Odometer: The Nuances of the Number Nine

It’s like missing the spare, leaving one pin standing.  Hot looking girls are a perfect dime not a California 9.  It’s a gymnast getting docked a tenth for a slight wobble on an otherwise 10.0 vault.  Lately, as you'll see interspersed between paragraphs, every ride I’ve done recently has come up 9’s: 49 miles, 59 miles, 29 miles.  Sure, I could roll the extra distance, take a circle around the block or noodle an out and back down the street, but that’s questionable ethics isn’t it?  Every mile must have a purpose. 

July 5^th The Full Nelson Ride: 49.7

For a cyclist, a ride distance ending in 9 is the marathon equivalent of running a 26.1.  Track athletes don’t do the 99 meter dash.  No one takes a picture of their car’s odometer with 99,999 miles.  They wait for the big 100k before locking the steering wheel with their knee and snapping the Facebook photo.

June 30^th BioWheels Sat Morn Beatdown: 59.3

There’s people I know, dirty dishonest cheating people that I stick my tongue out at, that’ll go the extra mile or tenth to get over the hump.  Not me.  I prefer to stew in disappointment and despair, cuz that’s the way uh huh uh huh I like it (KC & The Sunshine Band.)  I don’t think that counts.  The ride was over when you arrived back at the parking lot, the house, the bridge or wherever it was over. 

June 28^th Mariemont Dirt: 29.5

However I once, strong armed by riding companions, dipped my toes in the foul water and rode the out and back of shame to turn a 98 mile ride into a century.  I’m still not sure putting off the shower and sandwich an extra 10 minutes was worth it.  It certainly felt like cheating, not quite something I’d bring up in a confessional, but  more like using white-out on a term paper. 

June 27^th NKY Amsterdam Loop: 29.5

Noodling out the extra mile doesn’t count for me.  You either ride 100 miles or 50 miles or 25 miles or you don’t.  Circling in the parking lot or a zip around the block at 10mph is not riding.  The only way to legitimately tack on mileage to a ride that may fall short is to add purpose.  Otherwise, it’s a sad pathetic empty mile.   

June 26^th Dayton Silver Grove: 29.8

So here’s how to ethically add the distance to your ugly ride that ends in nine.  Do something special with that extra mile.  Ride to the store and buy your companions a coke or an ice cream.  Take that mile and see how far you can go no-handed.  Go after the nearest Strava segment.  Go back to the intersection where you saw the penny on the road and pick it up.  Hammer that extra mile as hard as you can.  Bikefucious says, “100 miles is not a century if not all are ridden with purpose.”

Death March on Ghost Roads: XXC Magazine Article Preview

I feel like I’m trying to solve that childhood math brain teaser, only train A is my teammate and I traveling 5 miles of pavement and 5 miles of gravel and train B is us traveling 4 miles of gravel and 3 miles of singletrack with two creek crossings.  Which one will reach Callahan Cemetery first?  That problem and dozens like it have burnt up more emails, Facebook posts, and text messages in the past two weeks than two teenage girls trying to pick out outfits for the Lady Gaga concert.  Today, the day before the Sub 9 Death March in Indiana’s Hoosier National Forest, at least we’re certain that we’ll be wearing mountain bike shoes and our hot spandex shorts.      

Since there isn’t a set course and the object is to reach all the mandatory check points and get to the finish in the quickest time, the variables are mind numbing: gravel, time bonus checkpoints, pavement, singletrack, shortcuts, swollen creeks, a firetower climb, slippery mud, crosswinds, the ever present chance of mistaking a hunting trail for an official trail and the drama of which checkpoints will be mandatory.  The last two weeks of planning, while a great distraction from work and team building exercise, have been nearly maddening.  Thank goodness we met at the Rusty Bucket over a beer.  My BioWheels/Reece-Campbell Racing teammates and I probably revised our route once every two days.  Maybe after two weeks my eyes are catching up to my master's age, but I swear there are roads or trails that appear to go through from point A to point B on Google Maps, but at a second glance they disappear in the middle of nowhere.  It very well could be a death march. 

Read More In the Next Issue of XXC Magazine

Back before this part of Hoosier National Forest was an area of recreation and conservation, before the Army Corps of Engineers built the dams and lakes, this was family farm and logging country.  The stones in the cemetery, lined up by name and some dating to the early 1800’s, are testament to that.  The stones in Robertson Cemetery have quite a few Robertson’s, same with Todd Cemetery.  When your grandparents were young, there were farms and farm roads, logging camps and logging roads here.  Eventually, however, the land was used up of its riches.  The farmers and loggers moved on to richer soils and older trees.  About that time, the government began purchasing parcels.  The rivers were dammed, the town of Elkinsville evacuated, and the lakes and park born.  Consequently, in the last 50 or 60 years, like the modern day ghost town of Elkinsville, some of those old farm and logging roads have simply been retaken by nature.  Internet mapping hasn’t been so quick to notice the ghost roads.  Suddenly your GPS isn’t so reliable. 


It's 8:45am and we're awaiting the announcement of the other two mandatory checkpoints.

