Cross

 

I have no idea why I like Cyclocross (CX) so much.  I only go to 2 races a year.  Not because they're aren't more to go to, I'm just too lazy to ride in a truck for 6+ hours just to race 45 minutes.  I guess if I really did like it as much as I say I do I'd put up with the travel right?.  But the XC season trips are still fresh in my memory, plus the races in Georgia don't have a 55+ class.  I think that's enough excuses?

Anyhoo, I've been practicing with Tallahassee's finest CX racers for a couple of evenings over the past two weeks.  They've got two tracks laid out in a pasture type setting, we do 3 sets of 10 minute efforts with 5 minutes of rest between.  Except for last night when we did a 30 minute tempo ride.  I guess it reminds me of moto, multiple laps over the same track, kinda like riding what we used to call grass track.  Fun.

Tallycross

They tell me CX is the next big thing in cycling.  I don't know about that but I can see the attraction.  The race in Tallahassee (Tallycross) is December 8+9 and as of today it will be held at the intersection of I-10 and 90 on the east side of town.  Oh, and there will be a 55+ class.  I plan to dominate it. 

 

If you race a bicycle, or have ever thought about racing one, you should be there.  If you drink beer, or ever think about drinking beer, you should be there also.  Spectating is almost as much fun as racing.

http://www.tallycross.com/

Fall

 

It goes without saying that this is a great time of year.  Summer finally losses it's dripping, wet, humid grip.  Last night, as I took a cool down lap around Lake Overstreet, the sun was setting, and the woods had that golden glow.  I should have stopped to take a picture.  They say they are worth 1000 words, especially my words.  Why is it the days get short as soon as the weather gets nice?  I dread starting to run lights.

Higher Ground has been doing an early ride at 4:30 on Thursdays.  When I can slip away I have enjoyed going.  The best part is that Todd cracks the keg open when we get back.  Free beer always tastes better.

Signs

Like most things in life it creeps up on you.  Age.  In case you haven't figured it out yet you're going to get old (maybe).  Unless you take option 2, which isn't really that much of an option to begin with. 

Anyhoo, I'd like to talk about some of the signs of aging, so one morning when you look in the mirror and see a reflection that resembles your grand parent, you don't get surprised.

These signs seem to occur at certain "moments" in life.  Like when you notice every body in a crowded room seems to be speaking gibberish.  Or you notice hair in places you didn't have it before.  The first time they offer you a senior discount at a fast food joint is a really fun experience.

I had one of those special "moments" last weekend.  Allow me to share it with you. 

The Moment

I was deep into a solid day of yard work when I got into The Kid's truck to move it from out in front of the house to the driveway so I could blow the leaves off the turnout.  He was upstairs supposedly doing homework so I didn't bother asking him to  move it. 

Before I continue, let me lay a little history on ya.  He (The Kid) had backed into a phone pole a couple of months ago.  In my best fatherly fashion I had jumped up and down all the while exclaiming how careless it was to dent a vehicle.  "I never dented my truck when I was your age" I bragged.  I succeeded in making him feel suitably careless.  Mission complete.

So, when I got into his truck to move it I wasn't even thinking about dents, or phone poles, or mail boxes.  I turned the key and was immediately assaulted by Led Zeppelin (Black Dog) playing at FULL volume.  I put the truck into reverse while I fumbled with the dial on the radio trying to turn it down.  Not having my glasses on I couldn't read all the flashing little lights, nor could I detect any change in the volume.  I just kept punching buttons and turning the dial, all to no avail.  I thought I had my foot firmly on the brake but unbeknownst to me, I was slowly rolling backwards.

The poor mail box never stood a chance.  We had just installed a new one this year.  Fortunately I only dealt it a glancing blow.  I looked up as soon as I felt my backward progress stop.  I sheepishly pulled the truck back into the driveway and got out to inspect the damage, looking around to make sure my stupidity hadn't been witnessed.

The mail box was bent but not broken and was still usable.  The truck had white scratches on the bumper which I tried to buff before I told anybody.  Realizing I wasn't going to get away with not telling anyone I went up stairs and got The Kid.  Like a good father I tried to make it all seem like it was somehow his fault but he wasn't having any of that.  He actually seemed amused that I had done something that dumb (I rarely do dumb things).  So with a smirk on his face he gave me one of "those" looks.  If you have older kids you've seen it.  It's a mixture of amusement, sympathy, and a touch of sadness.  I'm sure I'll get to see it again.  It's just one of those signs.

Imagine That

It's difficult to get back into riding my local trails after a weekend of exploring new ones.  I am eager to go camping and riding again, especially now that it has cooled off a little.  So when the alarm went off on Saturday morning I was less than enthused about doing the Sausage Ride.  I always underestimate this event, never hydrate enough, eat poorly the night before.  In other words just treat it like a normal group ride  Which it never turns out to be.

The clay roads were in great shape, we had a small group, and I was happy.  At least for the first 2.5 hours.  Then right about the 3 hour mark I started to sense a little hate creep in. I started to hate the way the potholes in the roads would jar my wrists.  I hated the never ending rollers that seemed to go up twice as long as they went down.  I hated the way Big Jim would whistle while I struggled to breath.  I hated the way the Boston Ga. water tasted in my bottles and the fact that I could never seem to drink enough.  By the time 3.5 hours rolled around I was watching my odometer like a hawk, willing it to roll over faster.  Then, after Big Jim effortlessly rolled away from me, I got to ride back to Bradleys' by myself.  Finishing in a little over 4 hours.

