DNF I drank beer instead

SSWC08 was an amazingly fun time, and I got to enjoy it with some really cool people. We did a lot of riding, partying and traveling out there. Sleep and honest meals were rare, but that didn’t get in the way of fun.

Last week’s course was twenty-one miles of brutal climbing, technical descending, choking dust, rocks, switchbacks, heckling, drinking and fun. Par for the course for an event like this. And nothing I couldn’t handle, even on a bad day.

Yet, I made the decision to bail on ‘racing’ about half way through the race. I have my reasons, and I stand by them. And I had an absolute blast while everyone else finished the race. But when I finally expelled all the red dust from my lungs, had my final beer of the day, and walked away with my consolation prize of a red anodized bottle opener that had “DNF” CNC’d on one side and “The amazing healing power of beer” on the other…well, I felt like a chump for not riding all the miles.

DNS The first step starts with getting out of bed

The Shenandoah 100 is an endurance mountain bike race of…yes, 100 miles. While I’ve done that kind of ride on a road bike, even a single speed road bike, I’ve never reached that kind of mileage on a mountain bike. I knew it would be tough, and that there would be a chance I wouldn’t finish it.

I ride bikes all the time. Being able to finish SSWC08 didn’t require too much specific preparation for me other than properly conditioning my liver in the weeks leading up to the race. But I knew that I’d have to really do some specific training for the Shenandoah 100. I’d need to get at least a few epic rides in this year, get used to a geared, full-suspension bike since I had no confidence in myself to do the race on my single speed and I’d have to generally get my mind into shape for that kind of event.

Well, none of that happened. Despite encouragement from my family, a pep talk of sorts from Justin, and the pending crumbling of my riding goals for the summer…I’ll be in Virginia this weekend working the Dirt Rag booth, volunteering to help out with the race and giving support to Justin and Eric as they race.

DIA I did it all

Despite being down about basically bailing on these last two adventures, I am able to recall my ride across Pennsylvania last year. It was six consecutive days of riding at least 90 miles each day. There were times when I didn’t feel like I’d finish, but I kept going. Day 5 of that adventure was my hardest because of stomach problems and general fatigue. Last night, I went back and read my journal entry from that day:

.: Day 5 :.

Williamsport to Berwick About 95 brutal miles

I woke up and felt relatively ok. The sleep would have been more decent, had I not been so worried and had my stomach issues been under control. But I didn’t get up to use the bathroom at all during the night. That’s a good sign.

Regardless, I REALLY didn’t want to ride today. Both of my pinkie fingers were numb, it was cold out, and I knew today was going to be hot, and there was a lot of climbing coming our way. But at least it was going to be over tomorrow.

I walked past Taylor who was passed out just outside of the bathroom doors. He was sleeping with a half-smirk on his face, and I came close to walking over to him and kicking him in the ribs, to jokingly wake him up and so he could tell me about how he was out having fun with beer and other people, while I nervously tried not to soil my sleeping bag. But I resisted, and kept walking. Later he told me, it would have been funny had I done that. Damn…missed the opportunity.

We had to ride to breakfast at the Williamsport Home, which is about two miles away. Uphill. Chilly. I was not liking it.

We got there, and stood in line for a bit. We were greeted by one of the wheelchair-bound residents. He was absolutely thrilled to have us there. He shook hands and chatted up each and every rider. That was cool, and it took my mind off myself for a bit.

And come to think of it, the last 15 hours has been the only time where I have been completely concerned with myself on this ride. Sure, I’m focused on me and what I’m doing when I’m on the bike. I have to be. But for the most part, I’m thinking of many other people and other things weighing on my mind this week.

Anyway, I got my pancakes, a couple links of sausage, and a few glasses of ice water, and headed to a table near the corner, by myself. Joachim and Christine came over and joined me. I ate more of the pancakes than I thought I would. That’s a good sign. But still…it wasn’t nearly enough food to last me for the day. But it was all I could put down.

