Stony Point Crit

It has been a while since I've contributed anything on here, but I felt inspired today.  Not inspired like the time I emptied a bunch of Black Cat fireworks into a film container and stuck a fuse in it... make no mistake, that WAS inspired, but real, actual inspired.  I went out to the Stony Point Crit to find just about every member of Da Family present.  First I spotted the one and only Don Vito and Cherie hanging out by the starting line with a few people who I didn't really recognize.  I kissed the ring and then I was introduced to Rat, Maria, and Ben who were in attendance as spectators and/or hecklers.  I had heard a lot about Rat from Joe, and I already knew who Maria was, but this was the first time I had actually met any of them.  So if you guys are reading this, it was great to finally meet you, but I really just wanted to tell a little tale which kind of came full circle or whatever today.

About 5 years ago, maybe more, maybe less, I went to the gym to take a spin class that my wife took regularly.  I had been to a couple before, and I think I had just started riding on the road around that time.  So my wife and I showed up that day to find the usual instructor, Megan was absent and a substitute instructor was filling in.  This instructor strolled up to class rocking the official Spin Mafia jacket, and I immediately took note.  I had no idea who she was, or what the Spin Mafia was, but I was quite curious to find out.  I mean, the class itself was pretty tough that day (from what I recall, this "sub" had us doing some much longer intervals than usual), but that JACKET!!! Man that thing looked sweet, and "Spin Mafia?"  That sounded more badass than Chuck Norris and Steven Segal, and John McLain combined... yeah, I said it.  So I went home that night and used my totally creepy internet spy skills and Googled "Spin Mafia."  What I found was a website with just enough information about them to know they were legit.... then I got to the profile pictures of the members and, well... let's just say McNelis isn't a runway model, ok?  Anyway, I found this instructor on there and found out her name was Maria.  After checking out some race results for these folks, I found out just how badass the Spin Mafia was.  I checked out the description of the Classic Spin Mafia ride with an average speed of something like 23-24mph maybe, and thought, "Holy shit, there's no way I could ever ride with these guys!" but that of course, was great motivation. I learned later, I think through a friend at the gym, that Maria was a state champ.  Needless to say, I was super impressed that I took a spin class from her, and thought how awesome it would be to A) ride with these badasses one day, and B) have a badass state champ jersey of my own... dreams, right?

Okay, now that I've been exposed as a total internet lurking weirdo, let's fast forward to present day.  Some of you may know that I'm trying to win a jersey this season that says "State Champ" on it, and believe it or not, I'm actually in a pretty good spot in the BAR competition to do this.  The guy in 1st has upgraded already to Cat 3, and with my 6th place finish at Stony Point, I should be moving up into 2nd....but we'll see... still a ways to go.  Anyway, I just thought it was really cool to finally meet Maria, who kind of indirectly inspired me to be able to ride with the baddest dudes and ladies in town just by rocking that cool jacket and kicking my ass on a spin bike.  Not only that, but to meet her on the same day where I might actually move into serious contention for that State Champ jersey... well, it just seemed like I should write about it.  So thanks to Maria, and to all you other Family members for pushing a brother to get better.  I may not make it out to the official rides as much as I did last year, but hey, if I'm real lucky, I might just win a cool jersey to show for it.

Also real quick, special shout outs to all the Mafioso who raced today.  Cherie won the 40+ race, Panella got 5th in the Cat 3, Oliver got 6th, Pete got 11th, Steve Benjamin, Tarzan, Jay, Nick, Fritz, and Baumgartner all raced, Harvie, John Payne, and Lynn kicked some serious ass directing traffic, and Garner worked registration like a BEAST!!  Think that's everyone, right??

Old Man Winter (not a post about Paul)

Steve Martin's character from The Jerk, Navin R. Johnson, opens the film by saying, "I was born a poor, black child." Well, I think I was born a hungry, Mexican child, because after every single Spin Mafia ride, all I can think about is eating a giant burrito. Okay, so maybe I was born a skinny fat child...or something like that. Whichever works best for you.

It was in the 20's this morning at 7:15am when Chris Jones and I got on the bikes and started riding over to The Lot. Chris had done a threshold test on a Computrainer the day before, so I was looking forward to him being a little tired from that. He would eventually let me down on that count... again... and again... and again.

At first, I would say it was surprising to find around 15 people crazy enough to come out to the start of the ride, but then again, we ARE The Spin Mafia... we eat glass for breakfast, nails for lunch, and our young for dinner. The downside to that, of course, comes after our morning coffee, but hey, HTFU, right?

