The Manx Missile? What’s Wrong With Cuddle Comet?

Unless you’re in Europe, The Manx Missile nickname for Columbia HTC sprinter Mark Cavendish leaves more questions than answers. It took 2 hours on Wiki pages and a bottle of scotch before I learned what Manx actually is. Then I passed out.

Manx is a breed of cat with a spinal mutation that causes them to have short or under-developed tails. Really! It’s true. Check out the little nubbin' in the picture. They are cute and cuddly, which does bode well for Cavendish’s spirited post race teammate hugging. However, I doubt any man wants to be nicknamed after something with a short tail. Additionally, I do recall, while watching the podium presentation, a female in the room pointed out that Caven-dash did deliver quite an express package to the finish line. Seriously, Cavendish is from the Isle of Man, which floats in the water off the coast of England. Locally the island, language and people are known as Manx.

I’m sure Manx is a wonderful place, but it might as well be the moon. That’s coming from someone who’s probably more traveled than most. Traveling to Scotland, Germany, and The Netherlands, I’ve probably flown over the Isle quite a few times and didn’t even know it. Till you read this, I’m guessing you didn’t know much about Manx and might be consulting your World Atlas right now. Secondly, I don’t think Manx Missile has the same panache of Petacchi’s Ale-Jet or McEwen’s Pocket Rocket. May I suggest the following nickname idea’s for Mark Cavendish:

Cannon-dish (or any knock off’s of his name such as: Kickin' Kavendish, Caven-dash, Caven-dart, Cannon-flash). While not as creative as Manx Missile, they are all more understandable without consulting the World Atlas.

British Bullet. Sure people from the Isle of Man probably prefer Manx, but nicknames need to cast a wider umbrella. Plus, a bullet with a British flag would make a killer logo or bike paint job.

Space Shuttle Columbia. He’s fast like a rocket. His team is Columbia. Uh…what? Oooh, forgot about that. Nevermind.

Marcus The Tank Engine. Fun and kid friendly, could make for great merchandising.

Highspeed Hugger or Cuddle Comet. Take your pick. They’re both gold baby. GOLD!

Expeditious Cavendishious. Okay I shouldn’t have opened up the Thesaurus.

Juvi Jet or Jumpin Juvi. What? He’s fast. He’s young. C’mon.

Okay. Maybe Manx Missile isn’t all that bad after all.

Socks Make The Cyclist

Asking me “What should I wear today?” is the equivalent of asking me “how many cents per ounce is this detergent?” or “what looks better on the mantle, the votive candles or the wood carving we picked up in Durango?”  My mind goes blank.  I feel like the 2^nd grader singled out in the classroom.  I try to find a beginning to the question to start the deduction, but any benchmark evades me.  My eyes dart through the closet, so at least I appear to be helping.  I end up with a confused look on my face that looks remarkably similar to being constipated.  “I’ll be right back.  I gotta go to the bathroom,” is my perfect out to these fearful questions posed by my spouse.  As many Banana Republic argyle sweater vests that I own, I put very little thought into planning an outfit.  The chances of running into a client and what matches the only clean pair of less wrinkled pants lying on the floor usually narrows my choices down to a singular logical choice.  Then all I have to do is pass the test.  If I kiss her goodbye without her saying “you wearing THAT,” I pass.  While my wife can easily spend an hour trying stuff on and re-reasoning with herself to find the perfect outfit for the day at hand, I can usually address my day’s outfit while half-asleep brushing my teeth standing in the closet with the light still off.  There is really only one item of clothing that I put any real thought into whatsoever.  That’s cycling socks.  I have 28 pair and a reason to wear or not wear every single one of them.

If my wife asked me, “What cycling socks should I wear on this ride?” Like an ESPN Sports Center analyst, I could spend a half hour crunching the options, split-screening with the experts and reasoning the perfect pair.  Racer ride, casual ride, commuting or coffee shop?  I happen to have a pair with a cup of coffee on them and they deserve their time in the daylight.  What’s the weather like?  Low cut hot, medium cut temperate, wool sock windy or just a little long sock cool?  Is the sun out?  Don’t want to risk a tall-boy sock high tan line.  Rain chance percentage?  I do have a neoprene pair in case of a hurricane on the Ohio River.  Are you wearing the road team, mountain bike team or other jersey?  Old green one or the new blue?  Team shorts or black ones?  Which helmet are you wearing?  Gloves?  What bike are you riding?  Is there a seat bag?  Which bottles you bringing, or are you wearing that baby blue Camelback?  Like fly-fishing and golf, cycling is half fashion show.  Are teammates, shop employees or team sponsors on the ride?  What about THAT GUY who always wears his “Hammer” socks.  Don’t’ want to be a bopsy twin with him.  You plan on riding hard or hiding out in the pack?  What socks do you want the person behind you seeing as you trounce them up the hill?  Ohio or Kentucky?  Might be an opportunity to break out the UK socks.  Any chance you’ll get caught out at dusk, cuz there’s a day-glo orange pair in the drawer somewhere.  Then again, those are kind of safety geeky.

