Keep Wearing that Pink and Popping Those Collars, Dude

One of my guilty pleasures is the website, Hot Chicks with Douchebags. And Douchebag1 just turned his punk-ass toadies on to a funny video promoting Douchebag Solidarity... as if all of them weren't already clueless, lone wolfpups.

I'm Paranoid and Can't Read Your Mind: A Recipe For Disaster

It's really tough to read Body English and other non-verbal clues when bicycling. Where some might take offense to an aggressive move and feel they need to take up the challenge, whether one was intended or not, another rider might think that the faster rider was just training hard that day or perhaps has been riding for years and decades to build such strength.

Yesterday, BalticTiger and I were riding north of town -- in the treeless boonies, basically -- and though it was touching the 60's temperature-wise, the sun was behind the clouds, it felt chilly, and we were riding crosswinds to a 10-mph breeze. BalticTiger and I were taking turns pulling. Another rider was maybe 50 yards ahead of us. He was older than both of us and he was quite stocky, but had the telltale thick, muscular calves of an avid cyclist. Over the next mile, we barely closed 40 or 50 feet on him. We weren't trying to catch or pass him.

At the next intersection, we all turned right and were riding into the wind. Very gradually we closed the gap, as I was doing all the pulling now with BalticTiger holding my wheel and very large wake. We were moving at about 19 mph, but the rider ahead, despite his bulk, was riding almost that speed too. For some reason, I don't like to pass other riders too gradually. Either pass them "with authority," I tell myself, or just stay put. But then as the wind finally got to him, the rider in front of us slowed noticeably. As we caught up and passed him, we both said hi, I commented that the wind had picked up, and BalticTiger said how nice a day it still was to ride. And on we went.

But after a couple of minutes, the bulky rider was passing me and I was wondering what was up. Here's where a bit of verbal communication comes in handy. As his front wheel pulled ahead of mine, he said, "I'm gonna take a pull for a minute." And that's what he did. For one minute, after which he pulled over to the left and dropped back. I have to admit that I would have felt a bit challenged if I didn't know he just intended to take a short turn at the front. And if he had sped up even more, I would have stayed with him, even though BalticTiger might have been redlined already. I also have to admit that I really didn't want him to pull because I was "in training" by riding hard into the headwinds. I don't get many opportunities for "training time" when I ride with BalticTiger. (Don't tell her I said that... although she already knows.)

If the guy hadn't pulled over after a minute, I would have passed him anyway... which might have communicated something non-verbally that I didn't intend. Fortunately, everything was copacetic because he spoke up as he passed me earlier.

He went straight at the next intersection, we turned right, and we both went on with our rides.

Lesson to the story: Speak up.

Vlog 2 - Patience I Don't Got

Part 2 in Howard's (almost weekly) Vlog. This week: Three Things concluding with Howard's realization that writing is hard work. What? You thought you were going to get depth?

Artistic Recursion to the Nth Degree

recursion

Main Entry: re·cur·sion
Pronunciation: \ri-ˈkər-zhən\

Function: noun

Etymology: Late Latin recursion-, recursio, from recurrere

Date: 1616

1 : return
2 : the determination of a succession of elements (as numbers or functions) by operation on one or more preceding elements according to a rule or formula involving a finite number of steps
3 : a computer programming technique involving the use of a procedure, subroutine, function, or algorithm that calls itself one or more times until a specified condition is met at which time the rest of each repetition is processed from the last one called to the first — compare iteration.

Confused? Now click this link.

Greatness Doesn't Fade, It Just Gets a Bigger Belt

The Shatner Trifecta...

Vlog 1 - Cycling Has Changed My Life

Initiating my new weekly videoblog, or Vlog, I decided to discuss the activity closest to my heart -- bicycling. In future weeks: architecture, real estate, unemployment, global warming, weightlifting, running, cats who know they're being videotaped... who knows?

In the Aeroplane Over the Sea

Last summer I was thrown into a human stew of folks working hard to get an 8-man team of cyclists with Type-2 diabetes from Oceanside, California, near San Diego across the country to Annapolis, Maryland. This was a bicycle race called Race Across AMerica (RAAM), and TT2 completed the race in 7 days 7 hours and 24 minutes. I wrote all about it here.

