Friday’s Bell Lap At Mid-Week

Today’s post has only tangential ties to cycling and is a bit all over the place, so be forewarned.  Sure I went out and rode my training rides over the weekend and early this week, although I’d be hard press to tell you a single detail about any ride since last week.   Hence the mid-week Bell Lap.

Nostradamus?
I’m not saying last week’s Bell Lap had anything to do with it, but it seems I was only a day or two off.  It’s not a done deal yet, so I haven’t exactly popped the cork on the prosecco, but my job search appears to be coming to an end.  That’s a good thing, although starting a religion would have a kick. 

It’s also a good thing because both my training and caloric intake where getting whammed in the last couple of weeks as this played out – neither in a positive way.  A while back I mentioned how much my training was suffering from the lack of a routine that accompanies being unemployed.  Now the question will be how big a hit is my training going to take?  The commute is too far to ride; far enough that I’ll need to get a car.  I’ll have to come up with some training solution but is a 4:30am training ride meeting time out of the question?  Seriously, once you’re getting up at 4:20am, what’s the big deal if you take away another 20 minutes of sleep?  I’m sure I won’t be the only one in the park on a bike at that hour.  Ok, I’m not so sure about that, but I’m pretty sure I can convince one or two others to join me . . .  eventually.

I guess I should focus on closing the deal before I worry about how my riding is going to be affected.  It’d be nice to get that two-ton weight of my back.

You’ve Just Won A Stage Of The Tour
This video was floating around twitterland.  Thanks to David Gardiner where I first heard about it.  I reposted it to Facebook but it’s too funny to share with such a limited group (such as my facebook fan group is.)

 

Burgers and Fries, Oh My
Speaking of two-ton weights, yesterday I had a burger and fries at the Frites ‘n Meats truck, parked at Chambers and Greenwich St.  The food’s not dead weight, it just sure isn’t going to help me drop any pounds.   Now, I don’t eat a lot of burgers (not with the training diet and all), and I sure as heck don’t do street food (not counting the NYC Pretzel which isn’t so much street food as an institution), but the scuttlebutt on this was too good not to give it a go, especially on the last day of nice weather for six months.  So I hopped on my commuter and next thing I knew I’m chowing down on a burger and fries (actually, not exactly the next thing – there was a sizable line which meant the food had to be good.  The line moved quickly because there are about ten guys in the truck.)

The truck is the first thing you notice because it’s not so much street food as it is a mobile restaurant, and a good one at that.  The line moves so quickly because it’s run professionally – one guy takes your order, two guys are cooking the food and one guy is packing the order.  They even have the little order holder thingamajig that restaurants have in the kitchen so the chef knows what’s up next.

Hard To Miss Truck

Anyway, I didn’t ride down there to see the truck (which you can’t miss from 3 miles away).   I’m not sure which was better.  The burger was quite simply awesome and cheap (where else can you get a quality burger for under $6 these days).  Plus they add the condiments for you so it’s a no fuss burger.  The burger is ordinarily where I’d stop.  After all, fries are fries.  But these fries coupled with the spicy mayonnaise were so good it reminded me of my last trip to Belgian (I should clarify, I don’t eat Gotham street food; European street food is a whole other thing). 

Now the problem is fitting Frites ‘n Meat into the training diet?  What are the chances Merckx, Museeuw and Boonen ate/eat this stuff?  Maybe that’s the Belgian secret.  It’s conveniently located on the way to the races (I cut across Chambers to get to the Brooklyn Bridge) so if I can convince them to open up a little earlier (like 5:45am) it could become my race-morning first and second breakfasts.  Based on yesterday’s lunch, I’m more than willing to give it a go.

That’s today’s view from the back (or bottom of a cone of double fried belgian frites.)

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Friday’s Bell Lap

The Path of the Two(Wheels)
An article on paganism got me thinking that perhaps the whole concept a job search is silly.  Why not just start a religion?  I can’t imagine it’s that hard to do given how many others have done it and with great success.

