226: On Gentlemen.

What does it mean to be a Gentleman?

This is something that was discussed by my father and I quite often. Not sure if he ever came right out and said that "This is what it means to be a Gentleman," or if he has ever actually said the word "Gentleman" before in his life. But, at the same time, you know what I mean right?

Things he actually said:
-Treat your mother like the head of the household/center of authority that she is and we won't have any problems.
-Always be nice to people. Or at least try really hard to be.
-Being in love with yourself too much is not very attractive (I think this has something to do with self-awareness)
-Play fair, but play often.
-It is better to be lucky than good. And that was usually followed up by a sly smile that said "but it is possible to make your own luck, if you know what you're doing."


My Dad, or Dan, if you prefer, is the man that taught me about sportsmanship and how to generally "live well" but he also taught, or tried to teach me about woodworking, house fixing, and photography (my first Photoshop teacher). How to properly mow the grass and trim the yard to be pleasing to the eye? Yes, that too, along with optimal speaker placement with a new hi-fi stereo system. Breakfast yogurt smoothies or perfect pancakes? How to make food while camping (foil dinners anyone?) Pay attention here, this is life-lesson type stuff. Of course Dan also taught me about girls, but if we start to delve into that specific a subject we could be here for slightly longer than you or I have time for. So, I like to think that he was doing all of this with the "How to be a Gentleman" theme lightly tapping around in the back of his head. He was also the one who taught me a good deal about the mystery of women, but that is a much longer story (although still applicable.)


But, if I had to sum up what my father has taught me about being a Gentleman it would be this sentence. And it should be noted that I just made it up now. Being a Gentleman is about making the very best of each and every situation. I will try to boil it down a little bit in the coming weeks to see if something better, more precise, more tweetable comes of it. I'll let you know.

How is any of this applicable you are wondering? Well, on a not too recent, but not too distant (ok, it was two weeks ago) weekend was this years East Coast version of the Rapha Gentleman's Race. So, as you can see, Gentle-men were on the brain.


Of course the whole ordeal went off without a hitch. There were people chipping in left and right to help out on the course, and maybe get a heckle or two under their belts on the way? Not sure, I was only one man in one vehicle (murdered out at that) but I am almost certain that when I bumrushed the first checkpoint I heard some laughter and I'm almost certain I saw some of the drinking that makes the laughter all the more loud and amazing.

It was not possible for me to be at every point on the course at all times. But when I rushed back to the Start/Finish after spending a good four or five or six hours chasing that race around I was ready to be done with this. The day was already long, and standing there at the finish and waiting for friends and compatriots from two different teams put me in what I like to call a 'sour mood.'

However, if that feeling was not dispelled by a man playing bagpipes for the winning teams' entrance to the finishing area, then it was certainly washed away by seeing the next four, five, six teams hugging each other at the finish. I admit it was not always a hug, sometimes it was a stern handshake, or a high five that would leave a mark. But in each form of expression it was not so much the act, but the symbol behind it that meant something. And I think that this praise could be important. That Gentlemen/Women should praise the others in whose company they keep. For your friends and compatriots to know not only how well you are working together but also that you enjoy their company is an important piece of the puzzle. I mean we are in this together right?

But the thing that I am curious about is this; my ways and thoughts only have to do with my own upbringing. With my crazy, athletic, and completely hilarious father at the helm anything could happen, but he was only helming the ship that my Sister, Mother and I happened to be traveling on. Ok, he was a teacher so there is a chance that he did some extra white water rafting with a few others (readers?) But, I am thinking that his cannot and is not the only way to live this lifestyle...

So, my question is this.

What does it mean to be a Gentleman, or a Gentlewoman?

225: More Rally

We should talk about anything but bike racing at this moment. That is my feeling anyway. We have been sitting in the back of a vehicle talking about Flandis/L'armstrong all day. And then we took a break for 10 minutes to buy the biggest sandwiches I have ever seen, and then went back to talking about the situation. The one thing that I will say, that was the most honest thing I have seen all day came from Mr. Joe Staples when he said (and I am paraphrasing here) that he was simply going to take bicycle racing for face value from now on — "performance art." And really when you get down to brass tacks (and think about football, basketball, soccer, and baseball) that is really what we are doing anyway, just watching some pretty intense performance art. Ok, that is it, I am done. For now.


Moving on. If you get the chance to see some Rally Racing this summer you should do that. This past weekend Joe and I went out to PIR to watch the opening night of the Oregon Trail Race that happens in Oregon every year. Was particularly interested because Adam Craig and Carl Decker were taking a minute out of their World Cup Mountain Biking careers to put the pedal to the metal (so to speak.)

