Riding Above the Clouds

It was the final day of my final Summer Micro-adventure.  The day dawned beautifully, sunny skies and temperatures in the low 60's.  I was slow to get out of bed.  These were perfect sleeping conditions.  I turned my head to the right and looked out the window of my camper.  Nothing but trees and sky atop the mountain upon which I chose to make camp.

Check out time was noon and I still had a bike ride to get in.  After 2 quick cups of coffee and a muffin, I donned Lycra and mounted my trusty steed.  I shot down the mountain to the Skyline Drive and headed North.  I glanced at my watch and realized I had a scant 2 hours to ride, a woefully inadequate amount of time on such a gorgeous day amidst such stunning scenery.  Then I looked on the bright side, I could be at work right now.

How far did I ride?  Uhhhh - I don't know.  What was my average speed?  Don't know that neither.  I didn't even bother to turn on my cycle computer.   Today was not about distance or speed or cadence or heart rate or power.  I stopped at every scenic overview.  I took pictures.

At one scenic overview there was a Sign that indicated that on only 10% of days in summer was it clear enough to see 48 miles and the mountains in West VA.  I saw them clearly.  I hit the one hour out hard stop far too fast and was forced to turn around.  I was back at the base of Loft Mountain before I knew it and was forced to climb the hill that earlier I had shot down.  It was long, it was steep, it was ecstasy.

As I slowly rode upward, I noticed something black just off the side of the road and a few feet ahead.  Then that something moved and I realized it was a black bear.  I startled it as much as it startled me.  It took off running into the brush just as I stood on the pedals and hammered uphill.  Realizing neither of us were a threat to the other we both stopped and looked at one another.  Then the bear went its was and I continued riding to the top.

It was a simple, but epic ride.  Perfect weather and breathtaking scenery and close encounters with wildlife.  What better way to celebrate and remember it but than to toast it with a pint of Ordinary Bitter and put it into words.

Two days earlier I hiked the Appalachian Trail for 13 miles and to quote Karle Wilson' "...I have grown taller from walking among the trees.". 

Today I rode on the Skyline Drive and to quote myself, "...I have grown taller from riding above the clouds."

My Steed of Late

With my upcoming bike tour, I've been logging all my training miles on the Surly.

My reasoning is two fold. First - I want to get accustomed to how this bike rides. The verdict so far - fabulous. It's not as fast or responsive as my Specialized, but it is a smooth, comfortable ride. Secondly - with this bike being relatively new, I want to break it in a bit so I can make any fine adjustments and assure there are no mechanical glitches. The verdict so far - flawless. She runs like a well oiled machine.

Field of Wild Flowers

After more than 250 miles over the last week, my road bike was ready for a little R & R.

I let her be for a bit, then I gently woke her up, checked her for ticks and we rode on.

An Unbelievable Ride

Due to travel and family responsibilities, I hadn't been on my road bike and done any serious miles in more than a month. This past weekend would be the weekend that I would change that injustice.

I came home from work Friday evening and made it perfectly clear to my wife that Saturday I was going on an 80 mile ride starting on the West side of the James River Bridge, riding up to the Surry ferry and crossing over to Jamestown, taking the Colonial Parkway through Williamsburg to Yorktown and finally traveling the back roads of York County home. As you can see, I had it all planned out. Then - my phone rang and I was obligated to go to work Saturday morning.

I didn't get home until around 1:30 on Saturday afternoon. Maybe the 80 miler was out of the question, but I was hell bent on getting some riding in. I ran in the house, pulled on the Lycra, grabbed a couple water bottles and headed out to my garage. I reached for my road bike and wouldn't you know it, the rear wheel was flat. Not to be that easily thwarted, I grabbed one of two spare tubes from my saddle bag and made short order of that flat.  Prior to leaving I made several command decisions.  First, I decided to leave the camera home, cause I was going to ride hard and won't planning on stopping to take any pics.    Second, I was leaving that dad-gum cell phone at home as well.

I pedaled away. It felt good to be riding. No camera - no cell phone - no stress. It was just me and my bike. I was free. I was independent. I was in control of my own destiny - until - I noticed that the rear of my bike felt a bit soft. I looked at my rear wheel and, much to my chagrin, it was flat.

Even with this set back, I did not lose heart. I had another spare tube. With well rehearsed motions, I quickly changed the flat and, using my CO2 charger, with a two second blast pumped up the tire to 100 psi.  One second later, the tire was flatter than before, thanks to the separation of my valve stem from the tube. It was at this point that utter despair began to gnaw at my innards. Here I was. 15 miles from home. No more tubes. No patch kit. No cell phone.

