Merlin the magical blue fish.Photograph by Chuck Bolte.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, May 21, 2007
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.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Monday, May 14, 2007
Journeys: West Virginia (April 19th to the 27th)
It was Monday in West Virginia. The wood line of the rolling Roane county hills stood dead and gray, a harsh contrast to the lush green of the Georgian spring with which me eyes were all too familiar. Puffy white clouds attempted to laze across the azure sky, but they were annoyingly nudged along by a pleasant spring breeze, although, it was not pleasant enough to make wearing a beekeeper’s suit comfortable. I stood in Steve’s front yard pulling on the white beekeeper’s suit with its caged hood, a hood that always made me feel like an astronaut on my own planet. The obvious difference being, this suit protected me from the annoying sting of the honey bee rather than the empty bowels of the space outside of the Earth’s atmosphere. In front of me I counted 28 bee colonies in the bee yard and hesitated for a moment, considering the thousands upon thousand of bees that I was about to face. As soon as I zipped into the outfit a thin layer of sweat immediately oozed across my skin. I moved forward into the cloud of bees that swarmed around the yard and stooped to help Steve attack a hive box with my scraping tool. As I bent over, my glasses automatically began sliding down my slippery nose.
A few days prior to my arrival in West Virginia, Steve had ordered a healthy batch of 30 queen bees for the purpose of starting new hive boxes and also to re-queen weak hive boxes in his bee yards. This is a somewhat involved process; allow me to explain the finer details of bee farming.
Prior to the start of the honey season a good beekeeper should always take a close look at all of his colonies so that he can identify the weak colonies and work to build new colonies, optimizing each colony so that it will be able to collect a significant amount of honey that will eventually transform into a significant amount of money for said beekeeper. If a beekeeper wishes to create new hive boxes to increase the overall number of colonies in a yard then he must find strong hive boxes that are bustling with activity and steal a manageable number of frames from that colony which will be inserted into a new and queen-less hive box. The selected frames must contain a significant number of capped brood, or un-hatched worker bees, that will eventually be hatched into the new hive box to help the colony off to a strong start. Shortly after the colony has been created, a new queen will be inserted into the queen-less hive box to rule over the drones and worker bees.
Now, to re-queen a weak hive box the beekeeper must first determine whether the queen bee of the colony is still alive, and if she is, the beekeeper must then assess whether she is an effective egg layer. The beekeeper can make this assessment by searching for capped brood within the frames of the hive box. If no capped brood is found, then the colony most likely contains a weak queen, if she is even alive. If she is still alive, the beekeeper must thoroughly examine each frame in the colony to find the queen and ultimately kill her so that a new and hopefully stronger queen can be introduced into the colony. This process of assessing the hive boxes is long and tedious, but is necessary to have a good honey season.
Does all of that make sense?
As Steve and I attacked the fifth colony in the yard, I frantically squeezed the ancient bee smoker to suppress a possible counter attack from the colony’s angry bees. The din of the bees’ buzz was strong, but fortunately, they retreated further down into the colony allowing us to work without being stung. After separating the second story hive box from the first story hive box, Steve assessed that the colony was weak and that we needed to locate and destroy the current queen so that she could be replaced. We removed a few frames and began poring over them.
My glasses slipped further down my sweaty nose.
“There she is.” Steve called out. He handed me his frame and instructed me to find her. I took the frame and began searching as more sweat collected at my brow. It only took a moment to find the queen scurrying across the upper corner of the frame. Initially, I had been expecting to see some gargantuan creature of great magnificence, but when I saw the queen, I was somewhat disappointed. The queen’s ass was definitely longer and narrower than the rest of the bee population, but otherwise, she appeared very similar to the hundreds of bees over which she reigned and was significantly smaller than the drone bees.
“Kill the queen.” Steve ordered, interrupting my thoughts. As simple as the task sounded, and as non-gargantuan as the queen appeared, hearing the words spoken added an odd grandness to the situation. The fate of this queen who controlled the lives of hundreds was suddenly in my human hands. The bee may be a simple creature, but I suddenly felt humbled and insecure. What right do I have to slay a QUEEN?
I stared down at her majesty with my scraping tool in hand ready to kill. And…!
