Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
I stopped keeping track of my miles a while ago. When I was just riding one bike, the computer knew the whole story but then I was introduced to mountain biking and never put a computer on that bike. Of course in the winter you need a beater and for a while I dutifully transfered the computer back and forth between the road bike and the commuter. Then I seemed to lose interest in keeping on top of it.
I asked myself why I cared about the miles and didn't really have an answer. I'm a data geek by trade and know there's no point collecting data you don't intend to use.
Short term mileage tracking makes sense to understand how my training is progressing and when I need a recovery day or to make sure I am getting enough protein and liquids for the effort I am putting out. I occasionally wear the heart monitor, partly because I am still trying to figure out what my max is. I've seen a 184 multiple times but haven't been able to check it when I really feel like I am really pushing the limit. I have noticed that my heart rate when keeping pace is dropping down into the low 140's when it used to be in the mid to upper 150's.
So what's the point? I seem to be having many weeks in a row where I ride more than 200 miles and it's got me a bit curious as to where my odometer is/would be if I were actually keeping track. I've got a new gig and the commute will put me around 170 miles a week without any social rides.
And there will be social rides...
Back in the early 70's there were some years that I figured I put in somewhere around ten thousand miles. Back then computers barely fit in a semi truck(!) so the mileage was a guesstimate but 10K seems like some sort of milestone I should be aware of if I am approaching it. If a cyclist pedals ten thousand miles (through the forest) does anybody care?
I know some folks publish their mileage on their blogs and I'm curious what the motivation is to keep track of the mileage in the first place whether you publish the numbers or not. Perhaps I'm just lazy but it seems like a lot of work but since lots of folks do it, there must be a reward to them.
So here's the question:
What motivates you to track your mileage?
What prevents you from tracking your mileage?
For me it seems that by the time I finish the 'recovery' beer, it's just not important enough to manage the record keeping but perhaps I'm missing something...
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Being born is good
Still being alive is great
Not everyone is
Attitude by choice
Choosing chipper just makes sense
Tragedy and joy
Tough fabric for a good life
A complete package
Spin the wheel of life
Make mine 700c
Perhaps dirt knobbies
Keep it spinning true
Tarmac or dirt, it's all good
Breath in saddle life
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Based on claims made on your product's label, we have determined that your Cheerios® Toasted Whole Grain Oat Cereal is promoted for conditions that cause it to be a drug because the product is intended for use in the prevention, mitigation, and treatment of disease...In other news, Lance Armstrong tested positive for whole grain oats and is out of the Giro d'Italia tour and will be suspended by Team Astana. Armstrong protested and in an interview with Veloats News commented "It's not like I had Boonen putting the sugar on them, it was just straight Cheerios. It seems as though the Italians are taking lessons from the French on this one."
Sunday, May 10, 2009
I've been getting in a lot of riding lately. Last week I got in 240 miles, up from the 200 the week before. I've tried various recovery drinks, fancy powdered drinks with fancy price tags and they may or may not work but this is turning out to be a pretty reliable option that is very tasty, doesn't come in a mysterious powder and has great nutritional balance. Seems to me we might be missing the simplicity of real food with our fancy store-bought options.
Wash it down with a glass of milk and you're good to go!
4 cups old-fashioned oats
1 cup wheat germ
1/4 cup dark brown sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
Variation Ingredients (at least one cup, our favorite shown)
1/2 cup of sunflower seeds
1/4 cup of sesame seeds
1 cup slivered or chopped almonds
1 cup broken or chopped pecans
Coat two 9 x 13 pans with cooking spray (because it's a double recipe...)
Heat to a slow boil in microwave:
1/2 cup maple syrup
-1/3 cup (just a little less than 1/3 cup) flavorless oil, such as vegetable or canola
2 Tbs. water
1 tsp. ground cinnamon
Drizzle liquid into dry ingredients:
Make sure it's all mixed together by adding the liquid slowly while stirring the dry stuff.
If you have too much time on your hands:
Squeeze cereal together into clumps with your hands.
Put prepared cereal into the 9 x 13 pan
Level it out so it bakes evenly
Bake at 275 for 30 minutes
If you are adding dried fruit:
Add it to the mixture at this point
Stir the mixture mostly to make sure it's not stuck to the pan.
Level it out again
Bake for another 15 minutes or so until golden brown
Nuts you might use; not all together but 1-3 cups total:
- peanuts -unsalted
- cashews -unsalted
- roasted pistachios
- chopped hazelnuts
Fruits you might use; not all together but 1/2 - 1 cup total:
- sweetened flake coconut
- chopped dried pineapple
- dried cherries
- dark or golden raisins
- dried cranberries
- dried blueberries
- chopped dried pears
- chopped dates
- chopped mangos
Based on Great Granola by Pam Anderson
Friday, May 8, 2009
Sunday, May 3, 2009
This post is offered as a response to FatLad's Riders Writing Cycle # 5; What was your best ride?
As a kid I thought few things were as wonderful as the smell of fresh brewed coffee in the air but it represented a huge mystery to me as well. How could something that smelled that great, have such an utterly repulsive taste? I tried it every few years and recall thinking each time that it tasted even worse than the time before but its’ aroma continued to be one of my favorites.
