I bring the cookies

I'm interning at Dirt Rag Mag right now. It's pretty neat, and I'm writing lots of stuff.

Pulp Stiction is my weekly web column, and so far I have two posts up. They're more of the same kind of thing that I write on here. We'll eventually set a regular day for the posts.

Pulp Stiction: A snowbound adventure staring Sixpoint Resin and raw potatoes

Pulp Stiction 2: Mud bogs and gin buckets in Ohio

On my first day in the office, I set up Karen's fat test bike tires tubeless. Which made me a little nervous, because the tires fit the rims really loosely, and I was afraid that they would roll off the first time she rode it. Injuring an editor on the first day of an internship isn't usually a good choice. 

But so far so good. And I got to pose for creepy out of focus face shots:

How to set up a fat bike tubeless

I'm working on some print articles now, and I'll have another web column up next week. It's sweet to be writing about bikes in a semi-professional capacity.

Riding snowmobile trails on the mountain

On New Year's Eve, Cinder Bloch, Chrissy, Colleen and I headed up to the mountain to ride some snowmobile trails.

While we were driving up, I wondered if Cinder Bloch would be able to get his little Golf into the snowy parking lot. A minute later, my phone started ringing.

"Hey, you have four wheel drive right?"

The entrance to the lot is downhill, so he didn't have any trouble getting in:

Colleen's photo

After the crusty Park Service guy helped me push, and gave Cinder Bloch a lecture about the importance of using real snow tires instead of all-seasons, he got back in his plow truck and told me to move the Danger Ranger out of his way. I did. Then we assembled our bikes and hit the snowy trail.

Also Colleen's photo

Cinder Bloch and Chrissy were both on fat bikes, while Colleen and I were on our 29ers.

Colleen's photo, not Colleen's fat bikes

I figured that if we stayed on the packed snowmobile stuff, Colleen and I would be mostly ok. I was mostly right.

We pedaled up Fire Tower Road, then dropped down into some snowmobile stuff. The snowmobilists had left a bunch of rollers on the trail from twisting the throttle. I giggled a little while we ripped down the snowy pump track.

Unfortunately, after almost 2000 feet of descending, we had to go back up. That's where things got less fun on a normal bike. Cinder Bloch and Chrissy spun their beasts up the hills easily. With her low gears, Colleen could still get up most stuff.

On my single speed, I had trouble. Which made everyone else very happy:

Intentionally resting. Photo stolen from Cinder Bloch

We rode down and down some more, then popped out on some frozen pavement at the bottom of the mountain. At which point we realized that we were lost:

Of course I know where we are. I have a map.

Then I remembered that I had a magic phone with the GPS technologies. I consulted it, pinpointed our location, then led the group in the wrong direction. We ended up on County Line Road, which was full of dickheads going to the ski resort. People passed fast and spayed salt far. Since I had been letting air out of my tires to try to get traction all day, I probably had about 5 psi at that point. It made the pavement feel like peanut butter.

We finally made it back to the snowmobile road that went towards the cars. But it was a long climb back, and the snow was starting to soften up. By the second pitch, everyone but Cinder Bloch was pushing:

A long walk. Cinder Bloch photo

After almost an hour of pushing our bikes, we hit the summit. The wind was blowing so hard up Rt. 31 that I struggled to pedal down the hill to Fire Tower. My fingers started to tingle and my face burnt. A few seconds later I made the turn back to the truck.

The ride was a sweet way to end the year. Since the conditions were good, our standard mountain bikes were fine about 75 percent of the time.

To eliminate the times that they sucked, I've got a new project going:

Does not involve handlebar mounted coffee cups.

Month of Mud Moraine 2009 Repor

Another excellent weekend of racing is in the bag. On Saturday I raced the fixed gear twice at the Murrysville 'Cross and ended up with a win in the Under 19, a 2nd in Cat 4, and a 5th in Cat 3/4.

Yesterday was the final Month of Mud race in Moraine State Park, and I retained my status of perpetual second place single speeder (except when the pflug races gearless and I'm bumped into third.)

Race reports will appear on the blog in reverse chronological order, just because thats how I feel like doing it. And that makes Moraine first. Salty.