After the first 7 miles or so, my hands were almost completely numb. Our paceline was rotating nicely, but I was beginning to worry that if it got any worse, I'd have to retire to a solo ride. Riding in a pack with no dexterity in your hands is hazardous to everyone's health, and I didn't want to be responsible for causing a wreck and hurting Jimmay's pretty new Felt. Get a scratch on that thing already! Luckily, after I complained about the physical pain my hand was in to Joe, it miraculously started feeling better... turns out the purse I was carrying was the problem.

The ride continued pretty much as usual, and Chris and I wrapped it all up with around 66 miles and according to my newly acquired Garmin, around 3000 calories. I've never been one to really think about calories, but it's pretty awesome to know how many calories I should crush...err... replace over the next few hours.

Thanks for the ride everyone, now for a few quick notes:

1. A PSA... watch riding 2 abreast on roads where cars can't pass when doing so, and stop at the stop signs... especially the ones with cops sitting nearby

2. Katie... knee warmers? Really? I probably had a spare set of tights in that purse I mentioned that you could've used... just ask next time!

3. As long as I'm referencing The Jerk, here are the 5 funniest movies ever as a topic for debate: 1. The Jerk 2. What About Bob? 3. The Cable Guy 4. Wedding Crashers 5. The Hangover

I'll be your huckleberry

Tom Petty once sang that, "the waiting is the hardest part." Most people might think he was singing about a girl or something lame like that, but actually, that song is about being a cyclist who comes down with an illness during New Year's weekend when the weather is unseasonably warm and all he can do is wait until he is well enough to ride.

That's a true story.

I woke up Christmas morning with a cold. No big deal, I'll just keep on doing what I do. A week later, I noticed that said cold had now moved south into my chest. I finished up a 2.5 hour ride on Friday out by the battlefields and upon cooling down, launched into a coughing fit reminiscent of Val Kilmer in his portrayal of Doc Holliday in the magnificent work of cinematic prowess, Tombstone. I limped home, and for the rest of the day, I looked like Ratso Rizzo from Midnight Cowboy, wasting away in the loving arms of Jon Voigt while this song played in the background:



I'm not here to feel sorry for myself though, or to try and make you feel sorry for me. I just know that you've all been in this position before, so you can all relate, and perhaps you can also relate to how I spent my days off the bike while you were all out riding and enjoying the weather.

We all practice some form of neglect so that we can spend hours on our bikes. Whether it's household maintenance, your day job, or basic hygiene (you thought I was going to make a Chris Harvie joke there, right? Well, I've matured), we all put certain things off for "just one more week." Well, when I can't get on my bike, a funny thing happens... I remember all these things, and I have to DO THEM. This, of course, drives my wife crazy. And while I know I should be resting, I look at it like I AM resting because I'm not on my bike. She does not agree. The thing is, if I don't stay busy, I will sit around and sulk about what I COULD be doing (riding). I'll experience massive nervous breakdowns, complete with sobbing uncontrollably, eating chocolates while watching Lifetime movies, and shadow boxing in the mirror wearing just my tighty-whities until I REALLY lose it and start watching Danny Glover movies as if they were actually any good. LUDICROUS!!!

My point is this: If you are sick and you want to get back on your bike ASAP, you HAVE TO CHILL!!! This means no more painting the trim, no more trimming the shrubs, no more unclogging the drain, and no more fixing the back door.

That's what SHE said.

I miss you guys, and clearly I've been watching too much TV and movies.

Return Of The Son of Christmas Eve Eve

Christmas Eve Eve always sounds like some kind of sequel to a horror movie called Christmas Eve, so I took it a step or two further with that title. It means nothing, but it might be a cool name for a band or something, or at least the sequel to a B movie starring Corey Feldman.

Anyway, this Christmas Eve Eve ("You better not pout, you better not...DIE!!!"... Man, this movie is practically writing itself!) I headed over to Joe's to meet him and Oliver for a 70 mile ride on a mutated version of the Saturday ride course. We headed out and picked up Pete on our way to The Lot, and after meeting up with Tony there, we would eventually collect John Payne, Ed Baumgartner, and Rob Cook along the way. My training plan called for a 3-4 hour endurance ride today. I knew riding with these guys would probably be a little harder than what was prescribed, but how could I resist Joe's sultry Barry White voice in my head saying, "Go hard or go home?" You have to go into riding with Joe, as well as the rest of this crew, like you would go into a night of drinking heavily: Just try to have fun, try not to vomit, and don't go to sleep with Bo Derek, but wake up with Bo Diddley. Okay, that last one is not really a concern for this ride, but on the Sunday ride with Paul where the MILFs are aplenty... well... just be careful out there, that's all.