I did a lot of self-supported bike touring in my teens and early twenties, mostly trips from the Twin Cities up to the North Shore of Lake Superior. My first trip was when I was 15 and had a ten-speed, a hand-me-down I’m sure, and my buddy had a five-speed sting-ray. That trip set the foundation for some pretty serious rides over the coming years and, eventually, a change in my perspective on coffee.
The following year I upgraded that old ten-speed spending a whopping $700 on an Italian bike. That was a lot of paper route money back in 1972! The bike was hotter than a pistol coming in under 20 lbs. with a Campagnolo frame and derailleur and sew-up tires. I was putting a lot of miles on that bike but thought I was a lightweight since one of my brother's friends bragged that his round-trip rides to Duluth and back in one shot, roughly 300 miles, was what it took to be a "serious" rider.
But I digress; I was supposed to be discussing coffee…
So anyway, it was on one of those northern excursions that coffee made a grand entrance that couldn’t be denied. It was our third day of the trip with 150 miles behind us and just over 100 on the schedule for the day. The day started out cool enough to delay our start but bright and sunny when we finally got underway. We were still on the early side of Duluth’s rush hour but didn’t make it far it up on to Scenic Highway 61 and my buddy's cassette irreparably busted.
Seeing as how I was the better part of a foot taller, and had the only working bike, it quickly became my job to ride back to Duluth with his busted cassette (I actually carried a cassette tool with me!) to get a replacement and back to where he waited, hopefully not smoking up our entire stash, er, I mean eating all the chocolate chip cookies mom had sent along, yeah, cookies that’s what I meant...
Anyway, the day that had started out so sunny and bright had become ominously overcast with a blustery chill in the air. With a growing headwind we hurried to get the bike fixed and be on our way and hopefully ride out of the approaching weather. However, just as we completed the repair and jumped back in the saddle, a slight mist developed which soon became a steady drizzle. Within five miles we were pining for that steady drizzle as it had become a real gully washer with ever increasing wind and dropping temps.
For those of you not familiar with the magnificent Lake Superior, this is a huge body of water, a fresh-water ocean really, that averages something like 38 degrees Fahrenheit and this was early June so it was still reminiscing about the winter ice pack. When the wind comes across this frigid water it can create a bigger chill than your sweetie catching you smoochin’ an old flame*. Back in those days it was a 100% cotton wardrobe and I don’t recall having any kind of raincoat but if I did, it was completely ineffective. So there we were riding into a hellacious headwind, temps dropping I would guess into the 40’s, soaked to our cotton-clinging skin.
* I have no personal experience with this but have observed it...
Did I mention this was a camping trip? Being high school students, we didn’t have much capital leverage so had planned the trip around free camping spots along the route as we had on all the other trips we had taken. I’m pretty sure I had never stayed in a hotel without my folks so getting a room simply wasn’t within my reality.
But then neither was battling a frigid rainstorm, soaked to the skin. Grinding along the side of the highway was getting more miserable with each turn of the cranks so when a quaint little village of cabins with a vacancy sign out front came into view, no discussion or even eye contact was required. We simply rolled down the driveway towards that classic north woods lodge, parking our bikes on the porch out of the rain and headed inside.
What waited inside was as close to heaven as I have ever been. There was a roaring fire in the fireplace, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee thick in the air. We were both so stiff with cold and chilled to the bone that putting one foot in front of the other took as much effort as we could muster. There was no one in the foyer when we arrived but soon a pretty young lady appeared behind the counter and as soon as she saw us got a huge grin on her face and announced that she had just brewed fresh hot coffee and asked if we would like some.
Before we could get the whole word ‘yes’ out of our mouths, she spun around and was gone only to return in a moment with two huge mugs of steaming hot coffee. We were both struck by her beauty and would likely have said yes even if she had offered us ice water but when I wrapped my numb fingers around that mug of java she became irrelevant.
I was keenly aware of my dislike of the taste of coffee so at that point I didn’t figure I would even drink any and since it was too hot to drink anyway, I just enjoyed getting the feeling back into my fingers and savoring the exquisite aroma. The longer I smelled the coffee, the more it called to me and when the thawing began heading up my arms, I decided it was time for a sip.
Expecting a wretched taste to flow over my lips, and hoping not to sear the flesh in my mouth, I gingerly took my first sip. At that exact moment I came to know that in fact the taste was somehow spectacularly better than the smell. As the warmth grew in my belly, warming me from the inside out, I knew my life had just changed.
We could have finished our coffee and headed back out as soon as it cleared and had expected to do just that after warming up and changing into dry clothes. Somehow the moment was just too perfect and when the young lady behind the counter saw our hesitation, offered us a small cabin that was in the middle of having some work done but if we didn’t mind we could have it at a discount. Oh, and she also offered us more coffee so that sealed the deal.
I never gave her another thought and don’t remember much about our stay or even the rest of the trip but knew that I had been smitten by a steaming hot love that would last a lifetime.