I really felt like shit for the first 50 miles of this ride. I didn’t bother trying to keep up with the fast kids. My main concern was to not fall off the bike. Regardless, I think I still did well for someone feeling so bad. My average speed was only about two miles per hour less than on my fast days.

But I was fading. By the time we came to the about the 45th mile, I was expecting to see lunch. Or civilization. Instead, we saw the chalk writing on the road that lunch wouldn’t until mile 58. “Sorry.”

That was all it took to completely deflate me. I needed real food and a real bathroom. I felt myself back off a bit, but I still put my head down and kept spinning. Just slower, continually questioning why were so remote, and why they couldn’t just set up lunch sooner.

Joachim and Christine were well ahead of me by this point. Yet after a few miles, Christine knew I was running on empty. She dispatched Joachim back to help pull me along and to encourage me.

Man, I needed that. This was really the toughest part of the whole week for me. But soon enough, I saw the vans and the signage outside a church.

Lunch.

Water, food, shade, ice and a bathroom.

We sat there for about 45 minutes eating, relaxing, etc. I tried to close my eyes a bit.

Thankfully, this stop was exactly what I needed. I emptied out, and filled back up with all kinds of proper nutrition. I cleaned and lubed the chain on the bike, and we were ready to go.

Heath held back with us for the rest of the ride today. He said that he just wanted to enjoy the ride and take it all in…he wasn’t into stopping for 10 minutes for lunch, and hammering the rest of the ride back.

The three of us had a nice rest of the ride. But there were some killer hills on this half of the day. And it was really hot and humid.

I was sure that our most mountainous day would have been somewhere in Allegheny National Forest. Nope…the ride between Williamsport and Berwick was the toughie.

We could see the next huge hill in the distance. Since I grew up very close to here, I knew that we wouldn’t have to climb that hill. Berwick was on this side of that mountain. And I told everyone riding with me that this was the case.

Well…about five miles later, we were spinning up that hill. Probably the hardest and longest hill of the ride. Whoops…sorry, everyone.

Head down, spinning and focused, we passed a lot of riders heading up this climb. I think it was close to two miles up. When I got to the top, my head was spinning bad. Despite my huge lunch, I downed every bit of food I had on my person. I did about two bottles of water, too.

After about 15 minutes, we pulled it together and headed out. We were close to the finish at this point, so we took it easy.

It’s worth noting here that Pryor, did this climb THREE times. In a truly selfless and helping move, he crested the summit twice and headed back down so he could literally push those that needed it, and yell encouraging words as they struggled up the hill. That was mighty big of him.

We got to the Berwick Middle School and I set my stuff up right away. The cafeteria was nice and cool, so I made the decision to sleep inside tonight. I just wanted nice rest, on this my last night of the ride.

Interesting fact about this school…back when I was a child counselor in 1995, I had a student that I visited in this school. Never thought I’d be sleeping on the floor of the cafeteria one day. I wonder how that kid has fared in life.

I showered and got some stuff together for tomorrow. Today was a good drinking-in-the-truck afternoon as we watched the rest of the ride finished up.

Jenny, a very cool chick from the University of Scranton, is doing this ride with her dad and 18 year old sister. They have been riding their hearts out, and giving 600% each day. While we were sitting in the truck with our afternoon beers, Jenny rolled in before her dad and sister. After a day like that, we all needed a beer. I wasn’t sure if she was 21 yet, but I was sure she needed a beer. So I sheepishly offered, and she accepted.

After everyone finished and showered, we loaded onto busses and headed to the West End Hose Company for all the pasta and meatballs we could eat.

Tonight’s meeting was rather light. Thankfully. We also learned that Bill Moses, a relative neophyte at cycling, has been doing the whole ride with regular running shorts, a t-shirt and sneakers. That’s right…so far, 480 miles without padded shorts or technical gear. This guy has got some serious strength and dedication. Like I said…he’s an inspiration.

We bussed it back to the school. There were some beers left, but they quickly vanished. This evening had a very relaxed vibe to it. Everyone knew tomorrow was the last day, and it was a short day at that.