What I can imagine is how my church would inevitably lead to my evangelical TV show (hello Vs.  Are you listening?)  My sermon each week (delivered while circling the pulpit on the new bike I bought that week) would inevitably relate to when I was lost in the valley of wheelless until I found the Sheppard (the bike) and his (her?) light shone down and lit a path which has led to my rebirth (not to mention economic revival which is nicely funded by all of you, my congregation and, let’s not forget our wonderful fans out there in TV land – donations are tax deductable by the way.) 

So I googled “religion of the bike” (didn’t want to infringe on any sacred copyrights) which led me to a somone who had googled “bicycle religion” which led me to Matrixism which led me to an epiphany – it would be a whole lot easier to base my new religion on existing doctrine rather than be faced with either hoping a spirit reveals to me where I can find two disc wheels upon which are written some scared beliefs or having to create the whole thing from scratch.

Matrixism seemed a perfect launching pad.  As described by my fellow googler:

“It’s a religion based on the movie The Matrix (kind of like Jediism) that bicycling plays a big part in. Riding in Critical Mass is a sacred duty and Bicycle Day is one of its Holy days. I guess the bicycle represents the proper man/machine/environment relationship or something.”

Unfortunately, diving in a little deeper revealed two disturbing elements.  First, apart from celebrating Bicycle Day, the religion doesn’t seem to have all that much to do with anything related to a bike.  Second, there must be some sort of commune where you are expected to live with other Maxtrixists because they keep referring to the Tenants of Matrixism.  Oh well, as with any schism, my new religion will have to have come into existence because we don’t subscribe to all (any?) of the tenets of Matrixism.

But that also leaves me at having to create the whole thing from scratch (it seems easier find a job) or to wait for that spirit and the disc wheels.  I’ll give it until Monday on all three fronts.

The Triumvirate: Spouse, Spouse and Bike
Most religions seem to hold marriage as a sacred rite which is why my, uhm, research reminded me of this gem that someone had sent me many, many years ago.  I actually did give this to my wife when she was my fiancée.  She hasn’t stopped laughing about it yet.

The Cyclists Prenuptial
This agreement acknowledges that the forthcoming marriage is an arrangement that accepts the perpetual continuity of pre-existing relationship between the first two parties and that a three-way coexistence shall be created consisting of the following participants:

Spouse A (the non biking loved one) hereafter referred to as SA; Spouse B (the biker) hereafter referred to as SB, and; The Bike (the glorious one) hereafter referred to as TB.

Condition I: Acknowledgment
SA shall henceforth recognize that SB and TB have forged a long standing and unbreakable relationship and shall never attempt to permanently divide, or otherwise separate the two.

Condition II: Cohabitation
SA and SB shall agree upon comfortable and equal living quarters for TB, its related service equipment and riding gear. TB shall only be exposed to the elements of nature during rides. All other times TB shall have access to warm, dry, low traffic living space. If at any time there should be conflict w/ SA, SB or furniture, TB shall have preference as to where it stays. In SA’s absence TB shall be permitted bedroom space (if not already arranged).

Condition III: Exclusivity and Infidelity
At no time shall SA, SB, or TB be loaned out to be ridden by anyone outside the three-way relationship. SA must request from SB permission to ride, fondle or otherwise physically contact TB and only do so in the presence of SB.

Condition IV: Equal Time
SA shall be guaranteed quality time equivalent to TB unless it conflicts with TB in which case TB gets preference. Service time shall be guaranteed and considered a separate requirement. In the event of emergency, ie SA stranded, child sets hair on fire etc, SB shall complete whatever TB related activity as soon as possible and attend said emergency. In the event of a in-law visit or should, for any reason, SB become depressed or otherwise in need of stress relief, SB shall be permitted as much time w/TB or TB related activities, magazines, books, events etc as needed until such time SB feels better.

Condition V: Parts
SA and SB will agree that SB be permitted and encouraged to purchase any and all TB related equipment at any and all times, whether they be repairs, replacements, upgrades, or just plain Chi-Chi. Any replaced parts shall be considered cherished spares and provided appropriate storage space equivalent to that provided for TB, preferably under the bed, favorite closet or on coffee table as a conversation item.

