Nonsense: Hoppy Holidays!

The Single Speed Outlaw invited me out for a fixed gear road ride on Friday night, but this was definitely not your typical fixed gear road ride. Why was it different? Well, here was the plan. First, I would meet the SSO and some other hardcore cyclists at the Catonsville park and ride. Next, we would ride our fixies into downtown Baltimore to a watering hold named Max's. There we would commence in much merriment somewhat influenced by various alcoholic beverages and rather good food. After Max's, our final event for the evening was at the 8 x 10 live music venue, where we would rock out with the Baltimore born band, The Almighty Senators.

In the beginning, I did everything I could to piss on the good spirits of the party. First, I showed up to the park and ride 20 minutest late. Second, I flatted approximately 120 seconds into the ride. Third, I reseated my tire bead incorrectly causing a massive bulge in my rear tire that nearly ended my entire ride. Somehow, I did make it to Baltimore with the fellas and was able to completely fix the fixie's unfixed tire at Light Street Bicycle Shop.

After that, everything went according to plan.

Bring a lock or walk home.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

AMS at 8x10.

Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

Nonsense: Even Even MORE Maintenance

And so, it rained.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

Originally, I had two trail work days planned for the weekend, but I overslept on Saturday and missed the work party at the Upper Rock Creek Park which is about 30 minutes west of my apartment. I regrouped on Sunday morning and made the hour long drive north to Frederick and Gambrill State Park where I linked up with the Single Speed Outlaw and company for some trail knicking in the rain.

We worked for a solid four hours, building rock water bars and digging knicks on a 300 meter stretch of trail. The rain kept us cool while we worked, but erased any thoughts of post maintenance riding from our mountain biker minds. My final task for the day came while we built the last water bar, my orders were to retrieve a cooler full of beer from the van that brought us to the trailhead.

As I jogged back down the trail with the cooler in hand, the beer bottles happily clink clinked against each other like an alcoholic dinner bell. My coworkers for the day were kind enough to pounce/flock after I had set the cooler down.

Alcohol on weary stomachs made some legs weary.

The party continued at the Brewer's Alley in downtown Frederick where a large percentage of the group enjoyed the Monte Cristo.

Good people, good trail work, good beer, good food.

Life is good.

Snapshots: The First Snow

A light dusting out front.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

Nonsense: Even MORE Maintenance!

Another weekend in my new home is wrapping up and with it came rain and trail maintenance. The trail maintenance came at another MORE trail work party held, this time, at Rosaryville State Park, 30 miles south of home. I think highly of the trail quality of Rosaryville, so it was a pleasure to be a part of its maintenance. Of the eight to 10 people that showed up, two of us, Dave and I, took a B.O.B. trailer out on the trail while the others hiked into a different area to work some re-routes. Dave and I rode about half of the 8 mile perimeter loop stopping at a dozen work sites to dig knicks or to de-berm the trail.

After some three hours of maintenance the gloomy skies finally opened up and began sprinkling cold rain on our helmets. Dave and I dug out the last knick and re-stacked the B.O.B. for the final time. On the way out, we rode a new re-route and caught up with the hikers who were also on their way out. We dropped our tools at a shed before riding an asphalt shortcut back to the parking lot where my truck was parked. Out on the open pavement, I had an opportunity to test a new supposedly waterproof jacket.

Yes, the jacket successfully repelled all water. Unfortunately, I discovered when I got home, my Camelbak bladder also repelled most of its water into my backpack throughout the day.

Bleh.

No pictures due to rain.

Nonsense: MTB MD!

Blazing through the blazing leaves.

Photography by Chuck Bolte.

Since moving to the state of Maryland, I have done my best to plunge head first into the local mountain biking scene. As of today, Sunday, that plunge has taken me to Rosaryville State Park, Patapsco River State Park Avalon Area, Patapsco River State Park Woodstock Road, and Fairland Park.

So far all of these mountain bike areas have treated me quite well. Patapsco is a huge adventure and I have miles and miles of trail left to explore. Rosaryville and Fairland are both much smaller, but the trail quality within each park is excellent. Well, except for all of the now old fall foliage that has clogged the flow of the dirt.

Chuck is in the "two year old Stans" terror dome at Patapsco.

Nonsense: MORE Maintenance

MORE maintenance gathering.

Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

At some point in a previous blog posting, I mentioned that it would be a good idea for anyone who lives in the Mid-Atlantic region of the United States and who also enjoys mountain biking to link up with the group known as Mid-Atlantic Off-Road Enthusiasts, or MORE. Because I now live in the Mid-Atlantic region of the United States and clearly still enjoy mountain biking, I took advantage of a good idea and got in touch with a MORE rider. That rider was the Single Speed Outlaw himself, the man who is unknowingly responsible for inspiring the creation of this very blog. The SSO tipped me off earlier in the week that MORE was having a trail maintenance party at Patapsco River State Park on Sunday, November 25th and added that it would be a good idea for me to show up to the party to meet other mountain bikers and make new friends. Clearly, I took advantage of a second good idea.

