It looks like a good day to stay off the internet, said pro rider Adam Myerson on Facebook. I don’t blame him. Facebook lit
up with the language of Lance this morning.
I was aghast at some comments.
However, having a communications background, I’m a good listener with a very
long fuse. So far, two co-workers
kiddingly popped in my office to make sure I was doing okay. Cute. I
genuinely laughed out loud at a friend’s post that read something on the order
of, “I think I overheard someone say Lance is now stripping.” Chapeau!
A nice twist on words. I rolled
my eyes at another post showcasing an autographed yellow jersey and the
caption, “$20 OBO.” Laughter is the best
medicine. Thank goodness it’s not a
banned substance because today we need all we can get.
All kidding aside, I told my coworkers I feel a bit
empty. The emptiness comes from knowing
the outcome before it’s happened. As
cycling fans, we know where this road leads.
Under a thick cover of trees it’s dark and foreboding. However, even with the front end sliding out
on gravel in a corner, you keep your hands on the bars hoping the rubber grips
ground for a miraculous save. Right now,
your knee is instinctively augering outboard.
We know it’s a matter of road rash or a broken collarbone. Lance chose road rash.
It’s still going to hurt.
It’s hard to watch. We’re still
peeking between our fingers.
Some of My Other Cycling Heroes
In bike racing there are things you can control and those
you cannot. We learn, we strive to
perfect what’s in our control and quash what we can’t. We lube chains the night before the race and
never, ever, under any circumstances do we make mechanical changes before a
race without riding the bike. We kick
ourselves when hindsight shows we could have prevented a mishap. We throw up our hands and say “that’s bike
racing” when riders two rows in front of you fall and take you out with them. For better or worse, today’s news is bike
racing.
We can’t control what comes next. So, like Lance, I’m throwing up my hands and
saying I’m done with this nonsense. I’ve
had it with this BS of stripping titles, taking back medals and negating record
books. I too am disgusted with the after-the-fact
reshuffling of the deck. Lance is
right. It is absurd. Either someone wins at that moment on that
day, or they don’t. The guy standing
atop the podium after the final day of the Tour De France should be the winner,
cut and dry. Riders want to win when they cross the finish line on the bike, not 10 years later on the phone. Lance contends he knows who won
those tours. In a perfect world, he’d be
right. "Ce qui est fait est fait." What's done is done.
You can curse the USADA’s and UCI’s procedures. You can say Lance passed all the tests, gave
them everything they asked, played by the rules and is clean, by
definition. That’s all that matters
right? Or, you can look for the crack in
the pavement and insist that somehow he was able to beat the system, but is a doper. One thing is certain, if we
keep this up, we’ll be saying that for the rest of our lives.
I don’t want to live that way. I’m not going to continue to beat a dead
horse. I think its obvious UCI, USA
Cycling, USADA, and WADA need to change.
So do riders and promoters. They
need to make sure the guy they hand the trophy to is the winner. I can’t do that. I’m not part of cycling’s governing
body. I’m a guy on my couch with a
remote control in one hand and a beer in the other.
Sometimes Being A Fan Isn't Easy
I love banging the couch cushions and hiding my eyes between
my fingers. I love watching riders make
miraculous cyclocross saves through the grass of a switchback. I love seeing guys get mercilessly spit out
the back on long arduous climbs. I love to
watch riders pick themselves off the pavement and close the gap. I love the lead-out train as much as the guy
who beats it. I love bike racing.
Lance did what he thought was best for him. My opinion is to take is his advice. Whether you’re a cycling fan or part of
racing yourself, do what’s best for you.
Go ride your bike, enjoy the wind in your face. Ride hard.
Ride long. If one day you’re
faced with a choice, make a decision you can live with the rest of your
life.
Right now, as a fan, my decision is to continue to
cheer. However, I chose to no longer be crushed
days, months, years later that the riders involved were doping. Hopefully that will change. Till it does, I will watch races, ring
cowbells, shout “Allez” at the leader and call it a day. Fin. Game over. I'll turn my back having enjoyed another bike race and not care about it anymore. I got what I came for. It’s no different than turning off the TV at
night.