I was about a half mile from a main arterial road. With bike in tow, I clip clopped toward it in search of a pay phone.  I found not one, but two phone booths. I shouldn't have been surprised to find them both missing that essential piece of equipment that makes a phone booth a phone booth, a phone.   My grasp of control grew tenuous at best.

It was at this, my darkest hour, that I noticed the city bus sign. I rummaged through my saddle bag and to my utter joy, found my stash of emergency money. A few minutes later, the bus happened along. I put my bike on the front rack and climbed aboard. As I surveyed my fellow travelers, I immediately ascertained that I was the only person on the bus wearing spandex. Judging by the look on their faces, I appeared to be the only person to ever ride that bus wearing spandex. I took my seat and kept a weary eye on my bike. I expected at any moment to watch it bounce off the rack and hear the crunching sound of carbon fiber as it passed swiftly under where I sat. It would be the coup de grace.

When I finally pushed my lame steed into my driveway, I took care of the essential business first.   I reached into my frig and took out a cold beer.  Then I sat back and took the time to ponder a truly unbelievable ride, which did have one high point - I learned how to use the city bus, bike rack.  Too bad I didn't have a camera to record it.

Sunday Photo Op

Two Sunday's ago was an absolutely gorgeous day. After not being on the bike for almost a week due to traveling and inclement weather, the day was shaping up to be an amazingly gorgeous day for a bike ride. With the forecast calling for temperatures in the low 70's and cloudless skies, my Specialized road bike begged to be ridden long and hard.

Yet despite the amazing weather and the incessant begging of my Specialized, I donned not Lycra. Instead, I put a couple panniers on my Bike Friday, loaded them with picnic supplies and a camera.  Then my wife and I spent the better part of the day riding around the Yorktown Battlefields.  This past Christmas, I had bought her a new SLR camera and we spent this gorgeous Sunday learning how to use it.

The bike can't always be the focus...

...but at least it is still in the picture!!

A Wus I Am Not

We had major snow storm that started the evening of Christmas day and over the course of the next 24 hours deposited more than 12" of snow. As a result, we've been snow bound over the last few days and I was a bit stir crazy. To get some exercise, I ventured into my garage and was resigned to the fate of yet another ride on this...

As I stood there brooding over the fate that awaited me for the next hour, I heard a a quiet, almost indistinct voice behind me utter these words...

"don't be a wuss!"

I spun around to ascertain the source of such an accusation. This was what I beheld...

We eyed one another conspicuously for a moment and then I moseyed over to my gear and donned my helmet and gloves.

For the most part, the roads were clear...


...but there were a not too small number of patches of slush/ice which either necessitated slowing down and proceeding with caution or where it was I'll advised to ride at all...


I pushed on and ended up getting in a couple hours of good riding. I didn't break any speed records, but the scenery was breathtaking...


I even had a fan along the way, cheering me on...

It's All About the Letter "B"

This past Sunday I took my "B"ike, laden with "B"ottles
down to Yorktown where I rode the "B"attlefield Roads
after which I walked down to the Yorktown "B"each
kicked back, sipping on ice cold "B"eer
while surrounded by "B"ikini clad "B"londes and "B"runettes

(no pic of said "B"londes and "B"runettes - this is a rated G blog after all, that, I might add, my wife occasionally reads)

I'm Proud to be an American "Bike Rider"

This past weekend, we as a country celebrated our independence. I for one, did my share in that celebration and brought my bike along. Or should I say rode my bike along?

It all started Saturday (July 3rd) morning. I awoke in a festive mood and decided to ride over and watch the Historic Hilton Village parade. I rode to a couple nearby stores for supplies and a few tie wraps later, my cargo bike was transformed into a red white and blue, patriotic, pedal powered machine. The only thing missing was an Uncle Sam hat. A shortcoming I intend to rectify next year.I rode down to the parade route, picked a prime spot, sat on the platform of my cargo bike and watched.


On Sunday (July 4th), I mounted lights on our bikes and that night my wife and I rode down to a nearby school along the James River. From that vantage point we were treated to no less that 4 firework displays. One over in Smithfield, one near Jamestown, one near Chesapeake and the closest right there in our hometown of Newport News.
Finally on Monday (the 5th), I rode the bike to the store and picked up a Boston butt.Threw it on the smokerand let it cook slow and steady all day long as I sipped steadily on my dwindling supply of ice cold cold beer.Later in the afternoon I took out the ice cream maker, mounted it on my trusty patriotic steed and my son and I made homemade ice cream.Parades, fireworks, barbecue, beer and homemade ice cream, can it get any better than that? Oh yea, the bike was part and parcel to it all.

