Mmm... Bacon.

Another Dirty Dozen Write-up

From pro-rider Barbara Howe.

Poor Decision Making Ability

This past Saturday, while most sane people were digesting leftover turkey sandwiches and standing in line at Best Buy, I used my poor decision making ability (to its fullest), combining inclement weather with unfortunate terrain.

Yes, I decided to ride the 50-mile 'Dirty Dozen', or as the organizer, Danny Chew pleasantly describes it, "A Journey Through Pain"

Now generally speaking, 50-mile rides are mostly easy, 2.5 hour affairs. Not this one. Mr. Chew went specifically looking for the steepest roads in the Pittsburgh region to ride up.

For those of you who don't live in Pittsburgh: steep... means STEEP. As in world-record 37% grade. And unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your particular brand of masochism), that 37% hill was the easiest of the thirteen.



As per my modus operandi, I came to Pittsburgh ill-prepared; having a 11-21 rear cassette on my bike... basically, my bike wasn't set up to go slow enough for me to be able to still turn the pedals. A $60 penalty imposed by the not-so-local bike shop got me their last 12-27 cassette, and I was back in business. I was to learn later that another unfortunate participant walked in five minutes later to find out I had stolen his cassette from him...

Not really knowing what to expect, I arrived with my entourage (read: mother and sister) to the start with what I thought was a half-hour to spare. Seeing as it was about 40 degrees out, I didn't expect a big turnout.

I was wrong. In all, 130 people showed up. Perhaps due to the extra people, we didn't manage to get started until an hour after I'd arrived; that trend was to continue throughout the day. I *did* manage to balance out my early arrival/late start by managing to be the last person out of the starting gate, though, so all was well in the world.

I didn't think starting last was a big deal, because I was going to take it easy on the first hill and feel out the procedure and hills. It turns out that a whistle is blown at the bottom of the hill, which indicated the (rolling) start; the top ten riders scored points. At the top of the hill everyone would wait for the last rider, and then ride (presumably neutral) to the next hill.

Now, position when that whistle was blown was sometimes irrelevant, and sometimes critical, depending on the turns, road surface, and wet leaves, that all can preclude passing. As I didn't know the route, I was attempting to stay about five-ten people back when the whistle blew; attempts that were, by-and-large, complete failures. On Canton, I was stopped when, not unusually, someone in front of me fell over backwards and started doing somersaults down the hill. Unfortunately this was NOT caught on camera, but still, the antics of other participants bears watching. Fortunately, I am not featured in said video.



Yes, I made it up all of the hills. I scored points on three of them. I was stopped by falling riders on two, automobiles on a third, and a last-minute rule change on a fourth. The others? I was just too lazy, including the last one, where I swore I wouldn't do this again.

I finished in 22nd place, at least, to the extent that '22nd' is a 'place' instead of a 'measure of failure'. I blame the ten pounds I've gained in the last two months.

Gymkata.

One Mullet.

One Gymnast.


One Ninja.

...Do I have to find a new place to ride?

Police are now canvassing the park I normally ride through.


For 'Human Remains'.


Good Times.

Bowl Bound...

Assuming that Ohio State does not go to the BCS Champion game, and Michigan is NOT chosen at large (both of which are looking unlikely)...

Penn State will go to either the Alamo Bowl (New Year's Day) or the 'Champs Sports Bowl' in Orlando on December 28th. I believe that the Alamo bowl will be given a choice between Illinois and PSU. Usually the bowls go with teams that travel well... i.e., PSU.

Press Release

Hot off the Presses....



ST. LOUIS, Oct. 24, 2007 -- The Boeing Company [NYSE: BA], using a Ford Motor Company-developed hydrogen engine, has successfully tested the hydrogen propulsion system of its High Altitude Long Endurance (HALE) unmanned aircraft.

"This test demonstrates the technical readiness of the hydrogen engine system and confirms the capability breakthrough in flight endurance and altitude that could be realized by a variety of military and commercial customers," said Darryl Davis, vice president and general manager, Boeing Advanced Precision Engagement and Mobility Systems.

During the test, the engine ran for nearly four days in a controlled chamber at Aurora Flight Sciences in Manassas, Va., including a total of three days that simulated conditions at 65,000 feet. The propulsion system included a multi-stage turbocharged internal combustion engine and its associated subsystems. The Ford engine earned better than expected fuel economy while demonstrating complete airflow and torque control across the engine's operating range.