Cindy Lewellen was the one that introduced Joe and I to these two. Well, Adam and I met at Nationals last year, but that is another story. Any tension that might have been in the air was quickly dispersed by the bubbly personality that is their Pit Crew and takes the shape of the ever vivacious Tina Brubaker (surprise!). Who knew that not only is Tina a bike racer extraordinaire, but that she also runs a pretty tight ship when it comes to results handling, making sure that they are at their car when the race is about to start, and just generally keeping people amped? I will let you in on a little secret, it involves drinking lots of NOS energy drink, and I implore you - stay well away from that stuff. It is the devil's juice.


Now, my only experience with these races has been in a smattering of Youtube videos curated by one Kyle. Apparently he has more experience in the ways of these things than myself, so I jumped at the chance to not only check out this other world, but to see how two Mountain Bikers handle themselves in this realm. And really, they do handle themselves quite well, because despite not having the best equipment in the game. Note the year of their car in the screengrab below, now compare it to the others on the page. Yet, these two still manage to hold their own when it comes to these other super charged NOS-mobiles(I think that they have a dual purpose for this liquid - to burn holes in stomachs and fuel cars). And my guess is that is has something to do with how well they not only work together, but their drive to compete, no pun intended.


It is hard to discern really how they got into this game. Carl because of his father, who taught most of the State Troopers in Oregon how to defensively handle their cars when on the chase. Adam because, well, the best answer I could get was that he was not too tall and did not get car sick when shouting out directions to Carl in a 120 mph car racing through the desert. Which seems like a good enough reason for me. And not to mention that he spent a good amount of time perusing what looked to be literally hundreds of pages of notes on turns.

The scene itself is one that is worth noting I would think. It is something like a mix of Belgian Cyclocross and American Motocross (also something that I have no experience with - apparently there is something called Vintage Motocross as well) the smell of what I imagined to be fuel mixed with burning tires and brake fluid permeated everything and lingered in the nostrils long after we left and I was left sitting in front of the computer looking at photos and hearing the racing somewhere deep in my ears.

SIDE NOTE:

The funniest scenario of the night was when Joe grabbed the poster of Ken Block and held it up so that I could shoot it with the actual car in the background. A guy saw this happen and needed one for himself. The funny thing was that he made his child work his camera phone so that he (the adult in the situation) could get a photo of himself. He was very pleased. Not sure if the son was or not? But I figured the right thing to do was to take a photo.

224: Rally

223: In and out of Love.

There was an opening in the field at the races tonight. One of those that happens really quickly. Someone brakes, or touches someone's handlebars and that jittery dance begins rather quickly. I found myself thinking about jumping into that hole, something that I had just done a bit earlier in the night. But I paused for a second and this thought filled my head. That hole just opened up because someone in there lost his nerve.

The moment passed almost as quickly as it had come. But for some reason it came back when I sat down to band this out. I guess that means it is worth noting, or at the very least, getting out.


This does not always happen and it frustrates me. I spend countless hours on the bike and there is not much to do there except listen to yourself. Talk to yourself and listen to yourself, or at least hope to hell that you are listening. But there are some pretty golden ideas that come out of this and I remember only snippets of them. A fragment of a good idea is somewhere to start, not ideal, but still good.

I have tried all different ways of getting these thoughts out to no avail. The Rite In the Rain ("tired of mushy notes?") books did not work so good because you still have to stop to write anything legible. And the voice recorder did not work either because I sweat like a - well, a - pig in heat? Not really sure what kind of image that conjures for you, but it is fair to say that it is something really sweaty. Like rubber suited high school wrestlers trying to cut weight. Sweaty enough for you?

I sweated so much this weekend past that my eyelids felt foreign. The uppers on them were sticking in a strange but not entirely uncomfortable way. They felt disconnected from everything that was happening. But maybe it had something to do with the 8 mile climb that was causing them to sweat so profusely? Anything is possible on those god forsaken backroads. And just as a little side note. If there is something named "the Wall" on your next ride decide early whether you are going to do that fucker or not. Hopefully you go for it, but do not go lightly into that battle, trust me you will make it. And then you will know why they call it "the Wall."


The Tour of the Unknown Coast has to be one of the harder 100 mile rides that I have done. I do not dare say that this is the toughest ride ever. But, it could be pretty damn close.

Due to a mishap at the start (overshot alarm? dogs on the loose? mouths on the loose?) Cole and I missed the start of the ride and proceeded to "chase" back on from there. Which really amounted to riding with each other and a few hundred other people along the way. But that just meant that there was more time for Cole to spit out tweets (he really can talk 140 characters at a time). And for us to meet some interesting characters along the way. That and fall in and out of love. It was great.

