Road Rage

In general, I find the vast majority of drivers that I meet to be fairly courteous towards cyclists.

Sure, one has the occasional problem, but really, when one considers the traffic volume of Los Angeles, it's amazing that there are any cyclists left alive.

Most of the time, if I'm involved in any sort of incident, it's unintentional and the driver gives me that sheepish smile and small wave, and I smile and wave back because it's all good and no one got hurt.

But every so often, someone behind the wheel of a car is a callous, horrible, soulless asshole who deliberately tries (and succeeds) to seriously injure a cyclist.

Over the weekend, cyclist Susanna Schick, aka Pinkyracer, was hit by a car driven by a horrible excuse for a human being who got angry about an exchange of words that was probably completely trivial, chased down a woman on a bicycle, hit her with his car and then drove off.

Yeah, that's a real man, there. That'll show that cyclist who is the boss. Duders.

The full story is on BikingInLA, along with a link to a fund to help her pay for medical bills, since she has a concussion, broken collarbone, six broken ribs and a shattered pelvis, among other injuries.

Reading this was especially poignant today, after nearly going 'splat' on my morning ride.

A friend, who rode the L'Etape du California (a fancy French phrase for "horrible long uphill grind from hell"), wanted to do a recovery ride today, so we did a few loops of San Vicente Blvd. here in West LA.

It started out nice - the street was full of cyclists and runners, the sun was out and it was a gorgeous morning, even if I was hungry and talking about bacon way more than I should have.

On our third (and final) loop, we were slowing down as we approached a stoplight and a lady driving a giant SUV (of course) cut us off in order to wedge her boat into a parking space.

By slamming on the brakes, we missed hitting her door by about two inches. If she'd chosen to pull that move 100 yards earlier when we were riding faster, we both would have hit her.

Of course, as we rode by, we shouted at her.

Not anything cruel, but more along the lines of "Hey, watch it".

Lucky for us, she just looked sheepish (no smile or wave, though), and we rode past.

How many times have we all done this?

Although I like to solve problems with a smile, I'm certainly not above yelling at someone if they're making a really bone-headed move.

I've never had anyone chase me down and my first instinct is "get on the sidewalk, that way the car can't hit you", but I'm willing to bet that whatever happened to Pinkyracer happened so fast she couldn't do anything about it.

It's inexcusable, horrible and makes me really hope that if the police do find the guy who was driving the car, they throw him in prison with gang members and puppy kickers.

But they probably won't find him, so if anyone can afford any donation to help her, please do so.

And if you're in your car, try to give the cyclists some warning before you pull across the bike lane. That would be awesome. Remember, we're just trying to get where we're going in one piece.

Ride Report: Death Valley makes a mockery of my ambitions.

 The week before the race, a friend of mine gave me such a good pep talk, that I almost thought I had a chance of completing the 150. "It'll be great!" I told myself. "I just have to ride like hell for the first half, and then I can coast!"

Needless to say, I didn't finish the 150, but I did manage to go 100 miles (Yay me!), plus I learned a few things which will come in handy for Rachel vs. Death Valley, the Rematch.

After picking up my rental bike (steel may be real, but I needed a lighter bike) and tent, I got on the road about 11 am. Since Death Valley is about a 5 hour drive from Los Angeles and I really needed to get to the campsite and get the tent set up before dark (my idea of roughing it is a hotel with no room service, so I don't have a lot of experience with tents), I drove like hell, figuring I could stop and enjoy the scenery on the way back.

I got to the park, got my campsite, and miraculously, managed to get the tent assembled with minimal pain.

Houston, we have tent. Note rocks as the ground is way, way too hard for tent stakes. 

No one warned me about rental tent smell. Pee-Eeew. If there's a next time, I'm bringing some Febreeze.

After said tenting, I drove over to Furnace Creek Ranch to check in and pick up my ride packet, which consisted of directions and a lip balm.

I then purchased a shower/pool pass to the pool and went swimming before showering. The pool at Furnace Creek Ranch is fed by a warm spring, so there's no chlorine and it's about 82 degrees. Awesome.

After a shower and dinner at one of the overpriced eateries on the ranch property, I headed back up the the tent to get some sleep.

Little did I know that the Texas Spring campground is apparently Death Valley party central. The noise died down after 10 (thanks to our awesome campground host), and I got my revenge at 5 am Saturday morning when my very loud alarm went off.

