Breadversations

May 21, 2018 § 6 Comments

If you have grown kids who have moved out of the house, gone to some faraway place and started a family of their own, you may have experienced “conversation awkwardness,” especially if you are a guy talking to your son. This happens when you are having a conversation and the son is very animated and updates you on all kinds of interesting stuff, after which he lobs the ball back into your court.

“So what’s new with you, dad?”

Well, the fact is that there’s nothing new with you and hasn’t been for about twenty years. You are stuck in a rut deeper than the folds in Trump’s chins, and although you might be able to muster up a news item or two, chances are good that when you reflect on your past week or month, everything seems like it’s been painted with the old unvarying color of same.

“Oh, not much. Same old stuff, really.”

This is a pretty classic dad answer, even if you manage to garnish it with a doodad or two about a bike ride or something you read in the news.

Prepping for conversation

Since re-entering the gladiator ring of Facebag I’ve been super savvy. Before I log on, I take out a notepad and jot down exactly what I’m going to say. Then I go online, type in my update, do a couple of other things, and log off.

Although the idea behind this strategy is self-protection from the Face-abyss (Smasher once told me I was #socmed bipolar), it occurred to me that this technique might also be, at least in part, a good strategy for kidversations. So before I dialed up my son in Vienna this morning, I jotted down a few notes to prepare myself for the inevitable “What’s new with you, dad?”

The notes are reprinted below for your benefit. Feel free to use them in your next kidversation, or to make up your own.

What’s new with me

“Well, I’ve been baking bread lately, as you know, and I made a little outline so that there would be some give as well as take in the give-and-take. So here’s what’s new with me, son:

  • A mostly-bread diet has helped me control my weight. Sounds crazy, but whole grains chock full of seeds and eaten with butter, cheese, and jam fill you up from one meal to the next, so no snacking. [Opportunity for son to express disbelief at this latest quack theory.]
  • By baking every day you have way more bread than you can possibly eat, so I’ve been giving it away. It’s fun to give away bread. People seem to like it. [Opportunity for son to express amazement that I would spend so much time doing something and then simply donate it to the bottomless pit charity of cyclist stomachs.]
  • Bread is great for cycling. You don’t have to buy candy bars anymore or snacks of any kind. Just wrap up a couple of small bricks with PBJ in tinfoil and you’re good for 100 miles. [Opportunity for son to note that home baking, when you factor in the time, is about 1,000 times more expensive than a Clif bar.]
  • Little kids love it. Grandkids and friends’ small children like fresh bread. This is way better than a new video game. [Opportunity for son to openly doubt that small children like gnarly, 281-grain bread with the density of the atmosphere on Venus.]
  • Baking everyday is a great part of a healthy morning routine. [Opportunity for son to scoff at having to awake daily at 4:00 AM for anything, ever.]
  • Every time you pull a loaf out of the oven it’s exciting to see how it will look. An adventure in every loaf! [Opportunity for son to wonder why, after the first three hundred loaves, you’re still unsure how it’s going to turn out. Competency issues?]
  • Bread is a great intersection with all things Germanic. Think Viennese bakeries! Sechskornbrot! [Opportunity for son to point out that you can get all the same recipes by running them through Google Translate without having to mutilate German.]
  • Super fun meeting other home bakers, who also happen to be cyclists, and who share your passion for 4:00 AM. [Opportunity for son to doubt that other home bakers are equally unbalanced.]
  • Learning how to bake requires dad to avail himself of mom’s baking expertise, which leads to lots of great spousal interactions in the kitchen, teamwork-type stuff. [Opportunity for son to closely question how long this goes on before it leads to an argument.]
  • Down with consumerism! Home baking frees you from the shackles of the supermarket’s industrial food chain and Wonder Bread, and you can bake only what you need using basic, organic, healthy ingredients. [Opportunity for son to ask why, if it’s so economical, you make so much you have to give it away, and also have to buy a $500 home grain-mill.]
  • Books! Anyone who bakes will eventually buy a library of baking books, and reading is its own highest good. [Opportunity for son to point out how this is more rampant consumerism disguised as education.]
  • Travel opportunities for bread bakers abound. Now, each trip abroad can focus on visiting a quaint bakery with some local, historical specialty. [Opportunity for son to note that 10% of global carbon emissions are from tourism.]
  • Reducing needless food purchases because good bread goes with everything. [Opportunity for son to note that no, it doesn’t, you’re just on a bread kick now, dad, and will soon tire of it.]
  • Home baking is a new hipster trend that has outflanked craft beer and beard care products. Your old man is now on the cutting edge! [Opportunity for son to sigh.]