My role as part of this stew was to navigate the Team Van and make all the decisions for the riders such as who would ride when, and the durations of their "pulls" based on existing variables such as weather, road conditions, elevation changes, and energy levels of the riders.

My driver in the Team Van was Andrew Burgess, who I found out along the way is a singer and guitarist with the band, Dead Letters. The name of the band struck me as waaay too coincidental. You see, my wife, BalticTiger, wrote a novel in 1990, as yet unpublished, called Letters of the Dead.

Anyway, Andrew traveled to Switzerland this summer for the wedding of two friends, and while there, performed a song, "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea" by Neutral Milk Hotel. Here he is:

Cover of Neutral Milk Hotel's "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea," live from Switzerland from Andrew Burgess on Vimeo.

Obama Derangement Syndrome

"The American President just won the Nobel Peace Prize. By any reasonable measure, all Americans should be proud."

It's Always As Challenging As You Hoped It Wouldn't Be

Numbers never tell the whole story. Except in baseball and in war, where boxscores, players’ stats, and casualty lists can sometimes graze more than just the surface.

Here are some numbers from a single-day bicycle ride:

226.1 miles
15 hours 3 minutes ride time
17 hours 45 minutes total time (5 a.m. to 10:45 p.m.)
14,000 ft. of vertical elevation
12,200 ft. ASL max. altitude
15.0 mph ave. speed
45 mph max. speed

While these numbers might mean something to an avid and experience bicyclist, raising eyebrows and inspiring curiosity, they still come up short in telling the story. WAAAAAAY short.

So here’s a story:

There comes a moment in every epic and challenging ride when one wonders, “Why the hell am I doing this?” This particular ride on this particular day was filled with such moments, culminating in this exchange:

“I don’t think I can finish the ride.”

Deadhead laughed, partly because I’m a big whiner on tough rides, and also because he always laughs. I’ve always liked that about him. In that regard, he reminds me of my dad, although Deadhead is only three years older than I am. Deadhead is a delightful riding companion because he’s an expert at keeping spirits light and always seeing the bright side of every situation.

Only this time, I wanted there to be no doubt.

“I’m serious. When we get to Idaho Springs, I want to find a McDonald’s, where I’m going to reevaluate this ride.”

The smile on Deadhead’s face went away.

How did we get to this point, and how was it resolved? Let’s begin at the beginning.

After a miserable night lacking any good sleep, I laid in bed at 3:30 a.m., finally getting up at 3:45 a.m., quickly showering, dressing, and eating some oatmeal. Loading the bike and my gear, which was already organized and ready to go, I drove to Loveland to meet Deadhead at 4:45 a.m. for our 5 a.m. start. His wife, BikePrincess, saw us off.

Deadhead and I have climbed Trail Ridge Road together from Loveland at 5,000 ft. altitude to the summit of the highest pass in North America at 12,300 ft. two times before. And both times, it kicked my butt. Climbing for 60 miles is torture for a 205 lb. behemoth like myself. But at least I would get to turn around and descend those 60 miles to end the ride.

Not this time. We had only done about half of the climbing and a quarter of the miles for this particular day.

We bundled up as much as we could for the descent down the west side of Trail Ridge, but I had failed to bring full-fingered gloves and leg covers or tights, so the descent was especially cold for me.

Still, it was enjoyable, as we stopped at the Continental Divide at Milner Pass (10,059 ft.) and at a gorgeous overlook before reaching Grand Lake (also gorgeous.)

We stopped in Granby for lunch and then headed south towards Winter Park and Berthoud Pass, but on the flats, we could only go 14 mph. I began to worry about even finishing the ride if all I could muster was 14 mph on level ground.

Later, I realized that it must have been a false flat – to both of us it looked as flat as could be for miles and miles, but was actually a slight climb, imperceptible to the Hypoxian mind.

But the thought of bailing began to invade my thinking at that point.