New Items immediately installed shall require TB to be put on prominent display (ie in front of TV). Newly purchased items not immediately installed shall be put on display as a centerpiece during the day and they shall be kept under the pillow of SB at bed time, unless it is potentially dangerous to said part. This shall be for no less than 5 days or until they are installed whichever comes first.

Condition VI: Finance
All household finance shall be considered separate from TB finance. If conflict should arise then TB gets preference.

Condition VII: Disposition
In the event SA has a compatible bike SB can offer spare parts to be temporarily installed for use by SA until such time SB requires their use on TB. No prior notice is required. All equipment and TB they are installed upon or intended for, shall remain the property of SB come hell or high water, and shall not be relinquished under any circumstance including death, in which case the surviving party will be obligated to complete the upgrades (expressed, implied or dreamed of) and bury TB with the departed, unless TB or SB requests a separate grave in which case they shall be buried side by side and SA shall not be buried between them.

Condition VIII: Protected Communications
All TB related communications intended for SB, be they voice (phone messages, visitors); print (mail-order catalogues, etc.); or electronic (e-mail, buddies calling to ride, etc.) shall be forwarded and delivered to SB as expediently as possible. Furthermore, no censorship of said communications shall occur, and SA agrees to refrain from making disparaging comments about the content of these communications and/or their source(s).

Extended Conditions: TB shall never be the focus of an argument nor brought up as part of one. TB shall never be discussed w/ in-laws unless said discussion is in praise or defense of TB. No retaliation shall ever be taken against TB.

All of the above is to be considered iron-clad and in stone and non negotiable, unless of course, the nonbiker says so.

(c)Ryan Mason

That’s today’s view from the back (of the doghouse, which is where I was after presenting the prenup, even in jest.)

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Glasses Anyone? And The Return Of Rider X

Another first lap in solitary confinement was well on its way to becoming two laps when it very quickly almost became 1.5 laps and a trip to the hospital.

Riding alone about to start climbing Harlem Hill for the second time, I see a teammate bombing down going in the other direction, looking for me.  Unfortunately, my teammate, who is blinder than a bat and wears glasses for most other occasions, doesn’t see me.  He’s got to be joking I figure as he keeps heading straight for me at warp speed.  It’s too late by the time I realize that our long running joke about the way he says hello to someone on a bike is by picking them off the ground after he’s run into them because he can’t see them is about to become reality.  A very painful reality.  Luckily, at the last second, and I do mean the last second, he sees me and swerves to avoid a collision.  When he finally recognizes me, he’s parallel to me.  “Hey” I hear as he zooms past.  Lucky.  I could just see trying to explain why there are two of us from the same team lying on the ground at the start of Harlem Hill.

My teammate is a little vain, well, a lot of vain, so much so that he’d rather not see than put on “non-cycling” glasses (don’t ask me about contact or prescription Oakleys – I stopped mentioning them a long time ago.)  Such is the nature of amateur cyclists with our matching kits, helmets, team-issue socks, and bar tape to match our kit.  I have a blue saddle on my race bike because I like the saddle and I got for free.  I never thought I’d hear the end of it.  We’re like a bunch of, excuse me ladies, girls when it comes to putting it all together.  And even important at 5:00 am when you can’t see anything anyway.

Today also marked the return of Rider X whom I’ve managed to avoid for the better part of two months.  Today he was riding a borrowed cross bike.  One lap in, the front tire starts losing air.  It’s a slow leak, but a steady one and soon it’s all but flat, but he keeps riding because, surprise, surprise, he doesn’t have a tube with him.  He’s so squirrelly on the downhill to Harlem Hill that the guys next to him have to scatter in different directions.   Once again, his problem is now everyone’s problem.

You probably shouldn’t be riding if:

1. You don’t own a bike – seems to be a pre-requisite
2. Every ride you have a mechanical issue. Every single ride - here’s some advice: check your bike the night before (let me rephrase, check whoever’s bike you’re borrowing the night before). You’ll probably notice things like the front tire having no air in it
3. You can’t be bothered to bring a tube and a pump with you – those flats aren’t just going to go away by themselves, are they?  And the solution is not to ride tubulars on training rides.  That just exacerbates the problem
4. You can’t be bothered to stop and fix the flat – Heck, we’ll probably even help you change it, but it makes the ride better for everyone if we take care of the issue and get back to riding instead of hearing about for 20 minutes

Rather than get into it, I just increased the pace up Harlem Hill.  When the boys caught up to me on the next riser, he was nowhere to be seen.  Problem solved.

