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. 



------
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! 

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.

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.  

Moi Aussi!

Me Too! 

By now you are overly familiar with J. Sully (me) taking matters into his (my) hands to ensure J. Sully gets The Call for the 2015 Le Tour. If you’re not, besides being lucky, you can jump over here and understand what Le Call means. It is true that your time spent reading The Call will be 2 minutes and 30 seconds you’ll never get back, ever, but it is well worth it to put “Me Too!” (this story) into better context. ("Better" maybe to strong an adjective, anyway...) 

Le Tour. What’s it take to get The Call? Here’s what it takes: 

Cancellara warns of attack on the Tour De France Cobbles. 

Well guess what? Your hero, J. Sully will be on those same Cobbles that same day, and I too am going to attack! I (Sully) is going to attack like it is no one's business! All those other Tour Fans on our tour of the Le Tour are going to get attacked as J. Sully, like you see him do on Saturday’s at Stop Ahead Sprints, is going to go off the front, put the hammer down, pedal like there is no tomorrow, and dominate the tour, but not Le Tour! 

All towards getting THE CALL in June 2015! 

Yes! Moi aussi Fabian! Me too! 

Moi Aussi is Part 3 of the ongoing series of J. Sully making 1 last run at riding Le Tour!

Part 1: Le Call

Part 2: Le Weight

Le Weight!

In my last narrative we talked about The Call. A story of a “young man’s” (mine) dream of getting The Call to rush to France to fill out a Le Tour team that is in (very) desperate need of just 1 more rider to guide them through 21 stages of the greatest athletic event yet invented.

You should probably read that previous narrative first.

Thanks for coming back!

Why is it that J. Sully (me) has not gotten The Call? As we think back to the last story, which I’ve already mentioned you should have already read, you know I’m off to France, Belgium, even Luxembourg to take matters into my own hands. If THE CALL will not come to me, I am going to go find THE CALL. On this mission my goal is to ensure that THE CALL comes in 2015!

Today my friends, we have uncovered the first piece of Le Puzzle: Why has THE CALL not already arrived?

Le Weight!  

“What???”, you now find yourself thinking, “what has weight got to do with this?”

Well, let me tell you I am not only off to Le Tour (the cool kids say it that way, maybe) to hunt down THE CALL but I am following the media following Le Tour and I am studying just what it takes to receive THE CALL!

Flash back, if you will, to the 2013 Tour De France, the champion was a young man named Chris Froome, 6 Feet and 1 inch/1.86942984 meters tall and 157 pounds/71 kg in weight. Fast forward to now and in some people’s eyes Chris is not the favorite to repeat this championship effort in 2014 after his “collapse” in the Critérium du Dauphiné in early June. Mr. Froome fell from the Yellow Jersey to 12th overall in the 2014 edition of the Critérium du Dauphiné but still managed to come home as the winner of the Green Jersey.

(Sully, have you got a point to this story? Yes, I do. Hang on.)

In my eyes he, Mr. Chris Froome, remains the favorite for this year’s Tour De France (Americans say it like this), despite this collapse.

Why?

Here is why:

From this story at bicyling.com Mr. Froome is asked:

What is your plan between now and the start of the Tour de France?

And Chris answers:

We’re going to train in the Alps or we may do a little bit of recon in the Pyrenees. I’ve still got a bit of weight to lose before the Tour, maybe a kilo.

Read it again…

A Kilo.** A single, solitary, individual KILO!

Think back to The Call.

Can you see it? I can.

A kilo: 2.20462 US Pounds, 0.157473 Stone, 35.274 Ounces!

THE CALL is but 1 kilo from my grasp! I feel it. A trip to France. Cobbles, mountains, (some) wine and:

In 2015... In the midst of June... The phone will ring:

J. Sully: "Bonjour!, Bonjour!!!”

Heavily accented unknown caller, bored: "Is this J. Sully, of Stillwater MN, USA?"

