Not Me.
So recently a bike racing frenemy of mine, Clint Hodges, finished 2nd in the Iditarod Trail Invitational 350 fat bike race. That's some accomplishment.
Clint's team and mine are actually sponsored by the same bike shop, and we've talked about linking up tactically in races, but it never happens because:
My Facebook feed last week during the 3 days, 10 hours, and 4 minutes he was on the trail was filled with pictures of him riding along barren, snow-covered tracts or at checkpoints, his majestic, paper towel advertisement-worthy beard a solid mass of ice. Just looking at the pictures reminded me that I am not half the man that Clint, or anyone else (male or female) that races the ITI and similar races. It just isn't my thing.
350 miles in just under four days on a road bike would be a pretty good effort for me. That would likely be five or six hours a day on the bike, followed by a bunch of eating and sleeping in a warm, comfortable bed. I would probably be wrecked for weeks afterwards, because I very rarely ride that much day after day.
Clint didn't ride on the pavement. He rode over snow that was nominally groomed at best, which often was so loose that he had to walk. He slept either at checkpoints, which rarely provide the most regal of accommodations, or out on the trail, where let's just say the thermostat is broken. It wasn't a super-warm February. Still, he chugged along and had an impressive finish.
I'm just not built of that kind of stuff, which is why I never really took to fat bikes. It's not that I mind the cold, because I've spent more than a few days standing out on the side of a mountain in miserable conditions- all in the name of fun. Cold I can deal with. It's more of the hours and hours and hours in the saddle. After about four hours of riding under even the best of conditions, my enthusiasm for the whole endeavor really takes a hit. Drop the temperature 70+ degrees and I am full of quit. I suppose I could train myself to be able to handle such long slogs, but it doesn't sound like a lot of fun to me. Horses for courses, and I'm the prissy one with pink ribbons in its mane.
Congrats to Clint for doing well in an endeavor I can appreciate, even as I struggle to understand the appeal of it.
Clint's team and mine are actually sponsored by the same bike shop, and we've talked about linking up tactically in races, but it never happens because:
- We've never actually had a race where there's been enough of us to influence tactics in any meaningful way. We get swamped more often than not.
- Rarely are we close enough in fitness for a given race to provide assistance in any meaningful way. We're mainly trying to survive.
- We just end up chasing each other down, because that's what no-talent hack racers do.
My Facebook feed last week during the 3 days, 10 hours, and 4 minutes he was on the trail was filled with pictures of him riding along barren, snow-covered tracts or at checkpoints, his majestic, paper towel advertisement-worthy beard a solid mass of ice. Just looking at the pictures reminded me that I am not half the man that Clint, or anyone else (male or female) that races the ITI and similar races. It just isn't my thing.
350 miles in just under four days on a road bike would be a pretty good effort for me. That would likely be five or six hours a day on the bike, followed by a bunch of eating and sleeping in a warm, comfortable bed. I would probably be wrecked for weeks afterwards, because I very rarely ride that much day after day.
Clint didn't ride on the pavement. He rode over snow that was nominally groomed at best, which often was so loose that he had to walk. He slept either at checkpoints, which rarely provide the most regal of accommodations, or out on the trail, where let's just say the thermostat is broken. It wasn't a super-warm February. Still, he chugged along and had an impressive finish.
I'm just not built of that kind of stuff, which is why I never really took to fat bikes. It's not that I mind the cold, because I've spent more than a few days standing out on the side of a mountain in miserable conditions- all in the name of fun. Cold I can deal with. It's more of the hours and hours and hours in the saddle. After about four hours of riding under even the best of conditions, my enthusiasm for the whole endeavor really takes a hit. Drop the temperature 70+ degrees and I am full of quit. I suppose I could train myself to be able to handle such long slogs, but it doesn't sound like a lot of fun to me. Horses for courses, and I'm the prissy one with pink ribbons in its mane.
Congrats to Clint for doing well in an endeavor I can appreciate, even as I struggle to understand the appeal of it.
Comments
Post a Comment