Monthly Archives: January 2011

One of the great benefits of being a blogger is the ability to make friends with people you’ve never actually met, people you meet on the internet. All you can do is act friendly in return and pray that they’re not 45 year old perverts looking to stalk you. I’ve had good luck so far…

Take for example, the Clean Bottle Guy. You know who I’m talking about: that guy dressed in a bottle suit running alongside the Tour de France this year.

You’ve probably seen him at a ‘cross race or two this past season if you live in Northern California. In fact, if you’re local cyclocross star Josh Snead, you’ve probably almost gotten punched in the face at said races.

Anyway, the man beneath the suit is local racer and Clean Bottle founder Dave Mayer, an avid reader of my blog and a pretty frequent blogger in his own right. Because of my blog — or perhaps simply because I will do anything for any amount of free bike stuff — Dave has been supplying me with his unique, distinctive, totally stylish bottles for about eight months. I think it’s more or less a personal sponsorship by now…maybe it’s time for a “defining the relationship” talk.

Now, I’ve heard a few of you out there claim that Clean Bottles are “dorky,” or something to that effect, and I would like to halt such accusations with a few examples of the bottle’s undorkiness.

First of all, the bartender at a divey joint located directly between my laboratory and my house was recently spotted sporting a Clean Bottle behind the bar. This  gives the bottles instant street cred.

In addition, if you’re ever in a pinch and need to imbibe liquid really quickly out of a water bottle — let’s say, in the event you are caught trying to sneak beer into a concert — the Clean Bottle provides the most rapid fluid consumption in it’s class (when used in the alternative “Boat Race Mode”).

All that aside, they actually are remarkably easy to clean and function otherwise exactly like your favorite, run-of-the-mill water bottle…which is the point, after all.

Clean Bottle Dave recently offered to produce a limited run of customized “Counterattacking Reality” Clean Bottles, presumably to my specification.

So, I guess what I’m saying is that all you haters can suck my bottles, because that’s pretty “Pro.” Thanks, Dave!

Now, when I eventually get around to designing my custom waterbottles, I’m going to need an awesome logo — one that captures the essence of this blog, reflects my irreverent outlook on bike racing, and is colored to match my little green goblin outfit.

This need for a logo leads me to my second entirely-digital acquaintance, Slonie. Slonie is the artist behind the viral comicbook depiction of the sport of cyclocross, which you must read now if you haven’t already. Somehow, this guy happened across my blog in the midst of my cyclocross adventures this offseason and has been commenting on my inane posts ever since.

Slonie was kind enough — or creepy enough, depending on your perspective — to throw together a quick sketch of me in the same vein as his ‘cross cartoons. Here’s what he produced.

Mom and Dad, I promise I’ve never flipped anyone off in a bike race. Apparently my pencil-and-paper alter ego is just a f*&king a*&hole, though. Sorry.

Anyway, how cool is that? I have a caricature! I think Slonie’s still working on the drawing as we speak, and when he’s satisfied with the final product, I’m going to start slapping that logo all over the place — T-shirts, Clean Bottles, stickers, my bike’s headtube, etc., etc.

With the 2011 season premiere only about 40 hours away, I’m even more excited about my customized accessories. I feel like Barbie awaiting her first date with Ken…or something like that.

To those of you in Northern California: I’ll see you on Saturday in Sacramento at the Cal Aggie Crit. To those of you elsewhere: I hope to see you someday, or at least become digitally acquainted with you soon.

I have no idea where this post is going to go. Freeblogging, I think it’s called.

It’s been one of those weekend days in lab where the only way to convince myself I’m still awake is to blast angry punk rock into my ears as loudly as my headphones will allow. Today, I went with Cobra Skulls, a band which was introduced to me a few years ago by none other than Ryan Parnes himself. You should check them out, if for no other reason than because they have one of the most badass — and most easily recognizable — logos of all time. It’s also pretty good pre-race music, if you’re into that kind of thing.

I should mention that the first time I ever saw the Cobra Skulls in concert, it was at a bowling alley in Santa Cruz; the evening involved shotgunning Coors, a mosh pit full of 14 year olds, and a few epic games of bowling. The ambiance certainly heightened the awesomeness of the rock music.