(...to be continued in an upcoming article in XXC Magazine, click here to subscribe)

A nice recap of the BioWheels/Reece-Campbell racing effort here, written by my teammate "Jimmy Road Rash."

A Rogue Racing team recap here on "Love The Pain."

Photo Link to Indy Triple

Photo Link to Two Pedals Photography

Sub 9 Death March Facebook Link for Results, Recaps and Rider Photos

Goodbye Mr. Janglybag

Gears clanking, chain slapping, seat bag jangling, not too long ago I was on a big group ride and got stuck behind a rider with a noisy bike, Mr. Janglybag.  I couldn’t take it.  Rather than berating him for bad manners and his lack of packing skills, I sat-in till I found another wheel.  Sitting-in is a great way to save energy if you’ve got the sniffles, are the weaker rider in the bunch or just need to get behind or in front of someone else.  Unfortunately, many riders haven’t mastered the art of changing their position in the paceline without causing gaps or disrupting the pace.  Consequently they get dropped if they’re weak or start making enemies if they’re not cool about it. 

I sat-in to get away from Mr. Janglybag, but there are other reasons to sit in.  A lot of riders don’t even think about how the riders in front of and behind them in a paceline affect their experience.  Maybe a sprint is coming up and you’d rather have a teammate’s wheel.  Maybe the guy in front of you is squirrely and you’d rather be behind someone steadier.  Maybe you’re on the brink of getting dropped because the doofus behind you always jacks the pace after you take your pull and you’d rather have a smoother person behind you.  I’ve sat-in for all these reason and it works.  The trick to sitting-in is to be invisible. 

     X

     X

     X

     X

     X

     X

     X

Take these 7 riders for example, and excuse my lack of graphic art skills.  The GREEN X is taking their pull.  You’re (RED X) picking up the rear. 

     X

 X  X

     X

     X

     X

     X

GREEN X has finished their pull, has moved off the front and drifts to the rear.  You (RED X) need to be aware that it’s time to put on your cloak of invisibility and get ready to move to your left a bit. 

     X

     X

     X

     X

  X X

 X

GREEN X is now almost to the rear of the paceline.  You (RED X) move behind them and slightly to the left in their blind spot.  Then, drift to the rear with them.  As GREEN X gets ready to fall back in line, naturally he’ll look to the right to grab the wheel of the last rider he sees-the rider to his right at the moment. 

     X

     X

     X

     X

     X

   X

   X

Since you (RED X) were in the blind spot, GREEN X didn’t see you and simply moved behind the last rider he saw, the guy that used to be in front of you.  You move behind GREEN X.  The pace stays steady and you stay out of the wind.  If the people you’re riding with know you’re under the weather or a weaker rider, they won’t mind.  Or, if you’re just looking for another wheel, you can sit on till you’re between the riders you want to be.  Goodbye Mr. Janglybag.

A Dog On The Carpet, A Fish In The Air

I want to say you look like a dog scooting across the carpet desperately trying to get a dingle berry out of his fur, but I can’t. I keep it bottled up, because when it comes down to it, I should just be glad there’s another soul out there on a bike. I see riders all time, usually older more portly gentlemen, riding road bikes with their knees sticking out to the sides and their hands on the tops of the bars doin’ the poop scoot boogie. I try. I try so hard to mentally put a smile on my face and say way to go! So, glad you’re out there riding your bike, enjoying the outdoors, and losing a little weight. Then I see the knees akimbo, the hands close to the stem, and the legs wildly spinning two gears too small and something gurgles up inside that makes me want to roll up to them and say, “for goodness sake man, look at your reflection in the storefront windows. Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Your riding looks like a dog trying to get a poop out of it's fur! But, I’m a non confrontational man. A wussy trait I know. One day they’ll have the revelation or someone with bigger stones than I will approach them.

That’s how it happened with me. I used to scoot across the roadway knees pin-wheeling to either side of the bike. Then one day a veteran racer on a group ride said, “Eh, Joe your knees are sticking out. Get your knees in, like this. It’ll make you more aero, efficient and faster.” I saw some truth in that. Who doesn’t want to get faster and use less energy doing it? Looking back I’m sure it was all a diabolical plan so he wouldn’t have to be on a group ride with someone who rode like a dog with a rear-end issue. I wrote about the experience in a previous post here.

Sorry. I know I shouldn’t cast judgment. Maybe the big-boy thunder thighs can’t come any closer to the top tube. Maybe the larger belly in tandem with the thighs causes an inability to put hands on the hoods or in the drops. I’ve never spun a mile in a large man’s chamois. It could physically be impossible. That’s why I dare not approach and instead take the long slow road of hoping that when the butt scooter loses a few pounds and ends up riding with some veteran riders that osmosis will take place, he’ll take note of the knees and slowly they’ll migrate toward the top tube.

There are so many ins and outs, dos and don’ts and unspoken “rules” of cycling, the fact that anyone new to the sport can pass the scrutiny of veteran riders is nearly impossible. There’s always be poofy jacket guy, seat bag big enough for an Everest expedition guy, and too much reflective flair guy. However, that’s true with any sport. I’m sure my golf swing looks like I’m shoveling a pig pen. No doubt my basketball lay-up has all the grace of a fish being thrown on the Seattle dock. Certainly I’m not the person to be dispensing cycling tips.

