That quick shift to a lighter gear to help the legs warm up is not reason to rejoice, it simply means I am not as young as I was yesterday and the yesterdays before that. 

Clearly it is not about the bike. It's not even about going fast upon the bike, although that helps. 

It is about those who are around you, when you drop upon that uncomfortable seat, clip into those pedals, and accelerate. 

Those who surround you in the group are who make the ride. 

It is true the heart rate goes to some crazy number while my, at least perceived, wattage crosses  into the high triple digits. Digits that in reality start with a 1.  And while that is an amazing sensation, it is the  other riders around me, who may be breathing easier or gasping for air, like me, that make this sport what it is. 

It is for this time with them that I pedal. 

They see things along the way I miss, as likely I'm staring at my front wheel continuing the effort to get one more breath into my lungs. 

And vice versa, on the off chance I actually find the energy to lift my head and look around.

They have done amazing things and been on great adventures I'd like to hear about! Perhaps that last Stop Ahead sprint they won in the last meter or their rides in the mountains of Colorado! Their life has been places I have not experienced  until this ride. 

I love to ride my bicycle. Even more, I love to hear the stories of my ride partners, their lives, and adventures. And to share some of my own (thanks for listening or at least looking like you're listening!). 

The bicycle is a tool that makes us all better. It enriches my life every time I ride, but more so when I have the privilege to ride  with others who have lived their life in a manner not (exactly) like my own. 

It's not about the bike.  It's about the journey. The ride. The stories. The conversation, the shared adventure of today's pedal. 

This is why I ride. How about you? 

Now, if I could sleep.  



** "Beer with me." That is intentional. 


With the Fall Riding season around the corner changes like the color in our leaves are approaching. Here is a reflection of the soon to be upon us Fall Riding Season: The Fall Ride Process, really, you do want to kill another 5 minutes of your life, right? 

Bikes Have Feelings Too

It’s hard being a bike. But every time we ask they show up, put us on their back, and carry us wherever we ask. It is this dedication that put me on my emotional roller coaster. A loved one was left behind today. Right there, with those big wheels looking up at me with that “but… but… what about me?” look. 

I had loaded the cross bike and the road bike onto the van for the trip up north. Leaving behind one. I could see the disappointment in his handlebars, and those fat tires, slowly deflating as the garage door closed. 

I heard, in a nearly inaudible whisper, “Have fun my friends.”  

Those words. Echoing in my ears as we drove out of the driveway, as I sat in the drive through to get coffee. They continued rattling around in my head as we headed towards the cabin as I sipped my coffee, once it had cooled some. 

The Fatboy, what a machine. Always putting others first. Selflessness defined. I know in my heart he understands, there just are not the trails for him to enjoy here. The area is good for the cross and has wonderful blacktop for the road machine. But nothing for Fatboy. 

And here we are. Me with 2 of my machines and 1 at home, alone. All friends who’ve served me well. And ole Fatboy, no matter the weather, extreme cold, hot and humid, snow, rain, a trip to Withrow, no matter, he is there for me when I need him. That time my finger dislocated? He was there, he was the one who delivered me to the brewery to wash away the pain, to cool the swelling with my pint glass!  

Ole Fatboy. And now he sits home, in the garage, by himself, no one to check his tire pressure. 

What have I done to my friend? 

I’ll make it up to him. I promise. When I return home, we’ll find some mud! We’ll find some dirt! We’ll poor it on together! This winter, he will be the bike heading out into the weather while his buddies have to sit home and wait for their time. It will be fine. 

What a bike Fatboy is! Maybe I’ll bring home some fresh north woods air for his tires.  

He’d like that. 

A lot. 



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If you tolerated this post, you may also want to waste some additional time on Mr. Smooth where our "hero" puts himself on the line! 

Our Club

Many years ago in a dark time before we were know as Chilkoot Velo and I still rode steel, I joined up with a group of people to spend time on bikes riding up and down the St. Croix Valley. We would show up on Saturdays to ride hard and on Sundays to recover and share coffee. 

On Saturdays, some were faster than others, some raced, most did not but may have harbored the idea that one day they just might try this racing thing. On Sundays we were one unit, riding at the pace of whomever was the slowest, no one was dropped. 

The rule of the day on Saturday’s was that this was a drop ride. If you fell off the back, aloha. The reality was different, the group would fracture, the faster would head up the road, the not quite as fast would regroup as necessary and continue on, together. One guess which group I was in...