Another Advantage to Riding

This past Saturday, I was riding home from the gym when I noticed up ahead a slow moving SUV, with its rear hatch door wide open. As I drew closer, I could see that the back of the SUV was packed to the gills with cases upon cases of Girl Scout Cookies. Involuntarily, I reached for the brakes and indulged in yet another advantage of riding my bike.

Snowbiking

Last Saturday I awoke to the silence of gently falling snow. It continued all day and by the time it abated, 6" of it carpeted the ground.The following Sunday morning, I took down the mountain bike and decided to go on a reconnaissance ride to determine how my commute to work the following day would be impacted.The snow had been tightly packed by passing cars and I was pleased at how well the knobby, mountain bike tires gripped.I took a slow, smooth, silent, 15 mile bike ride and enjoyed the beauty of it all.

A Mural Moment

A few Sundays back, my bike ride took me through old downtown Hampton. It had been some time since I was last in this area of town and I noticed as I slowly rode down West Queens Way that murals had been painted on several of the buildings. I was so impressed with the work, that I turned around and rode back down the street stopping to admire and take pictures.

There was a time in my bike riding life that a consumption with total miles and average speed would have prevented me from stopping. As I've grown older, while I still track my speed and mileage, I do not let either of those things keep me from enjoying other facets of riding, such as the opportunity to look around and admire. Below are a few of my favorites.To view all of them, click here

Bicycle or Motorcycle or Both

On a recent ride, I noticed a bicycle locked to a light post. Then I noticed something peculiar about it. Running along the chain stay was the tell-tell sign of a muffler. A bicycle with a muffler - hmmm - that deserves a closer look.I had never seen anything quite like it. Notice the 2-cycle engine mounted beneath the down tube and forward of the bottom bracket and the fuel tank integrated in the rear rack.

When I got home, I googled it and found that it was a Motorella S1, made by Micromachine.

2nd Century of 2009 - All Alone 100

We like to think that we have control of our lives. The fact of the matter is, we are pawns in the hands of life. Case in point: I resolved to ride a century per month from May - Oct. I had not yet ridden one in June. It was the last Sunday of the month. As I sat at the dining room table, sipping on a fresh cup of coffee, I could have thought of at least a dozen things that I would like to do. However, deeper down than the coffee that surged through my veins, I knew there was but one thing on my plate this day. I had to ride a Century.

At 7:30 am, after barely 2 cups of coffee, I pulled on Lycra and headed out to the garage. Due to my procrastination, I missed all the organized rides in June. This century would be a bare bones - no nonsense - solo affair. 1 man - 1 bike - 4 water bottles - 100 miles.

I rode East for about 8 miles, stopping at a McDonald's just outside of Poquoson. I clip-clopped inside and ordered hot cakes and sausage along with a cup of coffee to wash it down. As I ate breakfast, a middle aged man with a Livestrong band on his wrist came in with his family. He came over to my table and said - "wow man, 4 water bottles, how far you planning on riding?" "A hundred miles", I unenthusiastically responded. He went on to tell me that in May he rode his 8th MS 150 in which he rode 2 consecutive centuries. I refrained from retorting that it is one thing to ride 100 miles with hundreds of other people, it's quite another to face it with no other company than one's own thoughts.

As I finished my breakfast, my last human contact of the day was an elderly couple that approached my table. The man pointed out that my shoes made me walk funny. I pretended not to notice his eyes glaze over as I embarked on a detailed pontification of the functionality of clipless pedals. After that one sided technical exchange, they invited me to their church, where a group of members are avid cyclists. Maybe I will check it out some day.

After breakfast, the ride started in earnest. At the 25 mile mark, I found myself in Yorktown. Without even stopping, I pulled onto the Colonial Parkway and headed for Williamsburg. At the 38 mile mark, I stopped in Williamsburg for a potty break. There must have been some kind of war enactment going on, cause the colonial area was transferred into a city of tents. Troops, all dressed in wool and wigs were all around. I was sweating profusely in lycra, I can't imagine their discomfort.

I snacked on a pack of GU energy gel and rode on. Getting back on the parkway, I headed for Jamestown, where I stopped only long enough to savor another GU and then headed back to Williamsburg. I arrived there around 11:30 with 56 miles under my belt. My initial plan was to stop there for lunch, but I was warmed up, feeling good and the thought of stopping, cooling down, eating a big lunch and getting back on the bike, was not an appealing one. I rode on. I got back on the parkway and rode towards Yorktown. In Yorktown, I emptied my bladder, savored another GU, refilled a couple bottles and continued on my way.

