Flats

A couple years ago on a very warm July 4th we were on the trail at Mitchel Canyon Regional Park in Clayton, CA. We were making good time up the Mitchel Canyon trail, and had been outbound for nearly 30 minutes when that unmistakable rough ride feeling telegraphed through the spokes and into the frame. I had a flat - back tire - and of course had no spare. The green slime, theoretically intended for defense of the precious pressurized gasses, was seeping out between the rim and tire. A change of plans was in the making.

Fortunate for me I wasn't riding - my daughter was. Unfortunate for me, I was pushing.

We were out for a family hike on one of the hottest days of the year, and I was pushing our picnic lunch, approx. 10,000 gallons of water, and our 35lb 5 year old in the jogging stroller.


Down by 1 out of 3 wheels, I resolved to the likelyhood of replacing a tire along with a tube, and sat down with 2 great hiking companions along a very dry creek bed and consumed some of the 10,000 gallons with lunch.


Patches and slime have become a part of our life. The reason Slime was oozing out of the tire, was that by the summer of '07, all of the 3 tubes had been replaced at least once with Slime tubes since they left Toys R Us 4 years earlier. We estimate that we have over 3,000 miles on that stroller. Yes, 3,000 - and that's conservative.

It's not just the stroller though. All of our bikes have had their turn.

Bec has walked her crippled bike over a mile, to finish our "quick ride up to the store" while Ella and I returned home for the rescue vehicle.

There was the time I took my mountain bike, with the trailer bike and Ella in tow, off the paved trail while my wife looked on from the dull safety of the asphalt. We regained the pavement with a coating of Puncture Vine seed pods covering our tires. Look at the link and you will see what I mean by "coating." We spent easily 10 minutes puncturing our fingers trying to remove the beasts from the treads. The trailer bike's only wheel was deflated instantly. But, here is where I give Slime a reprieve. I'm still riding my bike on the same front tube and tire. At least a couple dozen of the seed pods were escorted out of the tire with a little green bubble, but it never went flat. The back tube survived too, but later met its demise on the bottom mile of Downieville downhill. No slime was going to fix that gash.

Two recent episodes bear noting, and were frankly the impetus for this post.

First:
I was to meet the guys for our monthly ride to the men's prayer breakfast (February), but was redirected halfway to the rendezvous by a phone call from Dave with a flat tire. He was calling off, but I convinced him to let me come and replace his tube with the spare I was carrying. That done, we altered our route, and headed for breakfast. Within 3 miles of the destination and already running late, I flatted the Downieville tire again. "No way." I had given my spare to Dave. There we sat, wishing I had remembered to put my patch kit in the Camel Back pack also. A kind group of cyclists riding by bailed us out, after rifling 3 of thier saddle bags for a patch kit without dried glue. We snuck into the meeting approx. 1 hour late, ate cold eggs and sausage, and listened as we were lifted up in prayer for a safe arrival. God answered their prayers before they asked, and provided enough hot coffee to meet my deepest current need. I bummed a ride to Performance Bicycle in Walnut Creek, bought 2 new Slime tubes, installed one, and headed off to meet the group for the balance of the ride.

Double Flat

Second:
Vince and I opted for a quick "Crocket Loop" ride before dark last Thursday in leu of a run. Riding to meet him, I had one of those thoughts. You know - those thoughts which you know you shouldn't think, but allow to breach consciousness anyway. I actually gave thought to the fact that I hadn't had a flat on the road bike in some time. Within 20 minutes I was sporting a chainring tattoo on my calf, grease on all ten fingers, and was squatting beside Cummings Skyway removing a 700x 23 from an aluminum rim. All went reasonably well, with the help of Vince's frame pump, but I hadn't seated the tire well, and was off again within 100 feet disassembling. On again, and off again. Still didn't get it seated right. We now opted out of finishing the loop, and returned on the same route in the approaching twilight. Halfway back I deflated the spare on a lonely stretch of Franklin Canyon Rd. "No way." Ironically Bec called as we were commiserating and pondering our options. Vince was cool, and stayed around for a while, but as darkness settled in, took my blinking tail light and headed for home. I was soon rescued from whatever it was that kept rustling the leaves behind me.

I've patched that tube, and will be procuring another prior to my next ride, because it will happen again.

Valentines Day - Tour of California Time Trial

Valentine's Day 2009.
Up at 6:30.
Run 5 miles on the canal trails over to church.
Meet my girls and Dale to clean the building for Sunday service.
Drive home.
Drive to Sacramento to watch the Tour of California Prologue - Time Trials.
Begin hunting for restrooms.

"Would you hurry up and take the picture, please!?"

Pre-race warm up on the course.

We spent an amazing amount of time looking for and standing in line for restrooms. I have no idea how many people were out there, but whoever was in charge of calculating and supplying the facilities must have used the formula for hibernating bears, rather than chilly, mocha sipping, athletic types accustomed to frequent hydration.