Eh! Get Your Knees In

Photo courtesy of Jeffery Jakucyk Photography

“Eh.  Joe.  Git yer knees in,” OB would say.  “What the F is he saying,” I would think as the Wednesday night racer ride was rolling down Benning Road at north of 27mph.  “Huh?”  “You’re knees are stickin’ out.  Get ‘em in.  Like this,” he gestured as his knees grazed his top tube. I’d do it for a few pedal strokes but would lose form as soon as the next attack went up the road.

OB, arguably the most accomplished masters aged pro in Cincinnati, would drive people nuts on group rides.  At the time, OB raced for Torelli.  Atop his latest Landshark bike, he’d point out my knees.  He’d point out if someone else’s bar drops weren’t level with the ground.  He’d scold riders for attacking in dumb places.  He would annoyingly start his tips off with a nasal sounding, “eh.”  He got under some peoples skin.  Those guys would brush him off.  Those guys didn’t know better.

The thing about OB was that he genuinely wanted to help people race better.  He didn’t waste his breath on most people.  When OB gave you a pointer, it meant he saw some promise in you.  He was saying eh, welcome to the front, eh now it’s time to look like you should be here, and eh here’s a tip to get even faster.

He went so far as to email me a picture of European U-23 pro’s in a perfect echelon with their knees a hairs width from their top tubes.  A note read something like, “in Europe they learn at an early age.” 

On the trainer, on group rides, at cyclocross practice, in the trails, for the last 2-3 years his voice permeated my brain, “eh, git yer knees in.”  After about a year, I had my knees in, but they would drift wide like an old man riding on the bike path when I got too waxed and lost focus on form. 

Today, OB, the above photo is for you.  It’s me (pictured in middle) at Saturday’s race.  As you can see I am totally on the rivet.  My mouth is open taking in air like a hood scoop on a Camaro.  I can barely see straight.  My hands are in the drops.  My back is relatively flat.  My knees are in.  I made all the pack splits.  Thanks OB.

Being Yaroslav Popovich

Ride my wheel like a Tandem.  Don’t take a pull.  Let me know when you’re hurtin’.  When I pull through, I’ll make room and just move over with me.  Those were the loose rules when I convinced my wife, Mrs. Biker, to skip our planned noodle and instead ride with the regular Tuesday Night Rampage racer type ride out of the Lunken Airport terminal parking lot.  She’ll be the first to confess, work has infringed a bit on her race training.  She doesn’t consider herself race fit yet, and I was asking her to come out on with a group of mostly Cat 3/4 men.  She was hesitant in the least.  I quietly feared that I totally blown the opportunity for a good sunny warm chatty evening ride with my wife and now faced an argument looming somewhere on the Ohio River horizon between Cincinnati and New Richmond.  In the backs of our heads, I think we both knew she needed a good beatdown.  Success would bring confidence, a rare commodity when you’re off the back or last up the climb.  When she saw some people she knew in the parking lot, I could see her self doubt subside.  She clipped in, rolled out, like a champ.  I was Popo.  She my team leader.  She did it, crushed it with the testosterone fueled double paceline all the way out to New Richmond, a good 25 minute section at 26mph.  Proud doesn’t quite say it.  It was sweet A+ riding on her part.  I’ll take that over a podium step any day. 

It was testimony to riding smart, riding as a team, how someone obviously outmatched can equal the playing field, how one rider can protect another.  Sure we didn’t participate in the paceline the whole way out and back, but, this is road racing training.  We skipped pulls and sat on.  That’s the name of the game.  If you’re at a disadvantage, gain some advantage.  Make the other guy work harder.  She felt bad that the person behind us in the paceline had to come past an extra rider and the guy before us had to sit out in the wind long enough for two riders in tandem to come over.  Ah, they’re big boys, they can deal with it, I thought.  It’s good for them.  We’re doing our share.  We held the pace steady.  All they had to do was ride steady for an extra couple of seconds and all would be smooth.  Judging that we probably dropped 6-8 people on the way out, most stronger than Mrs. Biker, I think more new or less fit riders should learn how to sit on and ride smart. 

There’s an art to sitting on the back of the double paceline without disrupting the pace at the back or making the last rider have to overcome a gap.  When we sat-on, I positioned us just to the left of the last rider in the left-hand fall back line.  That way, when the last fall-back lane rider looked right to see when it was his turn to come over, he didn’t see us and confuse us for the last in line.  When that rider moved over to the pull line, we’d smoothly move up to hang left and back of the next rider in the fall back lane.  When our heart rates came down after 8 riders or so, we’d jump back in the paceline for another round.  Steady.  Strong.  Beautiful.

When we hit New Richmond and the pace slowed for the turn-around through the Ohio River views of its downtown, we looked back.  Whad’ya know (NPR), there was a handful of riders that could no doubt out ride her head to head, dropped from the group.  Mission accomplished.  Race confidence up.  Trust in hubby restored.  I’m so proud to be her Popo.