I had arrived in Spencer on the evening of the 19th. The eight hour drive from Augusta was long and boring, as it always was and I felt tired and stiff when I was finally able to swing my legs out of my truck and stand on terra firma at Steve’s house. I had returned to Spencer for specific reasons which I do not wish to disclose, but I will say that it was planned that Steve and I would be conducting riding events on a massive scale for the next eight days.
My cycling “spring training” began on the morning of Friday, the 20th of April, as I lazily stretched my arms skyward, yawned, and swung my leg over my Orbea for a 14 mile ride into and out of Spencer. I had decided to warm up for the day by riding into town to locate a WIFI mooch point so that I could do some college work. The warm up was shortly followed by a three-hour ride at Charles Fork Lake, my high school riding (Stomping. Stomping Riding?) grounds. As I pedaled around the shimmering lake, I found it odd that after so many years away from these trails I could remember almost every turn and every climb just like it was yesterday. The awesome thing is that the older I get, the easier it is to ride, although, I am sure that one day I will be saying, “the older I get the harder it is to ride.”
Never say die!
On Saturday morning Steve and I loaded up the station wagon, hitched up the bike trailer, and drove south to Charleston to ride a seven-mile road time trial with the road cycling club, the Mountain Wheelers. The time trial was held in Kanawha State Forest and was relatively flat for the first six miles, but the last mile was all hill, baby. I pedaled beside Steve ATTEMPTING to act something like a road cycling coach, but I do not think I did any good. After the time trial, Steve and I linked up with WVMBA 2003 riding brother, Will Cragg, and his girlfriend Cindy, the complimentary Red Bull distribution expert. As we stood in the parking lot, Red Bull was consumed, old war stories were swapped, and shortly thereafter, single speeding commenced. Steve, Will, and I ended up hammering out a grueling four hour ride in The Forest that included trails like Davis Creek, Middle Ridge, Black Bear (Spectator Falls), Pigeon Roost, and Pine. Aside from a scary moment where a snake attempted to bite Will’s foot, the entire ride was wicked and I was stoked to have had the opportunity to ride The Forest on the Monocog.
Then, I cramped at the end.
Steve, the bike trailer, and I followed Will home to Huntington where he grilled up a sweet chicken dinner bathed in his very own, and surprisingly good BBQ and honey sauce. After dinner, Will introduced me to his personally owned business, the new and improved Franklin Outfitters, which is located in downtown Huntington. I cannot say there was outdoor gear from wall to wall just yet, but Will has a healthy start. After we closed shop for the night, we three proceeded to the Union, a hopping drinking establishment just around the corner from Franklin Outfitters, where I proved to the world that, yes, I am the Army’s worst dart thrower.
Although Cindy had promised us pancakes for breakfast on Sunday morning, Steve and I left without filling our bellies so that we could get an early start on the drive to Marietta, Ohio where we were going to meet yet another WVMBA cycling brother, Rich Holmes.
Rich lives just outside of Marietta and is a trail building MACHINE. Rich has broken his bronzed back to pepper the Marietta cityscape with urban single track that picks up directly behind the grocery store and leaves off whenever your poor little legs become to weary to take anymore hammering. I could not think of a better way to spend a Sunday of riding, except by riding the single track “Tour de Marietta”. The wicked single track is only the cake. The icing is, you guessed it! The Marietta Brewing Company!
The Marietta Brewing Company is the location in which we found ourselves after riding two hours of very intriguing single track without every leaving the Marietta city limits. Well, I do not know if we left the city limits or not, but who cares, eat the exaggeration!
I cannot rave enough about the MBC. Naturally, it is a restaurant and pub that has kick ass written all over it. I do not know if it is the alcohol, the historic building, the high ceilings, the live music, the great food, the atmosphere, or the employees, but the place has “right” written all over its ancient walls. It could have “left” written all over it, but that would not detract from the place one bit. In fact, the MBC was so awesome that Steve and I decided we would make a trip back to Marietta specifically to drink at the MBC one last time before I returned to Georgia.
I hath raved, seemingly, like an idiot.
After a few brews Steve and I hopped back into the station wagon and drove south to Spencer to finish the weekend, but Marietta had not seen the last of us.
Monday was designated as a day of rest for the lanky legs of mine. So, Steve and I picked up the slack on his bee farming throughout most of the day, stooping to attack under those lazy white clouds.