The little blue houses...

...With great big lines.













We were unfortunately, well hydrated and caffeinated.

Who needs Carbon Fiber or Dura Ace?






























Fabian Cancellara - Winner of the Day.

4min 32sec

2.41 miles

Is that a 32 mph average? - WOW!











Coming out of 2nd corner - unidentified rider. The first hundred or so riders no one knows - the best are saved for last.




Carlos Sastre: Winner of 2008 Tour de France

Didn't do so hot today - 114 out of 136.

George Hincapie of Team Columbia... From my own home town:

The City of Greenville has dedicated a newly completed section of the Swamp Rabbit Trail to George Hincapie in recognition of the contributions that George and Hincapie Sportswear have made to the cycling and business communities in South Carolina. The "Hincapie Path" is now open and being used by cyclists and pedestrians for recreation and commuting in George's hometown of Greenville, SC (Taken from his personal Website)

Actually she was a fan of whoever happened to be riding by at the time. Nevertheless she did scream a little louder when the crowd went wild at his finish.

Armstrong's Countdown

Lance Armstrong's finish - As we got to see it.

My Valentines and I with 2nd row seats for the first part of the race.

We finally found the starting area, but also found the roadside to be lined with spectators. About a quarter mile into the ride and at the second hard turn the riders were forced to slow and navigate 2 quick corners. Here we found a patch of sunlight on the capitol lawn - which sat about 2’ higher than the roadway - and set up camp. If I stood on one of the folding camp chairs that we had brought, I had a great view of the riders from about 20’ back, and could get a pretty clear shot – except when everyone else threw their cameras into the air for the same picture.

No matter, it was just being there, watching Ella get excited as first one motorcycle, then a blur of color, and then a second motorcycle beset with driver and videographer flew by.

As a side note, the guys with the video cameras were standing on the back of the motorcycle – holding a rigid post in one hand and the video camera in the other, taking the same corners as the cyclists at the same speeds.

Another nameless rider who had better not slow down or fall down.

The route circumnavigated the state capitol, and the Governor himself met the winners at the end of the race. As for us, we didn't get to see anyone important or famous, other than those that were sailing by. We did have a blast though.



On the way home we stopped at Sweet Tomatoes and used up the balance of my birthday gift card, topping off a Red Letter Day. And, if you are wondering - yes, Bec claims to have had a good day too. But I know that this was really my Valentines Day present from my Girls.

Poison Oak

Ugh. If you have ever had Poison Oak, Ivy, or Sumac then you know what I mean by "ugh". I got it again.

We were returning from one of our after dark runs, where we use lights to give the illusion of safety while careening along fire roads in muddy tennis shoes. The run was done and we were driving out of the park, when we came around a corner and saw a brush fire only minutes old. Vince and Rachel stopped, and immediately called 911. I pulled up, and lacking a fire extinguisher, grabbed an old blanket from the back of the Pilot and began to smother the fire. I quickly realized that in order to do any good, I would have to get above the fire, as it was climbing a rather abrupt slope. After a difficult scramble up through the brush to the right of the fire it became evident that the flames were going to be too much for me and my blanket. We all retreated to wait and watch the fire department douse the result of a careless smoker’s indiscretion. I now loath that careless person.

A passing comment from my wife made my blood run cold. “I hope there was no Poison Oak in that brush.” I set a new land speed record getting from our car into the shower. Too late.

It has now been nearly 3 weeks since that fateful night. I reach down and scratch between nearly every paragraph. Most reports claimed that the rash should be gone in 2 weeks. Not for me.

I’m on my second round of prescription steroids. I have experimented with every topical analgesic, antihistamine, antipruritic, and exfoliant. I’ve used 2 kinds of pink, 2 kinds of white, clear, another cream that had a fine grit that felt like heaven to rub in, a Filipino coconut oil home remedy, and a homeopathic boiled leaf tea that smells like dog pee. I’ve slept on the couch more nights in the last 3 weeks than in the other 8 years of marriage combined. (Especially when I smelled like dog bedding) I’ve seen every two hours come and go on the hour for more nights than I care to remember. Recently a good night sleep is one where I’ve had consecutive 3 hour sleeps separated by only one reapplication of one of the various colors. On average I’ve been getting 4-5 hours per night with restless catnaps wherever I can fit them in during the day - preferably with my pickup truck in park.

Poison Oak is a curse. It covered my legs from my ankles up to my shorts line, with a few branches obviously sneaking up a lot higher. Both arms suffered damage, up to my biceps, but the right one took the brunt. My stomach must have also been scratched by a variant vine, and a sore about the size of half my palm developed to the right of my naval. All of the noted areas developed wonderful little blisters that weeped unabashed. For 2 solid weeks I looked and felt like death itself and often caught myself impersonating a chimpanzee with scabies. Children cried out and women wept in my presence. We were going to take pictures, but couldn’t bring ourselves to do it.

