first fixed dirty dozen

"a) you're retarded

b) you're crazy
c) you're insane
dd on fixed has never been done.
you'd need at least a 39x27, or maybe a 34x20 could do it." 

"Your knees will explode and shower surrounding riders with fiery bone fragments"

"It could be done on a single speed with some fairly low gearing (low enough to get up canton). Staying with the group in between hills would be somewhat hard. 
Fixed is out. No way would that work!"


(two direct quotes and one paraphrase. I will not reveal which is which)


The Dirty Dozen has been held for 25 years without anyone completing it on a single speed or fixed gear. And with good reason. But I'm young and stupid, and someone was going to be the first to do it eventually, so I decided to take a stab at it.  


I hatched the plan to ride the Dirty Dozen on a fixed gear about a month ago. I figured (correctly) that if I picked the right gear (39X20), the hills would suck, and the flats and downhills would suck even more.


I knew riding 60ish miles in such a small gear was going to be hard, and when Don, Aaron, and I rode over to the Washington Blvd. Oval, my suspicions were confirmed. They were easily rolling away from me while I was spinning my brains out.  


We arrived at the oval and registered, then proceeded to stand around in the cold for almost two hours 180 as riders trickled in and got suited up. The whole time I was worried more about being dropped between the hills than I was about actually getting up them. 

(photo cred Fred Jordan)

(The day before the race I decided to throw a yellow wheel on my bike to keep it nice and low-key)

Eventually everyone registered, and we grouped up and prepared to head out. 

(Rob Lochner)

To my delight, the pace to the first hill was completely relaxed. I chatted with a few people on the way over, and was asked for the first of 180 times that day "What gear are ya runnin?" Eventually we hit the base Center Ave., and I took it easy on the way up. It didn't feel to hard, and before I knew it, the first climb was over. Only 12 more to go.

I have never felt comfortable taking my feet off the pedals and fixed gear coasting down big hills. So when we hit the first big descent of the day, I decided to pedal it. That was the dumbest decision I've ever made. I was spinning so fast my back wheel was skipping on the pavement. My legs felt like noodles as riders streamed past me. Finally it ended, and everybody bunched back up.

So one yelped in place of Chew's whistle to signify the start of the race up Ravine St. I swung wide into some gravel, and started pounding up the hill. I had managed to start fairly near the front, so before long I saw Tim off in the distance. I sprinted up to and passed him, and he countered and passed me back. Before the finish of the hill I put in another sprint, and beat him to the top. That was my little victory for the day (I think I was in the top ten.) 

We rolled across some flat, and I let my feet dangle while Gunnar gave me a little push. Another big downhill was coming up, and there was no way in hells I was going to try to spin again, so I tucked my feet onto my seat stays and held on. 

The downhill led immediately into the climb up Berryhill. For the 179 riders that could coast, the goal was to carry as much speed as possible into the hill. For me, the goal was to stay upright. I couldn't get clipped back in at any speed above 8mph, so I had to keep my feet out for the first part of the climb, then quickly pull them back in when the grade had slowed me down enough.

I got about 1/5th of the way up the hill before I captured both pedals, and was able to start mashing up. It got really steep at one point, and I passed a group of walking riders who had apparently hit the climb in too hard of a gear and been unable to shift down. The irony was killing me. 

The next few hill didn't stick out in my mind, but at the top, we stopped for food. I grabbed a couple oatmeal cookies and filled my non-coffee bottle with iced tea before heading out. 

When we hit Logan, I almost cried as I looked up it and saw how steep and long it was, but I got myself together. Two years ago when I rode my fixed gear (in a 39X15) up Laural ridge from Greensburg, PA to Johnstown, I realized that every time I turned the cranks over, I was a meter closer to the top. That little realization has been super helpful on spirit crushing hills, because when I break it down to one revolution of the cranks at a time, the climb does not seem so bad. I topped out on Logan with a nice view of the city, and the group headed over to Rialto.

The points leaders headed down the hill first to race up, followed by the womens field, and then the rest of us poor schmucks. Rialto was another steep one, but it was short. Oddly, I thought it looked steeper in the down hill direction than it did riding up. After everyone had attempted the hill, we started the longish roll over to Suffolk.