"This simulated flight allows us to showcase the capabilities of Ford's proprietary hydrogen engine technology and the durability of our four-cylinder engines," said Gerhard Schmidt, vice president, Ford Research and Advanced Engineering. "We are very pleased with the results. The gasoline version of this same engine can be found in our Ford Fusion and Escape Hybrid vehicles."

The Boeing HALE aircraft is designed to economically maintain persistent presence over a specific ground location from stratospheric altitudes, providing tremendous potential for surveillance and communications applications. The test marked a key step toward proving the essential technical elements are in place for full-scale development.

"This test could help convince potential customers that hydrogen-powered aircraft are viable in the near-term," said Boeing Advanced Systems President George Muellner. "This is a substantial step toward providing the persistent intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance capabilities our customers desire."

Boeing, as HALE's system designer and integrator, is working closely with Aurora Flight Sciences and Ford to develop the aircraft's propulsion system.

HALE is designed to stay aloft for more than seven days and carry payloads weighing up to 2,000 pounds. Potential applications include battlefield persistent intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance, border observation, port security and telecommunications. The long endurance autonomous aircraft will be a propeller-driven, lightweight structure with a high-aspect-ratio-wing.

Only One More...

Bowden Loss, coupled with a Paterno Win, and they're tied again.

Notable Bowden Wins:

Millington Naval Air Station
Tennessee Tech Freshman Team
University of Mexico
Gordon Junior College


I'm not making this up.

Just give up already, huh?

If Penn State beats Ohio State.

AND Ohio State also loses to either Wisconsin or Illinois (feasible).

AND Ohio State beats Michigan.

AND Michigan also loses to either Minnesota (not so feasible), Michigan State, or Wisconsin (feasible).

THEN Penn State will be the Big Ten representative to the BCS.

I've already bought my tickets to Pasadena.

#26

#26 in the AP Poll, #25 in USA Today.

I love Wikipedia.

Partial quotes taken out of context from Wikipedia:

Aesculus glabra (Re-directed from Buckeye):
The tree species Aesculus glabra is commonly known as.... fetid buckeye, or stinking buck-eye.

Badger:
The same mammal family as the ferrets, the weasels...

Gopher:
A gopher is a small burrowing rodent.

Hoosier:
The word is used in a derogatory fashion in similar context to "white trash".

Wildcat:
The Wildcat is extremely timid.

Wolverine:
The wolverine (Gulo gulo) is the largest land-dwelling species of the weasel family.




My Personal favorite are the Wolverines, the biggest weasels of them all.

Fifteen Minutes

One mountain that was definitely on the to-do list was Clingman's, the highest peak in Tennessee. Going there, you go through Gatlinburg; as soon as you enter the town line, you are hit with what is, acre for acre, the only place on earth with more tourist crap than Myrtle Beach and the Jersey Shore combined. Fortunately, as you exit, you are hit with the oasis of beauty of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The main drag goes straight by a ranger station before going up the hill; I stopped at the ranger station to get a map, asked about Clingman's (The response: "Uh, that's twenty miles from here") (Incorrect: with my map-reading, it was a mere forty miles).

Exited the Park ranger station, and started a steep uphill, as expected. Rolling hills before big ones are pretty common, so when I hit a slight downhill, I wasn't worried. But like Britney Spears, just when you thought you couldn't go any lower, you'd turn a corner and get an unexpected surprise: ANOTHER low! Seeing as the ranger station was at 1500 feet, and the top of the hill was at 6640 feet, you'd think I'd quickly come to the conclusion that I was going the wrong way; but I'm a little dense; it took me about ten miles before I realized that, contrary to my map, there were TWO roads going out of the ranger station, and of course, I happened upon the wrong one. So, turned around and started back up…

Now, Clingman's was by far the most populated mountain I went to - at most places I saw two or three people, max. Clingman's had dozens of cars passing me on the way to the top, but for the most part, I had the road to myself; including Clingman's interesting spiral-road. Yes, you read that correctly: like a spiral staircase, the road winds up over itself at one point to deal with the elevation change. Either they hated switchbacks, or Michael Baker designed it, I'm not really sure.






After about three hours of misadventure, I got to the top, and it was a little crowded up there. Most of the people up there had passed me on the way up - and many of them now wanted to talk with me. At one point there was a line of people waiting to chat. Now granted, the line was only four people deep (perhaps coincidentally, that was the collective number of teeth between them all), but they're my adoring fans, and I love them almost as much as they love me. One husband started interviewing me while his wife videotaped. A small motorcycle gang chatted with me for at least fifteen minutes. One woman insisted upon giving me a bottle of "The best water in Laeeziana" (it was actually pretty good). In all, I'd guess around fifty people talked with me/shouted words of encouragement. None shouted obscenities, which was how I knew I wasn't still in Michigan. Well, that, and there was a hill.






