A Confluence

Bike commuting on the Sammamish Trail is one thing I know I'll miss once the opportunity finally moves on.  Last night was another unexpected example that validates how special it can be.  The magic moments usually happen between mileposts 2 and 7.  Most area riders know the stretch of pavement very well: the strand of rural trail that follows the Sammamish Slough from north Redmond until Woodinville's Wilmot Park.  The path is unremarkable on its own: generally straight and smooth and very flat.  But it is where the impact of civilization is perhaps its least intrusive.  In the darkness especially, this area is often a rewarding plunge into solitude.

After an action-packed, 11 hour day in the office, I reached this section at 7pm, heading north.  The "rush hour traffic" of bike commuters and after-work exercisers had mostly completed their trail ventures, rendering it wide open (and self-policed).  After such a long day, I was in no mood to put the hammer down despite the appeal of the open trail.  The weather was dry and calm--a mild mid-40s evening (yes, bare leg mania continues).

The final ingredient in the evening's recipe was a little more difficult to recognize.  It started as a nagging shadow of myself generated from a bright light source.  The most common explanation here is a bicyclist gaining on me with an overly-bright LED headlight, announcing their oncoming presence by darkening my forward path with my own image.  This time, it was not the case.  A quick look skyward resolved the mystery.  A high, bright moon overhead was the illumination source, shining through a Swiss-cheese blanket of thin white clouds which provided reflections of urban light as backfill.  I switched off my own LED headlight to enjoy the natural illumination.

The next 20 minutes of the confluence of weather and fortuitous timing flushed away the day's woes.  Traveling at 18 mph in the darkness attuned me to the subtleties of the route that a headlight overwhelms.  The saddle and the bike itself disappear.  My vision is more sensitive, easily catching movement of birds and animals that have seen me long before I come onto them.  The sound is only what I produce, passing through the still air with an efficient, satisfying whoosh.  I am enveloped in serenity and marvel at how close it is to my home.

The confluence eventually ends and I must switch back on my headlight to safely complete the rest of my journey.  But I am refreshed.

The Cranial Jukebox

Colloquially, "Earworms" are those songs that get stuck in your head.  Many of which you would willingly tear your skull apart in order to disable the brain cells that have your cranial jukebox stuck on something abominable.  The brain is a fascinating thing in how it can grab portions of songs and replay segments of them (skipping around the song haphazardly) for your private (dis)pleasure.

While earworms are an inevitable outcome of our immersion in music, cycling invites specific earworms to surface through the metronomes of the exertion (pedal revolutions and breathing) and the ebbs and flows of the morale-o-meter (cresting a beautiful ascent vs. the agony of a sustained climb or a redline chase).  As a pre-race activity, I try to immerse myself in music that I would want to come out during my ride (and my musical taste explains why I drive solo to races).  While the ride intensity remains below a certain threshold, I can often remain control of my cranial jukebox.  But, once the fire is lit, the playlist (and even the position of the record needle) is up to happenstance.  And, no matter how much that irritating chorus grates, I find that I don't have the wherewithal to spend vital energy flushing it out as I try to stay in the hunt.  Perhaps this is an area of sports psychology that needs further exploration.

Against Better Judgment

Yesterday's SCCA/Starbucks team ride took us north from Mercer Island into the playground of hills that I routinely train on: Market Street, Juanita Drive, Holmes Point, Norway Hill, Old Redmond Road.  I happen to like them too.  My "training plan" clearly dictated a long endurance ride.  But, as I said, this was my playground--my "home field".  Throw in an unexpected and inviting sunny day (another bare-legger), mixed in with several motivated teammates, and the ride intensity ratcheted up immensely.  After all the KOM battles and pack attacks were waged, I registered 74 miles and 4500 feet of climbing during my 4.5 hours on the bike, with 40 minutes spent in Heart Rate Zone 4 and 43 minutes in Zone 5.  Ooops.  It's still early January, and my "training plan" is wagging its finger at my day's indiscretions.  I can hear a muffled "I told you so" from the sheet of paper where the plan resides, scoffing at the fatigue that envelops me now.  I hold no regrets though, as it was an invigorating day with an outstanding group of teammates!

After riding home from our climb fest, I discovered that I completed the ride without eating anything and only finishing half of the water in my single bottle.  I don't recommend this.