If there was ever a strong, steady group ride, this was it. We had a smooth rotation going in the paceline as we stormed through the rain dampened and earthworm infested roads of Moseley on an unseasonably warm (mid-50's at the start) December morning. Oliver's calves glistened like the drumsticks of a rotisserie chicken as he helped keep the pace high, Joe and Tony tried to remember the lyrics to Dominick The Italian Christmas Donkey as they pulled through, and I tried to avoid blowing snot all over the shoulders of my jersey while attempting the always challenging snot rocket (fail).

Sidenote: I have never known anyone as proficient at the snot rocket as Jon Martinez. For one, the guy must have a runny nose year round, because even on the hottest day of the year, he's out there shooting snot from his nose like a sniper. He never misses, he never hits the guy behind him, and he could dot the "i" on a speed limit sign from 50 paces, easily.

As we rolled along, Rob, Pete, John, and Ed would each peel off at one point or another, leaving Oliver, Joe, Tony, and me taking short pulls at the front to finish the ride. A 4-man paceline when you have fifty or so hard miles in your legs does not provide the very thing you need: recovery. We didn't pay attention to that though. We were tired, we were sore, we wanted to stop, but we were cooking, and when you're cooking, you don't stop. As Joe put it, [our] legs were toast, but they weren't quite burnt toast. All I could think was, "mmmmm....toast"

We cruised along, past Mark Connoly doing one-legged drills on Duval Rd., and looking like a dog cocking his leg to pee from a bike as we rolled on and through Brandermill. Tony broke off at The Lot and as Oliver, Joe, and I cooled down towards the end of the ride, we were in full agreement that this was a GREAT ride. It was hard, it was fast, it was a beautiful day with some bad ass mofos on bikes, and most importantly, it was over.

Thanks to everyone for an awesome ride.

Lots of earthworms were harmed in the making of this blog. I'll write that part into the script of Christmas Eve Eve. The part of Joe will be played by Lou Ferrigno. I smell an Oscar!!!

Gym People Redux

I had absolutely no intention of revisiting the subject of gym people, but after the last two visits to the gym, I could no longer contain myself. I have witnessed all of these species within the last 2 trips to the gym, so in other words, I am only working with a small sample size, and I still manage to pull out the cream of the crop.

You're So Vain. You probably think this blog is about you.

There is a small group of guys at my gym. When I say, "small" I am not only referring to the overall group size, or to their individual statures, but to their characters as human beings. They come into the yoga studio where I go to stretch after working out, and they do this because it has gigantic mirrors. They wear wife beaters and they gel their hair up into rock solid ski slopes on top of their heads. Then they proceed to do a few sets of sit ups broken up by pulling their shirts up and admiring their abs in the mirror. Right out there in public. Have you no shame? At least do this in the privacy of your own bathroom like me, where you can have the freedom to do a full on pose-off in your underwear like you are competing for Mr. Universe. Err...uhh... I mean, like a guy I know... wait, that sounds even worse. Anyway, the worst part about these guys is not the Ab-a-palooza (not to be confused with the ABBA-palooza, which is actually quite fabulous), but it's the fact that they talk the entire time they are in there and they giggle like school girls. And what's worse is that they aren't speaking English, so I can't even tell what they are saying. And as we all know, when you're in a group of people who are not speaking your language, they are definitely making fun of YOU. Screw those guys.

The Throwback

We all love a little nostalgia. Whether it's the 70's Saturday on your local radio station, or the 80's movie marathon on VH1, we enjoy looking back at the stuff we used to think was cool and remembering when we used to think we were cool. We weren't cool. Ever. Why do you think we're cyclists? It's one of the only sports where scrawny nerds excel. There are some, however, that take nostalgia just a little too far. Like the guy at the gym this morning. Although I left him out of my previous post, he is actually a regular and you know him well. When he enters the gym, his long, flowing, jheri curled locks immediately trigger a giant fan which blows them back, as well as a smoke machine and Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again." He walks in slow motion by the counter and instead of scanning his membership card, he just gives the scanner a swift elbow like the Fonz hitting the jukebox... and it beeps! The girl at the counter sighs and faints. His leather jacket is aged to perfection. His stone washed jeans with elastic cuffs are radiant. His bright white high tops seem to glide across the floor as he heads for the weight room. Then he goes ahead and knocks out his entire workout without changing clothes. When he's done, he swings his leg over a Harley parked under the power rack and Tawny Kitaen hops on the back, wraps her arms around his waist, and they ride right out the front door while Meatloaf plays over the PA system.