Between Yorktown and Newport News, the hunger, fatigue and boredom began to set in. I was not having a good time. I reached for another GU and washed it down with water. After 5 or 10 minutes, I began to feel better.

I arrived back at my house with 87 miles complete. I stopped long enough to let the dogs out to potty, surf the net and switch to my Bike Friday. I even thought about drinking a beer. For those readers who are thinking about doing a solo century, allow me to give you these words of advice. After 87 miles - DO NOT STOP - DO NOT LET THE DOGS OUT - DO NOT SURF THE NET - and for God's sake - DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT DRINKING A BEER!!! When I got back on the bike, after nearly an hour of docile activities, I possessed not a shred of physical, mental or emotional energy in my body. Those last 13 miles were pure "H - E - DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS".

Through a sheer act of determination, I set my face, like a flint, on the Garmin Edge and counted until it read 100.2 miles. I pulled back into my driveway and made a B-Line for the beer. I had done it. 1 man - 1, no, 2 bikes - 4 water bottles - 100 miles - ?? post ride beers (I'm not real sure - I lost count).

First Century of 2009 - cap2cap

My first century of the year is in the books.On May 9, I participated in the cap2cap Century which serves as a fund raiser to support the Virginia Capital Trail Foundation for a bike trail being constructed between Williamsburg (the old capital) and Richmond (the current capital). I picked Steve up at 6:00 am and we drove up to Chickahominy Riverfront Park just outside of Jamestown. This was the southern start. There was a simultaneous start up in Richmond. The weather was calling for a pretty good chance of showers, so Steve and I did the remaining 1398 riders a big favor by packing our rain jackets. This single act of selflessness was a near guarantee from God that not a drop of rain would fall.

We had a police escort as we started on Route 5 and crossed the bridge over the Chickahominy River. Once we reached the northern bank of the river, that was the last I saw of the police escorts. We were pretty much on our own after that as we made our way North on lightly traveled country roads.

The organizers did a pretty good job of having rest stops every 10 miles or so. My only complaint about the rest stops was the minimal variety of food - crackers, bananas and dry bagels. By the end of the day - I would have killed for a peanut butter sandwich and I don't even particularly like peanut butter.

As we left the Charles City County rest stop at the 20 mile point, we rode along with a fellow from Williamsburg. I think his name was John. He was an Army officer, about my age. we talked about bike touring with our sons, riding in France and an assortment of similar topics. While these topics were interesting, what really captured my attention was his backside. Now now, don't jump to conclusions, I was talking about his saddle. He was riding a Brooks B-17 Special, complete with hand hammered copper rivets and copper plated rails. It was a work of beauty. I asked him how he liked the saddle. His response captivated and intrigued me, "it is like a companion!" At that point, I knew I had to have one.

Being so early in the year, Steve and I were not in tip top shape, so we agreed to ride at a relatively slow pace of between 16 and 17 mph. We kept to this pace all the way to Richmond. I was looking forward to the mid point stop and more substantial food. Imagine my dismay when the menu offered - crackers, bananas and dry bagels. I snapped a few pics and we were heading back to Jamestown and the advertised after ride lunch.As we left Richmond, I felt a few drops of rain (not even enough to get us wet), but then it stopped and the remainder of ride was precipitation free. A large portion of the ride back was on Route 5. I can't say I was particularly thrilled by that. There isn't much of a shoulder on Route 5 and the cars zoom by real close in excess of 55 mph. On the plus side, it is a pretty direct route back to Jamestown and we had a nice tailwind.

At one point, while we were on Route 5, we passed this couple riding their hybrid bikes. They were going all of 5 mph and get this, they were riding side by side. The cars were coming up behind them, like I said at 55 mph, and had to go all the way into the oncoming lane of traffic to get around them. As we passed them, they looked like they were on a leisurely Sunday ride, completely oblivious to the fact that they were on the verge of becoming road kill at any moment. I sped up to get past and away from them as fast as I could. I didn't want to be collateral damage to their catastrophe. I swear, some people have no business on bikes!!

