Written words that could contain bicycle references. There also maybe photos, no explanation provided.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
It's a Hell'er deal
Eating on the bike is fraught with problems. From chocking
on peanuts in nut bars to fumble fingers trying to rip open packaging. It is a
world I have become hugely involved in this strange and tentative place of problems.
It was hanging sky day, a storm of southerly cold rain
waiting to happen. With jacket packed and headphones in to isolate me from the
realities of riding on the road in the wet I spun though a casual bays loop. After
the escape of the south coast I was blown into Lyle Bay for a quick shop for inappropriate
ride food.
Discount food stores all smell the same. Something becomes
of combining unwanted goods in small space. And there is always heaps of unusual
soap that did not do well with the middle class mums. I choose a small tub of ice-cream,
a packet of shapes, a six pack of marshmallow Easter eggs, a small number of chocolate
biscuits and an unpopular variation on a popular energy drink. All out of fashion,
close to expiry or the result of failed marketing campaigns.
Another favourite activity of mine is how it will fit. This
involves the problem of storage when riding bicycles. Yes you normally have
back pockets in your team kit shirt or whatever, but they are small and thing
melt in there like on a tar in the sun. My road bike is adorned with a top tube
food box/bag thing, which has been relocated to stop it touching my knees (can't
stand that shit). This gives a new avenue of stowage. And I am always pushing
it limit.
So this game starts out with buying clearly a bit too
much food for the space available and preceding though the check out with gay
abandon. Then arrive back at your bike and realise what you have done. A little
dismayed place everything on the ground around the bike. First smart move is to
start eating; the biggest pocket is on the inside. Start with things that can
be easily crunched or melted. But you won’t feel like that right now, and we
went over why you can’t put chocolate in your back pocket. But there were three
bars of Moro's for $3 or some other hell’er deal, so in the frame box thing it
goes.
That can of drink will sit nicely but briefly in-between
your aero bars. By briefly I mean until you go over the curb to get back on the
road, then it will smash and you will have to suck what remains following this
though a gravely hole in the aluminium.
Packets of chips and biscuits and prime back pocket
fodder, no chocolate. They are light and bulky and pretty much won’t go
anywhere else anyway. The real problem of these foods comes when it’s time to
put it in your face. Unless its real cold and/or wet ditch the gloves, you will
only make a mess. Carefully extract the packet and remove unnecessary
packaging. Gingerly open the bag while nervously riding no hands or on stably
on the aero bars. Then put your non-dominant hand into the bag and hold it to
the handle bar. Then watch as the bad rips and the entire contents drops onto
the road before you can eat anything. Quickly stop and proceed to pick up and
eat as much of what is strewn across the road before a car runs it over.
Then the rain started and I got wet, then cold and it was
shit even though I still had chocolate biscuits left to eat. At least it was
not let the few days before when I came close to been struck by lightning.
Also the World 24 hour Solo Champs are in a matter of
days, wicked.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Training, Yes
So many years of training, all 14 years of using my body
to make bikes go fast in varying degrees of speed, time and success. At some
stages I have calculated the percentage of my life I have spent on a bike, most
its lots, some days it competes well with sleeping. Other days the sleeping is
dismissed for more riding in the strange concept of racing that is 24 hour solo’ing.
All madness, all this time and all this worry about the
right training. I do love been fit and fast on the bike and I lack not race competitiveness,
but there are real worlds out there that hammer on the door when training life
is turned on.
Hard things like getting enough sleep, cured by more
coffee. Having enough money, resolved by working more. Having enough time to
train, solved sleeping less and work less and drinking more coffee.
I have two coaches during the years and they both helped.
My last one Andrew Patterson drove a disciplined precise raceme that brought
great results and gave me new insight into training with power.
This year is another big race
year and its close again in
Canberra. And the balances have shifted slightly since the last times. I now
have gainful employment as a self employed person, harbour a caffeine attraction
(unrelated) and have no coach.
Yet it’s not all lost. I have few bikes and the will to
train and ride. Knowing how my body works after many directed and undirected
years has fooled me to believing I know what I am in for.
One of the biggest balance factors is the physical nature
of my working life. This has added a great deal to my overall strength and stability
on long rides. But it does take away my energy to train during the week and
leading up to races. I am not sure that anyone would have good rule to follow
here apart from don’t overdo and don’t get injured.
A real asset is my power metered road bike. This coupled
with a good deal of experience with it measured accurate sessions are easier. It
is also the ‘road bike’ is a grant abrogation of all things pure and neat about
road bikes. From 28c tires and mud guards to a power tap and a set of aero bars
the machine is focused on only been an ace training device.
So I bound on into the depths of training depravity and it’s
acutely quite nice. Long slogs in the raining around the Eastbourne coast to Wainuiomata.
The constant madding tirades with thick arrogant drivers. Sideways looks from
slicked up roady’s on the latest fad wheels. And loads of time within my head,
speaking aloud to no one interrupted sporadically by the odd Katy Perry pop
track.
Friday, April 19, 2013
24 Things That Make No Sense
There are no bounds to the length of depravity that we
will go for a thrill. Luckily the world is littered with sure bountiful opportunities.
In some places at some times other even create set out thrills for others to
join and participate in. this can be known as an event.
After many simper events one can grow accustomed to the
burn of it all and a new challenge is required. The variation is wide from trickier,
more dangers, more stupid or just longer. As the general participants meet the challengers
new ones are created. And on and on till you reach something of barrier of
human spirit. An event that so completely drains you of will and going further
can make participants cry.
So after many 24 hour solo mountain bike races and tears I
am just dying to get back into the seat groove of grovel.
This time though I have the bikes, two mighty carbon
Santa Cruz’s. And one soon to be red eyed mechanic who we will know as Owen. So
physical prep is as good as it gets. Training wise I have been off a bit
because my focus lies much further into this year. But I will be falling back
on many years of abusing my body in strange ways to get though.
A recent ride home from New Plymouth went pretty well.
The only set back been a ride ending puncture thanks to plate glass on highway
1 just north of Waikanae. So this weekend is a big test session for the fitness.
Who knows how things will go, as many have said ‘people in
glass houses should be in Rome.’ Skids will be done and my biggest concern is
that they might tape off the jumps on Old Chev.
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