Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

As frequent readers of my infrequent posts will know, I enjoy riding a bike.  I grew to do so as a child, because it gave me a sense of freedom as I roamed my town and the surrounding countryside.  As a Mormon missionary, my companions and I rode my bike around the streets of Los Angeles as our primary, and sometime only, mode of transportation.  When I went to BYU after my mission, I didn't have a car, so I road my bike to class and beyond, even completing my first 100-mile ride.  Today, even though I have a car, and a good bus route, I still ride my bike the 9-mile round-trip commute every day, in addition to frequent recreational riding.  It's good exercise, therapeutic, and just plain fun (most days).

I can't ride alone, of course: to effectively ride a bike requires a bicycle.  I can recall with fondness each of the bikes I've had, from my first one-speed with red tires, to my current road bike, I've learned much on each one.

One of my favorites was my mission bike: a mass produced mountain bike with the "Liahona" brand (a reference from the Book of Mormon).  It was a large mountain-bike frame with Shimano Deore components and a rigid tail and fork.  When riding it as primary transportation, I put almost 100 miles-per-week on that bike, and learned lots of basic maintenance tasks as well.  I eventually replaced a number of parts and after my mission, completed my first 2 or 3 century (100-mile) rides on it, much to the bewilderment of other riders.  All told, I had almost 7000 miles on that bike by the time I upgraded to my current Trek.  While not a great sum for many people, those miles represent the blood, sweat, and tears (as in "torn dress pants") from my mission and undergraduate university life.

Like most good things, though, it's time for me to say goodbye to my Liahona.  It has been sitting neglected in the sun and rain for the past 4 years, and it's time for it to fall victim to the annual spring declutter.  The problem is that with so many good memories on that bike ("the one with grass growing through it," as Hannah says), that I've had serious problems throwing it away.  I've even started to do it several times, but just haven't been able to.  It just seemed like such a waste, because some of the parts are still good.

A few days ago, though, I discovered Austin Yellow Bike, a local nonprofit which runs a community bike shop.  People can come and learn how to repair their bikes, or they can spend time working to earn a newly refurbished bike.  It felt like a perfect fit for my Liahona, so this evening I took it down and donated the bike.  They seemed pretty excited to get it, and let me share the story and memories behind it. One of the volunteers mentioned that it was pretty neat to get a bike with a history, and I feel like it will be a good home for my old bike.

In the end, I'm glad I let go, but it was made much easier knowing that that somebody, somewhere, will be riding my bike (or parts of it) for many years more.

More Data Please

Ever since I've been riding my bike, I've been obsessed with collecting data about those rides. For many years, I've had a cyclometer, usually a Cateye Mity 3, and most recently the wireless version of the same. They are great little devices, and do a wonderful job of tracking horizontal distance.

However, recently, I've been riding a lot of hills, and have been interested in other parameters. How much vertical climbing am I doing? What is my cadence like? How steady is my heart rate? What's the profile of the ride?

To really answer these questions, I needed a new solution, and so after several months of wishing, I finally broke down and used our REI dividend to fund the purchase of a Garmin Edge 500, including the ANT+ heart rate monitor and cadence sensors. While I haven't yet figured out all the functions, it is fun to track all kinds of data and learn more about my riding style and the terrain I ride over. Using Garmin's software makes visualizing the data pretty easy, and as I do longer rides, I'm hoping to use the data to actually improve, rather than just describe the kinds of riding I do.

Below is a ride I did Saturday evening down Loop 360. It actually turned out quite eventful, as I got a flat at mile 11.6, and didn't have any inflator cartridges to pump up my new tire. Through the kindness of strangers, I eventually got it inflated and got going again, but by that time it was dark, and I accidentally turned the GPS off during the biggest hill on the climb. Argh!

Hopefully future rides are just as data rich, but much less exciting.

The real problem with federal spending

I have some fairly strong opinions about the way government ought to be run, but I usually keep them to myself. I don't know why this particular issue is blog-worthy, but it's something I've been pondering ever since the "Road Construction Ahead" signs went up outside my apartment complex last week.

I am a cyclist. I am a cyclist who commutes daily, often in an urban environment. I ride move than 10 miles on uneven potholed roads while competing for space with cars. About ¼ to ⅓ of the roads I ride on have bike lanes in various states of repair. They are a blessing to both the cyclists and automobile drivers.

The construction signs went up last week on the main street in front of our apartment complex. While it will be a bit of an inconvenience, I'm generally grateful for public works projects which improve infrastructure. However, I was curious what the construction was for. Were they widening the road? Resurfacing? Adding a sidewalk to the north side?