Don't hate me because I'm famous.

Beech

"Why did I ride when I had cancer? Cycling is so hard, the suffering so intense, that it's absolutely cleansing. You can go out there with the weight of the world on your shoulders, and after a six-hour ride at a high pain threshold, you feel at peace. The pain is so deep and strong that a curtain descends over your brain. At least for a while you have a kind of hall pass, and don't have to brood on your problems; you can shut everything else out, because the effort and subsequent fatigue are absolute.

There is an unthinking simplicity in something so hard, which is why there's probably some truth to the idea that all world-class athletes are actually running away from something. Once, someone asked me what pleasure I took in riding for so long. "Pleasure?" I said. "I don't understand the question." I didn't do it for pleasure. I did it for pain.

Before cancer, I had never examined the psychology of jumping on a bicycle and riding for six hours. The reasons weren't especially tangible to me; a lot of what we do doesn't make sense to us while we're doing it...

...

...Spring had just begun moving up into the mountains, creating a constant fog and drizzle that seemed to muffle the piney woods. We rode in the rain every day. The cold seared my lungs, and with every breath I blew out a stream of white frost, but I didn't mind. It made me feel clean. We rode winding back roads, only some of which were paved and mapped. We cycled over gravel and hardpan and beds of pine needles, and under hanging boughs...

Toward the end of the camp, we decided to ride Beech Mountain. Chris knew exactly what he was doing when he suggested it, because there was a time when I owned that mountain. It was a strenuous 5000-foot climb with a snowcapped summit, and it had been the crucial stage in my two Tour Du Pont victories. I remembered laboring on up the mountainside with crowds lined along the route, and how they had painted my name across the road: "Go Armstrong".

We set out on yet another cold, raining, foggy day with a plan to ride a 100-mile loop before we returned and undertook the big finishing ascent of Beech Mountain. Chris would follow in a car, so we could load the bikes up on the rack after we reached the summit and drive back to the cabin for dinner.

We rode and rode through a steady rain, for four hours, and then five. By the time we got to the foot of Beech, I'd been on the bike for six hours, drenched. But I lifted myself up out of the saddle and propelled the bike up the incline, leaving Bob Roll behind.

As I started up the rise, I saw an eerie sight: the road still had my name painted on it.

My wheels spun over the washed-out old yellow and white lettering. I glanced down between my feet. It said, faintly, Viva Lance.

I continued upward, and the mountain grew steeper. I hammered down on the pedals, working hard, and felt a small bloom of sweat and satisfaction, a heat under my skin almost like a liquor blush. My body reacted instinctively to the climb. Mindlessly, I rose out of my seat and picked up the pace. Suddenly, Chris pulled up behind me in the follow car, rolled down his window, and began driving me on. 'Go, go, go!' he yelled. I glanced back at him. 'Allez, Lance, allez, allez!' he yelled. I mashed down on the pedals, heard my breath grow shorter, and I accelerated.

That ascent triggered something in me. As I rode upwards, I reflected on my life, back to all points, my childhood, my early races, my illness, and how it changed me. Maybe it was the primitive act of climbing that made me confront the issues I'd been evading for weeks. It was time to quit stalling, I realized. Move, I told myself. If you can still move, you aren't sick.

I looked again at the ground as it passed under my wheels, at the watter spitting off the tires and the spokes turning round. I saw more faded painted letters, and I saw my washed-out name: Go Armstrong.

As I continued upward, I saw my life as a whole. I saw the pattern and the privilege of it, and the purpose of it, too. It was simply this; I was meant for a long, hard climb.

I approached the summit. Behind me, Chris could see in the attitude of my body on the bike that I was having a change of heart. Some weight, he sensed, was simply no longer there...

I passed the rest of the trip in a state of near-reverence for those beautiful, peaceful, soulful mountains. The rides were demanding and quiet, and I rode until Boone began to feel like the Holy Land to me, a place I had come to on a pilgrimage. If I ever have any serious problems again, I know that I will go back to Boone and find an answer."

--Lance Armstong: 'It's Not About the Bike: My Journey Back to Life'.

More Pics

Teaser Pics

Renewable Energy

One of my former co-workers...

Michigan

Michigan Cheats.

Side effects of watching Notre Dame.

So I've been sick since the Notre Dame game. Only Charlie Weis' pathetic offense could make me physically ill.

The Worst Showing I've Ever Seen.