Looking ahead, we saw a huge thunderstorm and lightning just a few miles to the west of Berthoud Pass. Worried about having to ride through it, we began to discuss what to do.

In Winter Park, there was a McDonald's. I asked if we should stop there and wait it out, if the other option was get caught on the 10-mile climb in a deluge.

Deadhead said, “Maybe we should give it 30 minutes before deciding what to do.”

I thought he was voting that we should keep riding, with the hope of outrunning the storm. I thought to myself, “okay, we’ll do that.” But after we passed the McDonald's, I realized that he might have meant to stop there for half-an-hour instead. Asking him, he confirmed that he was suggesting we stop, which is what he knew I wanted to do. Laughing about it, we decided to just keep going, with the option of turning around and scooting back to Winter Park if it got nasty.

We lucked out as we outran the storm to our right. The highway was busy with traffic, though, there was little or no shoulder, and too many drivers were impatient to move over a bit to the left, making it a very stressful climb.

The first five or six miles went quickly as the grade was fairly moderate. I had my jacket on, but Deadhead said he needed to stop to put his on as well, but I should keep going, and he would catch me. So I stood up on my pedals and sped up to make it extra challenging for him.

That’s when things became really nasty on Berthoud Pass. I came up to a switchback/hairpin turn that became a 7% grade. Being the behemoth that I am, I slowed waaaaay down. Looking at the road below me, I saw Deadhead closing in. I was helpless as I was too big to go any faster. Halfway up the first pitch, Deadhead caught me.

He said the cue sheet we got from Rocky Mountain Cycling Club for the Grand Loop indicated the climb from Winter Park to the summit was 10 miles. We’d already gone eight with two tough miles to go. But those two miles became FIVE miles! We were both very dissappointed and exhausted when we finally reached the top.

And we were now getting quite wet. It was raining… only this storm was coming from our left. We bypassed the first one on our right, but it didn’t matter. Wait around a few minutes in Colorado and the weather will change.

This meant that we got to do another huge descent in the cold… AND the rain!

Both of my knees were aching, and riding fast through a freezing rainstorm without pedaling was going to just kill my knees. So even though Deadhead went flying down the mountainside, I kept my speed at around 25 mph for the 12-mile descent, gripping my brakes tightly while I continued to pedal lightly to save my knees.

I have to say the Berthoud Pass descent on the south side is the BEST DESCENT I'VE EVER SEEN! Steep stretches where I could have gone well over 40 mph for miles at a time, long straight sections that went on forever, broken up with fun switchbacks, and the hugest most generous shoulders I've ever seen. We're going to go back there and climb up it from Empire (on the south side) just to do that descent again someday.

Halfway down the descent, I thought I heard Deadhead yell my name. WHAT? Had he stopped because of the rain? I looked around and didn’t see him. For the next five miles, I kept looking back wondering if he would catch me.

But nope, when I got to the town of Empire, there he was waiting for me. He had waited at least five minutes – that’s how fast he’d gone… and how slow I’d gone. I was enthusiastic about the descent, but lamented that we hadn’t been able to enjoy it because of the rain and cold. Also, I was soaked and frozen to the bone and ready to call it quits. That’s when the conversation occurred…

“I don’t think I can finish the ride.”

Deadhead laughed, partly because I’m a big whiner on tough rides, and also because he always laughs.

But this time, I wanted there to be no doubt.

“I’m serious. When we get to Idaho Springs, I want to find a McDonald’s, where I’m going to reevaluate this ride.”

The smile on Deadhead’s face went away.

What I hadn't noticed was it wasn’t raining anymore. Empire was dry, even though we were still soaked.

Continuing on to Idaho Springs -- ten more miles of less steep descent on side roads, frontage roads, and neglected bike paths strewn with pinecones and pine needles -- we dried out and our spirits lifted. Spinning easily though Idaho Springs, we were feeling back to our usual selves again.

We ate delicious fast food and I warmed up my drenched and heavy bike shoes in the hand dryer in the bathroom, which made my feet feel so much better, though still wet.