Out of my 28 pair, there’s a pair and likely 2-4 that are perfect for any given day on the bike.  However, there are two pairs of socks that I’ll never wear: the red ones with the black devil silhouette on the cuff and a pair of long-boy world championship striped socks.  I get the heebie jeebies wearing satanic images.  Lastly, I believe only world champs or former champs should wear the rainbow stripes and the same goes for Stars and Stripes socks. 

I think my half hour’s up and I’m late for the ride again.

Einstein & The Theory of Cycling Relativity

Sticking my knees out I pedaled wildly, mocking him from behind.  A kid on the sidewalk raced ahead of our approaching group herking and jerking as our racer group peloton noodled through a historic small-town downtown.  Even though he didn’t see me thrashing around mimicking his moves, imitating how goofy he looked especially in front of others was a dufus move on my part.  He was just a kid having fun on a bike.  Sorry kiddo.  It only took me a few seconds to realize my childish and arrogant indiscretion.  Before we reached the corner, I settled in and encouraged him to keep it going.  I think its super cool when kids who see the weekly group ride roll down their street jump and pound on the pedals to race the group to the corner.  Beats getting throttle blasted by a teenager in a diesel pick up truck any day.

Just this past Sunday we rolled by what seemed to be 15 people riding recumbent tri-cycles on the bike path.  One is usually an oddity.  But, by the time we hit Milford, passing one after another tri, it was clear that our traditional road racing bikes were the minority.  I thought they looked like cool little Indy car versions of bicycles.  Up near Devou Park this past Monday three kids raced my wife and I up a steep little street.  In a cute little moment, she egged them on, gave ‘em a run for their money and pipped ‘em at the crux of the climb.  Every so often, I see a mammoth man getting a good sweat going while riding an old mountain bike as the tires cringe under his weight.  Then there’s the occasional bike rider with a 12er of Bud Light in one hand and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.  There’s as many different types of riders as there are types of bikes.  I’ll never mock a single one of them again.  

I try to give as many bike riders as I can a wave or a head nod.  When I see a bike rider at the side of the road I try to stop and lend a tube or at the very least slow down ask, “You okay?”  Just because my shorts match my jersey and my bike weighs 15 pounds, doesn’t make me a higher level of cyclist than others.  When it comes down to it, racing bikes is not the pinnacle of bike riding.  Enjoying yourself is, Einstein.

Chicken Soup For The Cyclist's Soul

Even If there’s a bike race, she attends Sunday mass or at least the Saturday matinee.  God before bikes.  Not preachy, fun, and always good humored, the only thing that might tip you off that she’s somewhat religious is when she blurts out “Jesus help me,” on a particularly tough climb.  She’s not using the Lord’s name in vain, but sincerely asking Jesus for help. 

While I haven’t been to a church since a 5k festival run last year or been to service since I spent a Christmas at my mother’s house, I grew up in a Catholic family.  I believe in God, just maybe not how my mother wished.  Regardless, between kneeling, sitting and standing, I can imagine the sermon she heard on Saturday about how God can help one overcome life’s difficulties.  

Priest: And, now a reading from the book of Peter.  "So humble yourselves under the mighty power of God, and at the right time he will lift you up in honor. Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you."  Amen.

“You just have to ask God for help,” he preached.  “Too many times, people get themselves into a difficult situation and they don’t ask for help.  All you have to do is ask,” he added.  She had communion, gave thanks and made a beeline for her car to meet the caravan to the bike race.

Not a day for the deep dish wheels, the wind forced riders to lean into the crosswind.  In the headwind the mph’s dropped into the lower teens.  With the temperature hovering at 85 degrees, on the third lap the salty crust formed on her upper lip and helmet  straps.  She struggled to suck wheel, doing her best to hang on to the pace of the lead breakaway group of five.   The next attack went, and she popped off.  She tried to regain contact, but the lead group of four were gone.  She reached for her bottle, half empty.  “Jesus help me,” she muttered in her head.

Trying to salvage a 5^th place finish, she hunkered down flat backed hoping to stick out a no-womans-land finish between the breakaway and the chasing peloton.  However, behind her, the pack had splintered in the crosswind.  She powered on for an entire lap solo, but fading.   As she crossed through the start/finish she looked back and could see another girl within 100 meters of her wheel. 

It was her teammate.  On the next climb the two made contact.  “Let’s work together to stay away,” her teammate said.  “I don’t know if I can make it,” she sputtered between breaths.  “Get on my wheel,” her teammate replied.  Through the headwind section on the wheel of her teammate she gained her composure.  When it was time for her to pull-through, she pulled even with her teammate and jokingly said, “You know.  I was asking Jesus for help about a lap ago and now you’re here.  You’re my Jesus!”   