When we lined up and were given a go signal, the field blasted out of the parking lot and onto the first section of double track. I put my hands on the skinniest part of my bars to get into my stunningly lame single speed aero tuck and started spinning my brains out. To my anaerobic elation, I actually passed a few geared guys. The track made a sharp left and started up a gradual climb. I kept my head down and ground up it on the way to the first section of single track. A little bit ahead I saw JPok shoot up the hill and into the woods.

The opening single track is a section of climbing switchbacks, on one of the first turns, I passed Steve Bedillion as he was stopped on the side of the trail. I went by, and knew that I had probably just moved into the 2nd place SS spot.

After cresting the hill, the trail turned down and in my typical early race jumpiness, I skidded off slippery rooted turn and into some trees. I stood to the side and let Aaron Shelmire go by before hopping back on my cycle and continuing down the hill.

We hit the first big rock garden, and Aaron made pass on a guy who was moving a little slow through the chunks. I was trying to get by him, and when he picked up his bike and started to run, I yelled to him that I was going to try to go around. He told me to go for it, but he was carrying his bike across the flat of his back, so his wheels stretched from one side of the trail to the other. Finally I yelled "Dude your bikes in the way!" and he quickly pointed it forward. I went around and chased down Aaron.

At some point I passed him, and put a little gap on him, but at the bottom of a big descent I lost the trail. For the entire race, everything was covered in wet leaves, so not only was it difficult to ride, it was really hard to discern which way the course went. By the time I figured it out, he had closed down the gap.

I turned on the gas and tried to get away from the man. When we hit the spectator filled boulder field, we were moving:

When we ran out onto the double track again, I saw Jake Grantham up ahead in the distance. I made it my goal to chase him down. By the time I hit the single track again, I had almost cut the gap between him and me in half. I kept chasing him, and Aaron kept chasing me, and at times I really thought we were going to be able to catch him.

Then we hit the big rock garden again. I completely blew up. It was as if I'd never ridden a bike over a rock before. I was tripping and slipping all over the place like a duck with greased feet. Aaron shot by in a blazing quest for glory, and I continued to wallow in among the stones. I finally got my shit together when I glimpsed another rider behind me. After convincing myself that he was another SS, I hammered down the hill and through the boulder field.

From Drop Box

I was able to hold him off for the rest of the lap, and I rolled across the finish in 6th (I think) overall, and 2nd in the SS (and the guy behind me was not in fact another SS.)

Results will be here when they're there.

I finished 4th in the series with my one missed race. Ryan Gotch took 3rd, Steve Bedillion came in 2nd, and JPok took the win while earning a spot in the MOM hall of fame. Nice job gents.

I know its hard for anybody to care about the experts when the Single Speeders are so damn good looking, but Tim Carson won the overall. He really can get that little belly moving. Kudos dude.

After the race, everybody went to the Brewery, and I joined a couple of girls and Don Powers in not having a beer. Good times.

Speaking of Don, the Padre was quick enough to capture him running his geared hardtail over some rocks while Darin Shriver crushes it on a fully rigid single speed:

And in fact, here's Dave Krack riding the same section on a single wheeled fixed gear:

(I love the person behind him dragging the bike. Good stuff)

a new rating system

Last Thursday, I did make an attempt at riding my newly acquired 20t cog. Unfortunately, it was 38 degrees and pouring that day. Before I left my house I convinced myself that after riding for a little I would be warmed up enough to be comfortable. I was so, so wrong.

When I unloaded the bike from the Grumbler my clothes started to get wet. I should have expected this. Man has know for millennial that when water fall from the sky, man gets wet. Again I convinced myself that once I started to ride my body would become so warm that it would vaporize any water that touched it.

So I rode. And I felt every damn drip that hit my wool jersey. Drip. Drip. Drip. I cringed with each freezing impact. After rolling through some tall weeds, my arms became totally soaked. My original plan was to ride the Blue loop at Apollo once with the 18t, and once with the 20t and compare the times. But I was freezing, and the poly-poo pants that I was wearing were soaked and not holding any warmth at all, so I resolved to return to the Grumbler to change my clothes and install the 20t. One lap of the course would be plenty that day.