J. Sully, now breathless and heart racing: "Yes! Yes it is!!! I AM J. SULLY!"  

Heavily accented unknown caller: “Thank you for taking my call Jay. Would you like to take 15 minutes to cut your insurance bill? "

Jump back to Part 1: Le Call
Jump ahead to Part 3: Mau Aussi 

**While it is true Mr. Froome mentioned the Alps, here in Minnesota we have not just Pawnee but also Chilkoot. I’m good on the climbing part. Right??

Le Call

It is la** time of the year when all over the internet you see nothing but stories of the world’s great cycling teams announcing their lineups for Le Tour. There is much talk of who can beat last years champion Mr. Froome. Everyone wonders if A. Contador will eat tainted Spanish beef. 

But, more importantly, it is the time of the year when J. Sully (me) waits for le CALL!

For those of you who follow the trials and tribulations of J. Sully (e.g. drop me), you know that for years, our hero, J. Sully (me) has been waiting for “The Call”. If you follow cycling and the race of the year, le Tour (the cool kids say it that way, maybe) you are familiar with “The Look” given from the “greatest” (in a physically/doped sense, not morally) rider in le Tour history to another infamous former “Champion” of what I consider one of the greatest athletic challenges of all time. (relive The Look, it really is amazing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MdMdJAdzpYQ at about 21 seconds), 

Yes, I’m still talking about the le Tour - where men wear tights and ride up the sides of mountains at a pace unimaginable to most. 

Le Call, in my mind, would be of the magnitude of Le Look!

The Call goes “something” like this:

J. Sully: “Hello?”

Unknown voice with accent, slightly harried: “Bonjour! Is this J. Sully?”

J. Sully: “Yes, Bonjour. Who is this?”

Unknown voice with accent, with slight relief in voice: “So wonderful to track you down. We need you! Le Tour begins in just a few days. Our lead out train is now short 1 man. Can you come?”

J. Sully: “Well, I do have work. And a bike club who depends on me on Saturdays.”

Unknown voice with accent: “But we need you. A 30 day contract. All the EPO you can use. Can you come?”

J. Sully, slightly hesitant: “Well, my French is not very good… and, as I said, my club, what about my club? I mean, the Coffee Ride...”

Unknown voice with accent cutting me off: “My friend! Jerseys! Bibs! Skin suits!! And an aero helmet too! We need you!”

In my (small) mind, for years now, I've dreamt of this call coming. As my years on this planet increase along with my cholesterol, my time to be called is shortening. Soon I will be as old as the riders in le Chilkoot Cycling Club who drop me every Saturday, and at that age, who's gonna call? I mean, besides the American Association of Retired Folks or whatever they're called.

So now is the time! Action is required! I am taking matters into my own hands! I am bringing the bike and bibs to them! If the mountains will not come to me, I will head to the mountains.

My friends I am off to Europe to show the world that NOW is the time for The Call. I will follow le Tour! I will ride the cobbles! I shall ride the mountains on Bastille Day! I shall be dropped by those from other lands! And I will send updates! (Um, sorry.)

In 2015... In the midst of June... The phone will ring:

J. Sully: "Hello, Bonjour!"

Heavily accented unknown caller, slightly bored: "Is this J. Sully? The J. Sully?"

J. Sully, now breathless: "Yes! Yes it is!!!"  

Heavily accented unknown caller: “Ah! We've found you. Would you care to cut your interest rate in HALF on your Visa?"

(jump to part 2 of this adventure)

(ps - I’ll put all the pics & video of my mission up elsewhere and try not to fill up chat. It’s bad enough having to watch me climb trying to catch you as you (thankfully) wait for me. I won’t force more of the same (looking, not waiting)!

** "Clever" use of French: https://translate.google.com/#fr/en/la

IronKoot: The "Ride" Report

IronKoot One

It begins with an idea. The idea is shared. The idea is thought highly of or in some cases not. Occasionally the idea is forgotten. Those who have done the forgetting are happy they forgot once they are reminded of the thing they had forgotten about, but now, alas, they are sad for having been reminded of the thing they had happily forgotten. (What’s this about again?)