Although, it was bitter cold, 18 riders showed up to Patapsco on Sunday morning to eat Christmas flavored donuts, tow BOB trailers full of trail maintaining tools, and to encourage water to flow off of Patapsco’s trails. In short, we rode out the Patapsco Thru Trail, and dropped workers off at various maintenance sites to dig nicks that would provide proper water drainage. Our intent was to encourage precipitation to flow off of the trail instead of down the trail.

A job well done.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

The crew worked for a solid five hours before calling it a trail maintenance day and headed back to the parking lot. The group accounted for all of its tools to ensure none had been lost and then we split up, some heading home and others, including me, made for the Bare Bones Grill in Ellicott City. There we proceeded to enjoy refreshment with beer, wine, and ribs.

Mm, mm, good!

XTERRA Skud tests fresh dirt.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

Journeys: Almost A Century

On Wednesday, November 21st, I drove to Berlin, MD with my fixie affixed to my Onward Tacoma to meet Steve and Mariana for the beautiful 100 mile View Trail road ride on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. When we left a random parking lot in Berlin at 1000, we could not have sacrificed a chicken, or dog, for better weather conditions. Temperatures in the upper 60's provided the comfort necessary to properly enjoy the scenery of the Eastern Shore farmland, which included the distinct smell of chicken poo mile after mile after mile. Oh, and hellacious wind all the way from Berlin to Pocomoke City too.

Our first rest stop was approximately 25 miles into the ride at Public Landing. Chicken poo farms were to the west, blue ocean waters were to the east.

Chuck by the sea!
Photograph by Steve Garrett.

After the Public Landing rest stop the ride started going down hill, and I am not speaking in literal terms. There are quite a few turns onto quite a few small rural road during the ride and we were able to miss no less than four, possibly five of those turns, and constantly found ourselves riding across the border into Virginia. In fact, we were so inept in our navigation that we were forced to slice off a portion of the mapped route south of Pocomoke City, MD in order to compensate for the added miles.

Steve and Mariana enjoy the fall foliage.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

After Pocomoke City we turned north for the return leg to Berlin. The wind was much calmer on the way back and the final 40 miles of the ride seemed easy, almost too easy. We rolled back into Berlin just as the sun and the air temperature were on the descent. At the car, it came to our attention that we had somehow over compensated for our slicing of the route near Pocomoke and shortened the ride too much. 12 miles too much. For us, it was the View Trail 88. Almost a century.

After post ride nonsense with Aunt Jen, we made way for Waterman's "all you can eat seafood" restaurant, where Steve turned into a never before seen crab consuming animal beast of a thing.

I swear, if you could have seen the fire in his eyes...

Journeys: Home For A Climb

After arriving in Maryland on the 7th of November, I secured a new abode in Laurel and then darted home to West Virginia for the weekend. While home, I visited with family in Charleston and in Spencer before driving south to Summersville with Steve and his girlfriend, Mariana for an introduction to roped sport climbing. Although I had some bouldering experience from my month in Arizona this summer, sport climbing proved to be somewhat difficult. I spent Saturday flailing helplessly on the face of two 5.8 routes without every reaching the top of either route. While I was driving home to Laurel on Sunday, I had six hours to decide that I need to find an indoor climbing gym in the DC Metro area to begin honing my climbing skills.

Steve getting after it in Summersville, WV.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

More news from Maryland coming soon.

Snapshots: Good Bye Augusta!

The real deal.
Photograph by ?

Journeys: The Move

Moving!

Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

The long anticipated move from Augusta, GA to somewhere in the state of Maryland is finally approaching, and, actually, as I am writing it has approached and passed. I left that peachy peach state and its ridiculously hot humidness on November 7th with no signs of ever returning, but I did throw at least one going away party at Paul's house as well as took a road riding trip to the mountains of northern Georgia during my final weekend in Augusta.

The trip to northern Georgia included myself, Paul, and Vegan Matt. We drove to Helen, GA Vegan Matt's six hamster powered Honda on Saturday where we enjoyed Oktoberfest in the small Alpine village, some enjoyed it more thoroughly than others. That night we camped in the vicinity of the top of a random small mountain on the outskirts of Helen. The stars were our night light, twinkling over fly-less tents and the mountain winds whipped with a crispness unimaginable in Augusta. It was a perfect mountain night with perfect intoxicated hiccups.

The next morning we awoke and dressed in our Sunday cycling best for a mostly chilly three gap ride in the mountains. Matt selected a route that began and ended in Helen and included Hog Pen Gap, Jack's Gap, and Unicoi Gap. The ride went off without a hitch, other than some mysterious wobbling from the Orbea on steep descents, and Matt took some great pictures of the whole event, but has yet to email them to me. I still like him nonetheless. The trip to northern Georgia was a wonderful way to spend my last weekend in the South, but it is time to move onto bigger and better things in the cold, cold North.