On The Mohican 100k Start Line Courtesy Jen & Mark Farmer
You can have your frame crack, Jack…have your stem hammer your boys, Roy…get bit by a bee, Lee…are you listening to me? Nearly 48 hours have passed since my stellar Mohican 100k turned into what can best be described by internet videos of would-be marathon winners hilariously crumpling and falling to the ground at mile 18. I’ve bonked, crashed, mechanicaled, overheated, even had my foot caught in a teammate spokes while we were still moving. This was the first time I’ve ever met pure fatigue and exhaustion. At the moment of submission, I apologized to a teammate’s wife for not wearing any clothes.
Wearing only shorts and socks, I could barely lift my bike on the hitch rack. Nicole was a sweetheart, considering this was only our 2nd meeting and here I am shirtless and spaced out in the front seat of their Subaru. An hour earlier, I was on pace to a sub 6 hour Mohican 100k flirting with 15-18th place. It was to be my best Mohican ever, my 4th in a row. I can hear you now, “Quit being a baby. I was out there for (enter any double digit number under 14 here) hours.” At prior races, I’ve wondered why some racers would throw in the towel at 11:30am. Stuck up baby pro’s can’t even finish their race if they can’t get a good time. As long as I got in before dark, I could still finish. I hadn’t told officials I had DNF’d. At the cabin, trying to get my wits and emotions back together with a phone call to my wife, it crossed my mind to get a ride back out to checkpoint 3 and finish the course for my own dignity. I even threw a leg over the bike. Nuh uh. Mohican isn’t about finishing at all costs any more. After I hung up the phone, I smiled and walked to the finish to turn in my number. She’s awesome.
Mohican #3 Chain-Suck
I’M NO QUITTER
My first Mohican, I melted in mid 90’s heat and humidity for 8 ½ hours over the 100k course. I blew my radiator cap, suffered for 5 miles, took off my shirt and shoes, topped off with coolant, rode another 5 miles and spectacularly blew again and again and again till I crossed the finish line in 8 ½ hours. It was like a legless dog dragging its way home on its front paws. The next year, better prepared for doom, I shined, finishing 18th in the open class with a time of 6 hours and 8 minutes! The third year, last year, I wanted to best myself and went into the race in incredible shape. With a great start, I rode clean, slipping and sliding through the wet roots and mossy rocks of the singletrack. On a mud choked course, back pedaling to un-due the chain suck for the 10th time, I twisted an 8 inch section of my chain at a 45 degree angle. It completely disabled my drivetrain and sawed my Niner’s scandium chainstay nearly in half before I even got to the covered bridge. Game over. Drenched to the bone, I limped back to the cabin 10 miles with my bike skipping up and down through the gears with every pedal stroke.
Mohican now is no longer about poetically overcoming obstacles. You want to talk about determination? I’ve been trying to drag my carcass across that finish line in under 6:08 for two years now. I trained to ride hard, ride long and not whither with back pain and overcome adverse weather conditions. I changed my race day diet and purchased a new frame and drivetrain. I’m no quitter.
Coming Into Check Point 1 Courtesy Jen & Mark Farmer
FAST FELT EASY
This year I towed the front of the start line in my best shape ever. I crested the top of the road climb close enough to say I was in the mix for the $100 KOM prime. My heart rate monitor, set at 100% for my lactate threshold, floated between 96 and 103 as I graced the top 20. I flowed. I felt recovery at 96, steady climbing at 103. Forward progress, I drank and ate at the right moments, well aware that I should drink a bottle and consume the right amount of calories each hour. I was making calm sense of the chaos of racing fast. I lead the train. No one asked to pass. At my nemesis, the climb after the covered bridge, I kept it steady all the way to the top. In my first two Mohican’s I suffered here, going backwards. It was always my first “bad patch” of the race. I had prepared for this with 10 weeks of threshold hill repeats and changing my race day breakfast. I was elated. In and out of the first check point in maybe 45 seconds with two fresh bottles and some oranges, the mile markers ticked by, 18, 21. I never felt so good riding so hard for so long. The hike a bike in the single track felt 200 yards shorter than previous years. I pacelined through the fragrant pine needle fireroads leading to the horse trail descent. It was beautiful. Fast felt easy.
Maybe it was the first sign of my demise, but on a long climb leading up to the 2nd checkpoint I lost contact with the riders I was with. I still felt okay, got my 5th and 6th bottles, a swig of a Redbull and was in and out of the 2nd check just as quick as the first. Descending though some brush-hog cut “trail”, I hit what I call the trailer park road and felt home free. My computer read 36 miles or so. I was 3 hours and 40 minutes into the race. My heart rate remained just below my LT and I kept motoring. I did math in my head. With 20 miles of road and maybe 5 of singletrack, I was well on pace to a sub 6 hour Mohican. 8-10 miles of gravel and paved road would lead to 2 miles of technical singletrack and check point 3 at the 50 mile mark. Then I started losing power.