Looking at the time, I told Deadhead that I had been worried about descending Lookout Mountain’s steep and twisting road in the dark, entirely dependent on miserable headlamps to keep from pitching off into the void. We had two hours before it got real dark out. Looking at the cue sheet, Deadhead and I saw that we only had 20 miles to go to get to the bottom of Lookout Mountain. Piece of cake, right?

Riiiiight. As it turned out, the steepest miles we climbed that day were along a small country road paralleling Interstate 70. UGH! More 5 and 6 mph drudgery with painful knees and bad attitudes.

But finally we made it to the top of Lookout Mountain. It was 7 p.m. and it was starting to get dark, but not too dark to fly down the mountainside. I said we should stop, put our lights back on, eat and drink and take some Enduralytes.

While we were doing that, a couple a cyclists rode past us asking if we were okay. I said we were fine and that we were headed back to Loveland… still 60 miles away! They looked at us kind of funny. I said to nobody as they rode away, “If only they knew where we’ve ridden just to get here!” Another barely noticed cyclist was standing nearby and began to ask us questions. Telling him our route, he asked, “Are you doing the Grand Loop?” It turns out that this rider was the stud racing champion of RMCC, Mark Lowe, who had won the 1-2-3 Challenge earlier in the summer (Deadhead finished merely 4th) and had ridden the Grand Loop in early August. He asked when we started and complimented us on how quickly we had gone so far.

Looking at my watch, it was time to go, and the fun began. We stopped once for pictures, but the descent of Lookout Mountain is one of the finer joys to be found in cycling.

Then we headed north towards Boulder. Stopping at a 7-11, I grabbed a pint of chocolate milk and replenished my Gatorade supply for the 55-mile ride home. Deadhead called BikePrincess and told her to expect us in about 3 hours. This pint of chocolate milk was my 5th for the day as I’ve learned that it is the greatest endurance fuel I’ve ever drunk. Protein, sugar, chocolate, and a pint of liquid. Mmmmm.

Even though we were now on familiar “flat lands”, they were far from flat and not so familiar in the darkness. We took turns pulling way too fast and still slowed to 8 mph on the rollers. But as we got down to the final five miles our pace picked up to 20-23 mph!

At 10:45 p.m. and half a block from Deadhead’s house we heard cowbells, hahaha! BikePrincess had been waiting for us (after buying some New Belgium beer and making some popcorn) to give us a champion’s welcome. It took a while to drink our beers because we were so busy talking about the epic day… and about how we almost didn’t make it. Deadhead confessed that he wouldn’t have made it back from Golden without me, as since I was considering calling BalticTiger to come rescue me at Idaho Springs, Deadhead was also ready to call BikePrincess for a rescue from Golden.

Yup, the Grand Loop is the kind of ride that makes you question "Why the hell am I doing this?" But when you have a partner or friends, it makes all the difference.

2009 Venus de Miles

If women ruled the world, everything wouldn't necessarily work better or safer or more efficiently. There might still even be plenty of wars.

But I'll tell you one thing -- everything would be a lot more fun!

I know.

Because I lived and biked in a women-designed, women-centric, women-on-top world for one day yesterday... and I loved every moment of it.

Yesterday was the 2nd Annual Venus de Miles Road Ride -- an organized bike ride FOR WOMEN ONLY. And your humble servant, Howard, got to ride in it.

I know what you're saying: "But Howard, you are all dude. What gives?"

And you would be right. I am all dude. But let me let you in on a little secret: Volunteerism is good. Very good. Because this year the organizers came up with a great idea: Mechanics in Drag -- men with bike-repair skills riding alongside the women... wearing... um... pretty things.

Yes, I found the loophole that allowed a dozen men like myself to ride alongside 1,500 women. Those are good odds, don't you think?

So I donned my grass skirt and coconuts and leis and finest frou frou and rode the Venus de Miles metric century alongside BalticTiger, wheels_go_round, BikePrincess, our friend Catherine (as pictured left to right), and nearly 1,500 strong and amazing women (behind them).

To be continued...

What Is A Moment?

Take one... another excellent, excellent video:

If You've Never Failed, You've Never Lived

Life = Risk. Excellent, excellent video with a life lesson for us all!

