Thursday, July 23, 2009
I endoed today for the first time, and nothing to show for it except a bent front rim. And, I guess, a bruise on the inside of my thigh, but it's not in a place I can really show off. Mid-grade bruises are not really sexy injuries, anyway.
Here is a nice rule of thumb: while biking, do not adjust clothing while braking. Otherwise you may find yourself restricted to bipedal transportation in the middle of Fermilab, and required to guide your mount alongside while you make a return trip guaranteed to seem much longer than the ride out.
Thankfully it was a glorious day at the time, and only one older man was tempted to note the obvious: the bike is a much more efficient machine when you're on top of it. So be good to it, for goodness' sake.
Here is a nice rule of thumb: while biking, do not adjust clothing while braking. Otherwise you may find yourself restricted to bipedal transportation in the middle of Fermilab, and required to guide your mount alongside while you make a return trip guaranteed to seem much longer than the ride out.
Thankfully it was a glorious day at the time, and only one older man was tempted to note the obvious: the bike is a much more efficient machine when you're on top of it. So be good to it, for goodness' sake.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
I've been spending a lot of time on the big chainring lately.
One of the things I'm currently enjoying about biking is the variety of small technical challenges one can assign oneself. During several recent rides, I determined that success would be impossible unless all hills were surmounted on the largest chainring, and that freewheel coasting would need to be eliminated, or curtailed wherever possible.
Some effects of this recent work in the saddle are: weight loss, repeated feelings of exhilaration atop small local hills, crusty salt deposits on face near eyes, one sadly deceased chipmunk*, a sense that I don't know who I am anymore, pleasantly sore muscles, shapelier calves, windblown hair, dehydration, and lots of questions about what I will do with my life.
My bike is black, quiet, light and fast. I have named her Betty. I took off like a rocket past several trail-walkers this morning, attaining a top speed of 26 mph that I'm completely making up. Would I rather have been doing anything else.
*Please, I cried about this stupid, cute little guy, for Christ's sake. It was traumatic.
One of the things I'm currently enjoying about biking is the variety of small technical challenges one can assign oneself. During several recent rides, I determined that success would be impossible unless all hills were surmounted on the largest chainring, and that freewheel coasting would need to be eliminated, or curtailed wherever possible.
Some effects of this recent work in the saddle are: weight loss, repeated feelings of exhilaration atop small local hills, crusty salt deposits on face near eyes, one sadly deceased chipmunk*, a sense that I don't know who I am anymore, pleasantly sore muscles, shapelier calves, windblown hair, dehydration, and lots of questions about what I will do with my life.
My bike is black, quiet, light and fast. I have named her Betty. I took off like a rocket past several trail-walkers this morning, attaining a top speed of 26 mph that I'm completely making up. Would I rather have been doing anything else.
*Please, I cried about this stupid, cute little guy, for Christ's sake. It was traumatic.