I got back to the vehicle and changed my pants (I'd rather wear a live raccoon than wet synthetic) and socks, and put the 20t cog on. I was short one spacer. Apparently, a surly cog is narrower than an endless bikes cog. At that point I was cold, wet, and annoyed. So I threw the bike in the Grumbler and drove home. The weather beat me that day (I'm not mountain biking in 38 degree rain ever again. Unless I'm racing, or somebody decides to pay me to do it.)

I did go back to Apollo on Sunday, and it was a gorgeous sunny day. The leaves were out in all their colorful golden glory, I was able to wear a short sleeve jersey, and I didn't have a ride ending flat until I was two hours into my ride. What more could a guy ask for?

I'm guessing that topics for blogscussion are going to be scarce once the race season ends and the snow blankets the trails. So I plan on writing a few gear reviews over the dark months. I'm not insinuating that I'm actually qualified to review a carefully designed product, but hell, this is the interwebs. Everybody is an expert.

To facilitate my reviews, I've carefully designed my own rating system:

From Drop Box

In the four skogkatt system, a product receiviving a score of: three skogkatts is very good, two is functional, four is

perfect, and one is poorly designed. No skogkatts is a very bad thing.

But more excitingly, the Grumbler is getting some new clothes:

From Drop Box

Hells yeah. Its going to look sweet.

Brady's Run

I'm happy to report that I beat most of the people who made fun of my incredibly awesome new handlebars.

But sadly they will be re-retired to the poo poo thunder later today. More about this after the spine tingling race report.

At the beginning of the race, all the riders deemed worthy are called up to start in the front of the pack. Yesterday I got a call up. I feel validated.

Starting at the front sounds nice in theory, but when the first half mile of the course is totally flat, on a SS it's more of a cruel joke than it is an advantage. When the go signal was given, I heard the furious clicking of gears as the the mechanically assisted field picked up speed and rolled by me. A lead pack broke away and I stupidly tried to catch them. I failed.

We hit the first big road climb and everybody bunched back up. JPok went by, but I didn't really have the legs to go with him, so I just settled into a nice pace and trundled up the hill.
(Pirated from Mike Briggs facebook. Why did no one tell me I looked so silly on those bars? And if you did, why didn't I believe you?)

The road ended and narrowed to a moist leafy section of flat double track. Before long we began to hit deep mud holes. They became more and more frequent until they appeared about every 230 feet. The trail took a sharp right and started up a super steep climb.

I was caught behind two Dirty Harry's gentleman going up the hill (I use the term caught very loosely, because I was not actively trying to become un-caught. perhaps 'followed' would more accurately describe my situation.) Anyway, we were not moving with any sense of urgency, so I alternated between running and riding my bike.

At the top of the hill the course became very predictable. If you missed it, I'll paint a written verbal photograph:

Right

Left

Log

Log.

Log

Left

Log

Right

Log!

Log

Cheering women in the middle of nowhere

Log.

Log.

And so on.

There were a ton of slippery logs. In the two four mile laps of that course, I think it's safe to say that I crossed more logs than I have in all my other races this season combined. After the land of the logs, the track went back down the hill. Near the bottom of the paved climb, it went back up and the pattern of mud holes, running, and logs was repeated.

Coming down the hill the second time, I saw I sport rider up ahead who was about to complete his first lap. We hit the pavement at the same time and a sprint to the finish/ half way line ensued. I narrowly edged him out as he rolled through for four more miles. I am such a bad ass.

While I did thoroughly enjoy using my upside down grandmotherly handle bars, they will not be on my mountain cycle for the next race. The sweep was good, but they're just too narrow to be practical. I was not feeling like I had enough control on the wet rooty sections of the course. A bar with more sweep and the same width as my Salsas would be about perfect.

2nd SS, 7th overall.

New River Bike Fest

The lady bear and I rolled down to the New River Bike Fest on Saturday after a stint in Ohiopyle at the Falls Race.