We needed beer, and Joachim stepped up to the plate. He collected a few dollars and then disappeared. A bit later, he rolled up riding shotgun in a stranger’s car. He got out with a mixed case of Magic Hat. Sweeeeet! It turns out that he asked the school janitor where we could get some beer.

The janitor told him that it was extremely forbidden to drink on school property. Even on a Friday night in the middle of the summer by a bunch of adults riding their bikes across Pennsylvania. Yet, the janitor offered to drive Dave to get beer, with the promise that Dave personally ensured that the beer was drank from cups and that there was not even a hint of a trace that beer had been drunk at the school. The custodian then bought the case of beer.

Damn!

As we sat around and killed the case in about 30 minutes. I taught a new group of people about a certain drinking game where you replace one word in the name of a movie, with the name of one particular female body part. It is quite a juvenile game, but it is a lot of fun. Tonight we had everyone from emergency room doctors to school teachers to graphic artists playing and laughing all night.

Soon enough, I made my way to my prepared area for sleep. Most people were already in the dark cafeteria. I put the iPod on, relaxed for a bit, and then went to sleep.

The more aware I become about systemic environmental and social issues, the more I realize that American’s needs to address the issue of sprawl immediately. Our country is at a critical point. We can either forfeit our open spaces to suburban slums or we can develop healthy urban communities that enhance quality of life.

The American Farmland Trust calculates that almost a million acres of farm and open land are lost to sprawl each year. According to the Brookings Institute, metropolitan geographic expansion is outpacing population growth in 94% of US cities.

Pittsburgh’s growth profile between 1970 and 1990 demonstrates the problem. During that time the city’s metropolitan population declined by 9%, but its urban land area increased 30% (180 square miles).

As people move to the fringes they typically get farther and farther away from the workplace. The commercial and public infrastructure needed to support modern life also becomes more dispersed. This increases the reliance on automobiles, leading to increased air pollution and greenhouse gas emissions.

Mass transit and cycling can reduce automobile use, but sprawling cities test the effectiveness of even the most progress cities. In Omaha, local groups have worked together to create a series of alternative transportation programs. But nearly all of these are limited in their ability to affect the entire geographic area of the city. These groups end up compromising their objectives to focus on a limited geographic area. As a result, massive segments of the city are left untouched by the programs.

For years I’ve advocated urban growth boundaries and infill development to help reverse sprawl. I thought the answer to sprawl was found in restricting outward development and forcing people to stay near the city center. This solution increases population density and makes mass transit, cycling and walking feasible transportation alternatives.

But the other day I met with a sustainability expert at the university about the issue and he presented a disturbing perspective on today’s housing market. He suggests that the current combination of an over-saturated suburban home market and a cash-strapped citizenry will lead to a whole new wave of people pushed to the burbs.

This is a scary prospect, especially with the cost of living on the rise. People will be forced to move to what are essentially low-income suburban slums. Additionally, they will be shackled to their cars and forced to drive. The circular nature of this system is totally unsustainable.

I looked into this issue and found that other experts agree that suburban growth is going to accelerate. A number of groups are assuming that the systemic push to the fringes is too powerful to halt completely, so they are now shifting their focus away from restricting sprawl completely in favor of making sprawl more environmentally sustainable. They want to limit sprawl, but at the same time develop livable suburban communities.

Suburban communities can actually shift in a way to improve quality of life and reduce environmental harm. The goal is to develop stable access to commerce and resources in both urban and suburban areas.

This is one of the key elements of the New Urbanist development strategy. New Urbanism brings work, home, school, and various community facilities closer together. Often such regroupings are linked to mass transit access points and facilitate pedestrian transportation.

This alternative solution to the problem of sprawl reminds me that I should avoid being myopic in advocating single solutions to complex sustainability issues. I need to define the issues that I’m concerned about and then research several reasonable solutions.

