Category: Cycling

It’s not an arms race, but…

I definitely did not have the appropriate mountain bike if I was truly going to follow through on my Ken Putney domination plan. As of Friday, I officially have more bike than I know what to do with. This will change, I promise.

Bloody, but unbowed

In case you don’t know this already, I’m not good at every outdoor sport. Shocking, I know. Take downhill skiing, for example. I just can’t seem to crack the mystery of snow, bumps, trees and gravity. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy my blue squares and black diamonds. I just don’t see myself getting much better than that in my lifetime. (To be fair, the sport is %$*! expensive. At $75/day, I just can’t afford to go often enough to improve my skills. That’s another rant for another time, though.)

I also happen to suck at mountain biking. I haven’t given it a fair shake yet, and I’m still confident that with more practice I could actually get pretty good at it. I mentioned in a previous post that Nick and I let Ken take us on a tour of Galbraith mountain last weekend. The 45-minute climb on the fire road lulled me into thinking that I might actually be making some progress. The sweet view of Bellingham from the top was the icing on my confidence. We dropped off the other side of the mountain, though, and double amnesia kicked in: I forgot how confident I was, and worse, I forgot how to ride a bike. The smallest rock or root on the trail caused instant, irrational fears that danger and catastrophe were around the next corner. 

At a rest break, Ken declared that it was great to finally be better than me at something.

Whoa...seriously? Was that a challenge?! Because, knowing you, it couldn’t have been an innocent statement of fact.

I never had the opportunity to straighten out this ambiguity, because Ken was off again, demonstrating just how much BETTER HE WAS THAN ME. Ghaaahhh!

By the time Nick and I were driving home, I was already plotting my Ken-domination plan. First step, hook up with the army of expert mountain bike coaches at the Evergreen Mountain Bike Alliance. Nick reminded me gleefully that I would need to be patient and practice a LOT. To that end, I adopted a new mountain biking motto:

Today, Joanne and I did a skill-building ride with the club at Saint Edwards State Park and Big Finn Hill Park. (Susannah, an old sailing acquaintance and wife of one of my law professors, also happened to be on the ride. Small world!) We practiced for two and a half hours in mud and rain, over slippery roots, around twisties, and over logs and drops. I learned that when you’re going uphill over bumpy terrain, it pays to get your boobs down, close to the handlebar, and cock your wrists a little. (Ken doesn’t have boobs, so I’m already one step ahead of him here.) I can now ride over bumps that I struggled with before. Victory! I also tried some drops that scared me a few weeks ago when Nick and I were there. My foot slipped off the pedal on one of the drops and drew blood when it knocked me in the shin. The blood mixed with mud definitely looked hardcore. Victory!

The whoopdy-do, skinny bridge, piles of logs, and tight switchbacks still elude me. I figure with more practice and a few more tips that I won’t be batting an eye at them either.

At the end of the ride, we were completely covered with mud, but still smiling

The Stinky Spoke was not too stinky afterall

I did not take my camera on today’s mountain bike ride. I should have though. There would have been some fantastic footage of mud, lakes, mountain bikes in the fog, smiles and goofiness.

Matt, Eileen, Mark D. and I rode Stinky Spoke, an urban mountain bike poker run to benefit Little Bit Therapeutic Riding Center. It was probably the most fun you could have in the mud in January. For the record, Eileen’s poker hand (two pair) beat Matt’s, Mark’s and mine. It wasn’t quite good enough to win a prize at the end. No matter; free beer at Red Hook is a pretty good prize for everyone.

Stats: 15.8 miles / 978 ft elevation gain

‘Cross Nationals Souvenier

I was on the trainer last night when Nick presented me with a present he brought back from ‘cross nationals. This thing is so awesomely loud. I can’t wait to bring earplugs to next season’s cross races just so I can ring the thing without going deaf. (On second thought, I might not have to wait that long. If we can get some tickets to watch the Olympic skate skiing events in Vancouver next February, this would be a great tool to jeopardize international relations.)

I can only imagine how deafening it must be to ride for 45 minutes around a course lined with people ringing these things and hitting “boom sticks” together. Oh, and don’t forget the drum corp...just because they can.

Cross racing is the closest thing we have to being on a climb at the Tour de France, with all the fans squeezed into a park instead of lining the sidelines of a Col somewhere in the Alps. Makes me almost want to try it. Almost.

And they call this a BIKE race?!

Nick tells me the conditions at ‘cross nationals were pretty challenging. Snow, frozen ground (muddy slush when it melted), and ice made it difficult for riders to stay upright on their bikes. That didn’t stop the RCR men from having a good time, though.