Groucho Blogger jonvick: Be a Kid

I might be a five year old. The calendar suggests otherwise. I think the calendar might be confused.

The other day I was at Trader Joe’s, stocking up on some essentials as I was returning from three weeks on the road and knew I had no food in the house. What’s on my list of essentials, you might ask? Animal crackers. Other things, too, but definitely animal crackers. In an attempt to make conversation, the cashier said to me at one point, “I see by the animal crackers you have kids, how old?” “Kids? Nope. I love animal crackers. I might actually be a five year old.”

Don’t even get me started on macaroni and cheese. The best thing about being my age and still eating macaroni and cheese is that you’ve definitely figured out the best way to make macaroni and cheese. I’ll give you a hint, skip the milk and butter and replace them with cottage cheese. It will blow your mind.

Last week I was hanging out at Birchwood Café with the Nice Ride MN folks at their Nice Ride In Your Neighborhood event. We were chatting, talking bikes and events. We got to talking about how all of the most popular events these days revolve around just being kids again. Tough Mudder? Sounds like playing in the mud to me. Obstacle races? Big kid jungle gyms. Urban Assault Ride? WE RACE AROUND ON BIG WHEELS.

Kevin on Big Wheel

Photo courtesy of Urban Assault Ride

I think there’s some logic to it. There is an appeal to the idea of being a kid again, when life wasn’t so hard and all you had to do was play. So now as adults we create these events and flock to these events that remind us of being kids. There was a lot about being a kid that was really fun.

So be a kid. Jump in puddles. Run around. Play in the dirt. Do stupid stuff. Fall down. Get back up. Play in the rain. It’s good for you. It will make you smile.

Speaking of being a kid. Check out this portable swing. I want one more than you can possibly understand.

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Groucho Blogger Scott: Brutal.

Friday night I was having some drinks celebrating a birthday with some friends and fellow cyclists. As is usual, talk turned from bikes to travel to food (it’s a well-worn pattern). A couple of us were reminiscing on all of the crappy food we used to eat. Chef Boyardee ravioli. Pizza rolls. Frozen pizza. Dinty Moore beef stew. Ramen – 5 at a time. Now, I’m not health food nut – I’ve never turned down a slice of pepperoni pizza or some chocolate ice cream – but I’ve definitely upped my eating game a lot on the last few years. Why?

Well, first of all, I spend a good amount of time on the bike. I want to eat good food to fuel good riding. But more than that. Having spent a lot of time on the bike, I’ve lost a lot of weight – 40 lbs since 2004. I’ve kept it off by, yes, exercising, but also eating better. My wife and I joined a CSA to push us to eat more veggies – it’s worked tremendously well. It’s a very virtuous cycle. Eating better allows you to ride better, which encourages more riding, which brings on weight reductions, which enables riding better… rinse and repeat.

Cyclists tend to obsess about weight. We will pay a lot of money for a 15 gram reduction in our front derailleurs. Reducing 150 grams on a frame? That’s an easy grand. It’s also, to be honest, a little superfluous. You can shave, literally, 150 grams by shaving your legs or head (OK, I don’t know that for sure, but I’m sure that’s probably about right). But the thought of instantly riding easier, especially uphills, is so tantalizing that we drop lots of cash on it.

But this post isn’t about weight, and weight loss and riding hills and spending way too much money on what is often an imperceptible benefit. No, this post is a reminder about that other vicious beast of nature. While the climbs get all of the attention and glory of our financial expenditures, it is the wind that is the worst. Saturday I set out with a group of 7. After a couple of departures we were down to 4, fighting off 20+ mph headwinds, 30 mph cross wind gusts and, of course, that tailwind. That glorious, sailing, tailwind (which of course slowed and started to shift to a cross/headwind at the end of the ride; WTF?). For while one can lose weight and be a faster climber, no one, however, can escape the capriciousness of the wind. Larger riders have more mass and therefore are less aerodynamic. Skinnier riders, however, are less able to stand up to the wind. To a certain extent even the tailwind can go against you – when you have that push you, well, push the tempo. If you don’t have the raw power, you’re done. Sure, you can draft and get a slightly more aerodynamic wheelset or frame, but it doesn’t matter. Those improvements are, at best, incremental. I’m pretty sure Saturday’s wind was one of the top 5 hardest rides I’ve ever done. At one point I looked at my HRM and saw 185 – to go 14 mph. Downhill. Pedaling.

I would have killed for a climb at that point.

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Groucho Blogger Patrick: The Noltrick Loop

“When I see the word ‘pilates,’ I think of Pontius Pilate.”