After a bit of searching, I discovered a couple of news stories briefly mentioning the purpose of the construction:

Cyclists in Austin will soon have more room on the road.

Thursday the city council approved a plan to create bike-only lanes along Lake Austin Boulevard at Lyons golf course.

Cyclists say the lanes will tie together pre-existing lanes in West Austin. They say they should also make the road safer for cars and bikes alike.

"Cool!" I think. This is a road I ride multiple times per day, and they are going to improve the bike lanes. What could be bad about that?

Then I found this little nugget at the end:

The lanes come at a cost of more than $800,000. Federal tax funds will pay for them.

And that's where I have a problem. Neglecting the fact that almost a million dollars will be spent on this project, it's the source of the funding that I really take issue with. Why in the world is the federal government paying for the 1¼ miles of bike lane outside my apartment? How in the world is this remotely related to anybody beyond my immediate locale, and why should they be funding this? If anything, the funding should be coming from city coffers, since it's the citizens of Austin who will benefit, and none of the other 300 million members of our democratic republic.

But you know what? The citizens of Austin probably are paying for this anyway! The city can't raise the money it needs to because of the onerous tax burden placed on its residents by Washington, so they have to get those same dollars by chasing grant money coming from Congress. Instead of keeping the money locally, where is it taxed and spent, it gets to go on a 3,000-mile trip to Washington and back, with dozens of people and organizations taking their cut along the way.

The end result is little accountability, and lots of overhead, meaning that a $800,000 project is probably paid for by taxing 2 or 3 times that.

And that, my friends, is the real problem with federal spending: the fact that the vast majority of it exists at all. It should be local or state spending, but not federal. Unfortunately, the little sentence known as the Tenth Amendment has long ago lost any meaning for the vast majority of American leaders.

(You may now go back to your regularly-scheduled programming. I promise not to wax political for at least a few more months. :) )

My First Brevet

My alarm is going off.  Again.  It’s 5:48 on a Saturday morning in December, a time rarely seen save on Christmas, and I’m lying in bed trying to decide if I really want to get up and ride my bike 200km (125 miles) over the next several hours, in uncertain weather, with a group of complete strangers. In the corner against my going are: a chest cold; torn cartilage in my knee; being gone from my family; lack of recent riding; and the comfort of a warm bed. The primary motivator: ego; and a knowledge that I’ve been looking forward to this for a while.

Two years ago, I ran across the cycling subculture known as randonneuring. Essentially ultra-long distance cycling, with an emphasis on self-sufficiency and camaraderie, the sport seemed to match my own riding style perfectly. Rather than list event results in finishing order, they are given alphabetically: there is no competition between riders, but rather the clock. The shortest event (also known a brevet) is 200km with a 13.5 hour time limit, and they just get longer from there, eventually topping out at 1200km or longer.

I hadn’t done a brevet before, but after my great experience on October’s century, I felt I was ready. The local club, Hill Country Randonneurs, was sponsoring a 200km brevet in December, which seemed like a great time to try my hand at the sport. I spent the several days leading up to the brevet on a business trip away from my bike, but still visualizing a successful ride. I read everything I could online, and even solicited feedback from email lists. I was going to do this brevet.

After hitting the snooze button yet again, I decide not to go, get back in bed, and then proceed to castigate myself for being such a wimp. A few minutes' dozing later, I make a rather rash decision, jump out of bed, get dressed and throw down some breakfast before kissing my wife goodbye for what I hope isn’t the last time. As I drive through the darkness to the organizer’s house, our starting point, I envision riding up the road at the end of my ride.

After some paperwork, and a few preride pleasantries, the organizer tells us "my son has a trombone concert at 3, so I’ll be riding a fast pace." He’s good on his word, and after mile 5, I don’t see him again. Instead, I ride with the rest of the group, maybe a dozen souls who know I’m the new guy, but are happy to have me along. They even share words of wisdom as we ride, and we pass the time by getting to know each other.

The weather is fairly cooperative throughout the ride, with temperatures staying steady in the 60s. We have some fog in the morning, but that eventually brakes. The only drawback is the wind. Oh, the wind. The forecast for the day indicated a south wind, with a front moving through late in the day. I interpreted "late in the day" to mean "after the ride was over," but the weather didn’t get that memo. Instead, we find ourselves riding into the wind most of the day, but the most ferocious wind a 15-25mph beast over the last 50 miles. I even manage to take a few turns pulling, for which I’m glad.

The route wanders through South Austin before heading east through tiny Texas towns. The first stop (or "control" in randoneurring parlance) is the Lytton Springs General Store, where I down a chocolate milk and a Clif bar just in time to get back on and continue riding. The rest of day is like this, small towns, Clif bars and lots of chocolate milk and sports drink. The most excitement comes when the rider I’m following hits a orange traffic barrel as we ride through a construction zone. The barrel dances toward me, and I barely escape, while the other rider was lucky not the hit the pavement. Dogs I can handle, but moving barrels are uncharted territory.