About 10 miles outside of Richmond, Steve and I hooked up with John again. He was pretty much going our pace and we rode in a pace line for quite some time. I was really starting to feel very good. The more miles we logged in, the stronger I felt. About 20 miles from the finish, another rider joined our pace line and we really started to move. I was out front, got in a zone and must have lost track of my speed because after 10 or 15 minutes or so, the new rider, who was right behind me said, "I would like to pull through, but it is all I can do to stay on your wheel." I sat up and looked back. Steve and John were no where in sight. I had inadvertently dropped them. Oh well, there was only another 5 miles or so to go to the finish, so I reached for the drops again and hammered. I really felt good. I had just finished riding almost 100 miles and here I was tooling along at 20 mph.

At the top of the bridge over the Chickahominy, I stopped and snapped a few pictures and waited for Steve and John. The ride finish was just at the foot of the bridge. After a few minutes, they came along and we finished the ride together. I was extremely happy with my performance and I was starving to death.I couldn’t wait to put away the horrid images of crackers, bananas and bagels and sink my teeth into some real food. To say I was mildly disappointed when I got in the lunch line and they were serving wraps with cold cut meats, is an understatement of astronomical proportions. I didn’t have much choice, so I woofed it down and asked Steve if he was up for a cold beer. We stopped at the Green Leafe Café in Williamsburg, sat at the bar and I sipped contentedly on a nice wheat beer.

A long ride – a good friend – a cold beer – one can hardly ask for a better birthday present than that.

PS – the following week. I went to Harris Cyclery and bought a Brooks B-17 Special, complete with hand hammered copper rivets and copper plated rails. I’ve been lovingly treating it with Neatsfoot and Mink Oils. In the future when people asked me how I like it, I already know how I’m gonna respond, “it’s like a companion!”

Blondes on The Bow

One of my favorite bike rides begins on the west bank of the James River and traverses 80 miles of rural roads through Smithfield, Surry, Jamestown, Williamsburg, Yorktown and back to Newport News. I was midway though this glorious ride on an equally glorious day as I rode upon the Jamestown Ferry. This ferry is a 30 minute ride across the James River from Surry to Jamestown.


As I boarded, the attendant, deckhand, ferry person (whatever you call them) directed me to the starboard rail. I dismounted, leaned my bike against the rail and leaned against the same as close as I could get to keep from being crushed by the following stream of cars. It was a busy day, so they were packing them tight.

As the ferry pulled away, I caught a glimpse of the western shore. It was a sheer cliff of red clay rising majestically above the surface of the river.



I glanced south and pictured the direction from which John Smith had sailed more than 400 years earlier.
I glanced east and saw the Jamestown monument marking the first permanent English settlement in 1607.I was surrounded by beautiful scenery and a richness of history. Yet these were not the things that held my gaze. These were not the things that captured my attention. These were not the things that inspired my imagination. As you read this, with your mouth agape, you are wondering, what in the world could be so important as to trump these overwhelming inspirations? If you’re a guy, not even an especially astute one, you’ve probably already guessed.
That's right, a girl. Not only a girl, but a blonde. She was wearing a blue jean skirt and leaning against the rail some 40 feet away. She was talking to a cyclist and that cyclist wasn’t me. He was an old fart, with thinning, gray hair and a pot belly, riding a hybrid. For God’s sake, he was old enough to be her grandfather (of course I was old enough to be her father, but that ain’t the point). This old geyser had the unfettered attention of a blonde bombshell; while I, a handsome, middle aged hunk of a man, with an amazing physique, clad in sexy lycra, riding a super light, super fast carbon fiber bike, was left hugging the rail.

I was tempted to mosey to the bow and butt in, but my bike was leaning precariously against the rail and I dared not leave it fearing it would fall over into one of the cars squeezed but inches away. As with most of my encounters involving the fairer sex, I was a day late and a dollar short. All I could do was stand there and for the next 30 minutes resent the fact that this old fart had the unfettered attention of this drop dead gorgeous blonde.


I was comforted by but one fact. When this ferry docked on the east bank and this blonde drove away in her SUV, I would blow by this old fart so fast that my draft would literally pick him up and fling him off the road and into the river to drown. As the ramp lowered and the last car departed, leaving us two cyclist (one – a pot bellied old fart with thinning, gray hair on a 50 lb hybrid / the other – a younger, handsome, rock solid hunk of lycra, riding a 20 lb carbon fiber racing machine) we departed.


Imagine my incredulity and shame as I was left in his dust. Breathing hard, with my heart rate maxed out, I watched helplessly as he rode away from me and disappeared in the distance. Just before I lost sight of him, I was tempted to undo the straps of my helmet and tip it to him. It turns out that blonde had made the right choice. She had picked the better man.