That’s today’s view from the back.

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Anything But Another Lap

Somewhere between the end of the 1st lap and the start of the 2nd lap in Central Park today, I started thinking of being home.  More accurately desperately wishing it were 7:20am, and I was in the elevator on the way up to my apartment.  This was a lot better than most days.  Ride 300 laps a year (give or take), and see how quickly your thoughts turn to anything that might helps stave off the monotony.  Which is why I’m dumbfounded that some guy would walk around his block in Brooklyn 75 times (which was 26.4 miles).   Actually the guy was Andy Newman, a writer for the New York Times and of course it was for an article, but still, Andy, there’s got to be a better way to make a living.  Then again, at least Newman walked around his block for a day because he is making a living.  Can’t really say the same now, can I?

“This is pathetic — I’m walking miles every day without getting anywhere” morphed into “What if we kept walking — without going anywhere?  Wouldn’t that be kind of cool?”  That’s what training in Central Park is, riding without going anywhere.  And it’s anything but cool.

04:56 – Hit Tavern and while I circle around waiting to see who shows up.  It’s really dark out.  Make sure I don’t hit the one other idiot already doing laps who says “good morning” (why is it that everyone who rides a bike feels obligated to say good morning to everyone else on a bike?  You wouldn’t say hello to me if you saw me walking down the street or if I got into the same elevator as you, would you?)  Anyway, it’s not morning yet.  It’s still night as far as I can tell.  And it’s not that good.  I’m bleary eyed, freezing and I have to pee because it’s so cold out.
 
5:00 am – start rolling because no one showed up (have they seen the error of our ways finally and are all sleeping in like the rest of the city that never sleeps).  Start talking to myself about nothing in particular.  At least it makes me feel like I have company, because there’s no one around except for the occasional odd runner, emphasis on odd.

5:05 am – See blonde woman who is in the park every single day running by backwards to meet the three guys see runs with every single day.  Guess she wasn’t training for the marathon, my bad.  Which means she actually likes running and running at 5:00am no less.  Now that’s weird.

5:07 am – Roll by Boathouse and look longingly at the locked bathrooms.  If it’s illegal to urinate in public which includes the any part of the park, couldn’t they at least open the bathrooms when the park opens?  Yes, I know the park doesn’t officially open until 6 am, but the bathrooms aren’t open then either.  That leaves the unenviable choice of the using the boathouse parking lot and taking your chances with the RoUS’s (raccoons of unusual size) or a special spot near the entrance to the cut-off at the top of the park (note: be careful where you step if you ever find yourself walking on the trails near the cutoff.)

5:xx – (I’ve given up trying to figure out what time it is when I get to different spots as it requires too much effort to a) do and b) remember.)  Oh, the sweetness of the warm spot on the 86th street overpass.  Who cares if it’s our own little proof of global warming?  It’s warm and that has momentarily helped me forget that I’d rather be home.

5:xx – Still pitch black out.  Why does Harlem Hill seem so much harder than it really is?  Still no one around, except for the occasional odd runner.  Well at least, I’ve turned the corner and have one lap done.  I count by the number of times I’ve gone up the hill even though I’ve only done a half-lap at that point.  This must be why invariable I lose count.  Counting laps being the only real thing to do in the park, I ought to be able to remember.  I think I’m too young for Alzheimer’s but you never know because I never remember.

5:xx – First tri person passes me on the downhill on their way to Tavern for their 5:30 meeting with other bad tri riders.  Are there any triathlons left to do this year?  If not, can’t you all put your bikes away for the winter?

5:22 – End of lap 1.  Still dark out.  Still no one out.  I know what time it is because of the CNN clock which also lets me know that it’s 43o.  Darn Accuweather.com – you said 46o and I dressed light.  I hate you.