The last cycling related activity to occur in Augusta was a photo opportunity with mine and Nate's beautiful fixies. The intent is that these pictures will be displayed on the Fixed Gear Gallery (.com), but someone still has to post them. Below is a sample.

Papa's got a brand new bag!
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

Edits: Douglasville

Snapshots: Mess Of Bikes

Bikes abound in the cottage.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

Journeys: The Army Ten Miler

If you do not know, a few weeks ago I was asked to replace an injured member of the Fort Gordon Army Ten Miler running team. The Army Ten Miler is a 10 mile foot race that is held in Washington, DC every year in October and teams from around the nation, both military and civilian, compete in the event. I was a little bit uncertain about running a 10 mile foot race, only because I do not enjoy running for fun, but decided it would be a superb, and free, travel opportunity for at least one weekend this fall.

The team made the nine hour drive north on Friday so that we could rest and loosen up all day on Saturday and be primed for the race which was to be held on Sunday morning. Unfortunately I did not rest very much on Saturday, but stayed on my feet trouncing around DC until 2230. I did not intend to stay out that late, but I fell victim to infrequent public transportation that occurs after 2100. The only reason that I arrived back at my hotel at 2230 was that I called a cab to rescue me from a lifeless Pentagon City bus station after a stagnant hour.

To me, the conditions for race day were perfect, both the weather and the scenery were lovely. Others may disagree that it was too hot and too humid. I ran the 10 mile course in 1:00:15 to place 98th out of 17,641 entrants. Everything about the race went exactly the way I wanted it to go. I ran the first two miles at an easy pace and then picked things up for the subsequent eight miles. I really could not have asked for a better performance.

Unfortunately, immediately following the race, the team piled back into the van for the nine hour return drive south. We were supposed to stay at the hotel until Monday, but the team ran out of funding and packed it up early. Walking was difficult after that van ride.

Welcome to the off season!

Edits: Street

Arsenal: Sally Serotta

It is a little weird to be one of the few guys that shows up to a triathlon on his road bike. Most people have a supremely decked out time trial or triathlon bike that cost a small mountain of cash. My cash usually only amounts to a small mole hill so there were no sweet TRI bikes in my sights for the longest time until...

Paul got a new Orbea Ordu! Which freed up his old bike Sally the Serotta for sale to...me!

Needless to say, Paul hooked me up with a killer deal and I cannot thank him enough.

Thank you Paul!

Paul has always called Sally, "Sally", for as long as I have known him, so her name will be retained under my care too. Sally and I had our first true ride at the SC Half Ironman distance triathlon where we blasted through the field on the bike portion.

Ride Sally, ride!

P.S. Yes, those are 650 wheels.

My new girl, Sally.
Photograph by Paul Kannady.

Edits: Westview

Nonsense: SC Half

Polar bears.
Photograph by Paul Kannady.

Well, I was writing a very in depth post that described my participation in the SC Half Ironman distance triathlon, but, while I was typing, my Firefox web browser decided that it was ready to punch out for the day and go home. I lost all of my work, so now I will be short changing all of my readers.

My TRI geek buddy, Paul Kannady, and I went to Greenwood the night before the race and stayed in an Econo Lodge that was not very far from the race site. I had a lovely dinner at Outback Steakhouse that night and then dozed off into a peaceful slumber, dreaming of swimming, biking, and running. Well, I was dreaming until the little black insects that I was sleeping with started crawling on my face and woke me up. I suppose the Econo Lodge cannot be consider a "roach" motel, because there were no roaches crawling on me. Maybe if I had gotten one of the $59.99 rooms instead of the $49.99 rooms I would have been blessed with roaches.

Nope, just lowly un-named little black insects for me.

When I stepped outside at 0500 on Sunday morning, it was cold. So cold that I stepped back inside to mentally prepare myself for the cold. Of course both Paul and I forgot to pack jackets, but I was fortunate enough to have a long sleeved "SC Half" T-shirt that came in my race bag that I picked up on Saturday.

It kept me warm while I set up my transition area.

Unfortunately, triathletes do not swim in long sleeved cotton T-shirts, they swim in wetsuits when the water is cold. If you are me and you do not have a wet suit, then you still have to swim in your little bitty lycra TRI shorts. The big orange ball in the sky peeked over the horizon just before the start of the race to perk my confidence that I would not freeze and drown during the 1.2 mile swim.

Bang! And they are off!

And so we were. All 500 of us TRI geeks. I was in the third wave and decided that I would swim on the outside of the pack, because I know that I am a slow swimmer and I did not want to get punched in the face. The swim went exactly the way I wanted it to. Slow and easy. After 44 long minutes I climbed out of Greenwood Lake and raced off to the transition area to mount my new TRI bike, Sally the Serotta.

Chuck in transition.
Photograph by Paul Kannady.

Sally and I killed the bike portion of the event. At least, we did in my opinion. Sally and I averaged 21.8 miles per hour over the 56 mile course, turned in the 36th fastest bike split, and we were only passed twice. That is a good Sally.