As you can see, the Cobra Skulls are so intense, I had to wear safety goggles in the event that my corneas burst; I wouldn’t want the flying cornea juice to get into my chemical reactions, would I?

Huh. I kind of look like I should be at a shooting range, not in a laboratory.

Anyway, it was about 65 degrees in San Francisco, and while I was technically in lab all day, I managed to sneak out for about an hour and enjoy the nice weather. Here’s just another installment of “how the hell is this possibly San Francisco,” this time the off-road version.

That’s right, I found some cool trails in the center of the city that I’m pretty sure are legal; this example consists of about five tight, narrow switchbacks up a ~200-300 foot climb. It’s not what you’d consider difficult terrain, but on a road bike, it’s technical enough to be a pretty good time.

It’s funny how the lack of traditionally “good” riding in the city makes small adventures like today’s ride seem sublime — kind of like how the lack of racing in the off-season makes the Early Bird Crits seem like fun.

Now, sad as it may be, I won’t be able to make it to tomorrow’s Early Bird Crits; therefore, I’d like to remind those of you who are racing that the long-haired, feminine-looking Webcor rider kicking your ass all day long is not me. Rather, it’s Mary Maroon.

That’s right, I’m talking to you, Tyler Dibble. You’re slower than a girl.

Landis “retires.” Lance is “busted.”

Can we all move on now? There are fantastic bike racers doing fantastic things all over the world — particularly in our district — and yet we continue allowing doping to steal the spotlight.

Enough! Instead, let me bring your attention to a press release for the new UK Pro Continental team, Team Raleigh.

Two good friends of mine — who I can call friends again, now that they’ve left the Kevin Klein clan known as the Yahoo? cycling team — are making their professional debuts with said team. Ryan Parnes, who you’ve undoubtedly seen mocked on these pages before, has been a fixture in my cycling career for more than seven years now. Joining Parnes at Raleigh is the ever-effusive Phil Mooney, a man whose never-ending smile is nearly as voluminous as his lungs…which in turn churn out some remarkably biting shit-talk for a such a smiley guy.

Now, I may have done my fair share of downplaying the magnitude of talent shared by these two riders over the past year, having been caught in the maelstrom stirred up by the Yahoo? organization and its negative style of racing; however, both Mooney and Parnes earned this shot at the “big time,” and now they no longer have to waste time gang-banging me in three-man breakaways in Northern California office parks.

(Photo Credit: Paul Doran)

Now they have the opportunity to be defiled by the likes of Mark Cavendish. I bet no one will be smiling as much after that…well, except Cavendish, that is. Good thing he got that dental work done in Central America.

Without further ado: a toast. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in raising a lukewarm Heineken to our former NCNCA-mates. We all wish you guys the best.

P.S. Guys: please stay over there indefinitely and give me a chance to win a damn bike race!

P.P.S. Yes, the title can be construed in a suggestive manner. Let me know if you want Ryan’s phone number, ladies.

*UPDATE*

I made a Mark Cavendish dental work joke, which I thought was funny at the time, uploaded the post, then went to Twitter to make sure my automatic blog feed went through. The post directly below mine caught my eye, and was posted about a half hour prior to me uploading my blog post.

I clicked on the link to find this image, presumably from the Tour Down Under going on right now.

Oops. Poorly timed, I guess. I hope no one takes offense…particularly not Cavendish.

I was riding through the Presidio a few days ago, and managed to snap this photograph with my phone. It’s pretty and I want to share it.

That this picture was taken within sight of the downtown skyline amazes me. Beautiful rides can be found anywhere…even if you’re a crit monkey who lives in one of the most densely populated cities in the nation.

That said, beautiful rides are more frequently found when you spend six hours on the open roads between Pescadero and Half Moon Bay, which is exactly what my Webcor Elite 1/2 Team did on Saturday.

We even had a “team car” following us with sandwiches and Cokes, of which I was naturally the heaviest user. Nevertheless, I was pretty happy that I was even capable of finishing a 94-mile, ~9,000 feet of climbing ride, though my happiness was tempered by James Mattis’ presence halfway through.

