18 Miles Per Hour

THE MIRACULOUS PHYSICS OF FLATS

The flat Gods are in rare form lately.

Not pinch flats or running through glass shards, but that thick stick above that pierced my tire this morning.

The hole was so large that, when pulled out, the Stan’s sealant inside the tire sprayed all over my driveway.

Then there’s the odd nail or screw that occasionally lodges itself straight into my tire.

How does this happen?

Seriously, the mind boggles. And seethes.

Does the front tire kick it up into a not-quite-vertical position, angled just so it can ram into the oncoming rear tire? That seems like a one-in-a-billion shot, but it happens fairly often. Crafty flat Gods.

I imagine a scenario like those old, Gillette Atra commercial animations. You know the ones, where the first blade lifts up the whisker so the second can trim it off neatly. But in this case, my front tire lifts the stick/nail/screw up into a vertical position so the second tire can get stabbed cleanly.  

It’s an unlikely, miraculously-precise scenario that happens regularly.

I’d prefer my cosmic luck to be applied to lottery tickets or professional success.

Or how about my tire dislodging a buried gold nugget and flipping it up into my jersey pocket? Is that asking too much?

I fear that my questioning has angered the flat Gods.

Never mind. All is fine. I said nothing.

MAXIMUM R&B

When it comes to cycling, I’m not usually influenced by other cyclists.

When it comes to writing, I’m not often influenced by writers.

I’m influenced by those who put it all out there. Leave it all on the field, trail, road, stage, canvas, and so on.

People who feel deeply when they create in the hopes that we may feel as well.

So I may attempt to write like Lemond

And give creative presentations like Jackson Pollack.

And yes, even cycle like Pete Townshend and the lads.

I’m not saying I’m making any masterpieces out there. But I’m turning it up loud, giving it my all and, most importantly, having fun out there.

Thank you, good night!

- Brian

HAPPY FRIDAY. RIDE YOUR BIKE THIS WEEKEND.

Like Mr. Connery up there. This would’ve been more timely had I posted it a month or so ago, but whatever. Some James Bond gags, coming right up.

First up, one of my favorite bikes ever. The Waterford track bike in…wait for it…Goldfinger.

Then, a little piece on Bond-esque bikes.

And to cleanse the palate (with fresh bile from one’s gut), here’s a less-than-flattering photo gallery of Sean. You’re welcome. 

FORGIVE ME FAUSTO, FOR I HAVE SINNED

I owe a few guys an apology. Guys with whom I occasionally ride.

See, for the last several months I haven’t had the slightest desire to ride my road bike.

Riding off road has been so enjoyable that the road bike has been neglected.

Then, recently, I went too far. I made the mistake of saying out loud that road cycling was, at times, too boring for me lately.

The Road Cycling Gods heard this.

The Road Cycling Gods are the ghosts of Anquetil, Coppi, Eugene Christophe, Major Taylor and that guy smoking the cigarette on his bike in that old poster.

They were not pleased.

And when I went on a long, group road ride a couple Saturdays ago with the afore-mentioned fellow cyclists, the Gods decided to make this ride, well, not boring.

Low 40s and near constant rain. Several flats (changed with numb fingers). Soaking wet climbs and shivering, freezing descents. An aborted ride with the only way home over a torturous, 18 – 24% climb, again, in the rain.

I seriously didn’t stop shivering for an hour after the ride was over.

The guys I rode with just thought it was bad luck. They had no idea it was me who tweaked the nose of Les Dieux Velo.

Rhys, Simon, Tim…I’m sorry. And thank you for helping with the flats and hills.

Jacques, Fausto, Eugene, Major, Smoking Guy…I beg your forgiveness.

- Brian

HAPPY NEW YEAR. HAPPY FRIDAY: RIDE YOUR BIKE THIS WEEKEND.

Hope you had a good Holiday season. Hope you got all the bike stuff you were wishing for.

You know what I got? Fat.

So I may be doing a little of this.

I’m gonna cook up a batch of these.

Take a break from this.

Because I’m getting a little nervous about this.

I vow that the next champagne I sip will be at noon on Sunday, February 17^th out in the middle of the Arizona desert, God willing.

(image courtesy of RAGBRAI)

NEW YEAR’S CLEANOUT: THE BOTTLES.

Out you go, old bottles without tops that fit properly.

Out you go, bottle that melted in the dishwasher but I still hung onto it because it looked cool.

Into the recycling bin, cheapo bottle that never stopped making water taste like plastic.

To the landfill, novelty water bottle that came in a race-day goody bag that was made from that cheap, stiff plastic that you could never squeeze.

Got to make room for more important things.

Got to make room for all the impulse, grab-on-my-way-to-the-bike-shop-counter bottles that I’ll inevitably acquire this year.

HO HO HO. RIDE YOUR BIKE THIS WEEKEND. 

Maybe I’ll finally break down and get a full-suspension Santa Cruz.

Or a little something from Santa Monica Mountains Cyclery. We’re a bit partial to our friends at Topanga Creek Bicycles, but we’re just trying to milk this gag for all its worth. I think they’ll understand.

Then there’s the bike I’ve been dreaming about for over a decade now. The best bike builder in Santa Rosa (and one of the best anywhere, really). 

Okay, the joke is wrung dry. Ride safe. Ride warm. Happy Holidays.

THE MYTH OF THE “RAIN BIKE”

The last few mornings have been colder and wetter than I, native Southern Californian, prefer to brave on my bike. I’ve gotten all my cycling clothing out, prepared the coffee and prepped my brain for a nice, frigid morning ride only to wake to the sounds of more rain. More goddamn rain.

So by day three I began the predictable mental toying with the idea of having a “rain bike.” This is a mythical bike that supposedly exists but I’ve never seen one, even on extended stays in the Pacific Northwest. It’s a bike in one’s quiver that’s only used on rainy days so you can spare your preferred bikes excessive water damage. A “beater” bike.

Whereas your other bikes are cared for, wiped down, lubed and respected, this is one you can take out, get soaked and toss back in the garage. It’s a cycling booty call. And it’s bullshit for two reasons.

First, even a cruddy bike has to be properly dried off, re-lubed and stored properly if you want it to be usable again. Otherwise it’ll be your rusty, seized rain bike. Even ‘cross bikes – like the one pictured above – are abused but then given the once-over lest their moving parts freeze up.

Secondly, we love all our bikes. We get to know every one we take into our homes and fall in love with them. I mean, does this look like a “beater” bike to you? Even if our bike doesn’t have such an illustrious pedigree, we would never treat it badly.

So what I’m saying is that, yes, I have a rain bike or two.

At least they started out that way. And then I rode them. And they changed.

They became my friends.

(image courtesy of PDXcross)

HOLIDAY PARTY SEASON

Dress appropriately.

(image courtesy of Tracko)