more unexpected encounters

Even knowing that on Friday I had a mini-bonk, I was still disappointed in how hard the hills murdered my legs. I mentioned it to Mike, who gave me what has become the NYC Velo autoreply to most questions from yours truly:
“You need a road bike.”
Aw, cool, thanks! SUPER HELPFUL!
Apparently, I can churn out 18mph on the flats, though [which is a big deal for me]. That was a little more encouraging, so headed towards Dover on Sunday morning, I contemplated possibly throwing some sprints in there as well. You know, mix it up, keep it interesting.

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It seemed like a good plan but I wanted to keep my options open; wuss out if need be, which all signs seemed to point to me doing. My decision was cemented when I realized that the inordinate number of roadies everywhere was due to the weekly Wells Ave Crit. No need for further embarrassment, I told myself, just get the miles in and go home quietly. But of course, this was the weekend of unexpected shit happening to me at every turn, and just when I was pretty sure that this was going to be an easy peasy ride, a blue/green/white kit with a lot of facial hair under the helmet blew past me.
Embrocation IF and full kit. Had to be James. I called out hi, which was an idea that bordered on the idiotic because then I felt obliged to crank it up a lot even if I’m sure James couldn’t care less if he had to go slow or slower to keep pace with me. I did manage to gasp out some conversation, though.
So much for not sprinting/going hard.
Tired and not really feeling it, I turned back after 45 minutes [lame, I know] and decided to just hammer it back home. 90 minutes hard = 2 hours easy, right...? I pushed it through the more flat areas, but still struggled in the climbs. And mid-huffing and puffing, I heard a voice over my left shoulder:
“A freewheel? Really?”

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It was RMM [on yet another IF], who I haven’t seen in forever. Of course he caught me just as I was hitting that stretch of road where I was contemplating doing intervals or sprints or laps or whatever stupid idea was floating around in my head, and since he’s a Cat 3, I ended up doing exactly what I was trying to avoid. We ended up talking about the crit, and when he learned I’ve never been, he insisted I go check it out.
I was under the impression that this thing was sort of hilly. Wrong. It’s as flat as I am.

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RMM took me around the course on the sidewalk as the B race was going on. It’s a short course consisting of a total of 15 laps, something like 12 miles for Ds and Cs. Navigating the course slowly, RMM pointed out which corners were what and where people usually crashed.
I watched the end of the B race, the start of the A race, got some blurry pictures, then headed home. It was a nice, unexpected twist to the usual ride and even if everyone who is anyone in the Boston cycling scene got to see me in my slightly retarded Lucky Charms jersey, I was feeling good. Even with my previous efforts, I was going at a decent clip, too.
Then I threw my chain.

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Campy peanut butter wrench came out of the aforementioned jersey, chain got fixed, and I came home with black stuff all over my hands and arms. Ah, what a Sunday.
[Apparently, I missed a spectacular crash at the end of the A race. Hope everyone is okay!]

covert ops

Despite the hundreds of words I can write, the numerous sites I can read about bicycles, and the fact that my words stumble over themselves when I try to talk about bikes, I find it hard to explain my weekends to friends who don't ride. There's no drama in doing power intervals on my new gearing. No gossip involved in getting my hands greasy tensioning my chain or washing my shorts in my bathtub. So when the polite inquiry into what exactly I did this weekend comes up, I take the easier path. I lie.
It's not a ploy to sound coy or mysterious. I've just sat through enough conversations debating the intricacies of certain sports and the background stats of so-and-so athletes to understand that gushing about gear ratios can border on the annoyingly boring. So I just say, well, I hung out a bit, studied a bit, the usual, nothing special. Unless, of course, they ride a bicycle.

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Then, like it or not, I just may babble on for hours. And that's exactly what I did when one of my favorites blew through town from Portland, on a mysterious mission that even I didn't quite fully understand.
I'm talking about the man behind not only Embrocation Cycling Journal, but also Rapha Scarf Fridays [among other ideas cooking in that brain of his]: Mr. Jeremy Dunn. He hooked me into Embrocation over Americanos last spring and while his current residence in Portland makes meeting up slightly difficult, we've managed to stay in touch and even hang out in Vegas. And because of Rapha Scarf Fridays, we had to meet up on Friday morning [at Cafe Fixe!] with a promise to bring our respective scarves.

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And over Americanos, I gushed, questioned, laughed, and was completely at ease. Because while I feel cozy around people who ride bikes, I respect, admire, and look up to people who write about bikes. Sometimes they get excited about what I write too [although even I'll admit that it's not very pro], and that passion is infectious enough to have me submitting things for publication in print and chattering about ideas and all those slightly insecure dreams that I still have difficulty articulating.
It was over almost too soon and we headed our separate ways; me to NYC, Jeremy to execute some covert ops. But with identical caps! From his Rapha Fixed Backpack, Jeremy had pulled out a Rapha Oregon Manifest cap, which fits like no other cap I've owned [even mine]. It was met with jealous cries in NYC to which I responded with mock smugness and victorious laughter.

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And just when I'm wondering when we'll get to hang out next, I found a package from the UK sitting in my mailbox. Ripping it open, completely confused, I found the newest Rapha catalog and a slim booklet filled with the kind of Rapha bike ride porn [photographed by Ben Ingham] that makes you think that bike rides are never painful and always stylish. Which, I suppose if you're geared up head to toe in Rapha, is probably not inaccurate.
Until we meet again, Mr. Dunn. And maybe, just maybe, I'll even have a road bike by then...
[And speaking of totally awesome bike writers, check out this video of Bill Strickland on FSX.]