Dave Chappelle on Gates Before Gates

Funny in retrospect...

2009 Race Across America -- or -- What I Did On My Summer Vacation

Howard recently crewed for a team of eight bicyclists with type-2 diabetes who participated in a race across America. It's a 3000-mile race called, oddly enough, Race Across America, or RAAM. Here is my personal experience of RAAM, greatly condensed... and way too positive to accurately represent the reality of the event.

I spent a week at Cannon Beach, Oregon celebrating my wife's parents' 50th Anniversary at a huge family reunion. Then I flew from Portland to San Diego. After some anxious minutes, I finally hooked up with my chauffeur, Saul, one of the riders who unfortunately got bumped from the ride. We also found the pediatric endocrinologist and team doc for Team Type 1, and headed to Oceanside's pier via GPS -- my first experience with them. Worked like a charm.

Because of the family reunion, I was among the very last to arrive in San Diego. When I arrived, it seemed like everyone knew each other and I was surrounded by strangers. But I quickly found two friends, Zin and JulieB, and then saw a couple other riders, Mark and Tim, whom I had ridden with in Colorado on training rides with Zin. I also found and talked to BikeJournal's Homey and Veronica with team JDRF.

Soon it was time for the TT1 & 2 group picture. Everyone already had their "crew team kits", but I didn't yet, so JulieB let me borrow her TT2 hoodie:


Then we went to an auditorium where all the teams were introduced. I found it utterly mesmerizing and found myself thinking I HAD to be up on that stage next year. When they introduced the 4-man team on hand-crank bikes, everyone gave them a standing ovation that lasted two minutes. Very moving and inspiring.

Then it was time for dinner. The mass of 30-some Team Type 2 folks, along with an equal contingent of Team Type I riders and crew all piled into a flotilla of RVs and vans, were given simple directions to a nearby mall and food court, and told that if we couldn't find it, we had no business driving across the country. The driver and navigator of our RV promptly got lost and ended up at our hotel instead, where they stopped and stomped off due to all the verbal abuse. Howard is a kindly soul and never said a harsh word. Instead I tried to ask the others to get used to it. The whole week was going to be like this.

So I checked into the hotel and asked if any restaurants were within walking distance. "No," was the answer. "Nothing? No McDonald's? No Subways?" "Oh, there's a Subway down the street but it's too far to walk." "How far is it?" "Oh, at least a mile or mile-and-a-half." Off I went and had a nice dinner at Subway. Lesson Learned: Californians consider walking distance to be within half a mile or less.

The next morning, we all packed up and headed back to an area near the pier, where we met and talked to lots of folks with diabetes and a doctor or two who treat diabetics. I didn't know too much, so I listened to the conversations. Later on, as the week wore on, I asked my riders to fill me in on the physiology and treatment of diabetes and they did. I also met BikeJournal's Robo there and gave him my cell phone number so he could check up on our progress, which he did three times during the week. Robo has ridden RAAM numerous times.

Then it was time to race and all the riders headed down to the pier while my rider van headed to the first rider exchange point 25 miles down the road.

This is how the vans and RVs worked for Team Type 2. There were 32 of us -- 8 riders and 24 crew members. The riders were divided into two squads of four, and each squad was matched up with four crew members -- a follow van with a driver and navigator and a rider van with a driver and navigator. The remaining 16 crew members were assigned to either a rider RV, a crew RV, or a utility van. The squad of four riders, four crew members, and two vans were out on the road for between 120 miles and 190 miles while the RVs and utility van filled with everyone else would zoom on ahead to the transition point, always a time station, and await the arrival of the active riders, crew, and their two vans. The follow van would always follow the active rider, who moved along at between 6 mph and 63 mph (yes, we had a very large guy who was packed with descending muscle and could fly down the descents.) The rider van carried the other three riders who were on the clock but between pulls, and that's the van that I navigated and made all the rider exchange decisions for. We were constantly leap-frogging the follow van and active rider, finding a good place to pull off the shoulder for a rider exchange, then getting the next rider ready to ride, making the exchange, loading up the last rider's bike up, and then zooming down the road again. Pulls were usually 4 to 5 miles long, though we would shorten them up if we were climbing or the four or five times we were in direct racing competition with another team. The active squad of riders and crew would do this over and over and over again for 8 to 11 hours typically while all the other riders and crew in the RVs relaxed and tried to sleep.