On Tuesday though, it was back in the saddle. After some more bee farming in the morning, Steve and I unloaded a mighty 48-mile ride throughout the Roane County countryside. It was fun for me because I got to revisit some of my high school era training routes at a much faster pace. You see, back in those days my road bike consisted of a Specialized Stump Jumper mountain bike frame, outfitted with some fat slicks. Now that I am more financially stable and own a real road bike, I was able to throw down at a much higher velocity. BUT as far as nostalgia goes, the legendary Stump Jumping road machine will forever be untouched by any Spanish made road bikes, blaze orange and black or not. My legs were pretty wobbly by the end of that hilly day, but I looked forward to more single speeding at Charles Fork Lake on Wednesday.
On Wednesday I actually did not ride single speed as anticipated, but I had the distinct honor and privilege of riding Steve’s ancient Gary Fisher Zigguart, complete with Husqvarna chainsaw strapped to the rack on the back wheel, on a trail cleanup mission. The Tour de Lake was quickly approaching and it was time for the local and the Georgian to get out and do some trail maintenance in preparation for the big race. It took Steve and I a solid three hours to clear all the fallen timber from our beloved bike paths: Lakeview, Charlie’s, and Trevor’s.
Would you believe me if I told you that, that night we drove one and a half hours back to Marietta just to drink at the MBC? Well, we did.
Thursday morning at Rich’s house brought us blueberry pancakes, college homework, and the trails of Wayne National Forest. I had never heard of Wayne National Forest and upon entering the area I pondered how cool it must be to live in Marietta and have such a sweet level of riding potential so close by. In Wayne National Forest one can find the North Country Trail and miles and miles of trail produced by the factory known as Rich Holmes. There are multiple other trails to be ridden within Wayne, but we did not ride them and I do not recall their names. I began the ride with a 16-tooth cog on my rear wheel, but approximately one mile into the ride I had to swap the 16-tooth cog for the 19-tooth cog. There was a lot of climbing to be had on the trails and the soggy conditions begged for an easier gear so that I was not constantly spinning out on slippery trail fodder. Overall, Wayne is extremely grueling. It took us four hours to ride 16 miles over those soggy climbs, down somewhat technical downhill sections, and back up long paved road climbs.
16 miles in four hours! Sheesh!
For me the high light of the ride was when I cleaned the tightest switch back I have ever seen, on my first try. I think it was mostly luck, but somehow I pulled it together and kept both tires on the trail while inching around that hairpin turn in the trail. It had been a killer ride and I smiled all the way back to Spencer that afternoon.
On Friday morning, I left Steve’s cabin, destined for Augusta. Things had gone really well for my “spring training” in the “good ol’ hills of West Virginia” and I hoped that my hard spent time in the saddle would pay off during upcoming rides at Andy Jordan’s and possibly a southern road race or two.
Anyway.
…Sweat dripped off of my brow. My target was clearly in sight. I thrust the scraping tool forward, striking the queen directly between her ass and her torso. In the blunt separation her yellow innards oozed out on to the frame. The deed was done. The queen had been dethroned. My glasses slipped further down my sweaty nose.
The moral of this long and drawn out story is; in beekeeping and other things, sometimes the queen bee is weak and you have to kill her so that she may be replaced by a new and better queen bee, and sometimes the queen bee is strong and, seemingly without reason, she swarms off into the wilderness leaving you to stare at an empty hive box and wonder why. Either way that the scenario plays out, you do what you have to: pick up your scraping tool, push your glasses back on to your face, and move on to the next hive.
A few days prior to my arrival in West Virginia, Steve had ordered a healthy batch of 30 queen bees for the purpose of starting new hive boxes and also to re-queen weak hive boxes in his bee yards. This is a somewhat involved process; allow me to explain the finer details of bee farming.
Prior to the start of the honey season a good beekeeper should always take a close look at all of his colonies so that he can identify the weak colonies and work to build new colonies, optimizing each colony so that it will be able to collect a significant amount of honey that will eventually transform into a significant amount of money for said beekeeper. If a beekeeper wishes to create new hive boxes to increase the overall number of colonies in a yard then he must find strong hive boxes that are bustling with activity and steal a manageable number of frames from that colony which will be inserted into a new and queen-less hive box. The selected frames must contain a significant number of capped brood, or un-hatched worker bees, that will eventually be hatched into the new hive box to help the colony off to a strong start. Shortly after the colony has been created, a new queen will be inserted into the queen-less hive box to rule over the drones and worker bees.
