Addicted To The Massage Stick Torture

You want a terrorist to talk, give him a spirited rubdown with one of these massage sticks.  I bought one of these over the weekend at the expo for Cincinnati’s Flying Pig Marathon.  Gitmo officials listen up.  Trust me.  Put away the water boarding bucket and blindfold.  Get yourself a massage table (with hand and foot restraints if you feel so inclined) and one of these puppies.  Then go gather up the worst of the worst for a sensual massage.  No doubt you’ll have Osama’s home address and an invitation to a cave dinner party within twenty deep strokes of the right calf muscle.

“Ow.  Oww.  Oh!  Ha ha ha!  Owww!” was the exact quote of my wife Sunday night as she rolled out a wicked mooglie in her left calf.  I nearly blew the soda I was drinking out my nose as I laughed at her.  “Well stop,” I said.  She was writhing, half laughing and crying at the flood of lactic acid hurt she was putting on herself.  I didn’t think of it till now, but maybe I should’ve tried to pry a secret out of her.  “Did you throw away my ratty jeans in 1998?  You know the faded bell-bottom ones with a bandana for a knee patch?  They didn’t just disappear now did they?  Huh?!  Did you throw them away?”  I have suspected for a long time now, regardless of what she says with those big brown puppy dog eyes, I cannot just lose a pair of pants.  No doubt, I could’ve brought the conspiracy to light.

After only 2-3 days, we’re already addicted.  The massage stick works (and for the record this is not a paid endorsement.)  Just like a masseur with a good set of meat hooks can work a knot out of your muscle, the stick seems to do a pretty good job of working out the lactic acid and the nasty muscle lumps.  The only real problem is that you have to inflict the pain on yourself.  No lie it hurts so bad that tears will well in your eyes and you’ll have to stop to pound the couch cushion with your fist.  Then you’ll stand up and be amazed at how good you feel.  That’s the moment, like a Somali chewing Khat, you’re hooked.

I spent the better part of the day patching the lawn and pulling weeds on Sunday, vacuumed the stairs and then went out late in the afternoon for a two-hour fast paced hilly beatdown ride.  Normally the yard work alone would lay me up for 3 days with gimpy hamstrings, but after a bout with the stick I felt good enough to go for a mountain bike ride yesterday. 

However, you have to respect the stick and its allure.  Even after a day or two, you’ll start using it all over your body, contorting yourself like a yoga master to get ever little hitch out of your muscular system.  You’ll leave it on the sofa and give yourself a rub down during 30 Rock commercial breaks.  Then the first warning sign will appear.  You’ll consider buying another, so you can have one at work.  After that it’s only a matter of time before you’ll be in a 12 step program for those with stick addiction.

The Best Blog Ever Mentioned on Two John's Podcast

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.

The Wave Through - Cycling Road Rules

It’s not exactly like being the money bag holding accomplice in a bank robbery, but I’m stilly pretty sure the law would frown upon it.  On the other side, like holding a door open at the supermarket or getting a sympathy card when your pet passes away, it’s a nice little gesture.  I appreciate the thought and consideration, but I also get the willies when I get the wave through.  As a cyclist, courtesy can have consequences.

Last night, I got the wave through.  I came upon an awkward stop sign intersection, Amsterdam and Sleepy Hollow near the town of Park Hills, KY if you want to see it on Google maps.  

The intersection is on the side of a hill.  Traffic heading west on Sleepy Hollow and south on Amsterdam hits a brake standing stop sign on a steep slope.  Traffic heading North and East are going awkwardly uphill, not quite on the brink of rolling backwards without the brakes.  I was headed South on Amsterdam, downhill.  The SUV headed west, got to the stop slightly before me and was next in rotation to cross.  They didn’t move.  I looked at them and the driver behind the dark glass waved me though.  “Maybe they ride bikes too,” I thought.  Before I could clip my foot back in, they waved again.  “Ugh,” I reconsidered, “they're trying to be nice in an antsy way.”  This is where it gets scary.  Hesitation is followed by impatience, which leads to carnage.  Since there was a car across from me and a car across from them in the intersection waiting, I had to act.

I clipped in and zipped safely across.  Thinking about it today, I wonder what would happened if I kept my foot down and gave them a “no, you go and follow the rules of the road” wave of my own.  I’m guessing they or one of the other cars at the intersection would’ve nailed the gas and blown through the intersection in a huff.  I also could’ve just sat there, pretended to fiddle with my equipment at the curb and waited the traffic out.  The more I think about it, it’s was probably best to do the most predictable thing at the moment.  First I waited my turn at the intersection.  When the driver waved me through, the next predictable thing was to just go.  I think predictable gets you home in one piece.  Patience also works pretty good.

Wezembeek-oppem Belgium Hello!

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

Readers Abroad:
Canada, Spain, Belgium, Germany, Czech Republic, Greece

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.

Ghost Dog: a Joe Biker Blog Classic

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.