Suffolk was hard. It started out steep, became steeper, then shot skyward one more time on  rough cobbles.

(los fotos por Roberto Lochner)

On the top we stopped again to fill our bellies (some more than others) with crap from the expired food store.

We were half way done with the ride, and my legs were still feeling pretty fresh. I stuffed a couple hoho's and a banana in my pockets, put my feet up, and rolled down into the city. We crossed the Roberto Clemete bridge, and as soon as we were on the other side, someone was almost creamed by a ducky tour full of screaming children. Very nice.

(The group stops at a red light while I explaining what gear I'm running for the 93rd time that day)

The next climb up the top of Mount Washington was similar to Suffolk. Steep, Steeper, Cobblestones. The group stopped for a photo, then headed to the infamous Canton Ave.

By that point in the day, people were really starting to slow down. On the hill that led to Canton, the group was going so slow it was becoming a challenge for me to stay upright. In a granny ring, or a 39X27, it probably felt great to slowly spin up the hill. But in my much bigger gear, to go the same speed as the rest of the group I had to practically trackstand between each pedal stroke. To make matters worse, the roads started to narrow, leaving no room to pass.

Finnnaly we hit Canton Ave., which is billed as the steepest legal road in the world. The first few feet of the climb are on cement, but it quickly turns to rough cobbles. Most people get moving fast on the cement, then hit the cobbles and let their back tire fly up into the air. They are immediately robbed of all their momentum, and they topple over and slid down the hill. The carnage is mildly entertaining. I charged at the hill as soon as it was in sight, but was pushed to the left by another rider and had to dismount.

I walked down to the bottom and waited for the stream of sprinting, falling, and sliding riders to thin. I dropped a few psi from my back tire, then mounted up for another attempt. This time I stayed to the right and stuck out my tongue in an effort to produce more power. Slowly, one painful turn of the pedals at a time, I neared the top. Everyone at the top of the hill was going nuts. Then at last I made it and rolled across the top.

I shuffled back over to the crowd to join in cheering for the rest of the people who were attempting to make the hill.

On the way to the next hill, someone asked me if I had cleared Canton. "Sure did" I replied. "Ok," he said "Then I can tell you this. When I saw you at the start I thought there was no way in hell you would make these hills." I grinned. Then he asked what gear I was running.

We hit the next hill and people almost came to a complete stop.  The road was covered in little sections of pea gravel and cobblestone, so the traction was still tricky, and people were just crawling up the thing. I rode next to Don most of the way up the hill, and when we were almost at the top, someone suddenly swerved in front of us and fell off their bike. I darted to the left and made it around the traffic, but Don went right and was forced to dismount. I was extremely thankful that I did not have to get off my bike and fail the hill.

I put my feet up again and coasted down hill, and we soon hit the the sprint through Liberty tubes. I spun as fast as I could, but absolutely everyone passed me in those tunnels. It felt like it took me days to pop out on the other side. When I finnanly exited the tunnels I was next to a guy in a blue wind breaker. He asked how the hills were. "Eh, not too bad" I replied. He smacked his back side and a mechanical voice announced "that was easy" "huh?" I said. And he smacked his backside again "that was easy" "What?" I was so tired and confused. "I have an easy button in my pocket!" he exclaimed. I smiled and laughed.

We were almost to Welsh Way when my hub started to make a horrible popping grinding noise. I was a little worried, but there was nothing to be done about it, so I rode on.

Welsh was steep, but not difficult compared to the other hills. We topped out in a little muddy parking lot, and I yelled "Dirt!" gleefully when I rolled in. Is it mountain bike season yet?

Elenore was the last hard hill of the day. Traffic was heavy on the hill, and the whole time I was fervently hoping that no one would fall in front of me. Fortunately, there were no accidents and I was able to finish the hill.

The final miles of the day were a road race across flat ground to the final hill. Rob offered to push me for a while across the flat, and I was more than happy to accept.

In the last minutes of sunlight, we hit the 13th hill of the day.

The last kicker to the finish was steep, but it did not matter. I topped out, and was done. (Well almost done. We still had a six mile ride in the dark back to Aaron's.)

