Ask a Cyclist

Funny stuff from fatcyclist.com.

Testing

So in fall of last year, I received an email soliciting my participation in a study to determine the effects of altitude exposure on anaerobic performance.

Being as I spent most of November and December completely exhausted and/or sleeping, I was a little reticent to start the study, but I figured I would honor my commitment. I'm definitely glad I did.

So I started biking again semi-seriously in late December/early January. I've found that I've gotten my energy level back up to snuff. A couple of weeks ago, I went in for my first test.

I took my bike in; they measured all pertinent dimensions, and set up their $6000 power-measuring computer-controlled bike based on mine. While they were setting up the bike, they took 'some' blood samples. By 'some' I mean they pricked my fingers 572 times and drained approximately 5 liters of fluid. Fortunately this resulted in a rather severe weight loss, which made my numbers seem all that more impressive.

After the fluid drain, they put me on the bike for a quick warmup followed by a four-minute all-out effort. In order to determine what was going on inside my body, they strapped a mask to me to measure the volume and constituents of my breath, and continued to drain my blood to measure lactate levels. I had them take a picture of me, as it was an impressively odd looking setup.



If my eyes looked glazed over and my face looks flushed, it's because I'd had a gas mask strapped to my face starving me of Oxygen for the past 3.5 minutes. I strongly suspect that this 'study' is really just a front, trying to understand how much physiological torture one would willingly undergo with no particular goal in mind.

More on the results later.

I'm exhausted.

Whew, time to call it a day.

Hmm.

No.

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