The crappiest generation of spoiled idiots

I bought a new bike.

It's beautiful. It's so Italian it smells like garlic. And it rides like a dream.

But that's not the purpose for this post. No, it's a little more complicated than that. While I love my new bike, I could have survived just fine with my old bike, or the one before that, or the one before that. There's no true need for the string of bikes I've owned in my lifetime.

But lately I started to think I'm becoming part of what I consider a younger generation who seems to have a sense of entitlement from the outset. They want a bike, so they jump straight to the lightest, stiffest, most expensive racing bike they can find...the latest cool frame maker or material (Ti, Carbon, stainless steel, etc).

As I've raced over the past few years, I've noticed that the least experienced racers seem to always have the newest and most expensive bikes of all the groups (Cat. 1/2 aside since they often get their bikes for cheap/free or are paid to ride something).

And so I present to all of you this:



Two wheels for life.

New girl in town

Someone's sleeping on the couch, and it isn't me.

--Two wheels for life

Can you feel this?

Or this?


Or maybe even this?


There's something about February for me. I know it's still winter, but once the month is over, March is spring in my mind. The time for the European Classics where the toughest athletes on the planet slog through mud and shit and pain and rain and snow and fatigue and end up gritting their teeth to get over one last col to battle it out in a sprint.

I've always loved a race, but ever since Greg Lemond beat Laurent Fignon in a time trial duel that may never be repeated, I've been a sucker for bike racing. There's no judges or officials or timeouts or any of that crap. You line up, ride for several hundred kilometers and the first man across the line wins. Simple. Elegant. Beautiful.

There aren't very many things that will keep me up at night, but thinking about racing my bike is one of them. I'll probably never win a race, but just knowing that I'm going to feel that surge of pre-race anxiety where my senses are heightened and I feel more alive....that's worth the entry fee and the masochism.

Even if I end up baked and cross-eyed, there's always something to love about racing. It's you and the bike. Caked in dirt and sweat and someone elses spit and you don't know if you'll make the selection but you know if you do you're going to hang on 'til the end. That energy and emotion makes everything more poignant.

Two wheels for life.

You look like several hundred dollars...

A few days ago I was browsing through a mail order cycling catalog when a particular piece of clothing caught my eye:

Campagnolo 11-Speed Bib Short:

And then I found it's partner...Campagnolo 11-Speed Full Zip Jersey:

I actually turned the page before the reality of what I had just seen registered: $339.99 for a pair of bibs? Holy crap! Sweet fancy Moses! Are you freakin' kidding me?

I started to wonder if it was a misprint...and then it all made sense. Of course, it's made by Campy.

Yes, the Campy...as in Campagnolo...the supreme Italian component maker. Only now they've taken their mechanical expertise into the apparel world. How genius of them to offer a very affordable kit to all of us cyclist. And it's an 11-speed jersey and bibs...not the crappy 10-speed stuff they're pawning off to has beens and recumbant riders.

But for upwards of 700 bones, this thing better come with a pair of Marco Pantani's legs in the bibs to get me up the next climb. For $639.99, the chamois in these bibs better not only protect my taint from saddle sores, it better massage it, buff it, wax it, clear coat it, and finish it off with a spot free rinse.

I can heard the proponents now..."But it's the best kit out there...the last one you'll ever buy."

And they're right...it would be the last one I'd ever buy because it'd have to be the last kit on the planet before I'd spend $700 on a skin suit with a diaper sewn in it.

I'd rather wear burlap shorts with a sand paper chamois than pay this much cash to a too-cool gear company that thinks it's all that and a bag of pork rinds.

For $700 you could get a pretty decent wheelset:

For $700 you could get a lot of tubes, several really nice tires, a box full of components, and many lightweight trinkets.

For $700 you could also get nearly 400 packages of Clif Shot Bloks; about 600 Powergels; 400 servings of Endurox recovery drink; and 700 Clif Bars.

But more importantly, $700 would easily cover my race fees for an entire season of events.

I understand that there's the notion that you get what you pay for, but there's a law of diminishing return that eventually kicks in when the outfit I'm wearing costs more than much of my bike.

And who's making these things? I'm pretty sure it's not Italian models in Tuscany crafting them by hand to fit every inch of my body. My guess is the small hands of children in an Asian nation sewed these over-priced clown suits for pennies on the dollar.