After two legs of the event, things were going just the way I had envisioned them the night before with little black insects crawling on my face. Then I arrived at mile 7 of the run. I did not feel anything close to an energy bonk, but my calves and quads decided that they had had enough and demanded that I start walking through every aid station. And, eventually, walking up all of the hills. My sights had been set on running no slower than a 1:30 half marathon, but that dream was shattered as I watched countless other triathletes breeze by me like I was standing still for the next 6 miles.

When I finished after 5 hours and 18 minutes, some old man gave me a medal and Paul took a picture of my crotch.

Number 64.
Photograph by Paul Kannady.

Nonsense: What The Chuck?!

Chuck Bolte represents the Augusta Cross Coalition.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

I know, I know. The blogging of late has been bizarre and unfamiliar. What is this nonsense about beauty queens, T-shirts, and television shows? Quite a deviation from the typical ramblings in which I partake, but sometimes, a break from the typical is necessary. So, what the Chuck has Chuck really been doing these past few days?

Well, I can tell you exactly what I did for the dates of August 26th to September 6th because, for no apparent reason, I began jotting down training notes for those dates. For these 12 days of training, my goal was to increase my running mileage from previous weeks and to focus on doing two events a day. Typically, I run twice a week for a total of 10 miles and I normally only focus on doing one event each day. My calculations show that, from August 26th to September 6th I spent 8,900 meters in the pool, 220 miles on the bike, and 43 miles with the running shoes laced up and seven of the 12 days were two-a-days. I felt like the training was going well until the evening of September 6th when I experienced muscle cramps in my legs as I walked up the three flights of stairs to my dorm room after a ride with Drew Jordan.

In response to my ailing over trained body, I took the 7th to the 9th of September off from training and focused on work and painting a new T-shirt.

Hopefully all of this training will payoff in my upcoming scheduled events; the Greenwood, SC Half Ironman Triathlon on September 30th and the Army 10 Miler in Washington, DC on October 7th.

If you are the type of person that is into praying, pray for me, but, more importantly, pray for Vegan Matt, loyal cyclist and user of the adjective “jam”.

Vegan Matt was commuting to his morning class on Central Avenue in downtown Augusta last week when a car suddenly pulled out in front him from a side street. Vegan Matt suddenly had to make a quick decision, lay the bike down and take one for the team or T-bone the car at 25 miles per hour. Fearing that impacting with the car may result in an untimely demise, Vegan Matt laid his bike down in a valiant attempt to scrape up some road pizza. Unfortunately, Vegan Matt ate almost no pizza, but dislocated his hip, sprained his knee, and sprained his ankle. After a short stint in the ER, Vegan Matt was awarded a new set of crutches and an excuse to sit on his couch at home for hours on end.

Not a place he wants to be.

Let us hope that Vegan Matt is back on the bike in no time!

Finally, while riding the “Ghetto Loop” on Thursday the 6th of September, the AJBW group ride witnessed an event that was immediately added to Nate Zukas’ top five wildest things seen while riding a bicycle.

As the group pedaled to the top of Damascus Road to its intersection with Wrightsboro Road we saw two police cruisers attempting to box in a black Monte Carlo that was stopped in at the traffic light hanging over the intersection. While the police cruisers were maneuvering, the driver of the Monte Carlo motioned with his hand that he was going to cooperate with the law and pull his pimped out ride over, possibly onto Damascus Road.

Psych! Instead of politely pulling over as prompted by the police officers, the driver of the Monte Carlo nosed into the opposite lane of traffic ahead of one of the police cruisers and punched the gas, tearing through the red light and speeding off down Wrightsboro Road. Immediately, the police cruisers hit the lights and sirens and sped off in hot pursuit.

It was like COPS without the TV!

Nonsense: A Hero In Question

When my father told me over the phone that one of my favorite TV shows, Man VS. Wild, is staged/fake; I did not believe him.

Bear Grylls, the host of the show, is one of my most beloved heroes. He would never stage/fake his accomplishments.

After conducting some brief research I found an article from The NY Post and another article from BBC News regarding this topic. The information found in both of these articles supports this staging/faking claim.

This news is all very disturbing to me.

My Bear Grylls inspirational poster has been taken off of my wall and he is no longer listed as one of my heroes on my Myspace.com profile.

Hero work has been left to Frank Bainimarama and Merlin the fish.

Snapshots: The Chuck Chuck T-Shirt Factory

T-shirts by Chuck Bolte.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

Nonsense: YES!

Nonsense: Nate! Nate! Nate!

Nate! Nate! Nate! by Chuck Bolte.
Photograph by Candace Zukas.

The Georgia Cup Series Augusta road race was held on August 18th and 19th in downtown Augusta and on the hills of Fort Gordon. My friend Paul and I attended the criterium on a muggy Saturday night with a few friends from AJBW to support Nate Zukas and other local riders participating in the criterium. Nate tried his luck in the 60 lap PRO criterium, but was only able to hang on for 35 laps before dropping out of the intense "NASCAR on bicycles" race.

