cx worlds in nyc

The sky has been dumping snow for most of this week, making life somewhat miserable and prone to cabin fever.
If you're in NYC this weekend though, there are a couple of reasons to get your ass out of bed early. NYC Velo is holding a viewing party for the Cyclocross World Championships on Sunday morning. If the cyclocross isn't enough incentive, well, there's always the promise of muffins and coffee [and who can't use a good cup of coffee at 8.00 in the morning?] and some cool peeps to hang out with.

Unfortunately I won't be there [thus diminishing the cool factor, I know] but every viewing party I've been to at Velo has been awesome. So, go, have fun, make new friends. It might be ass-early in the morning, but I guarantee you'll forget about the miserable weather.

sufferfest: making life more difficult

Sometimes I think I deliberately try to make life more difficult for myself.
Like how I am currently stuck in Albany, NY, in a hotel with no room service. It wasn’t as if I didn’t know that universal rule that a hotel located in a not so urban area, no matter how many amenities it may offer, will always make you feel more helpless than it really has a right to. I simply chose not to ask a stupid question [“do you guys have room service?”] and am being punished for it as a result [I am starving]. No, it’s not like I lost my will to stand and walk around - although more than 24 hours in Albany might have that effect on some - but it’s sleeting out. Sleeting or icy raining or wintry mixing. Basically, miserable is coming out of the sky and walking on the sidewalk is like wading through a giant frappucino.
And I don’t have my bike. Not that I would ride it on roads that are starting to look like rivers of slushy diarrhea, but because - as the saying goes - when the going gets fucking icy out, the real roadies try to figure out the fastest way to make themselves puke while riding the rollers indoors.

A seasonal rite of passage where contrition for even considering participating in cross season is exhibited in the form of intervals, a bludgening market for trainer DVDs has emerged in the past few years that seems as varigated as porn. And with titles like, “Spinervals Fitness 2.0, Sweating Buckets,” and “Mindy Mylrea: Super Cycle: The Best Ride in Town,” the similarities between the porn business and the sweating on your bike business might not be so few and far between. It might be slightly awkward to watch at times [“what exactly are they....that can’t be real...am I actually supposed to want to do that?”], but how terrible could a training video be?

With that thought in mind, and a preference that is more Suicide Girls than Chasey Lain, I invested $10.99 of my hard-earned money to purchase Revolver, a video by the newest trainer video producer on the scene, Sufferfest. Available immediately for download, I was on my bike and rolling through a ride within 20 minutes of hitting “Buy Now.” And since that moment, I have been hooked. Like turning that shit on and riding until my legs shake, four days out seven, hooked. Hitting “play,” to a soundtrack that I now associate with suffering at a perceived rate of exertion of 10/10 in one minute intervals, for thirty goddamn minutes, I first follow a bunch of guys on a brisk ride, before heading vicariously to the Manchester velodrome for the Madison event, then onto the U-23 World Champs, the UCI Cyclocross World Champs, and wrap it up [my favorite part] with Tatiana Guderzo and the ladies. It’s excruciatingly hard - the first time I did it, I wanted to weep, then pass out in a puddle of my own puke - but it’s equally addictive: Revolver has become the perfect 45 minute escape from the snowy shitfest that is Boston.

This could be all because, like I said, I might enjoy making my life more difficult than it should be. Of course, it wasn’t enough for me to just schedule in a few Sufferfest sessions into my week. I had to do it on rollers, thereby forcing myself to sit through the sprints and savor the sensations of my ass falling off while I was at it. But like any cyclist - from seasoned pro to newbie amateur - will tell you, that feeling of despair and complete destruction after a hard workout can’t be beat. And when you don’t have 2+ hours, or daylight in which to ride, Sufferfest will deliver, kicking your ass good and proper so you can keep up with your crew, or at least feel like less of a lazy waste of space.
I can’t say I’m putting out 6000 watts yet, but I am working my way up to Sufferfest’s newest, Local Hero, which clocks in at 85 minutes of pain, intervals included.
God, I can’t wait.

[last] weekend in pictures

I rode...

Made a new friend [an 11 month old Great Dane named Juno]...

And showered [very Terry Richardson/American Apparel photo, no?] at NYC Velo...

Hopefully more of the same in a few days...

kitting up for 2011

I’ve often complained about the severe shortage of jersey designers who have eyes. At least for womens’ jerseys. Which may be one reason I wear my NYC Velo jersey with such pride. Okay, it could also be because it’s the only jersey I own that’s not summer weight. Red, white, and bearing the triangular logo that makes me look and feel like a superhero, my “three season jersey,” as I like to call it, gets zipped up over the only proper long-sleeved baselayer I have. Every day. That’s right. Every. Single. Day.
This can be called either disgusting, frugal, or both. But it makes for getting dressed fairly quickly. While others might peruse their massive collections of gear, unless I have my period and am therefore too busy complaining about riding rather than getting dressed, I can be ready before chamois cream hits taint.