At the squad transition points, the fresh squad would choose the rider to lead them out, and since the follow van had to stay with the rider between 8 p.m. and 6 a.m., this usually meant very quick exchanges of crew and supplies in the follow van as well. The rider van could take a bit more time to clean out the van and replace all the supplies. Once the squads were replaced and the two vans took off, the tired riders would shower in temporary shower facilities and eat food prepared by the RV crew. Then they would zoom ahead to the next transition point, trying to sleep on the moving RV, and usually being more successful once the RV stopped at the transition point.

Everything was humming along on the first day. We found a good spot to sit and await the two Team Type 2 riders that got to lead out from the starting line -- Zin and Peter. Zin because he was the Team Manager for Team Type 2 and Peter because he was the poster boy for Type 2 diabetics since he weighed 320 pounds and was the associate director for the Milwaukee American Diabetes Association chapter and a genuinely nice, articulate, and personable man. He was on my squad of riders and quickly became The Descender. At one point late in the race we came up to a 7 mile 9% descent, and we quickly duct-taped a camera to his aerobars to film the descent. It was spectacular, though it was also much too curvy and dangerous, darnit.

When Deadhead and I did the Hoodoo 500 last September, the race director had told me that the race would be decided within the first five miles. So at the start of RAAM, I was thinking about this as we waited and wondered what was going to happen. After watching most of the teams go past us, our riders finally showed up and we did our first rider exchange. We were slotted into a later spot among the teams, which was no surprise, as winning was never a concern. That was Team Type 1's goal... which they reached, setting a record for 8-man teams. But for us, thriving and surviving the ordeal, and doing it within 7 days was the goal, knowing that scores of thousands of type-2 diabetics could and would take encouragement from the success of our riders racing over 3,000 miles across the continent in 7 days.

The rhythms and textures of the race began to emerge very quickly. Each rider would do his pull as a time trial -- at or close to lactic threshold -- for 15 minutes before being replaced by another rider. The retiring rider would then have about 45 minutes to recover and prepare for his next "time trial". Being type-2 diabetics, they tested their blood glucose levels before and after every pull. Seeing numbers as high as 190 followed by a low of 80 or 90 afterward was pretty typical for some of them. Those kinds of extreme swings were kind of shocking to a couple of the riders who hadn't expected to see such spreads, but all the riders in the van were constantly talking back and forth, helping and advising each other every step of the way. Zin was especially knowledgeable and helpful with this. My driver, Andrew, and I would talk a lot too, but mostly we just listened to the delightful chatter in the back seats as a couple of the riders had wonderfully quick and colorful senses of humor.

Those times in the rider van spent talking, laughing, planning strategies, determining who would ride on what kind of terrain and for how long, and finding places to pull off the road safely were the VERY BEST times for me and Andrew during the week. The times on the RV were another story...

Once we reached our destination, the transition point where we would end our shift, the drivers and navigators would be left to our own devices. The showers and food being prepared were for the riders only, so we had to find food or go without. And unfortunately, many times there was no food to be found at the transition point. And being wound up from all the high-intensity focus we had to bring to our jobs for hours on end, finding sleep was very difficult, especially when the generator and air conditioner stopped working in Kansas. The first four days, I would honestly estimate that I slept all of 10 hours. More and more raggedy and stinky we became. Somewhere in Kansas, I believe, one the crew in the utility van offered to take our stinky clothes to a laundromat. That is where I think I lost my most cherished BolderBoulder shirt from last Memorial Day. But at least we all had clean clothes.

Unfortunately, the temps and humidity began to beat down on us. I've lived all my life in dry Wyoming, dry Colorado, and dry Arizona. Humid Missouri, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Maryland were too much for me, especially with heat at or over 100F! All my clean clothes quickly became stinky again so that during days 6 and 7, all I had left were my swim trunks and a black sports tee. Fortunately, many of our shifts were at night during those last few days.

