Alaskan Pack Fodder

I was fully committed.   Pouring sweat. Mashing the pedals. Snarling. Drooling. Wild-eyed. Flailing. Yanking on the bars to wring every last watt out of the effort...    Crack.    A sharp noise. Sharp enough to get my attention and temper the rabid nature of my Zwift sprint.     I still got the coveted virtual sprint jersey that would be mine, all mine for an hour or until somebody came along and took it away. Not that the jersey really matters to me. What matters is the carrot in front of me that causes me to push harder than I would otherwise. Push the old intensity up a few notches and get more out of the time I spend on the trainer.    I knew what the noise was and where it came from. It was the sound of my bespoke Chinese "carbon" bullhorn handlebar, which was lovingly crafted by poor children from only the best dishrags and superglue, giving its two-week notice. You'd think with a respectable name like "Future", ...

I was composing an overly-long post on how I was trying to be good and not buy more bikes I don't need or, when you get right down to it, really want. I have a compulsion to acquire things for the activities I'm passionate about, even if they don't add anything meaningful to the experience. I did it with music equipment in my teens and twenties, Jeep stuff in my twenties and thirties, and now bike stuff in my thirties and forties. You'd think I would have figured it out by now, but ever since I've had the means to do so, I've been the type compelled to acquire.    The other day it was an Eriksen frameset. Kent Eriksen founded Moots, and he makes very, very nice bikes.  North American Handmade Bicycle Show a ward-winning bikes. Gorgeous stuff. This particular frameset had everything I desire, with a tapered ENVE fork, English threaded bottom bracket, exterior cable routing, stiff rear triangle, thinner seatpost, clearance for 28s... Yeah, I was right there with...

I knew it was going to happen.    It's happened many times before, and it will happen again.    I dramatically increase volume and/or intensity in a relatively short period of time, I get away with it for a little while, and then my legs fall off.    In this case, I timed it just about right, missing it by about a day. A day before my rest day and I could barely turn over the pedals.  The knee I whacked into a curb at the Tour of Fairbanks a few years back started saying, "Dude. Dude. Dude..." with every revolution.  I ground out the 90 minutes I had planned, but it wasn't pleasant. Walking up and down stairs was agony. The persistent ache even crept up my legs when I was stretched out on the bed.    I overdid it again.    Maybe I'll recover enough on my rest day to pick things up again. I'l start slow and try to regain/retain some of my momentum, instead of falling into a pit of sloth and Oreos.    I'm al...

Stick with me here.    When I feel more like a cyclist, I'm more inclined to write about it. Whoa. Deep.    Right now I'm too fat and weak to be "fast" (by my standards), but I'm making progress. I'm putting in the work. I haven't weighed myself, imply because I'm not at the point I really want to deal with that right now. Maybe after the new year. At the moment, I'm just focusing on making the squiggly lines on Training Peaks trend upwards. Marginal gains and all that.    Still, it's nice.    I expect I'll burn out sooner or later. I'll push it too hard for too many hours and my body will just fail with a whimper. No blaze of glory, just fizzle out like a soggy sparkler on the 4th of July. Without any sort of structure to my flailings, it's almost inevitable.    It will be fun while it lasts, though.    If I can postpone the burnout for a few weeks, I'll be able to get in some good road miles in. While the kids a...

A few years back I was at Disneyland with the family. Of course I brought my bike, thinking I would get some miles in along the ditch (Santa Ana river) after log days walking around and standing in line.   Of course, I did my homework and found group rides and races happening in the area. I jumped at my chances when the family wanted to hang back at the house around the pool or were just worn out from standing in line.   One of the chances almost didn't happen. I saw a race was happening a mere 30 minute "sporty" bike ride away, but until the family threw in the towel early that afternoon, I didn't think I could make it. Then it was just a matter of quickly buying a one-day license, signing up online, and hauling ass through Southern California traffic to get there. No problem.   Surprisingly enough, I made it on time to catch my breath, pin on a bib, and line up. I bled my eyes out that race, barely holding on and sprinting for fifth after some local young hammerhea...