Still, we had a slap on the back and a cold beer waiting for him on the sidelines.

The Augusta Criterium.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

Arsenal: OMFG!!!

After four weeks of pursuit bars on back order the moment has finally arrived!

Giant Bowery: $500
Custom paint job: $275
Brooks honey leather saddle: $152
Brooks honey leather bar tape: $79
Pursuit bars on back order for four weeks: $55
Eating Nate's ice cream sandwich while he puts my fixie together: Priceless

Chuck and Nate assemble!
Photograph by Ethan St. Martin.

Too beautiful for human eyes.
Photograph by Ethan St. Martin.

OMFG!!!
Photograph by Ethan St. Martin.

Journeys: Hiawassee

Yes, in Georgia, there is a town that goes by the name of Hiawassee.

The town of Hiawasse is the home of the Georgia Mountain State Fairgrounds, which is the home of the Summer Sizzler International Distance Triathlon, which is the home of my second triathlon of 2007. The race was supposed to begin at 0800 on Saturday morning, but rescue crews postponed the event for a short time because a dense fog made it impossible to see the lake in which we would be swimming. With chattering teeth and hard nipples I tread water all through the postponement trying to stay warm.

At exactly 0830, 104 humans were loosed like arrows from a bow into the water, arrows that kicked and punched each other in the face as they raced for first place.

On the last mile of the 23 mile bike portion of the triathlon, something very scary happened to me. I passed a 14 year old girl named Katie June. I was scared, because the fact that I had just passed her meant that she had been kicking my ass for the entirety of the event prior to that moment.

Exactly two hours after I began the swim, I finished the triathlon. I had no idea where I had finished in the field, but I was more interested in free pretzels and Gatorade anyway. Once I had cooled down, I removed all of my gear from the transition area, attempted to rinse sweat and lake water out of my hair, and watched other competitors finish the race.

The awards ceremony was started before the final results were posted and before everyone had finished the race so that the award winners could get started on their journeys home as soon as possible. Yes, even though I still had know idea how I had placed, I did put on my Andy Jordan's Bicycle Warehouse in anticipation of another top three age group placing. Cocky, I know.

I quickly found out that I did not place in the top three in the overall male category, which did not surprise me, but I still had a chance to place in my age group, male 20 to 24. So, the time came and only one name was called for the male 20 to 24 age group and the name was mine, Charles Bowlay. As I, the only competitor in my age group, sauntered to the front of the crowd to retrieve my medal, the crowd turned its attention to the finish line to cheer on a 77 year old man who was just finishing, so I furtively snatched my medal and quickly ducked out of sight while they were distracted.

Not only did I get first place, but I got last place too.

As for Katie June, she won the overall female category, and yes she really is 14 years old.

Overall results are here

Nonsense: On The Savannah

On Saturday the 21st of July, my friend Jaspreet, also known as J Dhilla, convinced me that the two of us should go kayaking down the Savannah River.

If only we had known what dangers awaited us...

...Not really.

I will be the first to admit that the Savannah River is pretty tame, possibly a touch too tame, but we managed anyway, grinding the bottoms of our boats across countless rocks for two and a half hours. It was fun once, but J Dhilla and I are ready to move on to bigger and better kayak expeditions.

Bulldozer in a kayak.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

This Saturday, the 28th, I drove to Mistletoe State Park to participate in a sprint triathlon. Instead, I participated in a stand in the rain and wait for the race to get cancelled competition. Well, it was not really a competition, but you get the sarcasm, right? Yes, the triathlon was cancelled after and hour of continuous lightning and thunder, so the Lee family, dogs included, and I left drenched and cold.

90 bucks down the tubes, but a special thank you to Charles and Jessica Lee for coming out anyway.

Still needing an outlet for all of my pent up TRI energy when I got home, I immediately registered for the Summer Sizzler International Distance Triathlon in Hiawassee, GA on the 4th of August.

Go Team Chuck!

Nonsense: Laughing Out Loud

Arsenal: The Louvre In Augusta

Paint by Nate Zukas.

Photograph by Nate Zukas.

This frame has officially been declared a masterpiece. The bright white aura emanting off of this beauty has nothing to do with the fact that there is pearl in the blue paint, but the aura is a direct result of unspeakable artistic talent. Nate Zukas really has done it again with this custom baby blue and honey brown fixie frame. The final touches, a Brooks honey leather saddle, Brooks honey leather bar tape, and pursuit bars will be in by Friday.

Yes, this is an obsession.

Journeys: Fire In The Sky

Fire in the sky.

Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

The Desert Classic.
Photograph by a nearly dead Chuck Bolte.

Miller Peak the hard way.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

The Mexican side of Miller Peak.
Photograph by Carlos Bolte.

Journeys: Undocumented Aliens

Brown Canyon single track.

Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

SNS Crew gets illegal.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

Ah! Fantasy Island!
Photograph by Judo Lizard.