From New River and falls race 09

From New River and falls race 09

From New River and falls race 09

(I keep saying I’m going to learn to kayak)

From New River and falls race 09

When we crossed the New River Gorge Bridge, we knew we were getting close to Oak Hill. Eventually we arrived at Ace Adventure Center, and I have to say, at first I was a little concerned. From the quality of their website, I was expecting a little more from the welcome center. It was small, olive drab, and unassuming.

After checking in and receiving our free camping, we headed up the steep switchback laden road to the ‘mountain top’ campsite. My trepidation was erased when I saw the bathrooms. They were very nice, and very clean. Nothing says more for a place than a nice place to do business. It was with out a doubt one of the nicest campgrounds I’ve ever stayed in (with the exception of the loud, intoxicated neighbors.)

From New River and falls race 09

My original plan was to pre-ride the course, but we arrived too late, so I contented myself with a short spin around the camping area before bed.

From New River and falls race 09

Yes yes yes. Its that way. Im certain.

The short rotund man with glasses raised his arm and cried “Ready!” We were off. Befuddled, he said “ok, I guess go.” But we were already flying down the dusty road. I had lined up at the front so I struggled to spin fast enough to stay with the geared riders. Before we finished the first half mile, I heard the hiss of a flat tire. Another single speeder had picked up a puncture right off the start. The field rolled by.

As we narrowed down and hit the first section of singletrack, I had managed to stay near the front. The trail was cut into the side of a steep ridge, and the guy in front of me was sliding all over the place. On the first climb I saw Benji come around me and promptly crash into the rider in front of him. He hit the ground with a thud and I swerved to avoid him, knowing that he would probably catch up again.

The trail opened up to a section of dirt road and I estimated there to be about five riders ahead of me. We rode down more singletrack before hitting a dark tunnel of rhododendrons. The slippery path snaked through the shrubberies before terminating in a long rock garden. I was bunched up behind a guy who dabbed a foot or two, and I saw Benji take a shorter line through the rocks and blow by.

We spilled out onto a fire road climb, and I put in a hard effort to catch back up. I looked down at my computer and saw that I was climbing at 17 mph. Not to shabby.

We made a quick left and started a steep descent. I noticed that the trail name was ‘Rigor Mortis’ Suddenly my field of vision was filled with big yellow signs that exclaimed ‘!!!CAUTION!!!’ The rider in front of me skidded to a stop and dismounted his bike. Not knowing any better, I kept going, and the trail dropped straight down. There were roots and slippery rocks scattered all over the path, with a few big ledges thrown in. At the bottom of the section, the 12’ ribbon of dirt turned sharply to the right with a huge drop off on the left side. The next down hill was nearly identical. I got my ass way behind the saddle and hoped for the best.

When I finally hit the bottom, I shook out my hands and put the power down. Before long I caught Benji, and we rode together for a few minutes. Eventually I heard him say “I’ve got no recovery today.” With that I pulled away and kept hammering up the climbs. The rest of the lap was much less technical, but still a blast. I was looking over my shoulder the entire time, expecting to be passed.

From New River and falls race 09

I rolled through the start finish area and started my second lap. My mind was on Rigor Mortis the whole time. I traded places with a geared Gary Fisher guy a few times before we hit the deadly down hill. I rode the descant sans drama, and pulled away from the other rider on the next climb. I was so excited that my skin was intact and that I hadn’t crashed.

The course was super fun the rest of the way. It was smooth, with fast turns and just enough technical and climbing thrown in. I was still pushing hard expecting to be passed, and my quads felt fit to burst. In my oxygen deprived state I reasoned that one 11.5 mile lap + another 11.5 mile lap = 21 miles. When my computer hit 20 miles I started to sprint, thinking that the finish was less than a mile away. 21 miles came and went, and with a disheartened laugh I realized that 11.5 + 11.5 = 23 miles. Oops.

Finally I saw the light at the end of the trees and I hit the last climb. Gunnar came from nowhere and passed me. “No way am I gona let that old man beat me with 400 meters to go” I thought. But I did. I was tired. And he was fast.

From New River and falls race 09

I crossed the line with one other single speeder in front of me. I had ridden my entire race like I was in 2nd and chasing the winner, and as it turned out, that’s exactly what I was doing.

From New River and falls race 09

ouch