Now, to re-queen a weak hive box the beekeeper must first determine whether the queen bee of the colony is still alive, and if she is, the beekeeper must then assess whether she is an effective egg layer. The beekeeper can make this assessment by searching for capped brood within the frames of the hive box. If no capped brood is found, then the colony most likely contains a weak queen, if she is even alive. If she is still alive, the beekeeper must thoroughly examine each frame in the colony to find the queen and ultimately kill her so that a new and hopefully stronger queen can be introduced into the colony. This process of assessing the hive boxes is long and tedious, but is necessary to have a good honey season.
Does all of that make sense?
As Steve and I attacked the fifth colony in the yard, I frantically squeezed the ancient bee smoker to suppress a possible counter attack from the colony’s angry bees. The din of the bees’ buzz was strong, but fortunately, they retreated further down into the colony allowing us to work without being stung. After separating the second story hive box from the first story hive box, Steve assessed that the colony was weak and that we needed to locate and destroy the current queen so that she could be replaced. We removed a few frames and began poring over them.
My glasses slipped further down my sweaty nose.
“There she is.” Steve called out. He handed me his frame and instructed me to find her. I took the frame and began searching as more sweat collected at my brow. It only took a moment to find the queen scurrying across the upper corner of the frame. Initially, I had been expecting to see some gargantuan creature of great magnificence, but when I saw the queen, I was somewhat disappointed. The queen’s ass was definitely longer and narrower than the rest of the bee population, but otherwise, she appeared very similar to the hundreds of bees over which she reigned and was significantly smaller than the drone bees.
“Kill the queen.” Steve ordered, interrupting my thoughts. As simple as the task sounded, and as non-gargantuan as the queen appeared, hearing the words spoken added an odd grandness to the situation. The fate of this queen who controlled the lives of hundreds was suddenly in my human hands. The bee may be a simple creature, but I suddenly felt humbled and insecure. What right do I have to slay a QUEEN?
I stared down at her majesty with my scraping tool in hand ready to kill. And…!
I had arrived in Spencer on the evening of the 19th. The eight hour drive from Augusta was long and boring, as it always was and I felt tired and stiff when I was finally able to swing my legs out of my truck and stand on terra firma at Steve’s house. I had returned to Spencer for specific reasons which I do not wish to disclose, but I will say that it was planned that Steve and I would be conducting riding events on a massive scale for the next eight days.
My cycling “spring training” began on the morning of Friday, the 20th of April, as I lazily stretched my arms skyward, yawned, and swung my leg over my Orbea for a 14 mile ride into and out of Spencer. I had decided to warm up for the day by riding into town to locate a WIFI mooch point so that I could do some college work. The warm up was shortly followed by a three-hour ride at Charles Fork Lake, my high school riding (Stomping. Stomping Riding?) grounds. As I pedaled around the shimmering lake, I found it odd that after so many years away from these trails I could remember almost every turn and every climb just like it was yesterday. The awesome thing is that the older I get, the easier it is to ride, although, I am sure that one day I will be saying, “the older I get the harder it is to ride.”
Never say die!
On Saturday morning Steve and I loaded up the station wagon, hitched up the bike trailer, and drove south to Charleston to ride a seven-mile road time trial with the road cycling club, the Mountain Wheelers. The time trial was held in Kanawha State Forest and was relatively flat for the first six miles, but the last mile was all hill, baby. I pedaled beside Steve ATTEMPTING to act something like a road cycling coach, but I do not think I did any good. After the time trial, Steve and I linked up with WVMBA 2003 riding brother, Will Cragg, and his girlfriend Cindy, the complimentary Red Bull distribution expert. As we stood in the parking lot, Red Bull was consumed, old war stories were swapped, and shortly thereafter, single speeding commenced. Steve, Will, and I ended up hammering out a grueling four hour ride in The Forest that included trails like Davis Creek, Middle Ridge, Black Bear (Spectator Falls), Pigeon Roost, and Pine. Aside from a scary moment where a snake attempted to bite Will’s foot, the entire ride was wicked and I was stoked to have had the opportunity to ride The Forest on the Monocog.