Jed grabs some crack at ClimbMax.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

Journeys: The Way West

Heading West.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

A very powerful uncle of mine decided that it would be in my best interest if I drove my Onward Tacoma from Georgia to Arizona for three weeks during the month of June. Of course, I obliged and loaded my truck with the Monocog, Orbea, and camping gear for a massive road trip to the southwest. My sister Beth Ann and my pet fish Merlin accompanied me on this grand journey.

June 14, 2007

Beth Ann sat on a suitcase in front of the Atlanta Greyhound bus station shading her eyes with her left hand. She was watching for me to drive by so earnestly that, when I did pass by, she did not notice. I parked my Onward Tacoma and got Beth Ann’s attention by calling her cell phone and waving my arms above my head. After we loaded her luggage into the back of my already full truck we were finally ready to begin our long journey to the southwest, but first I immediately attempted to hospitalize the both of us by turning onto a one way street against oncoming traffic.

It was a slightly shaky start to the trip that would cover Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona, but it was no bad omen.

As we traveled down I-20 West in Alabama, chit chatting about life and other things, I subconsciously acknowledged highway signs advertising the fast approaching destination, the Talladega Super Speedway, and it was not until we were five miles from Talladega that I suddenly had the idea for a cycling related picture.

Apologies to motorsports.
Photograph by Beth Ann Bolte.

I think it is funny.

We drove on from Alabama into the setting sun and into the state of Mississippi. It was in this state that I treated Beth Ann to her first meal at a Waffle House, the staple restaurant of the south. Seated at the Waffle House bar, we shared a chocolate chip waffle drowned in syrup and ate other significant portions of freshly cooked grease enriched food.

I had no specific plans of where Beth Ann and I would sleep throughout the duration of our road trip, but I think that no plan is sometimes the best plan. Back on the road after the Waffle House, we hauled out the atlas and pored over the innards of Mississippi, searching for the green pattern of a state park or national forest. Fortunately, our eyes were able to locate a greenish patch of map land 30 miles east of Jackson, Mississippi; Bienville National Forest.

With the atlas back under the passenger seat, Beth Ann’s tired map searching eyes drooped and she dozed off in an awkward looking sleeping position. Even my eyes started to droop, but finally, somewhere around 2200, I found the Bienville Ranger Station a few miles south of I-20. I surveyed a forest map posted outside of the station and found a usable campground just a few miles from our current location. The campground was at the end of a dark and dusty forest service road and I regret to admit that I did not pay the seven-dollar overnight fee. I was also too lazy to dig my headlamp out of my gear, so I pitched the tent in the dark. Sleep came quickly.

June 15, 2007

As I unzipped the tent door under dreary and overcast Mississippi morning skies, I spotted used latex nestled in the grass six inches in front of my face. Was I dreaming? No. I vomited ever so slightly into my mouth and leapt from the tent, dodging the disgusting human waste. I faced the tent and surveyed the area to discover that, because I had not used my headlamp when pitching my tent the night before, I had managed to raise my temporary house on a foundation of used condoms.

There were three pieces of protection, in fact, and I managed to remove them from sight with a stick before waking Beth Ann from her peaceful tent slumber. Must have been an awesome party. Assholes.

Beth Ann and I quickly packed things up and left the latex state of Mississippi knowing that we had a long day ahead of us if we were to reach our goal destination, Midland, Texas, by the end of the day. Although we only had Louisiana between us, Texas is a vast tract of land and I had no inkling of whether we would actually make it Midland before I passed out at the wheel.

The day was long, boring, and extremely rainy. We drove for endless hours through Louisiana and across east and central Texas, catching a quick glimpse of the Dallas skyline as we drove south of the city. The hours dragged on and the sun slipped away, once again trapping us in the dark cab of the Onward Tacoma. For the second night in a row, we had no planned sleeping arrangements, so we again hauled out the atlas to seek out a public campground. This time we located Lake Colorado State Park west of Midland, but we were unable to access the grounds, because we arrived at the park after 2200. Out of motivation and out of luck, we pulled off at a rest stop west of Odessa and climbed into the back of the redneck RV for a few hours of sleep.

June 16, 2007

Finally, it was our last day of travel. Two days without a shower or a ride on a bicycle had made me cranky and I was craving some adventure.

Sand.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

We started the day’s adventure at the Monahans State Park in Texas, sledding on sand dunes. Sand was not reminiscent of a typical West Virginia winter, but it would suffice for entertainment on a long road trip. I even tried to ride the Monocog on the dunes, but failed miserably. It was a tease. The fine grains of sand snared my rubber tires, making travel impossible. We did not sled long, and after looking for some wildlife in the scant vegetation peppering the dunes, we departed and pushed on. In Nowheresville, Texas we came upon the terminus of I-20 and merged with I-10. Arriving at the end of I-20 carried an odd feeling; it felt like we had driven to the end of a rainbow. A really long, back asphalt rainbow.

