Monthly Archive for January, 2009

First blood.

That would be chicken blood.  If there had been any blood.  Let me explain.

I am a world-class chicken.  By which I mean “coward”.  I am deliberate and careful to a paralyzing fault.  I’ve never had a single stitch, or a broken bone.  The one time I came close to causing myself serious injury, it was because I was thinking so hard about something that I tripped on my way to the library.  (I was fine though.  Because I told everyone I had injured myself while break dancing.)

This may seem, at first blush, a bit paradoxical.  There is no doubt that I am a coward with regard to physical injury, especially at uncontrolled speed, but I really do enjoy riding my bike as fast as possible through the woods, over rocks or roots, across streams, sand, gravel… whatever.

It could be that my pessimistic, overcautious brain is so excited - just to have survived - that the experience of riding is always better than my inner-chicken anticipates.  The unexpected reward of surviving makes it fun.  That idea actually agrees with current research in the neurobiology of reward, which means I ride around in the woods imagining  the medium spiny neurons in my mediodorsal striatum going:

Oh no! Oh no! Oh No! Agghhhhh!  …. ?!!   …Phew.  - Hooray!”

When I tried to explain that theory to Don, however, he said he has the opposite experience.  His inner monologue is something like:

“I’m gonna make it!  I’m gonna make it!” [CRASH!]

Perhaps the data reflect gender differences.

Or, it could be that I really like the control.  Like, alot.  When I taught myself to ride on dirt, it was hard not to come to an almost complete stop on top of obstacles, often at the very point that was most difficult to pass over.  I’d be trackstanding at the top of every log, bump and rock along the entire River Trail, with a stupid grin on my face thinking “I own this rock!”  That, my friends, is not a recipe for speed.

And though the rational brain is convinced that momentum is our friend, the chicken brain has yet to fully relinquish the brake levers.  So, you can imagine how excited the brains were this week when I got to go snowboarding for the first time in three years.

The chicken brain is winning. I have yet to fall. Once. In my defense, I am the Queen of Turning. If there were some sort of contest for most turns, you could probably measure my results per square inch. I kinda like the control, you know?

I used to ride goofy, which probably had something to do with learning in a pair of floppy men’s Sorels three sizes too big. I switched with the advent of modern bindings, though my left ankle still comes up a ton and the lean back into the hill is always less precise than I’d like.

And then about half way down the first run I remembered my hips and the way you can lean and kick that leg around and suddenly I was in business again!  Sweet, wonderful, flowy control.  I started thinking I should snowboard more because somehow I always seem to forget about the hips when I’m trying to steer a bicycle.  word_chicken

Mission for the rest of the week is get up to speed and biff it, hard.  Just once. You got to go faster to go faster, right?

Blatant favoritism

This one is my favorite. And it is ON SALE. Along with just about everything. Thru Feb 1.

t609wj01_lgt609wj01b_lg

I really do <3 TwinSix.  Heck, I <4+ them.  By the end of 2008, I was waiting with mounting impatience for the turn of the year to send those fine fellows an electronic petition that went something like: “Hey T6! Unrequited sponsor-love is sad.”

I won’t include the entire letter, which was just all soppy and pathetic… but here is a little excerpt:

. T6 jersey 101 degrees outside Frontin' ascent, sunset

My reasons for crushing on T6 are many, but can be distilled as follows. I like graphic design. Most bike jerseys suck. Brandalism is rampant. Such are my delicate sensitivities that during my first year of racing, I owned only one jersey - my Team WORS jersey. Then I found T6, and now I can ride twice a day without doing laundry in between. Hence, deep and abiding love.

. morning ritual return descent

And the answer I got back was so cool that only my huge grin kept me propped up in my chair.  This is going to be an excellent season…

Junk Mile Hardcore

Know what I’ll be watching next time I’m on the trainer - the National Film Board of Canada just posted Murray Siple’s feature-length documentary Carts of Darkness. The film follows a group of homeless men who have combined bottle picking with the extreme sport of racing shopping carts down the steep hills of North Vancouver.

I’ve been a fan of this guy since his sweet wheelchair accessible home was featured in Dwell. Some people can see the doors of chance standing open. Can’t wait to see where he’s going.

Head in the clouds

After we got above the clouds, the flight to Denver was so sunny I wanted to hug the window. Rush hour is not the best time to get across town and head up into the mountains. I realized this on Friday morning as I was packing. So, I decided to find some stuff to entertain myself in town for an hour or two after landing. I found an pretty cool exhibit at the downtown public library called “Maps as Art”.

Wall display of travel maps

But what I was really excited about was that the Rodeo was in town! My mother grew up in Denver and when I was little we would visit my grandparents there. They would always point out the Stock Yards as we drove past and remind us that “Gramps”, my great-grandfather, used to run the National Western Stock Show. I had no idea what that meant. After an evening at the 103rd annual, I think that means “super cool”.





barrel racing

My uncle Mike and aunt Pam live just outside Denver, so they met me downtown and we went together. I had an absolutely fantastic time. Rodeo is just about the funnest thing ever! Afterward, we went out and had some amazing carnitas tacos. The place was closing when we arrived, but Mike and Pam eat there often and they let us order. My rental car still smells like amazing tacos. By the time we were finished with dinner it was after 11. The mountain pass I needed to drive over had just re-opened for traffic, after being closed all evening due to bad weather and multiple accidents. I headed for the hills, still wide awake, and rolled in to the check-in around 2 AM, MST. Being an insomniac, I suppose, has its uses.