This characteristic of the Saturday ride carried on as the club formally known (ironically perhaps?) as Bikery Racing Team crossed the street to Chilkoot Café and Cyclery changing our name as we crossed Churchill Street to the aforementioned Chilkoot Velo, CV. Our mission continued. The Saturday Fitness “rip your legs off” Ride (SFR) and the Sunday Coffee Ride (SCR) continued on and all were happy (if you don’t count those 10 minutes of route planning that immediately preceded EVERY ride). So happy in fact we’ve expanded our ride options even further as CV grew! This is wonderful. 

The priority of this group was camaraderie.

Over the last few seasons there has been a subtle change within the club and our rides. Discussions of what is up with the ole club have been more frequent, but never anything specific, nothing anyone could really nail down. The gap between the fast and the not quite so fast has, at least figuratively, never been greater, to the point the coffee ride was spinning people off the back as we raced through the country side. Not so good. This reshaping has been bothering me for a couple of seasons now but I’ve never been able to put my finger upon exactly what was happening. (And, perhaps I’ve not now, but keep reading anyway!) edit: It should be noted, the actions occurring on those early season Coffee Rides, the droppings, have since been corrected! The action of dropping or a group riding off ahead of the Coffee Ride however is a part of what has been weighing on me. 

For me it all came to a head on an Saturday Fitness Ride in late April. Our lycra clothed band of pedalers  rode out of Stillwater, heading south to the mountainous region known as “Afton" for day of ups and downs, and who knew this would also be metaphorically true? 

About 4 miles into this adventure one of the group flatted. I stopped to lend a hand and while it was a very experienced rider, he was new to the club. The group rode a short distance up the road, made a left turn disappearing around the corner. The group must be getting off the busy section of road and waiting?  Not a big deal. Early in a ride we wait for each other, we are in this together,

But not today. The group was gone. There was no waiting. And it was on that ride, my last with the club so far this year, (which some might be very happy for, after all, so many LESS adjectives being wasted, right?) that it occurred to me: If we’re going to be leaving our friends behind 4 miles into a ride, why bother with the group? The way we’ve gone forward with every rider for themselves is, to me, a very different path than we used to travel. 

Since then I’ve been off riding the roads of the St. Croix Valley mostly on my own, and I’m growing weary of my stories, how do you put up with that drivel? But in this “me time” I’ve put a lot of thought into these last few seasons and I was finally able to describe what I’m seeing:  Our priorities as group have changed, we have shifted to a “Go Fast/Every Rider for Themselves” priority first and everything else is of less priority, most disappointingly for me, the camaraderie of the ride. 

All things change and evolve. If this is the new face of our club so be it. But we need to be clear that this is what our club is. Today there is much confusion as evidenced by the chatter of the 7:30am versus the 9am ride, fast riders at 7:30, the not quite so fast at 9. 

Are we about the camaraderie of the ride or being the best racers we can be? 

A big part of camaraderie is “RAD”, and really, who doesn’t want to be rad? (I hope that means what I think it means.) 

I suppose a cycling club founded around something like “Off the Back” could solve this, but we’ll save that for another day. 

Your’s in beer,

J. Sully

edited 9/1/2016 to reflect the Coffee Ride dropping has been corrected! Fear not for ye shall not be dropped if you go out for the Coffee Ride with the group on a Sunday.

edited 9/3/2016 to correct typos. 

It's the Socks!

That have me worried.

One of the challenges we "top" riders face is the Peanut Gallery. Those riders who are, always, looking for something to knock you off your game. The group who never take a turn at the front. The ones who sit on your wheel and suck like there is no tomorrow. And that day was no exception, when, from the peanut gallery, I hear exclaimed with a bit of a giggle, much joy, and mostly desperation: "Hey! Sully! Nice socks! Are those Tri socks?!?!"

The Peanut Gallery (I’m debating even giving them the dignity of using capital letters) clearly was desperate. Desperate to lay a distraction upon our champion. They, the peanut gallery, were already far behind in green jersey points and on that day, the day of the “Tri Socks” chant many sprints lay before us, perhaps they sensed an opportunity on that warm, some would soon say hot, early summer day. The gallery, destined to sit, spin, and get it handed to them once again by your hero on yet another Saturday club ride. But, was it really so that our friend would be distracted just enough to allow a rider from the peanut Gallery to sneak past, to just inch a wheel in front of our champion, and finally capture just one sprint? Or was there more at play?

In the short time since those words were tossed over our lionheart like a bucket of cold water, the last 4 or 5 months or so, I have let this weigh upon my mind in the manner my beer gut weighs upon my power to weight ratio: heavenly, ahhh, heavily.

The socks. The “Tri Socks”. What is wrong with those socks? Was it really just a distraction for that day, to take our champion's mind away from the job at hand, the exercise to continue crushing the peanuts from the gallery and putting those points in the Green Jersey standings into his own pocket? Is there more at play here? Have I, for all these miles, worn the wrong sock? What if? WHAT IF?? (can you feel the tension?)