Our final major stop before Sierra Vista, Arizona was El Paso, Texas, and fortunately in El Paso there was a small bit of adventure. The Franklin Mountains State Park just happens to be the largest urban park in the nation with 24,247 acres all contained within the El Paso city limits, so I had no qualms about stopping for a few hours to hike and climb a few of those acres. I did not have time to hike the highest point in the park, but I was able to snap a picture and dream.

Franklin Mountains.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

After we finished our hike we returned to the Onward Tacoma and came upon a horrible scene. You see, before we began our hike I was fearful that Merlin would bake in the oven like cab, so I moved Merlin to the shade of the truck’s rear tire. Now, as I walked around the back of the truck to drop my day pack into the bed, I noticed Merlin’s travel container laying on its side about 10 feet behind the truck. I dashed to the fallen container and found that the vicious teeth of some jerk of an animal had gouged a whole in the container’s lid as the animal attempted to gain access to Merlin and eat him. The water was drained from the plastic cup and inside I found Merlin smeared to the side of the container. I immediately thought he was dead and contemplated a Texas funeral, but after moment of close observation I noticed that his gills were flexing. I quickly poured some bottled water into the container, thinking that there was some hope. Honestly, I expected Merlin to immediately turn belly up. Instead, he glubbed his little mouth at the water’s surface. It was an amazing fight to live.

I decided that, since there was a huge hole in the lid of Merlin’s travel container, we should fill his regular fish bowl with a few bottles of water so that he could better recuperate by having more water surface. We continued our driving journey with Merlin’s water sloshing in the bowl; in fact it sloshed so bad that some of it spilled out. I needed to find a way to replace the travel container so we stopped at a McDonald’s with the intent to acquire a cup with a lid to put Merlin in. Instead, I found that a medium sized drink lid perfectly fit Merlin’s travel container. Problem solved.

This intense episode of excitement dulled with the dull scenery of New Mexico. The background was so dusty red dull that I hardly noticed that we had passed into Arizona. It all looked the same anyway, flat red dustiness with mountains on the horizon. The sun set as we arrived in Benson, Arizona, 30 miles north of Sierra Vista and after another 30 short minutes it was all over. The Sierra Vista Extended Stay was our final location. It was a little dumpy and a little smelly, but I suppose it would have to do for a few weeks.

Just like that, three long days of driving abruptly came to a surreal halt.

Nonsense: I TRI

Chuck Bolte TRIs.
Photograph by Bird's Eye View.

On Sunday, June 10th I joined my friend, Paul Kannady, and 300 other triathletes at Greenwood Lake State Park, SC to participate in the Wachovia Festival of Flowers Triathlon.

The event began with a swim. Hundreds of heads capped in white bobbed vigorously around a 1500 meter course marked by orange and yellow buoys. I was intent on swimming slowly and steadily and, consequently, was punched in the face by a swimmer who started in the wave behind me. It was an accident. Upon the realization that I had to urinate with an intense urgency near the end of the swim, I attempted to force my body to release a significant amount of yellow liquid mid-stroke. My plan was unsuccessful.

I climbed out of the lake feeling energetic and sprinted to my Orbea, who was waiting for me in the transition area. I ate a Hammer Gel, urinated, and sped off on my bike after a three minute transition.

I rode the blaze orange beast as hard as possible. Riding with Nate at the Warehouse this Spring has greatly enhanced my cycling strength. My strength showed on the pavement as I hammered out a consistent and strong average of 22.3 miles per hour over the 24 mile course. Thank you Nate.

I came off of the Orbea with a quickness and slipped into my running shoes. Immediately, my right calf muscle began to cramp, but I continued to run and shook the cramp off. At mile marker one, I realized how badly I needed to shit. Unfortunately, I realized that if I wanted to turn in a decent run time I would have to hold the shit for five more miles. An annoyingly uncomfortable five miles later, I sprinted uphill to the finish line with tightly pinched ass cheeks.

Other than bowel discomfort, the triathlon was an awesome experience.

Thank you Paul.

For results, go here.

The series, "A Copper State of Mind", kicks off this weekend, right here.

Look out!

Journeys: The Long And Rainy Day

SS Darkness on the New Light Trail System.
Self Portrait.

My weekend in Raleigh went absolutely opposite from what I had planned.

Buckets of rain, nine hours of driving, six miles of trail.

Ew.

I have seen better days.

Coming soon, A Copper State of Mind, a four part series by Chuck Bolte.

Rides: 17 Teeth

Asphyxiation by Monte InSano.
Photograph by Nate Zukas.

It has been an excellent week of riding.

On Tuesday I had the opportunity to "hang on for dear life" while riding with John and Nate on a shit hot smoking fast 35 mile geared road ride somewhere in South Carolina. Needless to say, my legs ached long into Wednesday.