Then, I cramped at the end.
Steve, the bike trailer, and I followed Will home to Huntington where he grilled up a sweet chicken dinner bathed in his very own, and surprisingly good BBQ and honey sauce. After dinner, Will introduced me to his personally owned business, the new and improved Franklin Outfitters, which is located in downtown Huntington. I cannot say there was outdoor gear from wall to wall just yet, but Will has a healthy start. After we closed shop for the night, we three proceeded to the Union, a hopping drinking establishment just around the corner from Franklin Outfitters, where I proved to the world that, yes, I am the Army’s worst dart thrower.
Although Cindy had promised us pancakes for breakfast on Sunday morning, Steve and I left without filling our bellies so that we could get an early start on the drive to Marietta, Ohio where we were going to meet yet another WVMBA cycling brother, Rich Holmes.
Rich lives just outside of Marietta and is a trail building MACHINE. Rich has broken his bronzed back to pepper the Marietta cityscape with urban single track that picks up directly behind the grocery store and leaves off whenever your poor little legs become to weary to take anymore hammering. I could not think of a better way to spend a Sunday of riding, except by riding the single track “Tour de Marietta”. The wicked single track is only the cake. The icing is, you guessed it! The Marietta Brewing Company!
The Marietta Brewing Company is the location in which we found ourselves after riding two hours of very intriguing single track without every leaving the Marietta city limits. Well, I do not know if we left the city limits or not, but who cares, eat the exaggeration!
I cannot rave enough about the MBC. Naturally, it is a restaurant and pub that has kick ass written all over it. I do not know if it is the alcohol, the historic building, the high ceilings, the live music, the great food, the atmosphere, or the employees, but the place has “right” written all over its ancient walls. It could have “left” written all over it, but that would not detract from the place one bit. In fact, the MBC was so awesome that Steve and I decided we would make a trip back to Marietta specifically to drink at the MBC one last time before I returned to Georgia.
I hath raved, seemingly, like an idiot.
After a few brews Steve and I hopped back into the station wagon and drove south to Spencer to finish the weekend, but Marietta had not seen the last of us.
Monday was designated as a day of rest for the lanky legs of mine. So, Steve and I picked up the slack on his bee farming throughout most of the day, stooping to attack under those lazy white clouds.
On Tuesday though, it was back in the saddle. After some more bee farming in the morning, Steve and I unloaded a mighty 48-mile ride throughout the Roane County countryside. It was fun for me because I got to revisit some of my high school era training routes at a much faster pace. You see, back in those days my road bike consisted of a Specialized Stump Jumper mountain bike frame, outfitted with some fat slicks. Now that I am more financially stable and own a real road bike, I was able to throw down at a much higher velocity. BUT as far as nostalgia goes, the legendary Stump Jumping road machine will forever be untouched by any Spanish made road bikes, blaze orange and black or not. My legs were pretty wobbly by the end of that hilly day, but I looked forward to more single speeding at Charles Fork Lake on Wednesday.
On Wednesday I actually did not ride single speed as anticipated, but I had the distinct honor and privilege of riding Steve’s ancient Gary Fisher Zigguart, complete with Husqvarna chainsaw strapped to the rack on the back wheel, on a trail cleanup mission. The Tour de Lake was quickly approaching and it was time for the local and the Georgian to get out and do some trail maintenance in preparation for the big race. It took Steve and I a solid three hours to clear all the fallen timber from our beloved bike paths: Lakeview, Charlie’s, and Trevor’s.
Would you believe me if I told you that, that night we drove one and a half hours back to Marietta just to drink at the MBC? Well, we did.
Thursday morning at Rich’s house brought us blueberry pancakes, college homework, and the trails of Wayne National Forest. I had never heard of Wayne National Forest and upon entering the area I pondered how cool it must be to live in Marietta and have such a sweet level of riding potential so close by. In Wayne National Forest one can find the North Country Trail and miles and miles of trail produced by the factory known as Rich Holmes. There are multiple other trails to be ridden within Wayne, but we did not ride them and I do not recall their names. I began the ride with a 16-tooth cog on my rear wheel, but approximately one mile into the ride I had to swap the 16-tooth cog for the 19-tooth cog. There was a lot of climbing to be had on the trails and the soggy conditions begged for an easier gear so that I was not constantly spinning out on slippery trail fodder. Overall, Wayne is extremely grueling. It took us four hours to ride 16 miles over those soggy climbs, down somewhat technical downhill sections, and back up long paved road climbs.