ALONE AND STRANDED
It started with a hitch in my left hip flexor. A hotspot flared on the outside of my left foot. My HRM number dropped to the low 80’s my speed to 12mph on a relatively flat paved section. My body dialed itself back to the endurance zone. This was my 4th Mohican. I call them “bad patches.” You give yourself 20 minutes, chill out, ride within yourself and they pass. I grabbed the wheel of and traded pulls with a Texas Roadhouse jersey. I thought, in the next 30 minutes I’d refuel at the 50 mile rest stop. After that, only one real obstacle remained, a long steep fire road climb. I lost his wheel and then mine.
I started to feel far away. My clock read 4:25. Chubbier people and bigger bikes began to pass. My arms ached. I felt too hot. Rolling climbs became granny gear walls. My open jersey flapped at my sides. My spin turned to a churn. My stomach twisted. I told myself, “Joe, get your shit together, the rock garden singletrack is coming up.” Breathe. I gathered enough wits to clean the rock garden, but parked it next to a barn. I stripped off my shirt, helmet and gloves and sat down. It’s just a bad patch. You can do it.
I felt light headed, not quite dizzy. Cleanly through the singletrack, I crawled a half mile through the cornfield. 8mph. 6mph. I felt embarrassed rolling in to the check. I didn’t want anyone to see me, now shirtless, gloveless, helmetless, glassy-eyed with wet paper towels draped on my head and back. I drank 2, 3, 4 cups of water. I downed a Gu and an orange. Like a vampire, I couldn’t handle being in the sun long enough to even attempt to fill my bottles. At that moment, the 15 or so miles to the finish became insurmountable. If I could only shake one of my issues I could ride, but my stomach remained a fist, my muscles drained, my foot burned, my hip throbbed and radiator cap still hissed. Complicating the situation, it was still a 45 minute road ride home even if I were to DNF. If I quit I had to still walk a 10 mile plank. I felt alone, stranded. Looking like a horror movie victim knocking on a neighbor’s door for help, my teammate’s wife offered a ride home.
My Best Mohican Finish Ever
SIMMER DOWN
Having showered and changed in the cabin, my head hung and I welled up when I picked up my phone to call my wife. A teammate came in and I distanced myself from the box of tissues. I’m sure Brian put Kleenex and me together. I walked outside to dial. No one wants to hear you complain, let alone cry about your bad race. I wanted to feel her arms wrap around me and her words make me strong again. We talked for a long time about her Dad, her dinner with some girlfriends, and things that have nothing to do with bikes. I laughed and smiled. She’s beautiful.
She reminded me that I rode 3 hours and 40 minutes at my absolute physical limit, an impressive feat for any other race, road, mountain bike or whatever. My training did pay off. I rode all that singletrack incredibly clean and efficient. I’ll never forget how wonderful those 36 miles felt. I tamed the demons from previous races, only my good fitness opened the door to an unknown factor, complete fatigue. My only mistake, a miscalculation on the race recipe. I went out too hard too early, averaging nearly 98 percent of my lactate threshold for three hours and forty minutes. When I only needed to cook at 400 degres for 6 hours, I set the oven at 475 and periodically checked for doneness. Afterward at dinner a friend offered some great advice. Ride within yourself, not out of your mind.
"PigPen this here's the Rubber Duck and I'm about to put the Hammerdown!" The Best Bike Blog Ever has a Bear in the air. Follow the road to nationals with a Cincinnati spin from correspondent Corey Green.
As a special and exclusive feature, a group of parents, coaches, and Lionhearts junior cyclocrossers will be making the trip to Bend, OR to partake, participate, and soak in USA Cycling's 2010 Cyclocross nationals. You're invited to mount up and come along for the ride. Woot!
Cincinnati to Louisville, Indy to Columbus, you're no stranger to road trips. But this 4500 mile round trip road trip might be more of a mission. Can they survive life in a Toyota Sequoia? Can they survive the Super 8? Can they survive the cornfields? It reminds me a bit of a movie. Convoy? Naw. This is serious. Definitely, Smokey and the Bandit. The original, not a cash grab sequel either. Before we get it in gear, meet the cast of characters.