With the time passing since that day like the many miles passing beneath my wheels we have reached the point that we must dig right to the sole of this quandary. Just what is the right sock for the elite cyclist like us? What follows is a review I do with the spirit of service in my heart, so the next time each of us rolls up to the ride with our champion’s heart pounding, the Peanut Gallery will be unable to use the Tri Sock chant upon you, upon me, and you, my friend, and me, myself, will make those socks look good!

As we begin I want you to know that what you are about to see is graphic. I've worked hard to make the images, well, never mind. You've been warned.

The Tri/Ankle Sock

Ok. Maybe that chant was, after all, well deserved. Let’s move on.

The “Pro” Sock

It’s not getting any better is it?

The Taller Sock

It begins to make you understand why the cyclist shaves those legs doesn’t it? Ug.

The Beer!

Oh. Sorry. Not sure how that got in there.

The Wool Cold Foot (prevention)

That rises awful to a whole new level.

The Tall Sock

I think this is my new favorite. Not only does our cyclist make this sock look good, they match the bike and really do a nice job of tying the bike, the cyclist, and the shoe together, don’t you think?

I've mentioned before that Cyclists Have Issues. In that story is was coffee. This time it is socks. More specifically, the appropriate sock for the cyclist. This angst driven feeling driven home that early summer day in 2015. Sock choice. I’ve had many miles to consider this affront since that day. What do we do? I mean really, look at those legs.  Isn’t it enough we wear lycra? That we wear colorful jersey’s that show just what great champions we are? Should we have to worry too about our socks?

Have I gotten the sock wrong all these miles? All these years? Through all these championships? I think back to that day the Cyclist Appeared and created the garage sale panic. Could THAT incident have been prevented with the right sock choice?  

And now I have the winter to ponder the sock. I’m curious for your thoughts. What IS the right sock?

Next time we’ll talk about the length of the bike short and how it ties into the sock choice. Sorry.

Cyclists Have Issues

I'm not talking about us putting on spandex to ride ridiculously priced bicycles, in our partners eyes, nor am I talking about the debate raging in our heads over 98 or 99 psi in our tires for today's ride. Note, I'm going 98 today, maybe 97 psi.  

Just one last cup?

No friends, not those issues. 

I'm talking about coffee. That last cup of coffee. That "just one more cup" before placing my butt on that skinny seat, yet another problem, to go about and pedal for several hours. 

How do I squeeze it in before I depart? The coffee, not my butt into the Lycra bike shorts. Really. 

Just one more cup! Is there time? 

What if this one last cup means I need to pee sooner?  I am kind of an old guy after all. Who knows where I'l be? I don't want to make the group stop over one last cup! 

What if I start that just one last cup and do not have time to finish that wonderful liquid? Wasted coffee? I don't think so. 

Cyclists have issues. 

Mr. Smooth

The cyclist approaches the 4-way stop. Gradually slowing as he nears.  His left pedal is at the bottom of the stroke and his right pedal at the top. He elegantly clips out of the left pedal with a sharp twist of the foot and drops his booted foot onto the ground. The right shoe still securely fastened into its pedal, right at the top of the stroke.

The rider is dressed in in tights, a highly visible jacket, helmet securely in place, and of course those nice cycling gloves! A car approaches from the right slowing to a stop. The occupants of the car, surely awed by the vision of the cyclist who is clearly out for a long ride on a beautiful, cool, and windy Spring day look on. Someone who knows what he is doing! Or perhaps that was a question in their minds?

A gust of wind from his left hits the cyclist in the chest.

Uh oh.

The biker’s aristocratic balance is upset. His right foot, still poised at the top of the stroke and securely fastened to the pedal begins the vain attempt to detach from the pedal. The foot twists right. Then left. Still attached.

What had been such magnificent balance now rapidly, as in instantly, disintegrates. His right foot is now twisting more quickly, almost with desperation. The world around him begins to slow. There is no balance. The long descent to the ground begins. The eyes of the passengers in the car begin to widen. They understand what is happening.

Over the cyclist goes. The rider’s knee impacts the pavement.  His shoe comes free from clip! At last, the necessary freedom! Followed suddenly with a “BOOM” as his hip quickly follows his knee into the pavement. Ouch…

The occupants of the now completely stopped car, with their jaws agape, look upon the rider astounded. What have they just seen? The rider quickly picks himself up off the pavement. Everything picked up but his pride spread upon the road.

The car moves on through the stop sign. The occupants still staring at the rider.

The rider clips back in and then moves on. "Mr. Smooth" and the beginning of the ride.