Tag: Cyclo-cross

It just ain’t my ’cross to bear

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 16 Comments
The colors are changing, fast and furious, as fall descends on Bibleburg.
The colors are changing, fast and furious, as fall descends on Bibleburg.

Cyclo-cross weather here in Bibleburg today. And yesterday, too; it was the first day I wished I’d fetched arm and knee warmers along on what proved to be an abbreviated ride.

It rained a little — naturally, since Herself had just bathed and groomed Mister Boo — and this morning with temps in the 40s the uniform of the day is pants, socks and a long-sleeved Ten Thousand Waves T-shirt. I wish I were wearing it there.

The ’cross this weekend is up north, in the People’s Republic. I will not be in attendance, alas, but one of my bikes should be there, under the narrow booty of Dr. Schenkenstein, who has been taking the thing for an extended test ride and promises to buy it from me sometime.

Another purchase stolen out from under the noses of the local bicycle shops, which are less accommodating as regards pre-sale product evaluation. But then their stock is a little fresher than mine and probably moves a little faster, even in this economy.

Whether it might move faster under Dr. Schenkenstein will remain a mystery, as the man does dearly love a bargain on a used bike. If he eventually writes a check for this one, he will have three of my castoffs in his garage.

And I will have an unoccupied hook in mine. Oboy, oboy, oboy. …

Rouleurs and Stooges and ’cross, oh my!

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 2 Comments
Edward R. Furrow
Never give a mad dog an open mic'.

Friend of the site Larry T., commenting over at VeloNoise, directed me to a witty review of cyclo-cross commentary American style by his pals at Rouleur magazine.

Naturally, I was inspired to bang out my own take on things.

Maybe it’s that I’ve spent too many years working alone from a home office, but I find myself less tolerant of racket in my advanced geezerhood. And that’s what I find most homegrown cycling commentary to be.

No disrespect intended to Dave Towle, Richard Fries or Brad Sohner, who had a more restrained delivery than his two comrades. It takes ’nads to put yourself out there, mic’d up and on camera, and then crank up the old P.T. Barnum for a few hours (“Hur-ry, hur-ry, hur-ry!”). I’d just like to see them dial down the theatricality a click or two or three. That sort of bombast is hard on an iMac’s speakers.

There’s plenty of drama inherent in the racing. No need to slather on more. It’s like watching someone take a can of Krylon to a Moots.

Meanwhile, my fellow geezers are mixing it up at the 2012 masters cyclo-cross worlds in Louisville, and all the usual suspects are serving up the whup-ass from a muddy 55-gallon drum. It would be fun to be there.

But it would be even more fun to be there in 2013, when Eva Bandman Park hosts the UCI Cyclo-cross Elite World Championships. Hell, if I can get there I might be doing some hollering my own bad self. “One to go! Onetogo onetogo onetogo!”

Don’t blink or you’ll miss your ass getting kicked

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments

After all these years of covering bike racing, you’d think I’d quit being surprised by how friggin’ fast the Euro pros are — especially when it comes to cyclo-cross.

I watched today’s UCI World Cup kickoff via streaming video and I had to keep picking my jaw up off my belly button. Judas Priest. It was like the top-10 dudes were on rails and jet-propelled. Plus eight of them were bunny-hopping the barriers. Remember when it was unusual to see someone like Sven Nys riding the boards? Not any more, Bubba. If you can’t do it, you ain’t shit.*

Tim Johnson, who is not exactly a back-of-the-packer, finished 26th — more than three minutes down on winner Zdenek Stybar, who is world champ for a number of very good reasons. When he lit it up it was hasta la vista muchachos.

One of the best parts of watching the race online was hearing the squeal of cantilever brakes as the big boys damped a little velocity diving into an off-camber turn or a hairy descent. Fuck a bunch of disc brakes. What a real ’crosser wants going into a dicey bit is a little speed modulation. You want to stop, hit something. Or someone.

* Full disclosure: I can’t do it. Draw your own conclusions.

And on the seventh day, he flatted

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 23 Comments
Autumn is on us with a vengeance, if you happen to be a plant. But midweek the temps should be in the low 60s/high 70s.
Autumn is on us with a vengeance, if you happen to be a plant or a penniless drunkard without a furnace. But midweek the temps should be in the low 60s to high 70s, which means I can dial the ethanol heater back a notch or two.

Screw the calendar — today was the first official day of fall. I know this to be a fact because when I set out for a quick 45 minutes of cyclo-cross after a morning of light labor I was wearing arm warmers, knee warmers and an undershirt in addition to the usual kit, and wishing I’d opted for long-fingered gloves.

I had planned to do a few go-rounds at a nearby school that has a gravel track, some short, sharp run-ups, a bit of asphalt and even a log to hop. But some anonymous teabagger has let the grounds go to hell, so after trying and failing to find a suitable path through the weeds I rolled off to my old standby, Monument Valley Park.

Unfortunately I apparently took a couple of goatheads with me, and just as the ’crossing was starting to feel good the front tire went soft. Oh, bugger. Out with the bad tube, in with the good tube. This mini-pump works about as well as the Senate. Look at the time. The sis and bro’-in-law are en route from Fort Fun, expecting lunch. Home wi’ ye, ye bald-pated tosspot.

And that was my Sunday in Bibleburg. How was yours?

Live cyclo-cross video

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 1 Comment

… right now over at VeloNews.com, in partnership with CyclingDirt.com.

• Late update: Christ, that was woeful. The kindest thing I can say about it was that it was better than no live streaming video at all. Phil and Paul have nothing to fear. Neither do Beavis and Butthead. Here’s a hint and a half for your ass, guys: People watch streaming video to find out what’s going on in the fucking race, not what you’re having for lunch.