If you've ever pay attention to Joe Paterno, you've probably noticed that he always talks up his opponents, even if they're tremendous underdogs. He'll find the only good player on the team, and say 'That number 12 is pretty good', or say 'Most people don't know that they came within two touchdowns of beating Middle Tennessee State'.

When asked about Notre Dame's offensive line: 'They have some problems'.

Problems, all right. I'm convinced I witnessed the worst showing in college football, ever. Notre Dame has BIG problems. High snaps, six fumbles, missed tackles, two interceptions... the only thing that was missing was a blocked kick. Check out the scoreboard above - for most of the third quarter, they had, give or take, negative 50 yards rushing.


Luckily, there was SOME signs of good football in Ann Arbor this weekend.

Race Report

So, I went to the last race of the season today. After last time, when I got harassed by the organizers for passing another category (I did) and drafting off of them (I did not), I decided not to push myself at all, instead slowing the pace for the pack whenever possible and doing as little work as possible.

Now, for those of you that know me (and who reads this that doesn't?), you probably know that I've never been a good sprinter. I'm not good at long distances, either, but compared to sprinting, I'm a regular marathon-machine-man.

So basically, the idea of a slow race where everyone just sprints at the end to the finish is more-or-less a guaranteed loss for me. On top of that, it's just plain boring. But I was still kind of pissy from the last race, and if no one wanted a fun race... then fine, slow is what they get.

So, I sat in behind people, waiting. Twice, when I was second in the pack, I sat up and soft-pedaled, letting the person in first gain time... one was a Junior (~14/15 year old), who posed no threat, and who got repeatedly shellacked last week when I killed the pace. I figured if he was going to do work, he might as well do it while in the full glory of a breakaway. The second time, I was sitting behind a possible-future-teammate who needed sprint points on a bonus lap. Same theory, same results... soft pedaled, and before anyone realized it, a big gap between him and the pack. Everyone else had to sprint, but it was for nought; they didn't have a chance.

...Now the guy who had just got the points was the same guy who won last week. Unlike the unsung author of this blog, his sprinting capabilities are top notch. So when he eased up and came back to the pack, I stuck on his wheel like I was trying to reenact the massive Krazy-glue incident of 1990. It worked. Although I couldn't pull around him at the end (I tried to pass too early, and got hung out in the wind) (did I mention my lack of sprinting?), I did manage third overall. I was in the prizes. The guy I was following won, so I didn't even feel bad about stealing the race from him.

Don't let anyone tell you I'm not a professional cyclist... but I don't know what I'm going to do with this damn Canadian money.



OK, so technically the socks are from two weeks ago.

Interview

Interviewer: "Ah, I see your resume here..."

Interviewee: "Yes, I graduated Magna Cum Laude. I have had extensive job experience, and I'm a hard worker. You won't be disappointed".

Interviewer: "Yes, yes, I can read all of that. But how would you rate you ducking skills?"

Interviewee: "Ducking, sir?"

Interviewer: "Yes, ducking, bending... general flexibility and agility."

Interviewee: "Well, I guess I'm at least average..."

Interviewer: "Good. Well, let's start by showing you an
instructional video...

It's a crazy world

...When the Detroit Lions will have a better record after today than the Michigan Wolverines. If Michigan didn't buy off the refs every year I might almost feel bad for them.

Prefontaine

Some quotes from Steve Prefontaine, indiscriminately stolen from wikipedia.

* "To give anything less than your best, is to sacrifice the gift."
* "A lot of people run a race to see who is fastest. I run to see who has the most guts, who can punish himself into exhausting pace, and then at the end, punish himself even more. Nobody is going to win a 5,000 meter race after running an easy 2 miles. Not with me. If I lose forcing the pace all the way, well, at least I can live with myself."
* "I don't just go out there and run. I like to give people watching something exciting."
* "I run best when I run free."
* "A race is a work of art that people can look at and be affected in as many ways as they're capable of understanding."
* "I'm going to work so that it's a pure guts race at the end, and if it is, I am the only one who can win it."
* "Someone may beat me, but they are going to have to bleed to do it."
* "The only good race pace is suicide pace, and today looks like a good day to die."
* "What I want is to be number one."
* "Something inside of me just said 'Hey, wait a minute, I want to beat him,' and I just took off."
* "Some people create with words or with music or with a brush and paints. I like to make something beautiful when I run. I like to make people stop and say, 'I've never seen anyone run like that before.' It's more than just a race, it's a style. It's doing something better than anyone else. It's being creative."
* "How does a kid from Coos Bay, with one leg longer than the other win races? All my life people have been telling me, 'You're too small Pre', 'You're not fast enough Pre.' 'Give up your foolish dream Steve.' But they forgot something. I have to win."