The highlights of the race? Riding through Monument Valley near Mexican Hat, Utah in the early morning hours, and as the sky lightened, the outlines of the Wiley T. Coyote buttes began to emerge. Then the sky filled with color and we could begin to make out details of the rocky outcroppings. Then more light and we could see texture and features of the majestic mountains. We were all mesmerized and grateful that our squad got to experience this moment.

Another amazing moment was as we were climbing the continental divide northeast of Chama, New Mexico into Colorado and towards Antonito and then back down to Taos, New Mexico. The stars were beyond description. None of us had seen the Milky Way Galaxy so clearly and brightly in decades as we all came from population centers smeared with light pollution. When you're at 10,000 ft. altitude and hundreds of miles away from any city over 50,000 population, the stars are utterly spectacular. I'm afraid JulieB and her driver Jeremy didn't see much of this because they were obligated to stay with the active rider, illuminating the road ahead. JulieB is an avid amateur astronomer too. But then I know for a fact that she gets to see the stars more than most of us, so I guess I shouldn't feel so bad for her.

Another memorable moment came after we crossed the Missouri river, in Missouri of course, and I put Zin on the pull because we were about to tackle one of the most difficult climbs of the entire week, Dutzow Hill. It was only a mile long, but it had sustained pitches of 20%! Lucky to find a pull-out at the very top of the hill, my driver Andrew, who was the official photojournalist of Team Type 2, videotaped the final 30 yards of Zin's climb/suffering. At the very top, Peter yelled, "That was fucking awesome!" which upset Andrew because it meant that he couldn't post the video to the TT2 website blog. I suggested that Zin go down and do it again, but nobody thought that was a very good idea.

Yet another great moment was as we were within 25 miles of the Mississippi River. Zin had mentioned how much he was looking forward to crossing it, and crossing it before the time cutoff of Friday at 5 p.m. When Zin was doing a pull, Peter requested that Zin get to be the one to cross the Mississippi. Great idea, I agreed, and began to calculate pulls to make this happen. It quickly became apparent that I would have to shorten pulls down to 3 and 4 miles to ensure that Zin was the man. So that's what I did without telling anyone. They were all too frazzled by the heat to notice that they were pulling for 10 and 12 minutes instead of 15 or 17 minutes, so that when we reached the time station just before the river, I put Zin out and he had no idea we were so close to it. After we loaded up the previous rider and drove past Zin, I stuck my head out the window and yelled, "enjoy!" 30 seconds later, we came around a bend and there it was, a brand new beautiful gold single-tower suspension bridge over the Mississippi.

Afterward, he remarked that it was going to be one of the most memorable moments of his week of RAAM. I made sure to let him know that it was Peter's idea.

Illinois was flat but around 110F. Southeast of Springfield, JulieB's parents brought doughnuts for everyone, which perked up all our spirits. We were also parked next to an air conditioned McDonald's. The kind with nice bathrooms. That perked up everyone's spirits too.

On through Illinois to Indiana we went. Indiana is kind of hilly and hot, as was Ohio. Sorry to the Hoosiers and Buckeyes, but I pretty much blocked out all memories of your states, hahahahaha!

West Virginia, on the other hand, I'll never get out of my head. In one bathroom at a gas station, I went in and on the other side of the door a sign was posted... OUT. No, I'm not kidding. I wish I was, but that's really what it said. Off we went into the West Virginia night and there wasn't a speck of flat anywhere for the next 190 miles. It was our worst shift yet. The climbs were horribly steep and endless, the forests made creepy sounds, I could swear I heard banjos a duelin', and the towns were few, sparse, and filled with mud, dogs, and uneducation. The guys were all suffering and I as their leader was getting fuzzy and unfocused. I began to make mistakes.