I'm Corey Green, Cyclocross National Correspondent for The Best Bike Blog Ever. There are three of us heading out to Bend via I-80 in a Toyota Sequoia (shameless sponsor plug). The journey starts in less than a week and will commence promptly after the Zipp wheels from the OVCX raffle are won by a Lionheart and placed in the trailer. I have 2250 miles, at 70mph that's plenty of time to glue them while riding shotgun. Conveniently Smokey and the Bandit has three main characters providing us with a perfect parallel.
As you remember, The Bandit set out for Texarkana to purchase Coors for some Georgia wheeler/dealers. This anthem and the first official reference to the phrase "boogity boogity boogity" should help you remember the plot.
Since The Best Bike Blog Ever's budget was only enough to restore a 1987 Yamaha Jog scooter and not a 1977 Pontiac Trans Am, we won't have a diversionary vehicle. But we will have a Toyota Sequoia with a 5.7L V8 engine pulling a trailer set up for bikes graciously donated for our use by the Team Turner/ProChain Cycling Team. It also means that Bandit, Snowman, and Frog will have to inhabit the same Sequoia for a non-stop 2250 mile trip from Indianapolis to Bend. (Joe Biker Note: read that twice...it does say non-stop doesn't it?)
Cast:
The Bandit will be played by John Petrov. John is the father to a sort of well known cyclist named Spencer Petrov. For those of you racking your brains, yes, he is one of the 12 year olds riding next to you for about 2 minutes at the beginning of your Cat 4 race. John, like Bandit, has organized the drive to and from the west. Reports also have him as the best looking of the three of us as well as being the ladies man. There will probably be some debate on this as we drive.
Snowman will be yours truly, Corey Green. I have two girls racing in Bend at Nationals, Kenzie will be racing for the second time at Nationals and Madeleine will see the big stage for the first time. I will also be racing in three races out west, mostly for recon of courses to share with the kids. My dog won't be coming, and hopefully I won't start talking like Jerry Reed while I am on this trip.
Frog will be played by Gregg Shanefelt. I can already visualize Gregg arguing with me about not being a female and that Sallie Field looks nothing like him, but Gregg was a last minute acquisition to the trip, which means he plays Frog. However, if Gregg shows up this weekend with feathered hair, his participation might come under review. Gregg will be racing in the Elite race on Sunday, which means...Snowman gets to watch the Elite race at Nationals from the pit lane. 10-4 to that. Hopefully I will remember to help Gregg if he decides to stop in the pits.
In true Smokey and the Bandit spirit we might or might not be taking orders for Deschutes growlers. We have a trailer, we may as well top it off with something. Hopefully we won't be interviewing anyone for the part of Buford T Justice on the way to or fro.
Look for updates as the trip and the racing week progresses. Last year there were a lot of sights and we didn't even stay for the Elites on Sunday. This year we have the entire last day of events to partake.
Joe Biker Note: Sincere thanks to Corey, Gregg and John. Access passwords will be changed the day after Nat's! Seriously, have fun, be safe and be funny!
Let’s face it, the name of this blog is too long to fit on a pair of socks or the jersey of a Clydesdale racer for that matter.So we thought, we need a slogan, a few words that capture the chutzpah of The Best Bike Blog Ever*, or at least something to fill in the asterisk with.
The asterisk and “…” were meant to imply that this is hardly the best bike blog ever, but the best bike blog ever written by a bike crazed dufus with devil horns. I do my best to make each story relatable to all kinds of riders, from the clumsy knees a-kimbo bike path Triathlon rookie to those who choke back a lung racing in skinsuits on carbon rigs every weekend. It’s exaggerated as a cartoon and peppered with pokes. I jab a sharpened spoke in my leg each time I feel myself for getting too serious, preachy or political.
As creative as I strive to be, I tried to come up with a slogan on my own. “Look No Hands,” cracked me up and reminded me that cycling in our roots is child’s play. “I’m Not Lance,” was another. People tell me I look like his Highness. “You Ridin’ THAT?” was another paying homage to a buddy who has a knack for sucking the serious out of the air before races by questioning other rider's high end equipment. I couldn’t settle on anything. So we came to you in our weekly series called “Facebook Friday.”
What Slogan captures the essence of The Best Bike Blog Ever?