B-Rad

If anyone has ever seen Malibu's Most Wanted, then you know who I'm talking about. If not, here's a clip:


In other words, he's Vanilla Ice.

This dude enters the weight room this morning followed by his sidekick. His sidekick is the Marcie to his Peppermint Patty. He always walks behind B-Rad (which is Brad's stage name), and he never speaks unless spoken to. B-Rad wears all black. Black sweats, black wife beater (which screams "classy"), black gloves, and even a black stocking hat...because it's a chilly 68 degrees up in here, yo! His arms and neck are covered in prison tats, which oddly enough look to be very professionally done. He stands still for a minute and scans the gym to impose his superiority over all the losers there who clearly are not as hard as he is. Then he does a set of shoulder presses, a set on the bench, and a set of assisted pullups. Marcie doesn't do a single set, he just spots. Then B-Rad wraps it up with a quick dip in the pool while Marcie gets dressed and pulls the Caddy around. B-Rad doesn't swim laps though, he does MMA kicks and punches underwater for the resistance it provides.

That wraps up my series on gym people. Regardless of how I made it sound, I actually do work out when I am at the gym and don't just sit around and observe. These people are just too hard to miss, and too good not to write about.

No Coffee, but some Cobbles

Met up with Jimmy, Tony, Mike G., and The Don this morning for a great Coffee & Cobbles ride and here's how it went down:

It was super freaking hot outside when I left the house at 7am.

Paul rode with his elbows tucked in close.

Tony didn't gun it up any hills.

I didn't try to keep up with Tony gunning it up any hills (see previous entry).

My food didn't freeze in my jersey pocket... you know, because it was so HOT out.

Jimmy didn't buy hot chocolate at 7-11 and mix it with his gatorade in his moldy bottle.

Joe came out and adamantly insisted that we stop for at least 30 minutes for coffee.

Mike and I jumped on the opportunity to climb Libby Hill when Tony offered.

I didn't eat a pile of pancakes with a side of bacon when I got home.

My 16 month old daughter took a nap immediately when I returned home from lunch so that I could do the same.


So yeah, that's how it went down today.

Except the opposite.

Happy Hours

Is it weird that I felt just slightly uncomfortable being around all of you without any of us wearing spandex?

Yeah, I thought so too.

Nevertheless, it was great to get together with everyone for the Spin Mafia Holiday Happy Hour at Capital Ale House last night. I have to admit that I think we all clean up pretty well for a bunch of miscreants, and it's always entertaining to get together with people you see on a regular basis, yet you have a hard time identifying when they aren't on bikes or wearing helmets. I'm still trying to figure out who the short guy with the dark hair and thick eyebrows was who carried on a conversation with the cadence of an auctioneer. Something with a "J" maybe? Oh well, whoever you were, it was good to meet you.

I didn't get to talk to everyone, because daddy was hungry for some fish tacos, so he had to get a table. So to those I missed, I'll catch you next time. In any case, here are a few things I learned last night:

1. Even when there are literally hundreds of beers to choose from, a true Irishman still chooses Guinness. Keep fighting the good fight, Des.
2. Chris Harvie has 2 poodles that he didn't want me to tell anyone about.
3. Capital Ale has the 2nd best fish tacos around (Tarrant's is #1).
4. If you block the path in front of the bar, a portly gentleman will kindly tell you that "This is your last warning to stay clear" Don Vito totally should've replied with, "Do you KNOW who I am?"
5. We were NOT supposed to wear full kits to the bar. That was a close call.
6. 7 men sharing a table at a restaurant can only mean one thing... apparently.
7. The Mayan Curse of 2012 is not something that happens after eating fish tacos.
8. I must really like you guys if I'm willing to drive down 288 at rush hour without my bike to see you.
9. Spin Mafia comes out strong whether it's on the road, or on the town.
10. A good list always has 10 entries.

We need to do it again sometime. Thanks to Don Vito for putting it together.

See you on the road!