 

 

El Jalisco's

In the end, while drinking frosty cold beers and waiting for our steaming plates of Mexican food, it all seemed worth it.  The beer tasted better than it normally does (if that's possible) and the food, which is usually nothing great, seemed like a feast.  I spent the rest of the day in a rather pleasant haze.

 

Maybe I'll prepare better for that ride next month, then again, maybe not.

 

Round Here

I took the single speed out the other day.  Wearing shorts, a tee shirt, and sneakers, I just roamed around Beautiful Downtown Havana.  Unlike the other two cyclists who normally frequent our little berg, I wasn't carrying a bag of aluminum cans, nor was I yelling obscenities at the passing cars while dressed in short shorts and a blue blazer.  It doesn't take long to cover most of the town.  I'm always surprised at what I've missed.

 

 

These used to be all over the county.

 

 

I have no idea what this is

 

This was under a shed which had collapsed and been covered with vines.

 

CX

I started Cyclocross practice this week.  I like the change of format plus it provides a great workout.  I dread riding my mountain bike with lights and will avoid it like the plague.  I may race the Macon event, defiantly Tallycross, then Gainesville.  That should take me right up to Christmas, then 2013's gone.  Man the years go by like months nowadays. 

 

Bye Chuck

Chuck Wicker died this week.  He was 85 and a moto riding fool most of his life.  My last view of him was as he was walking across the road to get on his street bike after watching the Supermoto in Tallahassee this past summer. 

 

He was racing enduros in the Super Senior Class when I first started back in the 80's.  He was always fast and I don't think I ever beat him straight up.  At an age when most people are content to be able to just walk around the block Chuck was still doing doubles (double jumps) at his practice track.  He was my idol for staying active, he just never gave up.

 

He always had a big smile and started talking to you like he'd just seen you yesterday, even if he hadn't seen you in years.  He would lay out the same section for our annual TTR Enduro, we used to call it Chuck's section even after we stopped having the event. 

 

He was truly one of a kind.  Godspeed Chuck.

 

 





Sweet Home Alabama

Ah camping, nothing like hearing the wind in the trees and the birds chirping as you wake up.  Of course I could also hear Big Jim snoring in the next tent.  Not to mention the group of Boy Scouts across the road who wouldn't stop playing around the bathroom all night.  It would have been nice to see the stars, except you couldn't, not with the sodium light blazing not 50 feet away.  Maybe it was just this particular campground.  I don't have much experience with them.  It was a lot like a neighborhood with small lots, no fences, poor walls, and shared toilets.  Still, it was pretty, and I enjoyed it.  Well maybe everything except the bathroom. 

We camped at Oak Mountain State Park outside Pelham Alabama.  Big Jim, Dirt Hippie (DH) and I.  But before we left beautiful Downtown Havana, we felt we needed to construct some sort of contract with DH.  He's not a bad guy but he is prone to peculiar behavior. 

Sooo we (Jim and I) drew up a document which we titled "Contract for Acceptable Behavior".  I'll go over a few of the highlights:

1.      I will not complain about the way the Grumpy Old Man drives.

2.      I will not complain about the places we stop to eat or get supplies.

3.      I will not complain about the campsite (as I have made all the arrangements).

4.      I will not try to force my bizarre diet on others.

5.      I will not make comments regarding the diet of others.

6.      I will drink beer.

7.      I will not complain about trail conditions or the type of trail we ride.

8.      I will not keep remarking about my vast camping experiences.

9.      I will not holler “ohhh, here kitty kitty kitty” whenever I see a cat.

10.  I will refrain from calling the Grumpy Old Man “Dad” when others are within earshot.

11.  I will refrain from making fun of the people in Alabama. 

12.  Disregard the above.  They will get what they deserve.

13.  I agree not to take unflattering pictures of my traveling companions and subsequently post them on a social media site.

14.  Whenever Big Jim or the Grumpy Old Man raise their hand I will immediately stop speaking as it means I have started to become obnoxious.

He violated half of them before we got out of Florida. 

      Anyhoo, we had a great trip in my opinion.  We rode (I walked) some very rocky single track at Oak Mountain, rode an amazing trail system at Cold Water Mountain, then rode the fast flowing stuff at Oak.  We ate like pigs, at least Jim and I did, drank a few beers, and rode our bikes.  I crawled into my tent tired and happy at night.  I'm ready to do it again.

 

       Just a comment on the video at the top.  It's from the new trail at Cold Water Mountain, and it's the best downhill I've ever ridden.  The raw footage was 8 minutes long so I just included the first half.  Yea, I know I'm slow so you don't have to tell me.  And yes, Big Jim and DH dropped me.  That's not unusual.  As for the music, well YouTube has limited choices, so just turn the volume down if you don't like it.  I left the ending where Big Jim is just sitting there in so it would match the music.  Notice how he flexes and poses when he knows the camera is on. 

       I hope to do another trip before it gets too cold.  Thinking about FATS sometime in October.  We'll see.