5:23 – Doubt starts to creep in about the feasibility of doing another lap without going completely insane.  Just as I decide it’s time to head in, lying to myself that I’ll hit the trainer later in the afternoon, Omar shows up.  That ought to take the edge off until the Boathouse.

I’d go on, but I’m even bored just writing about it.   That’s the conundrum of Central Park.  Without it, those of us who live in city would be totally screwed as far as training goes.  Where else (apart from Prospect Park except there there’s even less to keep you occupied and you have to ride twice as many laps) in the middle of one of the busiest metropolises can your ride more or less traffic free more or less any time you want without the need for light (sunlight or the rechargeable kind?)  And yet, the monotony of turning laps in the park will put you off your bike.

That’s why I can’t imagine how anyone, even someone getting paid, could possibly walk around the same four corners for the better part of a day.  That sounds as bad as the Empire State Games qualifier in Prospect Park.  22 laps.  About the only thing you get from that race is dizzy.

That’s today’s view from the back.

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Friday’s Bell Lap

You Ought To Be Able To
I put it at 18”; my wife said it was wider.  Let’s split the difference and call it 20”.  The bottom line is that a NYC bus seat is pretty wide. 

Much as I try to ride my bike everywhere, it doesn’t always happen.  I’m lazy (very lazy, so lazy, I mentioned it to my wife on our first date so she would know what she might getting herself into – in fact, I mentioned three things “just in case this ends up going somewhere” – namely, I’m the laziest person in the world, I ride my bike a lot and I mean a lot, and I really love watching TV.  At least now she can’t say she wasn’t forewarned,) and many times it’s impractical with a family.  The latter prevailed today, and I found myself on the 23rd Street cross-town bus with wife and son in tow.  A woman plopped down next to me (literally, plopped).  Next thing I know, I’ve got a meaty arm and even meatier thigh, encroaching on my seat and pushing me up against my wife.   Worse yet, the woman was one of those closet fatties.  You know, one of those people you don’t even notice is fat because they just blend with the rest.  It takes a really, really obese person to stick out nowadays, such is the state of the American populace.

And the answer is not to accommodate as they are doing in Brazil by putting in special seating for the obsese.

A large part of the reason I ride is to stay in shape.  That said, before I started riding, I lost 40 pounds in four months.  It wasn’t that hard.  I just changed my eating habits.  No exercise. No diet.  Just a little common sense and some will power.  To borrow from Floyd Landis (I think it was him in Lance Armstrong’s War), “I don’t understand the big deal.  If I want to lose weight, I don’t eat for a couple of days.”   I’m as big a comfort eater as the next person, but I also know when to stop – which coincidentally for me is Sunday when I start focusing on getting ready for next season.  

So to the woman who sat next to me on the bus today:  I don’t get it.  Is it really that hard to shut your mouth at the dinner table?  And no, having a diet coke with the super-sized Big Mac and super-sized fries is not watching what you eat.  Go ahead and have the real coke, it really can’t hurt that much more.  Start riding a bike or running or whatever, but your largesse is your problem and it shouldn’t be my problem.  You ought to be able to fit into a bus seat.  It’s pretty wide.

If that sounds mean of me (and it probably is), so be it. 

Merckx in Central Park
Eddy Merckx will be riding in Central Park on Nov. 14th with 70 people, each of whom will be paying $100 for the privilege (thanks to ratherberiding who’s blog Cyclosity is where I first read about it.)  It’s a fundraiser organized by the Belgian American Chamber of Commerce who will also be honoring Merckx with a lifetime achievement award.  The proceeds go to Children’s Lightning Wheels.  I get the idea of using a celebrity ride-a-long as a fundraiser and it seems like a worthwhile cause (although, it’s amazing how many causes there are these days and how many “a-thons” there are to go with them.  Last Sunday there were three walk-a-thons in Manhattan.)   What I don’t get is how on earth they expect to keep away the throng of people that will show up?  Not that anyone who didn’t pay would do that.  This is New York after all, the archetype of social etiquette.  They going to tell someone not to ride in the park?

Happy marathoning this weekend.  Looking forward to having the park back.

That’s today’s view from the back.

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