My city bike is a converted cyclocross bike. I should actually be a bit more precise and say my only bike is a city bike, and it happens to be a converted 'cross bike. I've sold my other bike, a road racing machine, and happily neutered my 'cross bike in order to ensure that I'd never again have to race that heinous sport, either. Racing 'cross is a mix between sprinting as fast as you can for 45 minutes, interrupted only by occasional interludes best described as a midget kicking you in the groin. Yeah, it's that fun. For some unknown reason, I did it for nearly two full seasons. Further proof that I'm an abject moron.
And as for racing the road? Well, that's a bit more enjoyable, but I still found myself terrified at the prospect of losing all the skin on my ass, legs and face from a high speed dismount. This reality is pressing, given the nature of Category 4 racing, which basically pits balance-challenged, wanna-be Lance Armstrongs against one another in a war of attrition. Come to think of it, the best parts of road racing are the training and fitness, and the vanity of a team kit that allows you to pretend you're a pro. So, without too much regret, I sold that bike to a man in Florida.
What's left is a blue Cannondale Cyclocross bike that I originally bought to ride during the winter on filthy roadsm and race 'cross during the fall. For clarification, cyclocross is an activity invented in Belgium where road bikes are outfitted with knobby tires and slightly different gearing, and the racers do laps around muddy, sandy, slick tracks with the occasional barrier that forces a running dismount to clear. It might sound like grown up gym class, but to actually excel requires great bike handling skill, superhuman endurance, and a hatred of peace and quiet. I posses none of these qualities, and subsequently sucked.
So instead of subjecting myself to more races and humiliation/crippling pain, I took the bike to my favorite shop, University Bicycles, and had them change things over from 'cross to commuter. U Bikes is owned and run by Doug Emerson, a generous and warm Boulderite with a love of bikes. He also has the propensity to grow the wildest white-man afro you've ever seen. His hair is calmed down at this point, but he still gets out and rides a ton, and owns a shop on the corner of 9th and Pearl that is as spectacular in its memorabilia on the walls as in its customer service.
Doug's mechanics got me set up with a full tune up, more comfortable gear ration, easy riding flat bars, a killer chain guard, lights, and tires built for cruising, not racing. The bike is now way more comfortable to ride, and gets me around Boulder nearly as much as my blue Subaru, Abby (so named after Abaluba). The one thing I was missing, though, were fenders. Even though Doug provides me quite a bro deal, I still had to spend a few hundred dollars for all the work. At that point, I was drained, and it was the summer, anyway. Now that fall has hit, so has more predictable precip, and I need to keep the rain, sleet, and slush off my pants. Hence, the need for fenders.
With the shopping spree at U Bikes, I also came away with some cool brown leather grips. I wanted something to match the color and style. It was just my luck that, while walking on the 16th street mall after my date with a hideous sea creature, I saw a guy chaining his bike to a rail, and something special caught my eye. He had beautiful wooden fenders and I immediately asked him where he found them. He gave me the name of Woody's Fenders, a shop out of Bend, OR, and as soon as I got home from work that day, I called them up and got the skinny. Cody Davis makes fenders, racks and chainguards to anyone's specs, but also has some inventory that is sitting around for immediate delivery. I wanted my fenders ASAP, and wasn't overly particular, so long as they looked cool and kept things dry. We discussed the size I'd need, and then I ordered a set from his site.
The fenders recently came, and last week I had a chance to run to the hardware store and get everything I'd need for installation. My only two complaints from the fender experience were that hardware wasn't included, and the geriatrics working at McGuckin's nearly all had simultaneous coronaries when I brought my bike into the store. I explained that, though I understood it wasn't preferred that my bike be indoors, I needed to get the right screws, nuts, bolts, etc., and this was the only way it was happening. It all worked out, but my other complaint centers on grumpy old men giving me the hairy eye ball.
When I'm not running around the city on the blue bike, I'm usually rock climbing. That took a backseat last week when my buddy Ethan came to town. He has certainly climbed before, and he graciously placated my obsession with a few days in the gym. We had even planned to take a trip to Indian Creek, but my foot still isn't 100%, and that style of crack climbing would have left me battered worse than any 'cross race ever had.
Instead, we planned a few days of mountain biking out around Grand Junction and Fruita. Another friend, Mike Brumbaugh, runs Avon Venture Sports, a great shop around Vail that does skis in the winter and bikes in the warmer months. Mike is a great guy who always leaves me feeling like I should swear a little less, drink a little less, and do a little more for my friends. But in a good way, if that makes sense. He and I climb together out at Rifle during the summer, and in the Creek during the winter, as Mike rarely skis anymore. Instead, he rents the sticks out to Texans, and bikes out to buddies like myself. I got a full suspension Giant and Ethan grabbed one for himself, and we headed west to ride.
I'd never been on a full suspension bike before, and was amazed that I could basically point the front wheel downhill and easily float over any obstacle. That was, at least, until I got a little big for my britches and sent the front end over a boulder. At the time, Ethan was behind me, and said he saw the back of my jersey, and then one second later, the bottom bracket of the bike. Rapid crash and burn. That happened the first day, and I still had two days left on the trails. Needless to say, I slowed down considerably after that.
Ethan and I had originally planned on going to Moab so that we could ride and climb in the desert, but with my foot uncooperative, we changed plans and stayed within Colorado's border. I had a blast, and though Ethan had originally been excited to see Moab's famed slick rock biking, he seemed to really enjoy the riding we did. We rode along the Colorado river on the first day, scooted along the speedy and immaculate single track north of town the second, and ended with an ass kicking at the hands of Grand Junction's Tabaguach trail system.
The river rides were hugely scenic, and were reasonably mellow, save for the occasional terror through the rock hops. Fruita's single track was really well maintained and offered plenty of fun as we rode along the ridges and banked corners of the downhill slalom course. Tabaguach was like riding in Mordor, with rocks everywhere. This was by far the most technical and difficult riding we did. Fatigue finally settled in after three days of riding, making Tabaguach even more maddening. Of all the different venues, I think I liked the Fruita single track the best. For a neophyte mountain biker, the terrain was the most forgiving (read: least rocks to buck me off the bike) and the riding on spines of ridges, looking into the valley below while cruising along at high speed, was a blast.
So, the moral of the story: go ride a bike. It's a fine way to see the world. As an Abaluba first, we've got some video. Check it out!
No comments:
Post a Comment