Or maybe they just missed the email? It is simply both confusion and confusing.

IronKoot One followed this same pattern. A slightly balding gentleman somehow with the nickname “Sully” had an idea that he likely stole (the idea for the ride, not the nickname) from someone else. He none-the-less presents this idea as his and discusses this idea with board members who run the ever efficient Chilkoot Cycling Bicycling Club, CCBC, and then this Sully “cyclist” fires the email with the idea of this IronKoot to the club. The idea now heads out over chat. And the members of CCBC roll their eyes, slam closed the lids of their laptops, drop their fancy, yet oversized Android Mobile Device in the snow while fat tiring through the woods (never to be seen again, the phone, not the rider) and think: “This guy, again? Why am I on chat…”

Surprisingly, this idea only generates 40 or 50 emails. Pretty low for a thought shared on chat designed to turn into a ride for the CCBC members. A good sign! Or perhaps foreshadowing of something more dark?

These things always end the same. We ride. And so it was with the first ever IronKoot. Some call it IronKoot 1. Some call it IronKoot last. In either case, it was the first ever IronKoot of which you will never ever have the chance to participate. Perhaps you will have the opportunity to partake in IronKoot 2, 3, or more, but never the first. And you should be thankful for that.

But this is a report of the “ride”, not of the ride development, ride planning, and ride execution plan planning. On to the action!

The day of IronKoot One nears. We are into the 10 day forecast window of the various internet sites that repackage and sell as their own the weather forecast. And that repackaged drivel does not look good. As the day of the event moves closer and closer and the weather “forecasters” hysteria for rain grows, the darkness, foreshadowed many months earlier, looks more and more like truth. Nothing but the truth.

We are within 24 hours of the start of IronKoot 1. It will rain. And it will not be warm. And the wind will blow. Hard.

Oh.

But IRON is not a part of the IronKoot name for nothing. For we are the CCBC! IRON represents how we ride! Hard and fast with only a little bit of rust.  We shall meet and we shall ride!

We gather beneath the Flag of Flanders that represents strength and fortitude. Sunday morning. The pros are on the telly and if they can compete for 260K, the IronKoot can go on.

Oh the coffee is marvelous. The French toast (in honor of European cycling!) simply divine. The fruit cup amazing. But we must ride, for we are Chilikootians! Really, just how bad can it be? Certainly there will be a window we can sneak through?  

Oh.

Wait, is that an opening? Which way is that thing moving? Hurry, hit “map in motion”. We can sneak through there? Right?

And Liège Bastogne Liège 2014 continues. 3k to go. A small break with 10 seconds on the closing peloton. Tension grips the room and the Koots gaze out the window.

Oh.

And Liège comes to an end. An amazing finish. Dan Martin has fought across the gap to nearly claim the lead. They make a hard left to the finish line 100 meters away, wait - the video is much better: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zL_1de_2Pq4 (It’s only 17 seconds, go watch it.)

Oh.

And that road is dry.

We have a new champion in Liège. The Koots look around the room. “Oh, look at the time. I better get home.” “I probably should go.” Dirty dishes are quietly returned to cafe. Table and chairs put back into their home. The Kootians file out slowly into the rain. To their cars, with only the shame of not having ridden and some great coffee and breakfast in their stomachs.

The drive of shame back to home.

Oh.

We Kootians are a hearty lot! There will be another chance to redeem the shame of not riding in the 39F degree temps, through the 30mph (48Kph), and driving but still pouring rain. And we will all take solace in the fact that 1 among us rode at least a section of IronKoot One because he had hope and is bad at weather maps in motion. He thought that “Yes! Indeed there would be a break in the weather!”

Oh.

We are shamed. But, he was wrong, there was no break. There was but the hint of a break in the weather which lead to a US gallon of water stored in his tights. But he did ride and we did not.

And for that (not having ridden) we are DAMN HAPPY!

OH!!!

And Nick is your IronKoot One Most Valuable Rider(MVR)/Worst Weather Forecaster(WWF) 2014!