They laughed.  She pulled to the front and got back to the business of keeping the gap to the women chasing behind.  When they hit the 200 meter mark she said, “you can take the sprint.”  “No let’s cross together,” her teammate said with a smile.  At the line, the two locked hands and took 5^th together.

Flanders Big Mama Bike Chains

Big men don’t cry.  They don’t walk either.  They insist on Flanders Big Mama brand bicycle chains.  

Big Mama is built with GX45 cold forged steel, recycled from bridges, tanks and locomotives destroyed in the Flemish battlefields of WW2.  Big Mama may rust, but Big Mama won’t bust.  

Big Mama bike chains feature 2.5 mm armored side plates and pins as big as your pinky.  All Flanders Big Mama chains are hand built in Belgium in the dead of winter by slamming each individual pin into the linkage with a cobble from the Koppenberg.  

When you absolutely need to make it up the hill or risk being dropped from the lead group and left wondering where in the F*** your team car is, ask your local bike shop for Flanders Big Mama chains, available in either the standard 4000g or the superlight 3750g version.  

Big Mama may not be light, but it’s better than carrying your bike.  When you want to freight train, buy the chain made from freight trains.  

Flanders Big Mama Bike Chains.

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.

Midwest Winter Ice Storm Cycling Stud

A layer cake of death is what the morning DJ’s on Cincinnati’s Q102 radio station called it. Cincinnati is in the midst of getting pounded with 4-6 inches of snow, a half to three quarters inches of ice and then another 4-6 inches of snow on top of that. Combined with Cincinnati’s small snow fighting force, hillbillies with bald tires on their pickup trucks and steep Ohio River Valley streets, “Layer Cake of Death” says it all. With the ice, I thought riding would be either impossible or miserable. Yada, yada, yada. I woosed out and considered shoveling three times to be my workout. A buddy of mine, did not woos out. He sent an email after his mountain bike commute Tuesday morning. The following is not the email. It is completely fictional, any resemblance to actual people, events or mountain bike studs is purely coincidental…kind of.

To: The Best Bike Blog Ever
Fr: Cincinnati Storm Stud
01/27/08

I thought I was in trouble when I spun my mountain bike out my driveway and into the automobile tread-troughs heading down my street. It was soooooper-slippery on the hardpack. I quickly discovered that traction was best when making fresh tracks in the powder, which did not offer much resistance. So I rode sidewalk the entire way to work and really only had to torque the cranks hard in sections where the snowplows had thrown the crusty granola chunks across the sidewalk. It was a fun and peaceful spin through the gently falling snow in the pre-dawn darkness, with cars creeping by on Riverside Drive not all that much faster than I was moving.

I got three "You must be crazy!" shouts from motorists and one woman in a Suburban with outdoorsy good looks shouted "You're a stud!"

Ask A Pro: Georgia Gould on Podium Guys

She had a good point. While watching another male pro cyclist get kissed by a pair of Austrailian hotties on the Tour Down Under podium, my wife asked, “I wonder if there are podium guys for the pro women?” “Hmmpf well,” I said with a pause, “I don’t see why not.” There HAS to be podium guys for women. Why should the men get all the love? Or, would podium guys be kind of, you know, creepy? She didn’t seem to think so.

In all the pro women’s races I’ve seen, which really isn’t that many, I haven’t seen podium guys kiss the female race winner. So, like any curious PC equipped person, I googled images of “women’s pro cycling podium kiss.” Nothing came up. So, just to make sure I had my search terms correct, I googled “men’s pro cycling podium kiss.” Whadaya know! A whole bunch popped up. Lance, Floyd, Freddie Rodriguez. You name ‘em. They got smootched.

Striking out, I decided to take this to an expert. I decided to ask a professional women’s cyclist. I sent the following email to Luna Pro Georgia Gould :

Hey Georgia,

It was my buddies who scrawled your name across their collective chests for the UCI CX races in Cincinnati. Anyhoo, I race for BioWheels Cinti and write The Best Bike Blog Ever*.

Last night, when my wife, who races road bikes, and I were watching the Tour Down Under podium girls kiss the winner of the stage, she wondered if they have hunky podium guys for women’s pro races. I thought it was a fair question and I haven’t seen a women’s pro road race podium in person. Are there hot podium guys in cute outfits for the women?

Lemme know and if you don’t mind answering, I’d love to make it a post on my blog.

Wha da ya know, she answered on her blog here. Thanks Georgia!

Anyhoo, I’ve taken the liberty to find some potential podium guys. While I’m not a pro in finding a 100% pure piece of man candy, I think I did pretty good. Since the next big race is the Women’s Tour of California crit, I tried to muster up a pair of Hollywood Hunks that might fit the bill. What do you ladies think of these two potential candidates? (Mathew McConaughey-left, Ryan Reynolds-right) Should there be Podium Guys in women's cycling? Take the poll on the right.

Out Of True Video: Louisville CX Carnage

While "Out Of True" is under construction becoming The Best Bike Blog Ever, enjoy this silly Cyclocross Video from the Tour of Louisville this past Sunday.