Category: Bike

Air.

Not the kind you breathe, but the kind beneath your tires.
Continue reading 25 things I love about the bike – #15

Here it is – I will finish the other items eventually, but here is the final list, in no particular order:

25. Frames
24. Lard Bar
23. Jerseys
22. Century
21. Sprints
20. Breakaways
19. Training Wheels
18 Coffee, Coffee, Coffee
17. Quick Release
16. Heroes
15. Air
14. reflectors
13. Sunrises
12. Bottle Cages
11. New Pavement
10. bottles
9. Toe Clips
8. Seasons
7. Handlebars
6. Deraileur
5. spokes
4. coaster brakes
3. Car Racks
2. Twilight
1. Freedom

Notice there are some items (clipless pedals, shorts) left off out of spite, and others (Seats, seatposts, stems) left out because, frankly, they bore me.

Allez, mes amis.

Heroes.

Wow. What a big word. Are there heroes in the postmodern day? Have we managed to deconstruct, transcend (Remind me to tell the PHC Joke at the end, as Footnote 1), analyze, manage, and debate the Hero off of his place in the public square?

Perhaps. (See footnote 2)

Cycling has heroes in droves. Pick an arechetype, there’s a cyclist to fit the mould.

We’ll start with the obvious, the guy about whom we have another 10 days of coverage. Big Tex. Even at the beginning of his career, Lance Armstrong was a force. US Professional Champion. World Champion. Stage Winner. Classics Winner. Even before 1996, Armstrong was carrying the American torch in the European cycling world. And his return to the peleton, and into history, is rightly the stuff of legend.
Continue reading 25 things I love about the bike – #16

The Quick Release

Legend (and actual fact, in this case. But legend is so much cooler …) has it that Tulio Campagnolo (Yes, that Campagnolo) was headed over the Croce d´Aune Pass in the Dolomites during a bike race. Much like The Boy’s bike, Tulio’s wheels were fastened to his frame with nuts and bolts. In the middle of a blizzard, at the top of a mountain pass, Mr. Campagnolo was unable to get his numb fingers to properly operate the tools to get his tire off to fix a flat. Out of frustration, he invented the quick release, started a company to make and market it, and now has moved on to the stuff of legend.
Continue reading 25 things I love about the bike – #17

Coffee, Coffee, Coffee

(You’ve got to sing it, kind of like the “I am evil Ho-mer” song from the Simpsons)
Continue reading 25 things I love about the bike – #18

Training Wheels

There’s not a lot to them. And, in fact, they teach a lot of bad habits such as discouraging leaning into turns, riding slow without weight centered. They make it difficult to get out of the saddle to climb effectively – as soon as a rider really mashes on a pedal, she shifts onto the wheel on that side, lifting the rear wheel off the ground, and either spinning the rear wheel without producing forward movement, or going too fall and falling.

But they’re there. And they do a darn fine job of getting riders from the unstable world of two wheels standing still to the stability, freedom, and flight of flying down the (road, trail, etc) with the wonders of gyroscopic stabilization.
Continue reading 25 things I love about the bike – #19

Breakaways.

I’m trying to avoid direct comments on a certain race, but watching the flat stages this week has me all fired up about riders who are prone to take fliers. To tilt at windmills. Try to show what’s possible as a rugged individual.

And usually end up getting swept up by the crush of the peleton before the finish.

One of my favorite flicks of all time is Tin Cup. In it, Kevin Costner plays a golf pro who runs a driving range in the middle of nowhere, Texas. (Wait, isn’t this supposed to be cycling-related? Golf? WTF?) In true Texan style, he qualifies for the US Open to woo the always-stunning Renee Russo away from (the underrated, IMO) Don Johnson. Long story short, he’s winning the Open going into the 18th hole at Augusta – a long hole with a green protected by a giant water hazard. This hole’s stymied him the last couple of days – being, at heart, a muni-course player, he’s all about hitting the long ball and taking risks. The smart money is hitting the ball short of the water, chipping over, and tapping in for the win. But Tin Cup’s got to go for the glory – and ends up hitting ball after ball into the water. It’s only on his last ball, after he’s lost the match, that he finally gets it in the hole. And the crowd goes wild after the show of determination.

(Uh, again – wha?)

The point is that the breakaway, especially the solo breakaway, is such an unbelievably long shot for a rider to take that it’s practically futile. One or two riders cannot generate the same efficiencies as far as drafting as can almost 200. There’s the risk of puncture or mechanicals, or the risk of bonking due to increased exertion.

There’s the likelyhood that there’s bad blood between the riders in the break and at least one of the teams. Or, that one of the riders is a major contender for the race win, obliging the teams with the other contenders to chase hard. So motivation and a lot more rested riders to pull the peleton weighs against the breakaway.

So why do it?

Because sometimes it works. And when it does, it’s magical.

Absolute best example is Tyler Hamilton’s 2003 flier in stage 16, where he goes (I’m guessing here) well over 100 kilometers for the stage win, all while nursing a broken collarbone. Even with the subsequent revelations of doping, I’m in awe of that stage.

Tilting at windmills. Crazy? Perhaps. But once in a while, the pig does turn out to be a princess.

Allez, Sancho. Fetch me my mount. I can win this thing.

Sprints.

They’re everywhere – getting off the interstate, the instinct is to gun it to edge one car closer to home. Grabbing the last copy of a new video at the rental store. Heading back to the beginning as storm clouds linger. Curfew for a 17 year old on a Saturday night.

Sprints are all about a result concentrated into a few, brief, intense seconds. The build up to the the sprint is irrelevant once it begins, and as soon as someone crosses the finish line first, second place becomes irrelevant may as well be last.

Cycling has sprints of all sorts – the catty positioning for a track sprint – riders slowing to a track stand to try to force the other rider into the leading position approaching the line. The Saturday morning club ride sprint to the (county, city, state) line to see who gets free coffee. The commuting sprint to catch a light before it turns yellow. Kids, newly freed from training wheels, sprinting from driveway to driveway pretending to race cars.

But nothing compares to a ProTour group sprint. Nearly 200 riders approaching the end of a day’s racing at speeds over 30 miles per hour, knowing that there’s only a half dozen guys in the bunch with any hope of adding to their palmares. The coordination of the leadout men, reaching way down into oxygen debt to get their guy that much closer to the line. Fans pounding on the barriers, gears clicking, shoulders rubbing – wow.

Regardless, it’s there inside all of us. The pressure to eke out one last bit of performance when we think we’re tapped out. We’ve all got it – a last reserve, another punch, another turn of the cranks.

The sprint is about figuring out who can grab it when it counts.

Do you have it? Right now?

If so, BRING IT.

‘Cause it won’t matter in five minutes.