Guess where I was today?
Here’s mud in your eye
Cyclo-cross nats got off to a sloppy start today in the People’s Republic. I thought about motoring up to watch the industry race, maybe provide a little sage advice to the competitors — “Hey, that looks just like cyclo-cross, only slower!” — but chores got in the way.
I had to content myself with tweeting, “Guess how many guys in the industry race at CX nats will be riding steel bikes and cantis and win a free trip to are you fucking kidding me?”
Yes, I’m that old. Steel frames, threaded steerers, cantilever brakes, seven-speed freewheels, bar-end shifters, Lyotard 460 pedals with double steel Christophe toeclips and Alfredo Binda toe straps, Vittoria Mastercross and WolberCross 28 Extra tires, the works.
You see anyone riding a rig like that in Boulder 2014, you’ll know you’ve died and gone to Cyclo-cross Hell.
Still, it was big fun. It’s hard to believe I haven’t raced ’cross for 10 years — and even harder to believe that I haven’t attended nationals since 1999 in San Francisco, where I covered the race for a now-defunct sporting website.
I raced nats only once — in 1992, in Golden — and just missed a top-10 finish in the masters 35s. That was it for actually racing the sonofabitch. But I covered the championships in 1994 and ’94, in Seattle; helped lay out the 1997 course in Lakewood; and finally wrote up the race for the last time in ’99 at The Presidio.
It would have been amusing to old-school it at this year’s industry race — time-travel into the 21st century aboard the old Steelman Eurocross with its eight-speed Ultegra, Paul’s Neo-Retro cantis and Michelin Jet/Mud clinchers — but lord, would I ever have gotten my fat ass handed to me. They’d have been timing me with a calendar, and a paper one at that.
• Editor’s note: Unlike Your Humble Narrator, Cyclocross Magazine is on the scene.
Fenderhead
A long time ago, in a peloton far, far away, when it got to be too cold or sloppy to train on the road bike one of the Dogs would invariably propose, “How’bout riding mountain bikes on the road?”
It makes sense, if you think about it. Big ol’ tires for traction. Closer to the ground for purposes of falling onto same. Lower average speed and thus less wind chill. Add fenders and you don’t even get the deadly Brown Stripe of Shame.
So that’s what I did today. Dug up a pair of strap-on, zip-tie Planet Bike fenders for the DBR ti’ and went out for my second mountain-bike ride of 2014. That’s about two more than I did in 2013*, and it’s only Jan. 7.
This also means that five — five! — of my bikes now sport fenders. A sixth has a set, but isn’t presently wearing them. And I have an extra pair in case I feel like going for Lucky No. 7. You can’t stop me!
And to think I once lived for cyclo-cross, the entire purpose of which is to get cold, wet and filthy dirty, all at the same time. How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle!
*Purists will note that I rode a buttload of 29ers during 2013, but that doesn’t count. I’m talking 26-inch hardtail here. Who rides one of those in 2014? Besides me, that is?
Flower child
His August Majesty, the Emperor Turkus Jerkus I, Attacker of Feet, Drinker From Sinks, and Filler of Litterboxes, is currently posing for your edification and enlightenment via The TurkenCam®. That is all.
• Editor’s note: ‘Is Lordship has left the building.
The abominable snowdog
I’ve never liked gyms, and I despise the stationary trainer. Back when I was still a man, instead of whatever it is that I am now, I would go for a run when the weather got sideways, but creeping decrepitude seems to have written finis to that sordid chapter in my exercise history.
So what’s a fat bastard to do in January?
Ride his old mountain bike in the snow, that’s what.
After moving a little of the white stuff around this morning I decided it wasn’t all that cold out — 20-something, but not a really nasty 20-something — so I aired up the tires on the old DBR ti’ to about 20 psi, tugged on a shitload of winter kit, and got busy.
And y’know what? It was big fun. I’d forgotten how much I like riding in the snow.
With the Hutchinson Python 26×2.0s at low pressure there was plenty of traction, and conditions weren’t wet enough to freeze up that old eight-speed XT drivetrain, though they were cold enough to freeze my water bottle.
The only bad part was the start, heading north without a balaclava into what proved a pretty stiff wind.
Happily, I had brought a bandanna along and that did the trick, even if it made me look like a Canadian terrorist out to attack the fascist maple-syrup cartel.