Our night began in the dark, sweat-smelly bowels of Life Time Fitness, at a pilates class for which Nola and I had signed up. Bare-footed, workout clothes-clad, we laid on the “carriage” of a pilates machine, on the precipice of its “well,” performing basic pilates exercises—stretches, core work, push-ups—as our instructor chanted hypnotically. “Bahhhhccck, and forth. Innnnnnn, and out. Breathe in, breathe ouuuuttt. Scoop your belly. Pull in your abs. Really feel your butt against the machine.”

We slid to and fro on the carriage’s shiny board in ways I can’t well recollect now, but by the end of class, my pale, freckly, somewhat muscled body felt sufficiently stretched if not especially worked. It was beginner’s level, after all, and free—just an introduction. The hard stuff would come in future classes, for-pay ones. This class was an enticement, a good one, because it eased the areas of my neck and back that, when desk-job tight, send migraines into my brain. I might sign up for the full pilates course.

After pilates, Nola and I walked home through downtown’s early evening crowds, around daisy-duked, cowboy-booted and -hatted gals who’d rolled in to see country music star Eric Church, a burly, mustachioed unknown to us. A group of honky-tonk girls walked past, and Nola said, “That was like walking into a wall of cheap hair product.” We cleared the crowds by crossing Washington, then ascended to our new River Station apartment. Nola made us a scrumptious veggie dinner soaked in green curry, and I shoveled it into my gaping maw. All preparation for our nighttime bike ride.

More preparations:

  • I emptied my bike bag so it could fit the Xbox I’d pick up at pal Logan’s later
  • I found Nola’s missing headlight
  • I exchanged my raw denim for bright blue shorts, my work shirt for a navy blue tank
  • I taped a headlight to my Bern helmet, providing a handy head-mounted light throughout the ride, transforming myself into a hipster miner
  • I whined a lot, because I wanted to stay home and watch a movie on my PS3. Nola couldn’t be persuaded to stay inside, though, thank the lawd.

We set off on 2nd Street near 9 p.m., as the evening sun set upon Minnie. Nola and I have defined ourselves as “destination bikers,” rather than “recreational bikers.” I, especially, require a destination, so we set one: Minnehaha Falls, the beautiful waterfall in South Minneapolis that freezes picturesquely in the winter, and whose yearly thaw is a joy to see. We planned to ride River Road into South Minneapolis, then hit up 46th Street and end at the falls, staring at the falling water romantically while kissing—or something. River Road, though, was a buggy nightmare.

The nearer the path to the river, the denser the bugs ’round us. Swarms of ‘em, thick specky clouds. Tinies that slam into your body as you descend into West River’s valley. I rode while facing the ground so the annoying pixies would collide with my helmet, but River Road curves often, and is not well-lighted, and has many trees and poles on its side, so I had to look up to make sure I wasn’t about to hit something. Who knows how many bugs I swallowed, at least 10 grams’ worth of protein. I swiped to wipe them off, then pulled to the side of River. “This is ridiculous,” I said to Nola. “I can’t see! Let’s take Marshall into St. Paul and then Fairview to Ford Parkway. We can ride that all the way to the falls!”

We rode so. Up darkened Summit, past a truck driver who yelled “Get on the sidewalk!” and prompted not anger but contemptuous mirth; alongside a helmetless hipster who struggled to pass us though we expended little (“I could’ve smoked that motherfucker,” I told Nola later. “I know, baby. I know,” she said.); around and between beautiful big trees and old Victorian manses I once saw every day bicycling home. Fairview was the best: long, silent and dark, with few cars and a well-kept bike lane. We rode to the river on a residential street parallel with Ford Parkway, then pedaled right past Minnehaha Falls. The endorphins were up, the high of the bike ride. We hit Minnehaha Parkway without hesitating.

From there, Lakes Harriet and Calhoun. Past the Elf Tree, tied-up sailboats with their peaceful summer clang in the wind, crabby middle-aged women walkers, and bros spouting arrogantly about girls: “So she comes up to me, and she’s average-looking,” Nola overheard one say. “All these yuppie kids use their smartphones at trivia,” I heard another say. Calhoun was near-empty, and we raced around it without any company but each other. Downtown Minneapolis sang brightly in the distance. We met the Greenway across Lake, then rode Bryant to Logan’s place. I slid my new Xbox 360 into my duathlon Chrome, gave him a sweaty, bare-armed hug, then hit the road for more.