16 miles in four hours! Sheesh!
For me the high light of the ride was when I cleaned the tightest switch back I have ever seen, on my first try. I think it was mostly luck, but somehow I pulled it together and kept both tires on the trail while inching around that hairpin turn in the trail. It had been a killer ride and I smiled all the way back to Spencer that afternoon.
On Friday morning, I left Steve’s cabin, destined for Augusta. Things had gone really well for my “spring training” in the “good ol’ hills of West Virginia” and I hoped that my hard spent time in the saddle would pay off during upcoming rides at Andy Jordan’s and possibly a southern road race or two.
Anyway.
…Sweat dripped off of my brow. My target was clearly in sight. I thrust the scraping tool forward, striking the queen directly between her ass and her torso. In the blunt separation her yellow innards oozed out on to the frame. The deed was done. The queen had been dethroned. My glasses slipped further down my sweaty nose.
The moral of this long and drawn out story is; in beekeeping and other things, sometimes the queen bee is weak and you have to kill her so that she may be replaced by a new and better queen bee, and sometimes the queen bee is strong and, seemingly without reason, she swarms off into the wilderness leaving you to stare at an empty hive box and wonder why. Either way that the scenario plays out, you do what you have to: pick up your scraping tool, push your glasses back on to your face, and move on to the next hive.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Rides: FIXIE Militia!
Fixies by Giant.
Photograph by Chuck Bolte.
That is right, there were enough fixed gear riders (Nate, ED, and I) at the AJBW Thursday ride that we considered ourselves a militia. The term militia generally refers to a group of civilians that temporarily augment a legitimate army, but in this case militia refers to a niche of cyclists that augment no one, and instead of attacking human beings with the intent to kill we only attack to ride faster.
I have to recap the last nine days of riding for personal riding journal purposes.
On Wednesday, the 2nd of May, I rode a one-hour lap on Range Road.
On Thursday, the 3rd of May, I attended the usual AJBW ride. We conducted hilly interval training on Parkway, Damascus, Aumond, Boy Scout, and Monte Sano before the Lake Olmstead cool down. Afterward, back at the Fort I ran on the Barton Field track for an easy 10 minutes.
On Friday, the 4th of May, I did not ride, but as you readers may know I purchased my first FIXIE (see picture somewhere below)!
On Saturday, the 5th of May, I busted out the FIXIE for an exploratory and easy ride on Powell Road in the Grovetown area. Powell Road was lovely and I decided that it would be most appropriate to conduct further expeditions into the Grovetown area on Sunday.
On Sunday, the 6th of May, I did take the FIXIE for a much longer ride into Grovetown, as promised. I followed a somewhat preplanned route from Fort Gordon to town of Harlem and back to the Fort. The ride begins by going out Gate 1 and riding up Powell Road to Lewis Road, which connects to Reynolds Road. At the end of Reynolds Road I made a left turn onto Wrightsboro Road and rode through Grovetown all the way to Harlem on the Grovetown – Harlem Highway. In Harlem I made a right turn onto the Harlem – Appling Highway and eventually made another right turn onto Old Union Road. At the terminus of Old Union Road I made a left turn back onto the Grovetown – Harlem highway and rode to Grovetown. Then, I essentially backtracked to the Fort by riding down Reynolds, Lewis, and Powell Roads to complete the ride. I do not have a computer on my FIXIE, so I have no idea how long the ride was.
On Tuesday, the 8th of May, of course I road with AJBW! For your information, the Tuesday evening ride is now designated as the geared ride and the Thursday evening ride is designated as the fixed ride, that is, if you have the corresponding bicycles. On Tuesday, the group had a killer ride on the landfill route in which Nate made mincemeat of me and everyone else, but it is always a great work out to chase Nate for miles and miles. Afterward, I returned to the Fort for a 15 minute run on the Barton Field track.