Eventually the sun began to rise and we could see the countryside. Absolutely beautiful, foggy but green and luscious. Plus, we soon came into Maryland. Feeling a bit perked up, our average began to pick up. But then at one rider exchange, Jeremy, the driver of the follow van needed to pull over fast to go to the bathroom and drove straight into a mud bog. I sent the rider on ahead because there weren't any turns in the route for 12 miles, and we all pushed and pushed and pushed again, finally getting the van back on the road. Then we spent the next five minutes cleaning off our shoes and/or cleats. Zooming ahead, we found our active rider, who was kinda freaked out that it took so long for us to catch him. After that, the day never coalesced again for us as racers and we finished that time station with a 12-something mph average. Yuck!

Anyway, that was our worst day, and though we had lots of shifts earlier with 18 mph and 20 mph averages, we just hoped the other squad could have some good pulls to get our team average back up enough to get us to the finish line by Saturday night. They did turn in some good pulls, and we had some better ones too, but not like the first four or five days, darnit.

Late Saturday afternoon, we got the final shift to take us to Annapolis and the guys were stoked. We averaged between the final three time stations anywhere from 15.7 to 17.7 to 20.9 mph. Letting Zin and another fast rider from Indiana, Bill, paceline each other for a final 6-mile pull into the "official race" finish line, we zoomed ahead to find the four riders from the other squad waiting to join our four riders for the final ceremonial ride to the Annapolis bay and the ceremonial finish line a bit after midnight. 7 Days, 7 Hours, 24 Minutes. Here they are:



L to R - Congratulations to Mark, Denny, John, Peter, Bob, Zin, Larry ("Cleeeve!"), and Bill!

Here are a few other memories from the Team Type 2 RAAM "experience":

As we were touring Gettysburg, Pennsylvania (I found it awe-inspiring), our race leader, Kevin, got a call that Bob Chiasson had cut his leg on his pedal and that a race official had sent him to the hospital. He was being transported in the utility van, which also contained Peter's shoes. His cleats were worn down by the abrasiveness of the mud bog we got stuck in, so he gave the shoes to that crew so they could buy new cleats. Bob's trip to the hospital added to the degree of difficulty in getting this done in time for the beginning of our next shift, not to mention the difficulties it put the other squad in with only three riders. But all came together nicely. Bob got his stitches, Peter got his new cleats, and the crew found a YMCA where some of us (namely, me) got their first and only showers of the entire week.

In the panhandle of Oklahoma, we were set up by the side of the road awaiting our rider so we could put in another. As the rider approached, a car passed the follow van and rider and then stopped directly next to our van. An elderly couple. I immediately stuck my head in their window, asking/demanding of them to move forward immediately and I would come and talk to them soon. Fortunately, they did exactly that and the rider switch was made. Then I walked up to talk to them. They said they had seen bicyclists on their road for days and were wondering what what going on. I told them all about RAAM and the distances involved and how we had started from San Diego just three days earlier, and how our team were all type-2 diabetics taking control of their lives and health, and this nice old couple was transfixed and astonished. A good moment.

One of our riders, Larry Cleveland aka Cleve, was not on any medications for his diabetes. He had learned to control the highs and lows with diet, exercise, and careful monitoring. He almost didn't make the team because he was one of two NOT taking the drugs sold by the TT2 pharmaceutical sponsors, Lantus and Apidra. But Andrew and I were very glad he was on our squad. He was a riot! The guy had hilarious one-liners from Oceanside to Annapolis that kept us all entertained. There were moments when everyone in the van was laughing uncontrollably because of some witticism of Larry's. But because he wasn't on The Product, it meant his glucose shifts were sometimes extreme, which made him quite moody at times. That poor guy suffered more than anyone else, emotionally, and was practically to tears many times throughout the week. I had to talk to him one-on-one many times to assure and reassure him that though he might not receive the same support "post-race" from the sponsors as the others, he still had stories to tell based on his unique lessons learned. On his last and final pull of the week, I stuck my head out the window as we passed and yelled, "Cleeeeeeeeeeeeeve!"

This one's for you, buddy. You done good.

I've Never Seen Anything Like This Before

"No one can change the past, but we can change the future."

Time Lapse of the Canary Islands

CANARIAS TIMELAPSE from luis garcia de armas on Vimeo.