Christopher:
“Laughs No Waiting”
Butch
“Subtle As A Pipe Bomb”
Kurt
“Bring The Pain”
Harold
“Pain Face Time”
(Kurt and Harold know that I have the ugliest race pain face in the Ohio River Valley)
Gary
"Did I bike with you?"
(love the take off on “Do I Know You” humor in this…my runner up)
Rick
“YOUR Bike Blog Sucks”
Jason
“Stitches Are For Emo Kids”
(I still don’t get it, but they tell me it’s hilarious)
Jerry
“TBBBE…Your Cycling Submission Hold”
Marisel
“Heel On Wheels”
(love the sarcasm, I mean New York Humor, in that)
I got dropped wearing Two John's Podcast socks on a group ride, sent a letter to complain (voice my frustration and sentiments) and yada yada yada, click play on audio player button below to hear what happened. This is the edit version, please visit The Two John's and download the entire podcast, subscribe on I-Tunes and check out thier cool cycling universe. To say the least, not much sympathy coming from the Two John's. That's cycling.
Either the cleverness hasn’t splashed on the seat post of this blog yet or I’m just jealous. It hasn’t started at the Two Johns Podcast blog yet either.However, they’re still sort of new compared to Bike Snob NYC and haven’t posted anything new since I noticed this phenomenon in the cycling blogosphere.I’m talking about grabbing podium spots in the comments section.Quick!You could be in yellow right now and take home this lovely virtual trophy!
It’s one of those things that makes me laugh every time, mainly due to the creativeness of the grab, like pointing at your jersey while crossing the finish line.Better yet, it wouldn’t make sense on a non-racing blog, like football or hockey.It works like this.For every blog entry, readers compete for who gets the first, second and third place in the comments.And, like real cycling, it’s more about the glory.
Some shout “first!”Others brag “top spot.”Sometimes there’s so many jumping at the comments, that the commenter isn’t sure where they’ll end up and virtually throw the bike and write something like “podium?” or “tire width?” with a question mark when going for it.With the comments being time/date stamped, there can actually be sort of a virtual sprint or a breakaway.The best part is, like celebrating before the finish, if you linger too long on a creative grab, you could get swept up by the peloton…well, maybe not here, where the number of comments is about the same as the amount of locals on a January group ride, but the established blogs have comment pelotons of sometimes 100 or more riders.So, grab some glory in the off season.You may be quick on the bike, but how quick are you on the keyboard?
It’s slightly 12-year-oldish to celebrate a one month anniversary, but after the switch from Joe Biker on AOL on October 8th, this blog has been up and running on blogger for just about a month and I am absolutely blown away over the numbers of new readers and returning readers. Moreover, it's pretty cool to have an insight into who and where you are. From the one person in Wezembeek-oppem Belgium to a handful in Dayton, Ohio USA, thanks for reading and thanks for moving with me. Happy Anniversary, I hope you enjoy your cake! (Video above) Cycling and writing certainly makes me a happy person and I hope reading this blog makes you happy to be a cyclist too. Thank you.
When I first set up this blog, I signed up for a service that tracks readership. It’s that little counter at the bottom. No, I can’t tell your name or if you lube your chamois, but I do know the country/state/city where you have your computer hooked up. I can tell if you came over from the link on Two Johns Podcast, a cycling forum, Google, or in a round about way just have it bookmarked as a favorite. I know what you're wondering. This may seem unbelievable, but no click thrus have come from or went to naked websites. Bike porn on the other hand, well that's what you're all about. Since the internet is usually a very personal thing, I thought you might like to know who else is reading The Best Bike Blog Ever with you. Below are some stats and trends I’ve pulled from the data for roughly the first month of this blog, from October 8th through November 5th, 2008.
The Basics: Page Views (number of times viewed by anybody or anything): 1481 Unique Views (actual people page views, including returns) 971 First Time Visitors (Real people) 685 Returning Visitors (People that actually came back for more) 286
What's the Big Deal? Monday’s are the biggest days, followed by the days with new posts. Thanks for subscribing, becoming a “follower,” and making it a favorite in your browser. Like coming back to work from a weekend of “Fight Club,” you obviously have an appetite for race news, stories, pictures and videos the Monday after race weekends. October 13th was the day after the big Cincinnati UCI3 weekend and there were 162 page views and 97 unique views. Pretty cool!