I’m not planning on embracing sprawl anytime soon. But rather than being resentful towards the people who buy homes in the hinterlands, but I will help them understand the issues so they can develop their suburban areas into communities like the Midtown area that I live in and love.

–

Ryan Atkinson is a former bike industry bum who wandered into the real world to start his own business. In 2007 he launched a sustainable marketing agency called Harvest. Ryan is a regular contributor to cycling and environmental publication on the topic of bikes and sustainability. He is still active in cycling and the bicycle industry, advocating improved access to bikes and better conditions for riding. He currently lives in Omaha, Nebraska and rides every day.

Learn more about Ryan at www.harvestomaha.com.

Eric’s recent Brain Fart, along with office kitchen-table discussion, prompted me to think about my own bag usage. I, too, have an older Timbuk2 messenger bag, mine a 1997 DeeDog (the size below Eric’s XL Tag Junkie). Unlike Eric, this has been my sole everyday bag for most of the 11 years I’ve owned it. Sure, I have a few other bags kicking around, but never have I found one I’ve liked enough to use all the time or even occasionally (not that I have really looked). My bag is like an old friend at this point, and I see no reason to put it out to pasture.

The black, grey, silver color scheme was a direct ripoff of one hanging on the shop wall where I worked when I ordered it, but I was taken with the tough-but-cool look enough not to care that someone else might have the same bag as me (which according to some would take away cool points.) (As it turns out, Justin has one in those colors too. Oh well.) My partner, who’s been with me just months longer than the bag, used to call it “that funny purse of yours.” I didn’t take too much offense. My bag is the one physical area in my life that epitomizes the “A place for everything, and everything in its place” philosophy—if it weren’t for its pockets and pouches, I’d probably be constantly looking for my wallet, sunglasses, etc. In fact the three external holders I have installed on the shoulder strap make it my own personal superhero utility belt, keeping my ray gun and grappling hooks at the ready (or at least my cell phone and house keys).

I’m always amazed at the pile of stuff that is permanently housed in my “empty” bag, and how much stuff can fit in it when really full. It has a magical ability to appear bottomless at just the right moments, such as grocery shopping or bringing extra books and papers home from work.

The black is now quite faded, especially on the trim. The lining is just beginning to delaminate from the fabric, but it’s still waterproof enough, at least most of the time. The wear is of course part of its comfortable, old leather jacket charm, and a testament to how many years and miles it has survived.

We get all kinds of bags here at Dirt Rag, but I have instantly disliked the few I’ve tried, most likely for the simple reason that they weren’t my bag. They seemed uncomfortable or ugly or there were no pockets just right for my stuff. But sadly my bag might be forced into an early retirement due to injury—injury to my back, that is. In the last year since I got a laptop I’ve been lugging it home pretty frequently, upping the total weight of my “empty” bag (since even with a laptop inside, there’s plenty of space in the wondrous bottomless bag for other stuff). This has kept my chiropractor in business, but I’m not sure if that’s a wise long-term strategy. Last week I rode to work and back with my typically heavy bag on a mountain bike and have been paying for it since. In the more upright position the weight sat lower and hung off my shoulder more than usual, and I must have shrugged my shoulder to readjust the bag’s position one time too many, because I spent the weekend covered in Tiger Balm and leaning into a heating pad (which they don’t make hot enough nowadays, I want one of those good old ‘70s fire-hazard ones… but I digress).

I have a brand-new commuting backpack sitting at home that was used once and rejected because it wasn’t just right. But while my heart deems it ugly, my back deems it comfortable, so it might see some action pretty soon. But I’ll never give up my bag, just use it for special occasions, perhaps, or maybe I can solve the organization problem by simply putting my bag inside its replacement… that way it will still be with me.

I’ve always felt as though I’m a very lucky individual. Not in the go-to-Vegas-and-win-a-million sense, but things usually work out pretty well (I certainly hope that I haven’t cursed myself). Luck aside, I also can’t rule Karma out of the picture. Like most people, I’d like to think that I have accumulated more good Karma than bad throughout my 25 years. Well, yesterday I cashed the biggest karmic paycheck of my life.