Things I Fell In Love With On the Tour of the Unknown Coast

1. Cycling
2. Riding with the Rapha Continental
3. Sleeping in Tents
4. A College Girl Who Climbs Like an Angel with a Blue Lightning Bolt on her Jersey
5. Redwoods
6. Long Climbs
7. Jaw Harp Music
8. Aaron Erbeck and Tony Pereira's Laughs
9. The Girl in the White T-shirt
10. Ice Cream after long days
11. DJ Quick
12. California Sunshine
13.
14. My Richard Sachs Roadbike

Things I Fell Out of Love With On the Tour of the Unknown Coast

1. Cycling (don't worry it was only on the long climbs)
2. Early Start Times
3. Sleeping on the ground
4. Dave Roth's Snoring
5. Cafeteria Food
6. Pizza in Northern California
7. Hippies

I guess it is probably a good thing that the good outweighs the bad? I really wish that we could do this every weekend. But there is all those lives to rush back to.

222: Riding Weekends are Awesome.

221: By Stick or by Carrot.

It is not often that I get to see the whole of the Embrocation Cycling Journal Team race their bikes. It is not that I do not want to, just the whole Midwest gets in the way sometimes. So, when a freak volcano blows up and ruins everyone's plans for international travel you get to find yourself in some new situations. Coming "home"(there's that word again) is always a fun thing to do, if only because you get to see things that somehow feel incredibly relevant and totally ridiculous at the same time.


Such was the case with the Turtle Pond Race. Which, oddly enough I was able to participate in. I did not get to do this one last year. Or did I? But either way RMM's greeting of "You're the X Factor" upon arrival was enough to remind me that I was home. Or at the very least confuse me and frustrate PVB into slaying the front end of a field unwilling to chase for a few laps. Which made me smile a lot and frustrated others. But PVB always makes me smile.

I had a Di2 Equipped Seven that kept chirping like a little Golden Eagle on the attack. Such a satisfying feeling to hear that chirp and know that it means it is doing something. Not exactly sure what, but something. Shifting probably, but it is too smooth to even decipher that much. Either way, that is my review. Smooth, golden, eagle-like, pass it on. The best part about it really was the ease at which you can shift while standing. Because I do that shit all the time (not really- but in all actuality, it is possible with this stuff.)



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Read Bill Strickland's recent Sitting In. And then tell me that you have not experienced this. I felt jabs of guilt mixed with nostalgia when I read it. I have probably yelled at a few newbies, I try not to, but I am sure that it has happened. Or maybe I just feel guilty for everyone when other people yell at newbies? I know that it is a necessary evil and, honestly, probably the quickest way to set them on the straight and narrow. But at the same time I know that I have been the newbie. And most likely, more than once.

It made me think back to that Tuesday Night World Champs ride that is, or was, put on by the Charles River Wheelmen, or the BRC, or whomever chooses to take ownership of that ride. The first time I showed up (Don't laugh - ok, laugh) it was wearing a Descente reissue 7-Eleven Jersey. Holy shit did I think I was the coolest fucker out there. Did not even matter that I could have tucked that thing in my shorts or that I would not be thinking I was cool as I limped home by myself a mere 20 or 30 minutes later. All that mattered were those first few moments of awesome.

On the way to the ride my riding partner had told me that I needed to get out of the big ring. This early in the season was for spinning and I should be in the little chainring doing just that. I was pretty new to it all at this point, especially the gears part and at this point I remember feeling that there was just so much more to think about with this version of the sport than Single Speed Mountain biking or just riding your bike to work. In any case he knew more than me so I promptly forced the left side of my 8 Speed shifter inward causing the chain to drop to the inner ring.

The only problem at this point, with this scenario, is that I never shifted back into that big ring. Not when we rolled out of the meeting spot. Which was fine as there was a bit of an uphill to begin with. Not even when we made that first left and started the long drag to the next turn. And that was probably ok too. Because at that point I was still keeping up. Sure, I must have looked the part with my legs all aflutter, but it didn't matter too much, because I was about to be dropped as soon as we hit the twisty back roads of Needham. I did not know that I was about to be dropped either. But the strong hand that calmly grabbed a fistful of my jersey and all but shoved me out the back of the group said otherwise.

I was mad at this man for not letting me into his club. Mad enough (or embarrassed) to dejectedly wander home on my own accord and not want to ever come back. Not understanding how an old man with old components and a dirty old tire stuffed under his saddle (a man with no helmet nonetheless!) was allowed to participate in whatever the hell went on past mile 10 out there, while I was, decidedly, not.

I went back eventually. But, at that point I had armed myself with a little bit more knowledge (once we get rolling then use your big ring - here's how to follow someone) and maybe a little "I'll show those guys" attitude too. But, inevitably they smashed me more times than not, and would probably do so again today. Each and every time though I learned something from those experiences. How to hold someone in a group when they dropped their chain. How to stand up on a climb and not eject your bike into the front wheel of the person behind you. And of course how to rotate through a paceline and keep keep it moving.

Maybe it is because I grew up in a household full of teachers? Surrounded by a community of teachers, but I hope, whether it be by stick or carrot that there is still some of this high paced, motion based, enrichment happening out there. My father would say things like "if you aren't learning something from it, then why are you doing it?" Which by cycling standards is the equivalent to "If you aren't moving forward you're getting shot out the back." So, there is always that.