But that doesn’t mean I’m immune to wanting a new jersey or two. With the 2011 teams falling into place and the curtain being lifted on quite a few kits, I was kind of excited about the whole thing. Until that whole Leopard [or LEOPARD or LaYpArD or whatever] thing.
I actually didn’t see the kit until a few days ago, mostly because I was afraid to. I saw the twitter storm it fueled; claims that it was exactly like Rapha, or, no, Rapha-influenced. Heavily Rapha-influenced. Allegations that the entire peloton was going to turn into some giant black mass that would also function as a solar power generator. Well, actually a black, white, and blue mass. And then we would all be confused because none of us actually have eyes.

...Jesus. I knew you guys were drama queens.
Okay, to be fair, Garmin-Cervelo and Sky, both of which have mostly black kits with a single stripe across the chest, may be difficult to distinguish. But how is anyone going to miss the almost-no-logo, allegedly Rapha-ed kit of Leopard? More importantly, how is anyone going to miss the deliciousness that is FabCan in, well, anything? Or at least a kit that can make Andy look like he’s been eating too many donuts? Although look at Frank. Boy lookin’ fiiiiiiiiiiine. Makes me want to lick that...kit.

Anyway, while we’re on the subject of crushes, because a good friend of mine has the biggest boner for Cav, can I just say: I am really happy for HTC-Highroad? Because now they can have a much sleeker looking kit without the weird fake abs outlined in yellow because whoever designed it might have thought they would need an excuse for Cavy’s butterteeth? Like “well, it was the yellow from the kit reflecting in his teeth,” when everyone would know that’s not true? Point being, I would totes rock that.

So 2011 looks like it’s going to be a year of simpler, understated designs, with an aesthetic that isn’t so in your face. At least for the popular teams. Except my favorite, my Tour wild-card-hopeful, apparently never got the memo.

When I first saw the new Skil-Shimano kit, I didn’t so much as scream as feel this sense of deep betrayal. The white kit with red stripes that have been the signature of Skil-Shimano have been replaced with neon green ones, justified as some sign of commitment to environmental sustainability. What? I mean, I understand that Argos Oil is a new co-sponsor, but unless “Argos Oil,” is read, “BP,” I don’t really understand this whole argument. Friends pointed out how “euro” the new design is, and how the new kit is awesome because the green stripes are really pretty random. After a few hours of staring at it, I see their point. Although to be honest, I’d support any team with a Japanese rider known for attacking, no matter how lame their kit.

And at worst, it doesn’t even come close to the monstrosity I saw in Peloton Magazine the other day. Unfortunately, I think the "hit list" means "this is a hit!" rather than "this has been hit with the ugly stick!" Because there's no way around it. That jersey is hideous. It’s almost like some sadist decided that, since there’s no UCI rule that requires female pro cyclists to get paid a minimum wage, they might as well make their lives even more miserable by making them wear this jersey, too.
Remind me to never aspire to become a pro. Unless Skil-Koga wants to pick me up, of course.
Note: pictures blatantly stolen from other sources, except the first and last.

engineered dreams and the uci

Man, I am so glad my new road bike was built before January 1, 2011.
No, it’s not only because my beauty is one of the last Crown Jewels to be made in Somerville, Massachusetts, by guys who are no longer at IF, but because - phew! - my 18 lbs. steel road bike might actually be UCI legal...!
I really did have concerns that it might be judged “too aero,” but - lucky me! - the new UCI approval procedure only applies to frames and forks still in conception as of January 1, 2011. Oh, right, what am I talking about, you ask? Earlier this month, the UCI announced that it will be working with bicycle manufacturers to conform frames and forks to UCI standards. The stated goals are understandable, and it’s not hard to see how this might make everyone’s lives a little bit easier. Though concerns have been voiced as to how the new approval procedures might affect competitve cyclists, as a former anarchist sympathizer turned capitalist [once you realize that people are not innately good, anarchy ceases to become a viable political framework...or lack thereof], my first concern was, “poor Trek/Cannondale/Specialized/Cervelo.”

Actually, more like “poor engineers with any modicum of creativity at Trek/Cannondale/Specialized/Cervelo.” Because the imposition of rules and approval procedures onto individual manufacturers is really going to suck for the bike nerds out there. Sure, it wouldn’t make for embarrassing moments when one’s bicycle is deemed “illegal,” like it was a pound of cocaine, not a goddamn machine, but it could also stifle creativity and innovation. As any intellectual property attorney can tell you [or in my case, any attorney who has taken an intro intellectualy property class], protection of innovation is a balancing act between rewarding innovation [by allowing the initial innovator to recoup his investment in inventing], and encouraging further innovation [based on what has been newly invented]. Without financial incentive, one theory goes, creativity will decrease significantly, therefore making everyone else worse off than if you just hadn’t screwed with anythng in the first place.
With me so far? Okay, good. Under 35 U.S.C. § 101 et seq., which governs patent law in the US, a bicycle qualifies as a “machine,” which is patentable subject matter. This is not new. Just ask Cervelo. Patent law is the only method by which one bicycle manufacturer can protect its invention, because, hey, copyright and trademark aren’t really gonna help you, right [leave aside the whole “well trademarks are protected by trademark law blah blah blah” thing, okay?]? There are several requirements for an innovation to be patentable, including “nonobviousness,” defined as a significant change that is not simply a “small, incremental improvement [this is very fact specific and obviously varies case by case]. The fact remains: you can patent bicycle technology.