Leg Warmers in the Closet

With much of the country gripped by unusually frigid temperatures, it seems implausible that my last seven outdoor rides (15 hours and 250 miles) have been bare legged.  We're talking late December and early January, when leg warmers or tights should be standard attire in this corner of the world.  I'm not completely off my rocker (I think), because I credit this long stretch of mild weather rather than some fit of mid-life crisis bravado.  I am letting spring fever, rather than the calendar date, envelop me.


But this does touch on a decision that any cyclist takes when facing the outdoors in the winter: what should I wear today?  My threshold for leg protection is based on anticipated temperature and moisture.  It's a time-tested formula that works for me, and maybe me only.  I fully recognize that it is an individual decision and so I am not evangelical about this.  If it's dry, I'm usually keeping the leg warmers in the closet until it gets below 40 degrees.  If rain enters the picture, I'll work on my "Belgian tan" instead of keeping a water-absorbent layer on my legs.  Tights don't come into play until below freezing.  If I do omit leg layers, I find that extra torso layers and/or embrocation are sufficient for even several hours in the saddle.

Why choose to go bare legged at all?  For me it's a feeling of freedom.  It makes me feel unfettered and sleek, as if I should be faster (whether I am or not is an entirely different question).  I think back to my years of soccer, slogging through all sorts of nasty weather with nothing covering my knees and thighs.  It just seems natural to be out there with skin showing.

When I first started bike commuting in the winter a few years ago, my temperature threshold was actually lower.  I can remember rides in the high 20's where I was baring skin for up to an hour.  One one morning, the fog was thick enough that ice crystals adhered to parts of my skin.  I now find that to be rather daft--an expression of machismo.  I've ticked off that check box and now I know better.

Any day now the bare-legged streak will end.  I suppose there will come a time in April (June?) when I hearken back to the rarity of this stretch of time, cursing the motion of pulling a warmer on each leg.

Tire Loyalty

Yes, I consider myself a Michelin man.  Not the blimpy, bulbous mascot--I'm just a long-time aficionado of their bike tires.  I've been rolling on variations of the Axial/Krylion Carbon model for several years and raced on Pro2 Race clinchers.  And despite all the glowing praise I can give over the longevity I've experienced for commuting, training and racing over many sets of these tires, I'm sure you can find a equally vehement detractor with a graphic tale of horror.  Bike tires are polarizing, but not in a "Red State" vs. "Blue State" way.  A single inopportune flat, multiplied by a "degree of difficulty" considering the conditions experienced while changing it, can be enough to sway even the most loyal customer.  Of any component on a bicycle, tires are probably the easiest to find the most dissimilar and heated opinions.

So, I arrived at the crossroads after the inevitable demise of my pair of faithful Michelin Pro2 Race set.  It was a great tire, and I would buy them again.  One problem--they've been out of production for some time.  And my perception of the Pro3 Race replacement was at best "uncertain".  There's no consensus to be found on that set, which was a true test of my brand loyalty.  Like any self-respecting gear head, I'd already mulled over the possibility of what to do when I arrived at this junction.  I'd poured through many catalogs and ingested a spectrum reviews from various riders, magazines and on-line sources.  Playing in the realm of possibility is fun, gratifying in that many alternatives exist without plunking down real dollars.  Perhaps there was a tire out there that would play out to be better than what I'd ever experienced.  But now I had to enter reality and put down real cash for a replacement set.  A decision needed to be made and a lottery ticket purchased.  And in the end, I strayed from Michelin.  I returned to a brand I had abandoned in the 90's: Continental.

Mind you, it's not a complete divorce.  I have four road bikes, and the decision only affects one in the stable.  Maybe it's an easier way to usher in change.

I'm a couple of rides in now, but these new Conti's have compelled me to write glowingly.  I chose the Grand Prix 4000 S model.  The ride is ethereal.  Well, that is too strong of a word, but that sensation is there.  The bike floats on them in a subtle way.  Small bumps are smoother, and I feel a little faster going through road imperfections.  But to me this tire shines in a different environment.  I took them on a swooping descent and was so astounded by the grip that I caught myself yelling in delight as I knifed through high speed corners with ease.  It was a good moment to be alone, unafraid to express my giddiness.

The honeymoon is still in session, so it remains to be seen how durable and weather tolerant these Conti's are.  But my grin is still there.

Of the four bikes I have, I find myself with four tire brands: Michelin, Veloflex, Schwalbe, and Continental.  How exactly did this happen???