On Wednesday, the 9th of May, I had a light ride scheduled, so I rode what I always dreamed would one day be the route for the first alley cat on Fort Gordon, always knowing that no such event will ever occur. I will not go into details. It is a secret route for FIXIE riders only! (Bring your messenger bag too and we will make 100 foot skid marks).
So, finally, on Thursday, the 10th of May, the militia was formed and we rode the hilly interval route, but this time I felt every hill deep within my legs, as I was unable to shift gears, EVER. Exhausting, but refreshing, I loved every moment of it. Hopefully, the troops can be rallied every Thursday, or I suppose Nate and I will have to hold it down alone as a duo and not a militia. Afterward, I ran for 15 solid minutes on the Barton Field track. My legs are tired.
Thank you, Andy Jordan, for selling me another great bike!
Get riding!
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Arsenal: FIXIE!
The fixie is the fourth addition to my bicycle arsenal.
Why a fixie? Why not!
Riding fixed gear basically gives me the same satisfaction as riding a single speed on the trail, which is currently not describable with the adjectives of our seemingly dynamic English language. Plus, I can now complete the trendy city bike messenger look with my pant legs rolled up and my Timbuk2 messenger bag slung across my back.
If the Orbea is not careful it may never be ridden again...
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Rides: The Return From WV
That's right. The letters W and V appear together in the title of this blog which can only mean one thing. I was in the glorious state of the country road, which ultimately takes me home.
I was in WV from the 19th of April to the 27th conducting a massive cycling throw down on the roads and trails of the Mountain State. A specific blog for this journey is currently being developed and should be posted shortly so, please, hold your questions.
The 27th was a Friday and by the graces of the big green Army, I was not required to report back to work until Tuesday. So, it was in my best interest to continue the massive cycling throw down in Augusta.
On Saturday I put in a 58 miler from Fort Gordon to the Strom Thurmond Lake and back to the Fort. I thought it would be superficial of me to ride without my jersey on so that I could catch some rays and attempt to darken my white boy flesh. Afterwards, it was the return of lobster boy. The bright red skin on my back has since blistered and peeled.
On Sunday I saw fit to be a lone ranger on the many trails within the FATS. The Monocog and I twisted and turned our way through Brown Wave, Skinny, and Great Wall trails, rolling back in to the parking lot at just under two hours.
Today, Tuesday, I lit things up on the road with the Andy Jordan's crew hammering out 22 miles of intense pace line work that left a slight taste of vomit in the back of my mouth. Spring training in WV was good and I felt strong.
In the musical realm, Dan and I have recorded our first two tracks and they are both pretty solid, but the quality of recording is very poor. We will shortly be re-recording and then we will consider posting our instrumental musics on Myspace.
Look out!
Otherwise, I am currently working a Mid shift from 2300 to 0700, so do not call me during the day, because I will be asleep and then I will hate you AND the annoying ring tone on my phone.
I was in WV from the 19th of April to the 27th conducting a massive cycling throw down on the roads and trails of the Mountain State. A specific blog for this journey is currently being developed and should be posted shortly so, please, hold your questions.
The 27th was a Friday and by the graces of the big green Army, I was not required to report back to work until Tuesday. So, it was in my best interest to continue the massive cycling throw down in Augusta.
On Saturday I put in a 58 miler from Fort Gordon to the Strom Thurmond Lake and back to the Fort. I thought it would be superficial of me to ride without my jersey on so that I could catch some rays and attempt to darken my white boy flesh. Afterwards, it was the return of lobster boy. The bright red skin on my back has since blistered and peeled.
On Sunday I saw fit to be a lone ranger on the many trails within the FATS. The Monocog and I twisted and turned our way through Brown Wave, Skinny, and Great Wall trails, rolling back in to the parking lot at just under two hours.
Today, Tuesday, I lit things up on the road with the Andy Jordan's crew hammering out 22 miles of intense pace line work that left a slight taste of vomit in the back of my mouth. Spring training in WV was good and I felt strong.
In the musical realm, Dan and I have recorded our first two tracks and they are both pretty solid, but the quality of recording is very poor. We will shortly be re-recording and then we will consider posting our instrumental musics on Myspace.
Look out!
Otherwise, I am currently working a Mid shift from 2300 to 0700, so do not call me during the day, because I will be asleep and then I will hate you AND the annoying ring tone on my phone.
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