I drove down to Furnace Creek Ranch, got the last of my stuff together, and lined up for the start.

The fast riders. Note that I am not among them.

   Although I'd hoped to be in wave 2, which left at 6:20, I ended up in wave 4, which left at 6:40. There were cutoff times at each of the aid stations - of course, for the 150 ride, those cutoff times required a much higher speed than did the century course. After hearing tales of gale-force winds from people who had done the ride before, I got a bit nervous, but the wind seemed to be holding off, so all seemed fairly well.

It was in the 40's, and my legs were so cold that, for some reason, my leg warmers kept falling down. I had to stop at the first aid station to drop my seat a bit (that's what I get for not doing a test ride on the bike) and pee.

Badwater aid station. With toilets!

 The rental bike (an aluminum Fuji) seemed just fine - it did very well over the rough-ish roads, but the first 40 miles of the course were 'rollers', low hills, and it became apparent very early that this bike wasn't really geared to climb. I was averaging a decent pace on flats and downhills, but was slowing down on the hills. Still, though, no winds, so all was well.

Most of the pacelines were going way too fast for me (that's not the bike's fault, it's my legs), so it was just me and the empty roads and the silence. Since I live in a large city, silence is something I'm not really used to, but it was nice.

Not a good place to break down, but impressive! 

 Then, just as I was feeling confident, the wind picked up. Not gale force, like the horror stories from last year, but a good steady 16mph.

Just enough to slow me down to the point where, when I got to the second aid stop, I was warned that I might not make the time cutoff.

Then, I started the first climb. It became apparent very quickly that rental bike was SO not geared to climb. My heart rate soared and my speed dropped and dropped and dropped until I was going at about walking speed. A very, very old man on a beach cruiser (I think) passed me, as did an ambling coyote, and at one point, a snail.

So, it wasn't much of a surprise at the Jubilee Pass 50 mile marker I was told that I'd missed the time cutoff and would have to turn around.

I said "oh, darn", but inwardly I thought "Yay!". That first climb was tough, and the second climb, I'm told,  was worse.

I turned around, rolled down the hill (but kept braking as I'm still to scared to go much over 25 mph) and turned back, into a headwind.

The wind, while I was climbing, had shifted 180 degrees, and I'd have a headwind in both directions.

Thanks, Death Valley, thanks a lot.

The entire way back was all about fighting the wind and the rolling hills, and the fact that I now urgently needed a restroom. Over each rise, each curve, I kept looking for Badwater and it's welcoming toilet, but each time I'd just see more desert.

Pretty!

Scenic!

It's a bunch of damn rocks. I no longer care. Where's the freakin' toilet?

The wind, of course, never let up. The pacelines were long gone, so it was still just me, fighting the wind and really needing a restroom.

Badwater, thankfully.

This is my "It's mile 75 but I feel so relieved" face

After the second Badwater stop is when I really started to hurt. I wasn't cramping up, I was just sore and tired, but since this particular ride won't SAG riders in unless there's some sort of catastrophic injury, my only option was to keep riding.


At one point, I stopped, got off the bike, bent over and tried to stretch out, but this alarmed anyone passing so much ("are you okay? Do you need help?") that I didn't do it again. Plus, it didn't help. My butt hurt, my back hurt, my feet hurt, my neck hurt. Hell, even my hair hurt. I can't imagine the suffering of the poor bastards who tried to cross this desert in a covered wagon (and eventually on foot after the livestock died for lack of forage).

After what seemed like an eternity, the end finally appeared:

Oh, thank God.

The last blissful mile was all downhill into Furnace Creek. I coasted into the ranch, checked in and informed them that I'd dropped down to the 100 miler, and finally got off that damned bike.

Between the winds, the hills, and the general unprepared state of my legs, my official time for the 100 mile ride was 9 hours 20 minutes. That stinging sensation - it's my pride.

I'm not all that fast and I know it, but NINE hours? Were my neck not so sore, I would have hung my head in shame.

Instead, I limped over to the car, threw the bike in the back, grabbed my swimsuit (and some fresh clothes), and headed for the pool.

After floating and stretching, I showered and limped into the restaurant, where I rewarded my self with a plate of undercooked risotto and a beer.

It was easy to spot the cyclists. We were all limping. I chatted with a few fellow riders, and then headed back to the campground, where I stayed awake long enough to brush my teeth and then fell fast asleep despite the noisy campground.