I could be wrong, but there's something amiss about Campagnolo thinking they can get away with this.

I'd rather be seen in this:



Or this:



For now I'm sticking with my Taint Training ensemble and I'll mock anyone wearing the aforementioned kit who isn't being paid to do so.

Two Wheels for Life...

Going out on the town

We all know the joy that comes from mounting the indoor trainer for extended mind-numbing torture. You know this must be what they're doing to Al Qaeda in the prisons, because it evokes about the same reaction from me — screaming, crying, writhing, and ultimately submitting and just getting the job done. It's become such a regular occurrence for me that I find myself muttering, "yes, please...may I have another..." during the "recovery" periods between intervals.

And since I've added "taint training" to the spin regimen, it's become a tradition I can't wait to break. And just because I know you're curious about the progress of the taint training, I've posted a recent photo for you to see. I'm sure you'll agree I'm reaping the benefits of this new-found method for hardening my body and toughening up my mind. Don't mind the tail...I hear it falls off once the calluses harden.



But my favorite thing to do to make the trainer sessions more palatable involves role playing. I've found that imagining I'm someone different, wearing the right attire, and talking the part, makes 75 minutes just fly by. In fact, I've found myself really enjoying this alter ego to the point that I have a hard time breaking out of my character. Here are a few examples.

A night out on the town: For many years I've admired the high-flying celebrities who always looked suave with a woman on their arm and a finely tailored tuxedo about their loins. So I've purchased this training jersey to make me feel like a million dollars. You know what they say...you feel more confident when you dress the part. And frankly, I feel every bit the $129.95 that Primal Wear charged me for this smooth looking piece of spandex and polyester.


Walker Texas Ranger: I don't know any martial art moves, or really have any muscles to speak of, but I find this jersey makes me feel all tough and ripped...like Chuck Norris doing the cycling equivalent of a round house to the chops of some petty criminal who's crossed the bearded phenom one too many times. I also have a matching cowboy hat complete with moisture wicking technology built into the brim. Of course, I wear this jersey under a flannel button-down long sleeve shirt just to complete the ensemble. And for those of you following along, you'll be happy to know that when I take my chamois off and put my cowboy boots on, I've transformed into the taint training outfit. Smooth like butta'...



Storm Trooper: Who hasn't wanted to don the black spandex and hard white plastic of a Storm Trooper suit and protect the evil overlords trying to take over the galaxy? Well I for one never got the chance to be a storm trooper for Halloween and sporting this jersey for trainer sessions makes me feel like I'm fighting the force and flying at light speed through stars instead of only logging 35 miles and never leaving my living room.



Just relaxin': Who doesn't feel more relaxed when they're dressed to land a few trout? I find this kit brings out the Sunday driver in me. And as long as the mosquitoes don't come with it, I'm pleased to be wearing it. The waders, however, don't seem to want to integrate with my Speedplay pedals.

Mulletude: Last season I was trying to grow my pseudo mullet, and now that I think about it, this behavior may have been a result of wearing the Rolling Stones jersey during training too much. However you rock it, you should be doing it in a faux denim jersey...with a cigarette...and a can of Schlitz. What the heck, if you aren't fully blasted when you take this jersey off, your bender, errrr, training session, just wasn't productive.

Meet me in SF: I can't be certain this photo is from SF, but considering the bayside vantage point and the style of the jersey, I'm thinking that's where it originated from. And it's where I imagine myself when I'm wearing it. It takes a brave, brave man to wear this jersey, and an even braver man to admit it. It takes a man with more bravery than all the Mel Gibsons in the world to be seen in it out on your bike...bravery on the trainer is one thing, bravery in front of people is something I'm still working up to.

Because I can: And finally, when I just have that devil-may-care attitude and I want to feel like I'm just having fun as an 8-year-old on my Schwinn Stingray, I pull this beloved suit on and put my son's BMX bike on the Cyclops instead of my rig and just pedal and coast, then pedal and coast. Bunny hopping has been troublesome so far, but in my imagination I've cleared several trash cans.

Two wheels for life. And an infinite supply of Primal Wear Jerseys for training indoors. And only indoors. If you wear these outside, you're an idiot.