And with that, I was the first person in 25 years to finish the Dirty Dozen on a fixed gear. By all accounts, it was:

a) retarded

b) crazy

c) and insane

Marilla cross 09 report

I fired up the grumbler and ripped out to the lady bears house about 45 minutes later than I had originally intended. My late wake up left me 90 minutes to travel from Latrobe, PA to Marilla Park before the SS race started. I was checking my watch every few minutes as we rolled down the hi-way.

We finally arrived in the park at 9:20, with the race start scheduled for 9:30. I pulled my bike out of the grumbler's belly, bolted on the wheel and sprinted over to the registration. After sloppily filling out the paper work and paying my fee, I sprinted back and pulled my chamois and other clothes on (that's a poorly worded phrase. I had clothes on in the first place. I did not register naked.) With three minutes left to race time, I realized I had forgotten pins to attach my number to my jersey, so I went back to the reg pavilion and asked one of the ladies to stick two pins on. I love being late to shit.

(Rob Lochner faceboobs photo)

I lined up next to Don on his brand spankin' new (not really) SS el mariachi, and before I knew it, we were off. I immeadiatly dropped to the mid/ back of the pack as I was hit with how rough the course was. Roots and bumps were everywhere. Fortunately, I had been able to set up some Maxxis Raze's tubless on my deep v's a few days before, so I didn't have to worry about flatting, but the fact remained that I was the one of the only single speeders on a cross bike. At this point in the day the course was dry, and I definitely feel like a fat tires had an advantage.

Around the second lap, I started to get into the grove, and moved up to second. I was clearing the big steep climb (see later pictures) and the sand pit without having to get off my bike. Steve Rowand had a nice gap on me, but I was working to close it for a few laps. Before long my I stopped chasing Steve, and started running from Don. He had moved into third, and every time we hit a section that really slowed me down in the 39X17, he was closing in on his mountain bike. I would open the gap back up on the flat section, and I did manage to hold him off for the rest of the race.

After our race, the rain started to come down. At the start of race #2 it looked like the course was just damp, but before long, it turned into a slippery mess. Tess, Don, and I stood at the top of the big slippery climb and heckled riders that had crashed:

(all pictures from here on stolen from JR. Go here and see more)

I was genuinely excited to go race in the mud, and by the time the A race started, it was getting cold and miserable outside. Magnifico.

I lined up in the cozy middle of the pack, and off we went again. This time I was more focused on the amount of mud that was being sprayed into my eyes than I was on the roots. We hit the spiral of death (I can't find pictures of it. Use your imagination.) and a ton of guys got off to run through the mud. I stayed on my bike, and actually leaned against someone who was running for the duration of the spiral.

We wound around the off camber twists and turns of the course and hit the big slippery downhill before the big slippery climb. I locked my back wheel and started skidding down. Suddenly Rob Loehr blew by dressed in a cowboy outfit, and we collided in the slippery mess. Somehow, our shoes managed to get tangled up, and the top strap of my shoe sheared off. Awesome frigging design Northwave.

I ran up the hill, but I was forced to ride the remaining 55 minutes of the race with a left shoe that wanted to fall off my foot. Trying to ride a fixed gear through sloppy mud without a functional brake makes a man understand the importance of functional footwear.

(If you squint real hard you can see the missing shoe strap)

I feel like at some point in the race, the course reached terminal muddiness, the point when the soil had no more mud to give. At that time I believe that the traction actually became better, but I may have just been delusional.

When the Pflug and Mike Mihalik lapped me, I was actually a little happy. It meant one less lap in the mud. Hurray! Kind of. Pushing a big gear through that mud gets tiring, but to be honest, I was just pissed about my shoe. I mean how does one break a damn shoe?

I let Rob Lochner go by me in the last quarter mile of the race, but with a few hundred feet left, I decided I couldn't let him beat me. I put in a quick sprint and solidified a 13th out of 24. Only one off the middle. Nice.

I'm going to call the day a rip roaring success for the conglomerate. I took a second place in the SS, did not crash in the muddy A race, rode my fixed gear both times, ate garlic butter wings between races, and had oodles of fun cheering and ringing some cowbells. Marilla Cross' gets four skogkatts, out of four.