I wish drivers in LA were as courteous as the drivers were in Death Valley. Seriously, all the drivers were incredibly nice.

What is this booth thing with the phone?

The next morning, I got up, limped around, packed the car and then went back to Furnace Creek Ranch for a recovery swim in the pool, since the last thing I wanted was to get back on the bike.

I swam a few laps, stretched, had breakfast and then headed out. I stopped a few times to check out the scenic views and whatnot.

Of course, on the drive out of Death Valley, there were no winds. Not even a breeze, and the temperature was 78 degrees. Just Death Valley saying "Next time, take the car". 

Borax Works

Info sign

Ruin

Wait.. what?

So, for the Rachel vs. Death Valley rematch:

#1. Compact crank and geared for climbing. I made the mistake of assuming that light weight would equal speed. So not true.

#2. Suck it up and pay for the hotel room. Camping sucks ass.

#3. Bring a bike with aerobars. That wind is a bitch.

#4. Get in an earlier start wave.

On the bright side, I didn't cramp up, I didn't have dehydration issues, and I still managed 100 miles.

Sweet.

I have to give credit to AdvendureCORPS, who put on a very nice race. The volunteers were wonderful, the aid stations were wonderful,  the route was wonderful, and despite my not making my cutoff, I'll definitely be back.

Fall Means Furnace in Southern California

It's time for the annual Santa Ana winds, which means just when the rest of the country's getting pink-cheeked from the frosty air, we're cooking like proverbial hush puppies in the deep fryer of life.

The winds create a hot, dry heat that burns the eyes and makes anyone with allergies wish they were dead. 

I went for a quick run this morning before work - I'd intended to get up at 6 and run for an hour, but I overslept so I decided to do a half hour run. I stepped out of the house at 6:45 and it was already hot and dry.

I spent most of the run coughing due to the dry air, and by the time I got back from an easy, easy run (30% walking, actually) I was sweaty and gasping.

What I really want to do is go jump in the ocean and stay there until it cools off, but sadly, I've been working too much to get in more than a quick workout here and there. I've also been drinking what seems like gallons of water and not peeing at all, which I'm told is bad.

Local news is predicting the heat breaking over the weekend, which will be wonderful. 

Sunday is the Playa del Rey sprint tri. I'm woefully under trained, but it's just a sprint and it's so hot I don't really care, so I'm not sweating it much (insert groan here).

Meet Gary

_{Gary at Bikerowave, looking dapper with his new pedals. The pink bottle cages don't threaten Gary's manhood at all.}  

Gary, an early 80's Centurion Accordo, is my race bike and my partner in crime. I would feel totally comfortable robbing a bank with Gary.

 Yes, I know vessels are traditionally given a female name, but Gary's really more of a cranky old man. Stuff loosens up, tightens up and sometimes Gary can't keep things pointing up. If only they made a blue pill for bicycles.

I bought Gary at a garage sale - neglected, dusty, with flat gumwall tires, a rusty chain and horribly ugly 80's tape on the handlebars.  My first thought was "this was somebody's race rig back in the day and what a shame it's come to this."

I talked the seller down to half of his original price due to Gary's condition, and thanks to my local bike co-op, I rebuilt, de-rusted, and retaped Gary, and now, although he's no longer young, he's once again tearing up the roads and schooling whippersnappers.


_{Gary in the transition area for the Pasadena Triathlon dry run. Gary just wants all those damn kids to get the hell off his lawn.}   

Gary's a gas to ride - he's fast and his more flexible frame makes him less squirrelly than the newer carbon bikes. Also, Gary has some serious style. Every training ride or race Gary gets many shout outs from passers-by about how good he's looking.
Me? Not so much.

REI gives back - to me!

One of the things that  I love about REI is the annual dividend.

I take my little certificate in, pick something out and get it for either free or at a greatly reduced cost.
This year, I got this:


A Novara grocery bag pannier!

After they applied my dividend, I owed them a whopping 23 cents. Sweet.

I already have a pair of panniers, but they're heavy waterproof zip top compression dealies that are great on long trips (they stop load shift), but I wanted something that was a bit more short errand friendly.

This one has shoulder straps, and is about the size of a grocery bag (hence the name), so I can just throw it on the back rack and not have to do the squeeze and zip of the big panniers.

 I love you, REI!