But regulations limiting how a manufacturer can build a bicycle - for example, how aero is too aero - will most likely also limit how inventive bicycle engineers can be. I’m not saying that the guys over at Specialized or Trek are going to throw up their hands and give up...just that with no incentive to be truly cutting-edge, we may risk losing that part about super aero bicycles with electrical shifting that give bike nerds like me giant boners. Because, let’s face it, without the possibility of pros riding said super bikes in the Tour or Spring Classics, there’s no point in making them. There’s no marketing advantage, no rise in brand name recognition because you made a super bike that is useless under UCI standards. In fact, with a list of "approved products" and manufacturers planned, it seems highly likely that the opposite will happen; that manufacturers will focus on getting as many of their products approved as possible. No doubt this will result in creative ways of producing bicycles that are more technologically advanced and meet the standards, but we may never see the physical product - those complicated angles and flattened tubes - that you know those engineers are dreaming about. And that kind of sucks.
On the bright side, with no pros able to ride super bikes, maybe they’ll become affordable and normal non-pro peeps can snatch them up! Just make sure you don't, you know, race it.

to build an if

There are times when the days blend together. Whether it occurs because of a great winning streak in a game of Beirut or because of late night ramblings over a midnight snack with a friend at a 24 hour diner that eventually turns into breakfast, anyone with even a hint of a social life will understand this. Even with a couple hours of sleep thrown in, one day can turn into another, the reminder that you mentally crammed 48 hours into 24 only hitting you full force when the headache of sleep deprivation sears through your temples. Too bad when the overpowering desire to curl up on the floor and doze saturates your brain, you’re usually already a drink or two into your next blurred-together day.
Of course, the last time my days blended together, it was due to back to back to back episodes of “To Catch a Predator.” Me, pedophiles, and Chris Hansen. Until 3 a.m. Oh yeah.

And though Chris Hansen’s magnetic creepiness was woefully absent, the past few weeks have blended together, too. Sleeping in until almost noon, trudging through the slushy streets of New York, going to too many bookstores...and before I knew it, 2010 had flowed seamlessly and somewhat unmemorably into 2011.
It wasn't until last Sunday night that it occurred to me that it really was 2011. That night, in a slightly chilly bike shop, with some Victory beer, the help of another Chris [Harris, not Hansen], and some oddly shaped tools, I slowly assembled my very first road bike.
It started with a bottom bracket tapping and facing set; a gigantic metal contrapction that does the frame-prepping equivalent of douching and brazilian bikini waxing. Each tap got inserted so as not to cut through the BB threads, “chasing” them, before the facing cutter was fitted onto the outside edge of the BB, shaving off most of the paint. It hurt a little to do [doesn't waxing anything?], but I managed not to screw it [or my frame] up.

With a hammer, I pressed my first fork crown race, clanging away at the crown race installer. Then, feeling very pro mechanic, pressed my first ever headset into place, perfect and pretty. Okay, that’s not accurate. I only really installed the bottom half of the headset while Chris did the hardest part of aligning the top half. After spacers, bars, and brakes were attached, Chris made me figure out how to install the derailleurs myself [which was totally cool because those are only the exact parts that don't come on a single-speed bike]. I got it, eventually, only to be laughed at when I tried to put on my wheels, tightening them down like they had track nuts on them. Chris had to fix the wheels before helping me wipe down and measure out the chain, installing the brakes, and insisting I wrap one side of my bars. And he took pictures, documenting my embarrasment.
A la "To Catch a Predator," the bike build was a team effort. I was the equivalent of the Internet pedophile that stupidly walks into a TV set [“well...I thought it would make sense to put that...there...is that...wrong?”], while Chris [Harris] pretty much played the part of my other favorite Chris [Hansen] by attempting to reason with me [“do you really think that’s a good idea? You're building your own bike...What did you think was going to happen here tonight?”]. All very much like one of the greatest shows on television, with the exception that when I left the store, I wasn’t tackled by some burly cop screaming at me to get down on the ground.

And at the end of it all, I had a road bike. All I really got to do that night on the bike, was to pedal the length of the store. The saddle was a little lower than it should have been but once I cruised past the display of Chrome bags, that cliched realization, the prefix for those "I told you so"s [or more accurately "I TOLD you--Jesus CHRIST! WHY don't you ever LISTEN?!"s], that this bike was made to measure, hit me. It felt perfect. Not in the pre-fabricated, psychological way born of expectations, but in the physical sensations of a just-right reach, a standover that didn’t feel dangerously questionable, and the tangible fact of how the hoods fit into my hands.
And that’s when I knew. When I ceased to have any question in my mind about this simple fact:
Y’all are going to have a hard time catching this predator.