Mount up...we're going for a ride

Two months ago I began noticing a car in my neighborhood that always had a road bike on the trunk rack. Always. Kinda like those birds that ride around on the back of a rhinoceros just for the free ride. That's kind of what this car seemed to be doing to the bike...giving it a free ride around town and a comfy place to rest instead of the garage.

What strikes me as even more strange now is that in the throes of winter, the bike still can be found tightly tethered to the car. Does this guy ever ride the bike? Why is it every time I see this car around town or in the driveway the bike is attached? Is it more cool to be part of the biking scene by showing off your bike or is it more cool to actually ride the bike?

And to think, all these years I could have been shaving my legs, talking the talk, but never having to mount the bike and turn a pedal and I could have been a "biker." I never realized it was so simple. Almost like being a Born Again Christian.

And then I remembered my brother-in-law's two accidents wherein he drove his car into his garage because he insisted on keeping the bike on the roof for longer than necessary. Sure, he got new parts, but at a price. Biking is an expensive enough hobby, but to have to keep replacing parts because you slam dunk your rid into the garage has to take its toll.

Like this bike...granted, I believe that while the experts may deem this bike unrideable, I think they've discovered a new geometry that would be a perfect cross between a road bike and a recumbent. 

Or this bike which is somehow has gone off the deep end and is being mounted without the trays. It's like some kama sutra position for bikes..inverted and going in backwards.

And there are dozens of other mounting configurations...all designed to carry your bike to a destination where it can be ridden. I'm fine with the kama sutra bike mount as long as the bike is eventually ridden each time it is mounted. Mounting the bike, then driving around, then unmounting the bike (or worse, never unmounting the bike) is the worst form of impersonation.

If you never pedal the bike, you're only a driver. And that doesn't require shaved legs.

Two wheels for life.

Year-round badge of courage

I've already alluded to my strict off-season training regimen, dubbed "Taint Training" for its likeness to medieval torture. I've also found TT is good for removing layers of saddles sores you didn't know you had. And while some of you have begged for my TT secrets, I'm not going to share with you any details, let alone photographs. Suffice it to say TT isn't for the faint of heart or the sound of mind. It's a downright painful, exhausting, and messy ordeal.

It takes a special breed to commit — and follow through — with winter training protocols. And I'm one of the breed. Or, one of a breed.

One breed I'm not a part of, though, is the "commute in all weather" family of cycling animals. And when I say all weather, what I really mean is, freezing cold, dark, icy winter weather. Like the kind we're experiencing every morning here in Utah.

For the past few winters I've noted a particularly deranged commuter who is bundled up with enough layers to warmly circumnavigate the North Pole; he sports goggles, a gas mask, mittens more suited for a dog sled musher, and surprisingly still has a helmet that fits his melon over several layers of fleece hats.

I realize this man may not own a car and that he's saving money, maintaining his fitness, and proving he's tougher than me; but that's no excuse for trying to kill yourself in the pitch black of the morning on icy roads filled with disoriented and inattentive drivers. 

 

If you're looking for the year round badge of courage, I hereby award it to you. I'll even have something crafted out of bronze, if a simple patch won't do the trick. 

And I'll be the first to admit it: You are the toughest guy I don't know. 

I'll further admit that I am not tough. When it's 22 degrees with a 15 mph breeze and I'm standing at the bus stop, I want to reach into my backpack, retrieve the emergency lighter I keep, gather some kindling and stoke up a blaze in the nearest 55-gallon drum I can find.

So when I see these deranged commuters barreling down North Temple, I begin to wonder about their mental state. And I know most of these guys...they're not just going across town; they have 10-14 mile commutes.

Now I realize to each his own, but really, riding your bike in 20 degree weather on skating rinks for roads with snow and ice lining your route? That's training?

And do I even need to mention the air quality? Or the expense of outfitting yourself with Himalayan quality gear? Unless you're planning to summit Everest on a bike, you don't need this crap.

And I'll let you in on a little secret....shhhh....it's called a trainer. You hook your bike up to it, ride it indoors while watching My Sweet 16 on MTV, and enjoy the luxuries of the 21st century.

I know, I know...but it won't make you tough. Fine. I'll take a debit in the tough guy category and be alive next season to haul your asthmatic, lung cancer-riddle shell of a winter commuting body up the climbs. All while sporting my cowboy boots and a leather taint.

Two wheels for life (weather permitting)