Thomas Lindup Ultra Endurance Bike Rider
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.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
A Few Short Things
There was a moment somewhere on the Hutt river trail, on Sunday,
as a dropped into another sharp gravel corner where in considered whether I
should perhaps be on a more appropriate bike. Now my ‘road bike’ sits in the
bike room coated in mud with another 200km on the clock. Later in the ride I
rode up a nice climb in the sun with a man on a bike half the weight of mine.
Many a time I have tried to describe what it’s like to
ride a bike for lengths of time longer than most people sleep at night. And I
guess I enjoy it, all fucked up out where unable to speak clearly and lacking
basic motor function. Things get real bent, a sort of withdrawal. I think I
leave parts of myself out there, ridden into the roads and tracks between
places where others travel too. Those no name locations that I hinge memories
of times, states.
And I miss losing my sense and grinding myself into the
paste you might find between your sprockets. So Sunday came around and despite
the northerly gale I followed though with a near 8 hour stint aboard my ‘roady’
called Bernard. Taking in every off road opportunity too and over the Blue
mountains, Akatarawa's and Makara. Just shy of 200km I was not ashamed to be a
bit uncomfortable grinding up though central park on the way home.
But so often that I have done these things to myself my
body is harder shock. It’s become resilient to abuse, to a point of course. Where
it just gets injured and makes me mad. So yes I did get a bit lost and bent but
not as much as I am use too, maybe a little disappointing really.
In more understandable news I have a new steed, the Santa
Cruz Highball, a wonderful entry into the carbon mountain bike world. From building
it up it’s hard to grasp how much this frame will take compared to its weight,
which is next to nothing. After a few adjustments I've been enjoy the fine
times of light hard-tail riding including three local races finishing in the
top two.
With a slightly more trail/aggressive geometry set up compared
with other XC based 29’er bikes I've ridden it really shows class on the way
down. Coupled with the directness and weight of a hard-tail carbon bike it also
climbs like a minx. It’s been quite some time since I raced a hard-tail and its
bloody good time. Fully's are still dam sweet but there is something more
honest about a hard-tail that gets soaked up in the rear end of a fully and
beaten out by a rigid.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Yes
Creeping into my thighs is the acid that comes on after 4
hours of salivating over the bent bars. Oh I do love that soft ache of the
second half of big rides, pushing though the gentile sting as you stand up into
the next climb. The feeling of progress, gain though nice achy pain and will no
doubt cause some wicked cramps that will have to be fought though in bed that
night.
Joys of training, great stuff, yes I am getting well into
the longer rides and the yay times of making my bar tape turn from light pink
to off grey, or something. Into the times of chewing though chains, tires,
spear time, frames and brain cells. It’s a place I’ve had a break from and I've
missed it and all its qwerks and beauty.
One of the joys is getting away and into back roads or
the real back blocks on the rigid single speed. Vistas and quiet like nothing achievable
even in sleep at home. Well until the phone rings.
Friday, August 10, 2012
Much Love
Two coffees down and winging around the bay talking the
smack. Having been though the frozen valleys out of the morning sun I was grateful
to have the use of my hands again. The south Alps nicely placed in the distance
with lovely cold snow from the past few days. I was grateful that it was not
cold and raining as I had been then. The drag out of bed away from comfort had
been worth all the inconvenience. A lovely morning spinning the cranks over the
grey mass making life a little more inconvenient for motorists and in the eyes
of the authorities waiting to die for it. Cherry waves into back windows as their
brains steam at our merry riding pleasure obeying rules and been heckled relentlessly.
Hey thanks everyone for been so tolerant and not killing me as I deserve, I’ll
blow you a kiss next time.
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