James (Cal Giant) — one of the greatest climbers this district has ever known — appeared out of nowhere while we were stopped briefly in Pescadero, as if I was the cycling Scrooge and he was the Ghost of Climbers Present, intent on showing me the folly of my crit-monkeyish ways.

Perhaps this visitation moved me as it did Scrooge, and I’ll magically transform into a genuine bike racer overnight; probably not. Either way, the ride was a lot of fun and I’m stoked for the upcoming season with my band of Webcor hooligans. Hooligans indeed…the team spent that evening in my favorite San Francisco bar, telling wildly exaggerated stories, knocking over tables, spilling beer and making memories.

The following day, I showed up at the Early Bird Criterium early enough to enjoy  the totally enjoyable, moist, depressing Fremont fog.

I’d write about the P/1/2/3 race later in the afternoon, but it’s been well-covered on NorCalCyclingNews.com already. Last week’s subject matter, David Benkoski (Specialized Juniors), won the race resoundingly from a break of three (Dylan Casey and Nate English were the other two). I wasn’t able to go with his initial attack, nor was I able to help chase the break down when I realized it was “for rizzeal” …and I was feeling good. They were going wickedly fast, and the rest of us were caught sleeping.

Let’s hope that kid never gets older and is never allowed to use an 11-tooth cassette.

Now, don’t let this post get your hopes up (as if you had any hope for me). I’m not becoming some sort of “serious bike racer” or anything. This is my dinner/blogging nourishment:

Beer enthusiasts, I apologize. The Heineken is a mistake, the woeful result of me being broke as balls and the fact that I’ve had a case of free Heineken sitting under my desk at work for a few weeks.

You try being a fourth-year graduate student; only then can you judge.

I woke up at 7am last Sunday morning for a crit — a crit that doesn’t even matter, no less — which is quite the opposite of “Pro.” Why?

Womens bike racing at the first 2011 Early Bird Criterium, of course!

My first stop was Philz Coffee in San Francisco, a coffee dispensary known for its impressive selection of fine, performance-enhancing beverages.

A few years back, I was heading out for a long ride with some friends and we stopped at Philz before we embarked. This was back in the days when I went for long rides in the first place and wore a heart rate monitor to boot. “Training,” I think they called it. Anyway, over the course of my large coffee, my seated heart rate rose 60 bpm; now that’s good pre-race coffee.

But I digress.

The drive from San Francisco to the bay-side crit course in Fremont is quick, which is good because I was late that frigid morning. In spite of my lateness, I chose to wear my finest apparel to the race (read: I picked up off the floor what I had worn to a dinner party the night before), an outfit which earned the comment, “You look like you’ve been up all night doing coke!” from a well-known, female bike racer whose last name rhymes with Feddergreen.

Classy, no? In fact, Ms. Feddergreen, I was merely hanging out with Gilberto Simoni and his grandmother. Don’t judge me.

Anyway, I suppose it’s time to talk about the racing.

I always get stoked the day of the first Early Bird Crit, as I miss bike racing dearly during the off-season, but on Sunday I was hella stoked. In spite of the mild Bay Area Ice Age, the race was beautifully attended and fields were massive. Take, for example, the W4 start line, flush with ~50 new racers raring to go. Ex-Sierra Nevada Pro Jamiel Danesh came out of retirement to race in tennis shoes with girls.

The Juniors field was equally impressive, though my unimpressive photography fails to do it justice. There was one girl, probably ten years old and astride a 20″-wheeled bike, who attempted to stay in the draft of the 16-18 year old boys pack for the first lap or so…THAT was awesome. I wish I could remember the name people were calling out to her so I could properly give her credit.

For the first time in my career, I actually wandered around and paid attention to the “skills clinics” put on before each race; I was impressed by the fluid transfer of the fundamentals of bike racing from the orange-vested mentors to the absolute hordes of uninitiated “n00bs.” Laurel Green, the head mentor, did a great job of talking over the first-race-of-the-season din and hammered home a solid curriculum. Bike racing is not an intuitive sport, nor is it a safe sport, and I think these clinics perform a great service to the community. If only we could force some P/1/2 riders to attend them retroactively…

For the bulk of the day, I walked around in my coke-wear and harassed friends, enemies, and random attendees. Ask anyone…it’s what I do at bike races. Finally, six hours after I arrived at the venue, it was time for me to wrap myself in fine, green, sponsor-laden fabrics, tuck my mullet into my helmet, go for a pre-race ride, and then race my balls off.

