HAPPY FRIDAY. RIDE YOUR BIKE THIS WEEKEND.
Unless you have a sweet Cinelli rigid mountain bike like St. Haring here. Then hang that thing on a wall like art.
Speaking of rolling art.
But if you can’t get your hands on one of those lower back killing bikes, then try this one for size.
Now get out there and ride. Or paint. Or sculpt. Any kind of expression will do.
A-HOLE DESIGNERS
Besides actual crash protection, the most important feature in a helmet, for me anyway, is the air holes. I need them to be nice and huge. Not for ventilation, but big enough so I can stick my fingers in there and scratch my head.
I can’t be the only person out there that would appreciate this feature. Something about the first couple miles of a ride makes my head itch like crazy. My body warming up, perspiration, I don’t know what causes it - I just know it’s annoying.
I try to do a pre-scratch before I put on my head gear, but once I get going there’s an inevitable nagging itch.
It’s so important that it’s the first thing I test out when trying on a new helmet.
Which brings me to the two helmets I have now.
They have inadequate ventilation holes. Now, they were freebies. And I let my frugality outweight wisdom and common sense. But whatever money I saved has long been forgotten since I routinely have to pull over, remove my helmet and scratch my head like a flea-riddled sheepdog.
It’s undignified.
So a note to helmet designers: Stop caring so much about swoopy profiles and bold, new graphics and start giving some love to the notion of ventilation holes that fit the human finger.
Start caring about a-holes, you a-holes.
- Brian
WHAT’S NOT COVERED BY WARRANTY
I looked really hard at the warranty for these bib shorts but there was nothing on there about covering an incident where a woodland creature from nearby Topanga Canyon gets into our yard and devours the crotch out of my bib shorts that are drying in the sun.
Yep, not one word about replacing shorts that, although clean (I swear to God) and used by a guy with impeccable hygiene (yep, me) were still so alluring to some perverted little animal with peculiar proclivities that it couldn’t resist chowing down on the foulest part of any clothing item.
Last time I get Giordana shorts.
I’m pretty sure Castelli has thought of this.
- Brian
THE “B” WORD.
Bitches are all the same.
From the outside they don’t seem all that bad.
First few times you get involved, they’re no big deal.
But the longer you spend with them.
The more times you get burned by them.
They live up to their name.
And there are so many of them.
I’m talking about the 7 “Bitches” In the 24 Hours In The Old Pueblo of course.
Any resemblance to other bitches out there is purely coincidental.
HAPPY FRIDAY. RIDE YOUR BIKE THIS WEEKEND.
Like Mr. Warhol, who passed away this day back in 1987.
I hope you get that reference. If not, then I just hope you get out and ride.
EARNING MY STRIPES
Not the rainbow stripes on the cap.
Not the metaphorical “stripes” one earns with some heroic deed.
But those stripes of salt and minerals perspired out during last weekend’s 24 Hours In The Old Pueblo.
I earned those, believe you me.
Through stupidity and irresponsibility, when it comes to managing my water and electrolyte intake.
Warm, windy and very dry conditions led to severe cramping in every muscle in both legs. I’ve never, ever experienced such severe cramping in a lifetime of athletic pursuits.
After trailside massages and a long walk back to base camp, I took a few hours off and a few of Rhys’ Enduralyte supplements and felt much better.
Gatorade just wasn’t enough.
Those salt stripes are a good indicator of what my body lost.
And the knowledge and wisdom gained.
- Brian
ACQUIRED TASTE: THE LUNCHTIME RIDE
It’s a common thing for cyclists. The lunchtime ride. The savior of many a career-ladder-climbing cyclist. But I’ve never done it.
I’ve been a lifetime early-morning, pre-work cyclist. I’ve sworn by them. The best way to start off a day. Lunchtime? That’s for eating.
But my new job has me commuting longer than ever before. And it’s colder than ever in the mornings here in Los Angeles. I know, I know, that last sentence made most of the world cackle. But it’s been colder here than in the typically cold parts of the country.
So out of sheer desperation and fear of for-reals-dying at Old Pueblo, I tried the midday ride.
And it’s pretty great.
It doesn’t hurt that I’ve got a quick, short, but hearty-enough, category 3/4 climb that takes me right near the iconic Hollywood sign right outside my office door.
Having spent 20 years riding the Alpine climbs of the Malibu hills I used to scoff at the Griffith Park cyclists.
But no more.
I’m very grateful for this quick little climb.
Even after the impending race comes and goes.
Even after the morning temps warm up.
I may be a lifetime lunchtime cyclist.
Thank you, Griffith Park.
- Brian
REVIEW-INDUCED PARANOIA
The good news, I got some new road bike tires. And they were on sale.
The bad news, I read the online reviews after I mounted them and about an hour before my maiden voyage.
Okay fine, so not all the reviews were like the above. Only about a third. The other two thirds were glowing.
But when the bad reviews are about catastrophic failure?
And all I’m riding lately is roughly-paved climbs with steep descents?
And it’s the first time I’ve strayed from my favorite tires in a decade?
After my first ride, the tires feel great. I love them.
I’ve decided to not give in to the paranoia and proceed with caution.
Regarding my decision:
STRENGTHS: I get to ride my bike and don’t have to deal with the headache of trying to return stuff.
WEAKNESSES: I could end up in the E.R. again due to a horrendous blowout.
BOTTOM LINE: I’m gonna give them a few months, bail on them and beg my beloved Michelin Pro Race tires to take me back.
Wish me luck.
- Brian
STATIONARY RHYTHM.
Clickety Clack, Clickety Clack,
Clickety Click, Clickety Thwack.
This is the train.
The train on the track,
I can see from my hotel in London.
Clickety click, clickety thwack.
That’s my bike.
My stationary bike,
In the hotel gym, in London.
Clickety Clack, Clickety Clack,
Clickety Click, Clickety Thwack.
The hotel bike,
That overlooks the tracks.
In my hotel gym in London.
- Rhys
HAPPY FRIDAY. RIDE YOUR BIKE THIS WEEKEND.
Like Mr. Martin, but hopefully you won’t have to be as bundled up.
Maybe you can ride something a little wild and crazy.
Or start training for the King Tut Tri.
Banjo always makes some quality stuff, too.
And last but not least…the jerks.