The best part of the day, of course, is meeting new people, including a rider all the way down from Seattle. I am impressed by their stamina, and also the fact that I’m one of the youngest in the group, giving me hope for continued randonneuring enjoyment for years to come.

It’s been a long day, and I come to the last and biggest climb, a short but steep pitch a mile 119. I’d been warned about this climb, and had attempted to leave some gas in the tank, but the wind has really taken a toll by this point. I find my lowest gear, and just grind up the hill, waiting at the top for a few folks behind. The last few miles are a familiar jaunt toward the setting sun down the same road I’d driven in the dark hours earlier. I finish with a time of 9 hours, 36 minutes, which isn’t bad for a rookie.

As the euphoria wears off, things start to hurt. My knee, which has been bothering my for a long time, is aching, in spite of a generous helping of Vitamin I (ibuprofen). My legs don't ache so much, but I feel like they will the next day. My upper back muscles ache, and both knees feel like they have IT band soreness. I'm coughing and trying to convince my chest cold to stay in remission. Above all, I’m questioning my sanity in attempting such an event, but less than 24 hours later, I’m already planning my next brevet.

Outlaw Trail 100

"Nuts!"

This is what I usually hear when I tell other people about my plan to ride 100 miles on a bicycle in one day.  While no stranger to centuries (as they are commonly called), it had been a couple of years since I last did one.  This summer, though, I've been riding my bike to school, as well as doing more extended rides around the Austin area, and a century seemed like a good goal to shoot for.  The Outlaw Trail 100, hosted by the near by city of Round Rock, was time perfectly to fit my schedule.

Since getting home from my most recent trip, I've been making final preparations.  All this week, as I've tapered for the event, I've been looking forward to it.  Add to that the recent improvements in the weather, and today was looking like a winner.  So much so, that I set a goal for a personal best of less than 6 hours, 30 minutes, studying the course map and making some plans to help accomplish that goal.

And a winner it was.  After a slightly chilling start at 8 am sharp, the weather warmed up nicely, but was never too hot.  During the first part of the ride, I made great time, at one point averaging over 20 miles-per-hour.  I later discovered the reason for my great performance when we made the turn to head south and encountered a stiff headwind, which was to be my companion for the rest of the day.

The ride wasn't without it's bits of excitement.  In addition to the wind, there was a half-mile of dirt road, as well as a some cobblestones for authenticity.  Some of the roads were a bit under-maintained, which was a bit jarring at times, but the scenery was nice, with fields of ready-to-harvest cotton alternating with pastures and cows.  At one point, I was caught in a dirt devil, as it made its way across a cotton field and on to the route.

One of several rest stops

By the time I hit the rest stop at 70 miles, I knew I could finish, but that things like nutrition, fluids and pacing would be an important factor.  I also mentally divided the remainder of the ride into 3 ten-miles rides, which corresponded nicely with the remaining rest stops.  Finally, after round the last bend in the course, I saw Heather, Hannah, and Jonathan, waiting to cheer me on to completion.  It was a great feeling.

In the end, I accomplished my goal, with an overall time of 6 hours, 20 minutes.  In addition to being an exhausting experience, it was a great lesson in anatomy, as I now know about parts I didn't even know I had, due to their aching.  And, of course, my lack of sunscreen use has led to a pretty severe sunburn with rather odd contours.  I'll take the next few days off the bike (and maybe more if No. 3 decides to come soon), but the I hope to continue feeding my cycling addition.

A very tired Hyrum, after 100 miles of riding

Cycling Challenges

I really like riding my bike.

I've always enjoyed riding my bike.  I still remember the first time I rode on my own, as my dad let go and I was under my own power for a few brief moments, before crashing to the pavement.  From that ignominious beginning, I love of two wheels grew.  We lived on top of a slight hill, which made riding to school as a 6-year-old fun, but coming back home a bit more challenging.  To my young mind, a bike was an exciting symbol of freedom and speed.

As I got older, a bicycle found another use: basic transportation.  I appreciated the freedom that came with riding my bike to school instead of the dreaded yellow school bus, and continued to do so until I got my drivers license.  I occasionally used my bike to go exploring among the (then desolate) back roads of Allen, Texas.  My bike got a break while in high school, as I preferred gasoline fumes to the fresh air of cycling.