Our P/1/2/3 race — covered briefly with some overly-aggRANDizing video footage by the enigmatic Hellyer over at NorCalCyclingNews — was an enormous cluster-F consisting of ~ 100 men, women, and children. Thankfully, I only saw about five of them all day: Tyler Dibble (Mike’s Bikes), Nate English (Yahoo?), Logan Loader (Who the Hell Knows?), Roman Kilun (Kenda Pro Cycling) and Mary Maroon (uh…Webcor).

Here’s my take on the day.

After about two laps of elbowing J.D. Bergmann (Clif Bar) out of my way, I bridged to a group up the road. This group shuffled a few riders here and there and eventually settled on Logan, Nate English, and me. It was all I could do to hang on to their repeated attacks and accelerations as we maintained a 15 second gap on the field for the bulk of the race. Logan obviously thought we were in Belgium, where bike racing is supposed to be aggressive and punchy, and Nate clearly thought he was going to find a hill somewhere up around the bend. It was a rude, painful 30-minute introduction to the season, to say the least.

(Photo credit: Dave Maddux)

Once this break came back, I was forced to ride in the vicinity of Mr. Tyler Dibble, the captain of the newly-minted Mike’s Bikes Cycling Team. Rather than focus on breathing, I chose to mock Dibble’s chainring-emblazoned asscheek, the hallmark of his team’s kit, and to politely mention that my teammate Mary Maroon was riding better than him.

Seriously.

Mary spent more time attacking off the front than most of the dudes, particularly Dibble, portending a world of pain for the W/1/2/3s for the rest of the season. I may not let her race women’s races; she might be too valuable to me in the P/1/2s.

As the race came to a conclusion, I found myself in a completely unmanageable “breakaway” of 12ish riders, including perpetual local professional Roman Kilun. Sadly, we were caught with about 200m to the line and an unbelievably energetic Logan Loader manhandled the win from the melee.

Let’s talk about Mr. Kilun for a moment, as he provides a nice foil to my character in the district. Roman is a unique guy who merits his own blog post  (that’s right Roman…you’re not immune to this blog), but presently I’ll paint him in a positive light as one of few remaining “old-school” pros.

In an era when most professionals train all winter on perfect replicas of their mid-July climbing machines and carefully Nair their appendages to perfection, Roman still custom-paints his shit-storm of a winter bike in the ugliest color of green possible (coming from me, that’s saying something), mounts fenders on the behemoth, grows a Parnes-worthy beard and an enviable shock of hair, and kicks the living daylights out of all of us.

(Photo Credit: Erika Kali)

All you Juniors out there: strive to be more like Roman and less like…uh…well, me, for one. You’ll be way hardcore.

Speaking of Juniors, I’ll end this post with a brief anecdote about the Specialized Junior/Master team.

Post-race, I was running my mouth at my ex-favorite-Junior bike racer, David Benkoski. This 17-year old kid has been a fun guy to talk to for a few years now, likes (liked?) to talk some serious smack back at me, and races like a real man. However, he was reticent to look at me on Sunday, much less trade barbs with me. As I rolled away dejected, I turned back and noticed that one of those ancient Specialized Masters racers that inexplicably races for a Junior team — who had been sitting silently nearby the whole time — was making a hand-puppeting motion with his hand while looking scornfully between David and I and shaking his head. David nodded stoically.

“What’s that all about?” I called over my shoulder.

“You should come ride with our team sometime,” said the Masters racer. “We don’t do any talking…we do a lot of riding instead.”

Wow.

Essentially, the interaction led me to believe that my very being was offensive to serious bike racers — those who have been good and those who aspire to be such.

That is mildly depressing, in spite of my respect for the Specialized development program.

I’m pretty sure no one ever benefited from a no-talking policy on team rides, and I hope that’s not the direction that team’s headed. Am I a ridiculous, over-the-top example of poor athleticism and bad life-decisions? Sure. However, I hope I also provide hope that one need not sacrifice happiness, youth, a career, and absurd behavior to be a good bike racer.