Where Did You Come From? Big thanks to the websites and blogs who have added a link. The Two Johns Podcast has provided the most click-thrus. I have it on my I-tunes and you should too. Thanks to those involved in the OVCX series. The biggest days have been the two Monday’s after the UCI race weekends where the race reports lived on The Best Bike Blog Ever with a click through from Cycling News, Daily Peloton, Velo News, Cyclocross World, CX Magazine, the OVCX main site and the Cincinnati UCI 3 blog.
Where Did You Go? Most readers checked out the race photos at Jeff Jakucyk’s site. After that it’s the Two John’s Podcast, CX Magazine, Steve Tilford and Molly Cameron’s Blog, BioWheels website, Belgium Knee Warmers, and of course one of my favorites, Fat Cyclist. Links on the right.
Where Are You? 72% of readers are from Ohio, Kentucky and Indiana, which I reckon, means 28% of readers, roughly 300ish, ain’t from these parts.
From These Parts: Cincinnati leads the pack, followed by Florence KY, Louisville KY, Newport KY, Mainville OH, Lawrenceburg IN, and Dayton OH
Larger Cities: Chicago, Los Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco, Boston, Montreal, Portland, Nashville, Pittsburg, Lexington, Madrid, Indianapolis, San Antonio, Milwaukee, Austin, Kansas City, Athens, Oakland, St. Paul
Places That Sound Like I Should Visit With A Bike: Mountain Lake MN, Sandy UT, Grand Junction CO, Wezembeek-oppem Belgium
I Know Where Some of You Work: I can tell if you used your work computer based on the IP address. Don’t sweat it. Your secret’s safe with me. Thanks for taking your coffee break with The Best Bike Blog Ever.
As we continue to make "Out Of True" The Best Bike Blog Ever, and make the transition from the Joe Biker Blog on AOL which is closing it's Journals, here's an updated version of a classic from the archive dated Thursday, October 10th, 2006.
The Myth: It’s not a ride in Northern Kentucky till a dog chases you
The Truth: It’s not a ride in Northern Kentucky till a dog chases you.
I’m sure no matter where you live you can substitute a different area where you live for Northern Kentucky, even if you live in LA or wherever. In that case, the slogan may go like this: it’s not a ride in Beverly Hills till the paparazzi chase you. Same difference. I’m sure they’re just as vicious.
There’s one dog in Northern Kentucky that is particularly stealthy and wicked fast. We call him Ghost Dog. We know the general area where he lives. The problem is where Ghost Dog lives and what he calls his territory are two entirely different things.
For those of you who live around Cincinnati, Ghost Dog’s territory is along Route 8 (the road that runs along the Ohio River) somewhere between Mentor and Silver Grove, KY. There’s only one dog that chases in that stretch…and that my friend is Ghost Dog.
I have no idea what breed or mix Ghost Dog is. I’m guessing’ he’s a mix of Usain Bolt, the Stealth Bomber and German Sheppard. He’s black with some gray mixed in, has a boxy build, doesn’t show up on radar and I’m sure has a few Olympic Gold medals hanging in his doghouse.
Not only does Ghost Dog have a kick like Lotto’s Robbie McEwen, he also knows how to hide and break out his sprint at just the right moment just like Lotto’s Robbie McEwen.
The stretch of road where Ghost Dog lives is protected by a steep little hill lined with tall scraggly bushes. So, Ghost Dog has the element of surprise on his side. Also, the fact that the other side of the road has no shoulder and a steep deep ditch along the Ohio River leaves the wayward cyclist no escape.
This is how ghost dog appears to a cyclist. You’re tooling along Route 8 at maybe 21mph. The sky is blue. The hills are a lush green. The river is peaceful. You’re likely watching a barge push it’s way up river. (Insert innocent happy whistle here) ALL OF A SUDDEN! There’s a beastly black dog 10 feet from you traveling at 35mph. Within .008 seconds he’s nipping’ at your Sidi’s and putting steak sauce on your sculptured calves. Your heart rates jacks to 102% asyou realize you are now the star of Scary Movie 5. He bounds in front, behind, to the left, to right…now dip baby dip. The hip-hop dance of death. And, you soon find yourself off your bike fending him off by trying to put your bike between your clean shaved legs and his drooling jowls.
Ghost Dog doesn’t want to eat you. He just wants to taste the fear in your sweat.
However, there are positive sides to Ghost Dog.
Number One: you get an accurate reading of your maximum heart rate.
Number Two: if you ever get strong enough to out-sprint Ghost Dog…it’s an automatic upgrade to a Category 2 USCF road-racing license.