(yes. that was unnesisary. but I really wanted to use the skogkatts. click make big)

JR has a nice report on iplayoutside in which he manages to remember everything that happened in every race (I referred to his report when writing mine. He knows what happened in my race better than I do. Crazy.)

raccoon township 'cross

I have to qualify this post by saying that racing 'cross on a fixed gear is so much frigging fun. It really is. I had a blast. If you've ever ridden an old cruiser with a coaster brake and locked it up around a turn, you'll understand why I enjoyed it so much.

The course at Raccoon Township Park yesterday was very well laid out. Laps were about two miles long, plenty of turns, one dirt (mud after the first lap) section, and multiple off camber corners. There were only two places per lap that forced a dismount; one set of barriers, and one muddy set of log steps.

We had a solid day of rain on Saturday and through Sunday morning, so I knew it was going to get muddy. I rolled into the race early enough to take some practice laps, and the course was already soggy. I knew that it would probably be a better idea to race my mountain bike, but I really wanted to do a race on the Poo Poo Thunder II, and since I'm already out of the running for the month of mud overall, (I missed the first race because of Coopers Rock) I figured I might as well do it.

From Drop Box

The race started without much warning, and I got caught in the back. I spent the first flat section futzing with my watch and trying to get the timer to start. That was probably a mistake. Oh wells.

From Drop Box

For half of the first lap, we stayed in a pretty tight pack. But around the first set of muddy steps, things started to thin out and I became a little more comfortable.

From Drop Box

From Drop Box

I had to lock the back wheel up and skid down this muddy slope. I'm pleased to say that I made it without crashing everytime.

From Drop Box

(this pour soul was not so lucky)

The only way for me to slow down was to skid my back wheel. I would lock it up into and around a corner, sprint out, skid at the next corner, and so on. For the first 4 laps, it was fine. But when I came in for that 4th one and saw that there were still 4 more to go, I could have died. The course was becoming muddier, and it was taking more concentration (when I had less to give) to keep my bike upright.

All the skid/sprinting was taking its toll on me. Eventually I stopped skidding through the corners and started to just peddle slowly through them, which was certainly slower.

Before long my goal shifted from having a good finish to not getting lapped by the leaders.

When I crossed the line and started my last lap, I saw the lead pack a few turns behind me.

From Drop Box

From Drop Box

(I made it over the barriers every lap but one. On the forth or fifth time I was so tired that I skidded right into it. Running into the barrier is not the most effective way to cross it.)

I really started to push again, and I finished the lap with a few minutes to spare.

From Drop Box

I skidded across the line totally spent. Cross' really is hard. And I was not expecting the race to take over an hour. I figured that I finished very well into the back of the pack. But I was still going to call the day a success, because I didn't crash, I didn't touch my front brake, and I beat a few people.

I was cleaning up the Thunder and getting ready to pack it into the Grumbler when one of the volunteers came by and handed me a single speed third place envelope. "Huh? I was third?" I said in astonishment.

"Yep. Did you think you were lapped?"

"No definitely did not get lapped."
"Well then congrats." he said

I have no idea how I came in third, but hells, I'll take it. Yesterday was a good day. The next cross race is next weekend at Grove City, and I'll be on the fixed thunder again. Can't wait.

Hail to the cycle who coastith not

From Worthless Garbage

+

From knobby meats

=

Crazy good climbing!!
Huzzah!

Today's ride made me a believer in the benefits of riding a fixed gear with a 30lb bag o' shit everyday.
The temperatures were great today in Western PA, so after some running scaffalaca and I went out for about 20 miles at a moderate pace. Scaffalaca is a good road racer and rides a carbon fiber Colnago. I ride a heavy ass steel, fixed, skinny tired mountain bike. And I was smoking him like a stoggie on every climb we hit.

At the bottom of every hill I heard a 'click' 'click' 'clicking' down the of his gears. He slowed down. Obviously, on the fixed gear I do not have that option. I have to stand and hammer and pray my knees don't explode. I sped up. And kept it up.

I won't discuss what happened on the downhills. (coasting is cheating.)

Riding fixed has definitely made me a great climber. It's really good stuff.