I’ll repeat what I said previously: Juniors…be like Roman. He’s got a law degree and about twelve years of Professional Cyclist experience on his resume. Don’t be like me…but also, don’t forget that bike racing is supposed to be fun. That goes for all of you out there.

And with that, I’m out. Goodnight, loyal readers…it’s blogging season, so check back with regularity.

I’m going to throw convention to the wind and state the moral of this post at the beginning: be careful what you post on social networking sites like Twitter or Facebook.

I’ll start by saying that I intended to race the Mount San Bruno Hillclimb on January 1st, 2011. Never mind that I can’t climb worth a damn; I’ve been “training” pretty hard this winter by way of a few ill-advised attempts at ‘cross racing, so I figured I might as well give the traditional New Years hillclimb a shot. I may have even posted my intentions on Facebook.

As always seems to be the case, the Mike Hernandez/Beth Newell duo — both nice, kind people when not hiding behind the mask of ones and zeros — began publicizing my statements and calling me out when I failed to show.

You win, Beth. Or maybe Mike. I can’t keep track of who is who anymore.

Yes, I skipped the hillclimb because I remained entirely wasted from the previous evening’s festivities by 7:30am. Is that a crime?

Actually, I’m pretty sure a BUI would be a crime. I awoke at the appropriate time and briefly considered cramming a sleeve of Fig Newtons into my gullet while forging a contraband USA Cycling “Authorization to Race” form, as I had naturally not renewed my license. Instead, I gave myself a quick field-sobriety test and failed miserably, nearly poking my own eye out performing that whole fingertip-to-nose thingy. That didn’t seem safe, and I subsequently chose to sleep until noon like a regular human being. Hell, even perpetual hillclimber Dan Connelly chose to forgo the race, so I’m in good company.

Anyway, for whatever reason, Beth really wants to compete with me, but I won’t give her the pleasure of trying (and failing).

You see, it’s obvious that Beth is siphoning most of the testosterone from her own boyfriend to herself — I mean, take a look at the guy’s emaciated biceps and listen to his Robert Plant-esque voice! Just because this testosterone transfer is consensual doesn’t mean it’s not doping, guys.

Now, a defense of my actions yesterday (or lack thereof) was not really the point of this post. Instead, let’s turn our attention to the internet activity of Steve Reaney’s #1 eunuch, Chris Stastny.

Stastny is a pretty good bike racer, a pretty nice guy, and he’s pretty enough that I like to photoshop my own face onto his race-winning body (though that’s a different topic altogether).

Like many pre-teen boys, Stastny also happens to post things on Twitter/Facebook with some frequency; I tend to respond with rival immaturity. Take, for instance, this post about the overall epicness of his rides with Cal Giant eunuchmate Tyler Brandt.

Now, declarations of ride epicness are one thing — totally acceptable practice in the world of bike nerds — but declarations of improved fitness are invitations for public mockery. Less than 24 hours prior to this year’s San Bruno Hillclimb, Stastny posted the following.

Sure, his diction is a bit vague, but for the sake of this post let’s assume he means that he feels stronger than he did last year, and especially the year before that. I’m the blogger, so I get to take that kind of liberty with other people’s words.

Here is a comparison of Stastny’s times from the past three years.Now, there are two interpretations of the evidence presented thus far:

1. Stastny is, in fact, not stronger than he was last year and he just feels that way because his coach strokes his ego or because someone mis-calibrated his Powertap.
2. Stasnty is stronger than last year but also much fatter — much, much fatter. After all, climbing is all about power-to-weight, right?

Confused as to what kind of coaching practices Jesse Moore might be employing that could cause Stastny’s year-to-year fitness to stasgnate (oh God…forgive me for that one), I did a little bit of research.

This is what I found.

No wonder Stastny’s fitness gains have been surpassed only by his weight gains…he’s being coached by a closet fat kid who only derives motivation from edible objects. Seriously, Jesse…people are paying you for that kind of advice? Maybe you should just motorpace your clients in an ice-cream truck to motivate them.

Alright, I have work I ought to be doing, so I’ll leave it at that. I am sure Jesse and Chris will respond with gusto, which ought to be entertaining.

See everyone at the Early Bird Crits!