As a missionary, I continued to ride, mainly out of necessity.  Over the course of my two-year mission, I spent seven months assigned to areas where we were left to our bicycles for transportation.  During those seven months, I put over 2700 miles on my bike, including a single day of 70 miles.  Having a companion who enjoyed cycling helped introduce me to cycling as recreation and sport, and I learned a few maintenance tricks along the way.

At college, I was once again car-less, and my trusty Liahona-brand bike, having followed me home from my mission, became my sole transportation link: to class, to family, to church.  Even riding through Utah winters became standard, and discovering the delicacy of riding a two-wheeled vehicle on snow.  While at BYU, I completed my first century, the aptly-named ULCER, and I was hooked.  I few more centuries come before I graduated.

Upon the start of grad school, cycling again took a back seat.  Busy with school and a young family, I found little time for personal pursuits.  It wasn't until a summer internship a couple of years ago, that cycling again became a transportation necessity, and I found the time to ride for recreation as well as transportation.  Purchasing a new bike, and completing another century, put me back in the saddle toward my cycling goals.

These days are better.  Once again, I eschew the bus for my bicycle, doing a ten mile round-trip commute in the course of a typical day.  Even though I travel for work, I still try to find time to cycle.  I can ride twenty-five miles at the drop of a hat, and have found ways to sneak rides in around a busy family, church and school schedule.  I'm hoping to do another century this fall, and may even set some longer-term, and longer-distance, goals.

I really like riding my bike.

Marin Century

What was I thinking?!? kept coming to mind. I was staring up yet another climb on my ride of the Marin Century, a 100-mile bike ride through Marin County in the Bay Area of California. One of the premier centuries in the area, the ride goes through pleasant valleys, redwood forests, and even spends a few miles on Highway 1 on the California coast. I had registered for it a couple of months earlier to give me a goal for my summer cycling activities, but I was now having second thoughts as to my sanity in doing so.

The day started out pleasantly enough. After an early morning drive up the peninsula and across the Golden Gate Bridge, I was off to a chilly start on would would prove to be a remarkable day. I rarely ride with others, so group starts are somewhat of a treat, and I also enjoyed the support provided by the Highway Patrol as we made our way out of town. The group thinned quite a bit, but through the course of the entire ride, I never lost site of the rider in front of me.

The course profile was about as flat as a line our 2-year-old daughter would draw, and I paid for it dearly. I've done a few other centuries, but they were much flatter, and my lack of preparation for this one showed. The first couple climbs were challenging, but doable. By the time I hit the "Marshall Wall" a third of the way through the ride, I was starting to feel a bit sore. I was only a third of the way into the ride, but already thinking of the SAG wagon. I survived, thanks to my triple crankset and granny gear, with whom I became quite good friends over the rest of the course. Even the "flat" parts of the route were full of rollers, little hills which seem innocent until repeated ad nauseam.

The wind was another factor. No matter which direction I was going, there always seemed to be a headwind. Riding toward the coast and up Highway 1 I kind of expected it, but even after the turnaround point at Valley Ford we still had headwinds. Because I wasn't drafting anybody, I had the benefit of fighting the wind the entire time. At the end of the day, I was glad to finally roll into the finish and enjoy the prepared food. Cycling is a great teacher, especially about physiology: I hurt places I never knew I had before!

In spite of all the difficulties (and post-ride soreness!), I really did enjoy myself. The views from some of the roads were amazing, the rest stops fantastically stocked, and the descents swift and energizing. My bike worked wonderfully, and I only fell over once (a sudden stop, and I forgot to clip out of the pedals). On more than one occasion, I felt like I was in the Tour de France, zipping though forests and past farms and cows, though at a slightly slower pace.

So, what's next? Transportation and other issues will probably force me to abandon an attempt to ride the Santa Cruz brevet in a couple of weeks, but I'd like to shoot for another century a little closer to home in October. With the new baby coming, school starting up, and life getting hectic again, it may be a long shot.

Cycling

While I've been in California this summer, I've been pretty car-less and with gas prices the way that they are, I'm not complaining. Instead of a car, I have a new bike, a Trek 2.3. I have wanted a road bike for a long time, and this summer turned out to be a opportune time to get one.

Of course, I decided to go ahead and register for the Marin Century, even though I hadn't done any regular riding for the last two years. My daily commute is around 7 miles, round trip, which gives me a chance to do push myself, but I really enjoy the longer rides as well. This morning, I decided to go for a 65-mile jaunt around the South Bay: over Dumbarton Bridge, out through Newark and Milpitas, down around San Jose and back through Cupertino and Los Altos. There weren't any major climbs, but it turned out to be quite the ride, and has given me some confidence for riding a century only 5 weeks hence.

On an unfortunate note, I did forget the sunscreen today, so I'm sporting some rather odd tan burn lines.