On Hennepin, we ran into the post-concert crowds, and with their cowboy hats on, they cat-called us as they clogged the sidewalks and blocked our bike lane. Nola does have a nice butt, and I can’t help how sexy I look in my tank top. Once again, we found a way around them. At home, just past 11 p.m., I ravaged the three cans of cold La Croix I’d dreamt of since cupping bathroom-faucet water to my lips at Lake Harriet. Then, I mapped our route on Google (a clumsy, frustrating process, because Google’s road-follower line doesn’t recognize bike paths) and stayed up past 1 a.m., charged on adrenaline. 26 miles.

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Groucho Blogger Erika: Thirsty Thursday X2

Just worked the longest shift of my life to date!! (<- exclamation marks of delirium.) Ready to hibernate… don’t think I’m even going to change out of these scrubs… but I couldn’t forget my Thursday Groucho Friends, so this one’s for you. I thought a fitting add-on to last week’s post, though there are no science articles involved. :)

Alternate title(s):

  • Always come prepared
  • Who actually pasteurizes?!
  • “The EPO was in my MILK!! I swear!”

Bottoms up!

-E

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    Groucho Blogger Mike M: Almanzo Prep – Spare Tubular Dilemma

    It’s overflowing! Might I need a bigger backpack? How is all this stuff going to be crammed in there? I can’t have excess baggage, but I do need excess food and water, or I at least need my sustenance to be right at the tipping point (i.e., one water bottle and one Clif bar more than I need), just in case.

    I’m really not sure what I’ll do with that spare tubular tire yet. Put it in the pack?Get a leather toe strap and pack it under the saddle?

    Seems to work OK for a road tire, but a cyclocross tire doesn’t fold up quite that nicely. Also, being that this is a gravel road race for 160 miles, I’m guessing all that dirt (and who knows what else) will not have a good affect on the more exposed sidewalls and base tape (underbelly of the tire).

    Just kidding! It’s all crammed inside the Osprey pack just fine.

    I still might need to compress that spare tubular a bit more. That thing is taking up almost the entire pack, and I’m starting to worry myself with how much weight I’ll have on my back.

    The forecast is 80 degrees. F! Add 10 to 20 mph sustained winds. Perfect. That could be brutal for 10+ hours on the bike.

    Now, I’ll have to see if the water reservoir can be fully filled. That’s where all the weight is going to come from. That, in addition to a fully packed storage pocket. Hmm…not so sure.

    I might need to look into this toe strap thing after all. I could always wrap the tire in plastic, right? Right. That would make the pack situation a heck of a lot less burdensome.

    Any suggestions?

    There’s some good news at least. The bike itself is ready to go, and that’s really all I need.

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    Groucho Blogger jonvick: Too Much Great Stuff to do in Summer!

    It’s one of those things that I had nearly forgotten about in my seven years of traveling. When you are on the road full time, you don’t plan for events. You don’t do charity rides. You don’t get to go to farmers’ markets. You don’t get to race the Thursday Night Races at Buck Hill. The idea of planning around a race or signing up for the AIDS Walk or buying concert tickets goes out the window.

    I’ve done some races over the years. I’ve gone to some great concerts, and I’ve done some great charity rides. All of these have been things I stumbled into though. What I haven’t done is look at a calendar and plan events to fill my summer weekends. This spring I have stared endlessly at calendars, mostly submitting the Urban Assault Ride and the Diva Dash to calendars, rather than looking for events to sign up for.

    There is a LOT of great stuff on these calendars! While that is true in every city that I work in, it seems particularly true in Minneapolis, even ignoring the running event mentioned above. The concentration of bicycle events in Minneapolis is unbelievable, though this great news might have something to do with that.

    Take the weekend of the Urban Assault Ride in Minneapolis, for example. Friday night there’s the New Belgium Beer Bike Extravaganza at Midtown Greenway Coalition HQ and Bike-In Movies at the Saint Paul Public Library. Saturday there’s the Midtown Greenway Coalition’s Greenway Glow and Northern Spark. Sunday has the Urban Assault Ride and Open Streets (shameless plug – Open Streets goes until 4:00pm so there’s time to head over there AFTER you do the Urban Assault Ride!). So many great things to do, and those are just the bike centered events!

    That’s just one weekend in a summer full of great stuff to do. It repeats weekend after weekend in Minneapolis. The same thing exists in Austin. It exists in Chicago and Denver and Charlotte. If you’re bored this summer, it’s your own fault. If you say you don’t have someone to ride with or run with, you’re not looking. It’s finally summer. Get out there and enjoy it!

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