What started out as a beautiful, crisp, and sunny early-spring day changed quickly when I glanced in my rearview mirror only to see it filled with the fast-approaching grill and headlights of a Dodge pickup. There was what felt like a micro-second between the realization that I was about to be hit and the impact which vaulted me up onto the hood of the truck, thankfully not underneath. After slamming the back of my helmeted head down on the hood, the truck catapulted me toward the shoulder of the road where I somehow managed to land on my feet. Elapse time for the whole operation couldn’t have been more than a second, but seemed both shorter and longer. As I made my way curbside I began the bodily evaluation; legs: working order–left calf’s a little sore, arms: check, core: bit of soreness in middle back–otherwise fine, head: definitely rang my bell but stayed conscious and only feeling a little fuzzy. At this point I was amazed at all the worse I was feeling after being rear-ended by a truck doing somewhere in the vicinity of 35mph. Now, that’s what I call luck.

As I write this I’m feeling quite conflicted about the idea of commuting–my confidence has been shaken. I certainly don’t want to give it up, but I’ve also taken quite a few precautions to minimize risk. Today, for instance, I was wearing my heinously-bright yellow jacket, and riding smack-ass in the middle of the right-most of two lanes. You’d think someone wearing a vivid yellow jacket riding on a moderately traveled straightaway would be visible?

Like many of you, I have always felt that driving should not be considered a right, but rather a privilege that must be earned. A more experience and education intensive licensing program, like those in many European countries, would make the roads exponentially safer for all. I also believe the elderly should be required to pass a physical and eye exam bi-yearly (or similar) in order to retain their license. Yesterday’s experience has only further solidified these ideas, as the older gentleman who hit me “just took his eyes off the road for a second” and “didn’t see” me despite every other driver on the road’s ability to plainly see what was about to transpire.

So what have I learned from this experience? Wear a damn helmet, and no matter how repulsively geeky a mirror might be, they are a really good idea. While a mirror obviously didn’t prevent my accident, I still knew what was happening behind me. As for helmets, I’m pretty certain I would be in bad shape right now had I been without. Seeing folks on the road without a helmet, which seems to be done for status or fashion, pains me immensely. Accidents happen and they can be totally out of your control, wearing a helmet may be the difference between walking away–or not.

Wear a helmet, please, I beg you.

–Justin Steiner

Ladies, if you spend any time riding with men, you basically know that we’re all a bunch of lecherous jerks with three thinks on our minds: bikes, beer, and… you know. So consider the following the sort of back-of-the-pack colloquy to which you’ve grown accustomed.Every six weeks or so, someone in the mainstream media picks up on this little pet story about how riding a bike a lot can contribute to erectile dysfunction.

Now I either ride with a bunch of soft laggards who don’t put enough mileage in to qualify for the dubious honor of a Viagra prescription, or this story is wildly overblown each time it’s trotted out. (Rough average of my club: 5-10 hours in the saddle per week per rider; 5,000-7,000 miles per year each.)

Every male-dominated ride I’ve ever been on is (A) roughly speaking, rated XX in the conversation department; maybe NC-17 if there is a quorum of women on the ride; (B) equal parts absurd hyperbole and pathetic self-confession.

Having said that, the topic of erectile dysfunction has literally never come up except to consider whether this is a widespread media myth designed to make us paranoid about whether we’re getting enough out-of-the-saddle action. The subject, uh, arises, the entire ride comes to a collective stop, takes off its helmet, scratches its head, and says, “Seriously?! No way. I’ve never heard of this being a problem.”

It’s possible that we’re all a bunch of liars and none of us will be able to procreate (though I’ve already got three little cyclists in my personal peloton, so obviously my Fizik has not interfered with my physique, if you follow me). Seriously. Is your club the one in the nation that’s filled with frustrated men having trouble with their, um, suspension? Or should we start writing letters to the New York Times to lay off this story for a while?