The Big Ten

A disgusting day in the little eleven.

First with the debacle of 'The Big Ten Network', they decide to destroy the definition of 'nonprofit' by depriving their fans of coverage.

Then, as I correctly predicted (I'm psychotic), Michigan had trouble with Appalachian State. Contrary to what I predicted, Michigan lost.

And so did Notre Dame.

So now my beloved Nittany Lions are facing a wounded-with-something-to-prove team next week against ND, and again a couple of weeks later with Michigan.

Dairy Queen

One of the best cycling quotes of all time... but first, a little background. For those who don't follow professional cycling; the European tours are three-week-long events of up to seven hours per day of grueling work on the bike.

That's a lot of time to sit and think. So, a couple of decades ago, a question was posed to Greg Lemond: what do you think about during those long races? Instead of cycling strategy, or the stunning mountaintop vistas, Greg answered:

"Dairy Queen. God, I dream of Dairy Queen."

Let me tell you, I can relate. After burning thousands of calories on the bike, the slightest hint of food makes you ravenous.

...which brings me to today. It was supposed to be a 30-40 mile day. My mileage-limit without needed to eat more is around 50 miles or so, so no problem, right? Since my regular route was flooded, I decided to try to get to Grosse Ile, which had been recommended to me. In fact, it was actually gorgeous, on a gorgeous day, and I missed some stunning pictures of an Egret perched on a twisted stump in the river, but I digress.

Coming home from said detour... what can I say, I missed my turn. I ended up going through the Mexican-town part of Detroit; not a good idea after burning 2000 calories on a two-hour bike ride. Those restaurants sure smelled good.

"Chimichangas. God, I dream of Chimichangas."

Totals for the day:

Miles: 49
Calories burned: 2000
Chimichangas consumed: None. I'm in a serious deficit here.

Bike Ride!

My father's been working weekends lately, and as I haven't seen them much this year, AND my father might be going out of the country for a year. To make a long story short (but not by any means less tedious) I took a couple of days off this past week to visit.

My journey wasn't purely selfless, however. Southwestern PA has fantastic roads to bike on, if you like continuously rolling hills.

As my parents live about twenty-some odd miles away from West Virginia, and around thirty to Ohio, a started out with a 'Ohio or Bust' logo on my jersey, with drizzling rain threatening to change to thunderstorms.

As this was my third attempt to make it to WV, it was pretty smooth sailing. I blame my prior two failures on the detours and a lack of a map; by now I pretty much had the route memorized.



My personal favorite part of the trip was descending the 8% (average) grade for two miles from West Virginia down into Ohio. 40 MPH? No problem. 40 MPH on wet, grooved concrete, on tires the width of index finger? Perhaps I should squeeze the brakes...

Word to the wise - getting to say that you rode to Ohio isn't worth crossing that bridge.

And for the truly ridiculous...

There is now a full-page Yahoo (Rivals) article about a football player who just finished his sophomore year.

...of high school.

Politics in Michigan

Alas - the painful pangs of being a resident of a swing-state (near the major airport, no less) during an election cycle...

In any case, at least the good news is that Michigan is trying to pull ahead the primaries, in a blatant and overdue attempt to put a spotlight on some of the problems here.

But there's some question about whether or not that will happen - some in the state prefer a caucus. The difference between the two, of course, being known to no one who isn't a Machiavellian insider.

I'll save you the pain of reading the article linked above, and take you directly to the subject of today's rant...

"U.S. Rep. Bart Stupak, a Michigan Democrat who supports Edwards, said in a letter released Tuesday night that he opposes a presidential primary.

He didn't mention Edwards, instead saying it would be irresponsible to hold an expensive, state-paid primary at a time when the Michigan budget is strapped. Edwards supporters also pointed out voters would have to present identification under Michigan's photo ID law in a primary, something they wouldn't face in a caucus."

So - there are two problems:

1. Michigan doesn't have any money
2. Eliminating voter fraud, through a means as simple and convenient as photo ID, is something to be avoided

You might think that these TWO problems require TWO solutions. But I have a better solution, to which I propose to those in Lansing: just don't hold an election at all. We'll stay home and you can tell us how we voted.

Good Times.

My, how time flies.

I finally got around to posting because:

A) The trendi-ness of having a web log has probably worn off enough that I can start;
B) I have a little unplanned extra time on my hands this week;
C) My plans for world domination are woe-fully behind schedule, and I figure a snazzy web log would pick up the pace a bit.