Thursday called for the usual hilly interval training ride on the fixie. I showed up to the shop early so that Nate could downgrade the fixie's gearing from a 19 tooth cog to a 17 tooth cog (harder!), although, I think that this change would technically be considered an upgrade. As a result of the upgrade/downgrade in cogs, those six new gear inches obliterated my quads, calves, and ass during the ride. So, regardless of technicality, my mind tells me that the 17 tooth cog is definitely a upgrade, because it will soon upgrade the strength of these skinny legs of mine.

In other news, the Onward Tacoma looks entirely different these days. I have topped the bed with a maroon camper top that is the same height as the cab, and also installed a Yakima bike rack on top of the camper top. The rack currently has two bike trays and two wheel holders, and yes, come winter time, I will be ordering a snowboard carrier. The Onward Tacoma has nearly become a proper "mountain" truck. He makes me damn proud.

...All that is left is the three inch Revtek suspension kit and the 33 inch tires...

Finally, as of Saturday morning I will be relieved of my duties on the dreaded night shift. I will be moving to the day shift on Tuesday, which means I will have three days off this weekend! I already have plans and know that my travels are going to take me, strangely, to Raleigh, NC, where I will hang with rad friends and explore the local trail systems.

Snapshots: The Pet

Merlin the magical blue fish.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.

Nonsense: Heroes

I feel confident in making the statement that every human being on Earth has at least one hero.

When I was in grade school, my hero was Spencer High School's star quarterback, Jay Hamrick. Every weekend when the Yellow Jackets would play a football game, I would sit in the living room listening to the game, hanging onto the announcer's every word. Would Hamrick lob the game winning touchdown to one of his talented wide receivers, or would he carry the ball into the end zone himself? Once, the Yellow Jackets football team even visited my first grade classroom and I trembled nervously in the presence of my hero.

It was an honor.

Although, most of my childhood heroes were forgotten shortly after I gave up on childhood (physically gave up), as an adult I still have heroes, people that I look up to everyday. Today, I had a very interesting experience with one of my current heroes after a rather trying pedaling achievement.

He slapped me on the back and said, "Chuck, I am proud of you, and I mean it."

The interaction was completely unexpected and felt really fucking weird.

But in a really, really good way.

I mean it.

Rides: The First Taste

Self portrait.

Like a wild bull, the XXIX tried to buck me off of
its dirty red back before the eight second bell rang. I hung on for dear life, trying to break the beast, trying to tame it. My ride on the FATS Skinny Trail was one of missed turns and narrowly missed trees. I was not accustomed to the handling of the burly 29 inch tires and nearly paid for my inadequacy in teeth.

Before I rolled onto the Brown Wave, I slightly adjusted the air pressure in the over sized tires, took a drink of water, and said a "prayer". I expected more punishment, but finally, the beast was broken. Tamed. We had formed an unbreakable bond and, with confidence, blasted our way down the single track as the evening sun scattered its rays through the lush green forest.

29 inches of pure single speeding sweetness.

A BIG thank you to Andy, Drew, and Nate.

Arsenal: Raleigh XXIX

Is it possible to own too many bicycles?

Hell no.

29 inch wheels.

One gear.

Bike number five.

Nonsense: Ebay (Something Of A Rant)

For the past few months I have had the desire to sell my 2005 Giant Trance in order to purchase a new, most likely 29 inch, single speed. So, two weeks ago, I posted the burly beast of silver aluminum on Ebay for auction. Initially, things went well, I posted a picture, set a reserve price, and watched the bids start to roll in. Finally, the bike sold last Tuesday and I sat back and sighed one of those sighs of “great relief”.

Sort of…

The buyer, who will remain unnamed, shot me an email shortly after the final bid stating that I would receive payment for the Trance on Friday and asked one final question regarding the status of the suspension on the bike. I replied, in all honesty, that the rear shock and bushings were in good condition and, other than the fact that I had to replace a leaky cap on the front fork last year, the fork was also in good condition.

Relieved that I had finally sold the Trance, I boxed the Pony up for shipment and waited patiently until Friday, to collect my payment and ship the bike to the unnamed buyer. On Friday morning I received a message from the unnamed buyer.

“I apologize dude, however; I have to be a flake and pass on your bike. I don't have the extra cash to fix shocks, that can be costly. That info probably should have been listed in the description bro. I just got back into town today or I would have wrote sooner. Sorry about the misunderstanding.”.

I am confused.

Why does the fact that I corrected an insignificant problem of a leaky cap, one year ago, require one to think that they will have to have any costly work done to the suspension on the bike?

To me, backing out of this sale is the opposite of classy and is also somewhat stupid.

The Trance was going be sold for less than half of what I paid for it in 2005 and just last month, I replaced half of the drive train with approximately $150 in new parts. Maybe I am wrong on this one, but getting this much Trance for that little cash is a STEAL. So, how could you pass on the Trance because I replaced a $7 dollar piece of metal one year ago?

Well “bro/dude”, not only do you have to be a moron, you have to be an asshole as well.

Yes, I am angry.

The Trance has been re-listed.

Stay classy Ebay.