Then something wonderful happened. The sores began to show a valiant attempt at healing, just as I came off the first round of steroids. For about a day I noticed significant relief. All of the aforementioned areas morphed from brilliantly grotesque sores and scrapes to something similar to an alligator, and then further to what now looks like random scars. But then the flowers blossomed. The scars seemed to spawn a rosy thin rash tripling the coverage area. I despaired. Back to the dermatologist. More little white pills taken with food. I renewed the application of the foul stench, attempting to hide it with Mary Kay cologne. I can only hope the cover up worked. No one would likely tell me if it didn't.

I urge you to peruse the website of a co-sufferer - http://knoledge.org/oak/. Especially his section on etiquette. Just knowing that others have survived, has given me reason to hope. Though as I sit here I cannot recall life before the itch, and am beginning to suspect that indeed it may not have existed.


What I have learned...

Look before you leap. If it is too dark to see - don't leap.

DON'T BURN POISON OAK.

Let the East Bay Regional Park Service and the Contra Costa County Fire Dept. deal with brush fires.

Go to the dermatologist first. The general practitioners don't have a clue, and have been too busy in school to embark on adventures that include Poison Oak interactions.

Believe everything you read on the internet - it IS that bad.

Boiled Yerba Santa leaves help considerably.

Boiled Yerba Santa leaves smell like dog pee.

Snuggling with the wife ceases when you get Poison Oak. Neither of you are especially interested in it. Particularly when one of you smells like a kennel.

Hot showers become torture chambers. Cold showers don't itch, but are, well, cold showers.

With Poison Oak on 3/4 of your legs, those nylon warm up pants that are so perfectly convenient and comfortable, become acutely insufferable the moment you step out of the car in a public place. The same also applies to any article of clothing that happens to terminate on, or immediately adjacent to a rash. (When covered nearly head to toe, this makes clothing seem so overrated.)


The things taken for granted on a daily basis, including the most minute matters, become so intensely obvious, when you have danced with the pruritic vine.

Wine Country Century

I’m putting my Christmas and birthday money to good use. I signed up for another Century. Actually I’m riding a double metric century, which ends up being about 120 miles. The route sounds pretty flat, with only 4 – 5k feet of climbing. I don’t drink wine, so I hope it’s not a prerequisite for the event. Oh well if so. I’ll be the only teetotaler out there. I have till May 2 to get ready.

I have now signed up to meet one of the goals in the "Goals List" of the 1/16/09 posting. If all goes well this should be a decent training ride for the Death Ride in July - in which success will be another goal achieved.

What to Wear

I've never been a very good judge of exactly what to wear to most appropriately meet the capricious nature of cool weather rides and my thirst for significant variations in altitude during such rides.

Saturday morning Vince and I met at the train trestle at 8:00 am and rode the Crocket loop in pretty good time. The air was cold to start the morning, which always creates a wardrobe dilemma, especially when the afternoons are destined to be warm. I opted for shorts and knee warmers, a sleeveless t-shirt under my long sleeve jersey and a windbreaker. The bandana and long fingered gloves supplemented the helmet and cycling gloves.

It worked out nearly perfect. By the time I met up with Vince, I had climbed over the Shell St. hill, and was ready to take off the windbreaker. Once done, I was content to feel the 40 degree air through my jersey, but suspected the descents from our 2 climbs would be chilly. They were, but I was done with the windbreaker for the day. Following the 20 mile loop, I headed for Mt. D while Vince headed to finish some chores. I followed a familiar route across the west side of the Diablo Valley, and finally lost the knee warmers and gloves starting my ascent around 10:00 am.

I had a reasonable climb ahead of me and soon decided that I should have braved the cold earlier and chosen a short sleeved jersey. 1 hour 30 minutes from the North entrance to the top. I blame the less than spectacular results on being out of the saddle for so much this winter, and for riding 90% of the way in 2^nd gear.

Why in 2^nd gear? I don’t know. I got started feeling good, looked down and saw I still had one gear to go, and decided not to go there. It most certainly felt like the mountain got steeper, but I have no idea whether or not it helped my climbing ability, endurance, or muscle strength. It did get me passed by 2 cyclists near the top. However, their combined bikes, attire, and gear probably cost more than our Honda, so I’m fairly certain they were professionals or something like that.

The sun and a stiff breeze were in competition at the top of the mountain, so I positioned myself so as to give the sun as much advantage as possible. I slipped the long gloves back on after refilling 2 water bottles and headed for home. The windbreaker would have been nice on the way down, but one gets weary of the flapping, and the temperature relates inversely to the altitude.

Home in just over 4.5 hours for the 66 miles and approx. 5.5k feet of climbing. No sweat. I mean literally, I got home dry though hydrated, which means that I was dressed just about right, and the pre-spring air was feeling splendid.