I’ve been going to Interbike for ten years now. I’ve seen a lot of different stuff, and met many cool people over the years. Yet, a few years ago I started to become kind of cynical and sick of it all…I had no desire to fly to Las Vegas, see all the “cool bikes,” deal with all the people asking for free stuff, standing all day while talking to hundreds of people, going out at night and drinking too much and then dealing with the results the next day. Sure bikes are cool, but this is a job, people.

I had the same kind of anxiety of it this year, but I got over it quick and it turned out to be a good show for me. So I decided to talk a little bit about why this year was different. Of course, I didn’t bother to take even one photo, but you can go look at the Dirt Rag Gallery set of Interbike photos.

FBM
Big Dave Harrison used to work with Spooky Bikes back in the day. These days he works with FBM. They’re a BMX company, but Dave was showing off their new fixed gear city bike he made. It’s a very cool piece of machinery, and people were falling all over themselves to come see it. It’s hand-made here in the States, has a very real working-class chic to it, looks cool as hell and will likely be priced to compete with all the cheapo imported fixed gear bikes that all the kids like these days. You can’t beat that.

Rickshaw Bagworks
Timbuk2 messenger bags are everywhere. They’re still decent bags, but they’ve come a long way from their bicycle courier roots. When the SUV-driving dork in the cubicle next to you bought one, you know they’ve reached the masses. That’s fine, but you want something cooler, and more useable.

Thankfully the fellas who started Timbuk2 cashed out on the company a while ago. And now their one-year no-compete contract is over, and they’ve gotten together and started Rickshaw Bagworks. Free from the constraints imposed by a mass-consumer driven, investor-led set of rules, Mark and Rob have some very cool bags. They’ve got a very good guy sewing the bags, they’re using some cool technologies, they’re taking a more grass-roots approach to the company and the styles and ideas rolling out of San Francisco are most excellent. The bags will be in production later this year, and I can’t wait to order one.

Outdoor Demo
It’s been a few years since I chose to attend the demo out at Bootleg Canyon. In years past, I was either too busy setting up booths or sitting by the pool drinking beer. I just didn’t feel like going out there, burning in the sun and riding a few bikes on some short trails.

This year was different, and since I didn’t need to set-up any booths this year, I decided to head out for some riding after all.

I rode a Felt Nine Solo, a Santa Cruz Nomad and a Niner Air9. It was super-dusty out there, but I really enjoyed riding in the desert. I haven’t ridden out there in many years, and the challenge and newness of it all was exciting. So it was a good experience, and after Karl and I got back, I still had a chance to sit by the pool and drink some beers for a few hours.

Double Down Saloon
Vegas is one of the most fake places in the world, and I can’t stand that. But the Double Down is one of my favorite bars. It’s a real shithole, but it’s nowhere near The Strip…literally and figuratively. It’s a very welcome oasis in the desert of fake known as Las Vegas. The fact that it’s a rather punk rock bar makes it even better, and ensures the square suits of the bike industry steer clear. That also means every freak in the bike industry descends on the Double Down like flies on…well, you know. Unfortunately I didn’t make it to the bar this year, but just the fact that it’s there warms my heart.

Friends
I’ve got a lot of friends in the bike industry. It’s tough to explain how cool so many people in the industry are, and I wish I could work and hang out with them all the time. I see a lot of them throughout the year at various events. But there are still some that I only see once each year, here at Interbike.

The “social scene” after show hours is usually rather hectic, meaning that it’s pretty much impossible to make reliable plans with people. There is always too much going on after show hours (between dinners, parties and other events) to be able to meet someone at a pre-determined place and time.

Luckily, I was still able to meet up, and hang out, with many of my peeps. It was very cool that I got to talk to and see just about everyone I wanted to see. Sure, there is never enough time to spend with all of them, but even a little bit is better than nothing. I was still able to share beers, spend time and have some very good conversations with a bunch of people.

So until next year…time to crack a beer!