In the final analysis

As the conversation wrapped up, my son looked at me through the Facetime thingy and smiled, especially after I gave him a tour of the giant 11-gallon buckets filled with flour, seeds, and wheat berries.

“My family is … funny,” he said.

He’s a very literate guy. I’m sure that wasn’t the first adjective that came to mind.

END

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He’s a real NOWhere man

May 20, 2018 § 6 Comments

I got a text from Pornstache. “6:40 AM CotKU. Yerba Buena, 100+. It will be fun.”

Despite the obvious lie I showed up, along with Surfer, Ruins, LoLo, Megajoules, and Medium Banana. Pornstache was in a great mood. “If we hustle we can make the NOW ride and get a free tow up PCH, then continue on to Yerba.”

This made no sense at all, first and foremost because there are no “free” tows in cycling, and certainly not on the NOW ride. Not that I’d ever done it.

In fact, for years I had studiously avoided it. It is the West Side’s answer to the Donut, minus all the climbing. If rumor were to be believed, the NOW ride was a 28-30 mph jaunt up the coast in an insane bike mob of 70 to 100 idiots. It begins in Santa Monica, but that first eight or nine miles of blistering speed on the pancake flat portion of PCH going to Malibu is just the warm up.

The grenade goes off on Pepperdine Hill, and I’ve eaten plenty of grenades in my cycling life. No desire to eat another one.

“Dude,” I said to Pornstache. “Have you ever done the NOW ride?”

“Nope. But it goes up PCH so we can just hop in.”

I shook my head. “Yeah, like you can hop into a steel foundry.”

You shoulda been here yesterday

During my surfing career as the world’s biggest kook EVER, I learned early that no matter how great the surf was when you paddled out, as soon as you commented on its awesomeness the guy next to you would shrug, bored. “Yeah, it’s okay. But you shoulda been here yesterday. Triple overhead, low tide, and hollow AF.”

We joined the NOW ride as they descended from Santa Monica towards PCH and I made mental note of the hitters. Pain was there. Head Down James was there. SoCal Cycling dude was there. Charon was there. Engel was there with a gnarly looking teammate. And there were a dozen or so other bonesnapping riders who were sweating testosterone, in addition to our South Bay contributions, especially Megajoules.

I rode up next to Head Down James. “Hey, man. How’s this ride shake out?”

“You’ve never done it before?” he asked incredulously.

“No.”

“Things get pretty lively on Pepperdine Hill. I was dropped there the last two weeks when the hitters showed up. It was hard, man.”

My stomach churned. I had never not been dropped by Head Down James. And if he was calling someone else a hitter, what did that make me, besides a roach under the heel of a boot?

Next I rode up to Pain. “What’s up, Tony?” I said.

“Hey, man, good to see ya! You picked a good week. None of the hitters are here this week. Should be easy.”

“Triple overhead and hollow last week, huh?”

Pain laughed. “Exactly.”

I felt a little squirt in my chamois as we hit PCH and the pace immediately went from languid to Very Effin Fast. I hunkered down over the bars and sat at the back, glued to Head Down James. Whatever was going to happen, he would be there.

Bleating of the lambs

According to Head Down James for whom this was a warm-up for what would be his 140-mile, 12k feet of climbing “average day,” we were doing 28, but it didn’t hurt at all tucked in at the back, sucking wheel for all I was worth while the worthies up front gnashed and mashed. And before I knew it we were approaching the bottom of Pepperdine Hill.

By now I knew that there was zero chance of making the split. So I came off of Head Down James’s wheel and surfed over to Surfer’s, who had slotted in second wheel behind Pornstache. I wondered what the hell Pornstache was doing at the front on a ride he’d never even done before at the exact moment the Brownings were about to open fire.

I soon found out as he lit the fuse at the bottom of the hill, quickly gapping out Surfer.

Just so you understand, Pepperdine Hill isn’t long and it isn’t steep. I’m not great with distances and you can find it on Strava if you really want to know what it’s like. Maybe half a mile and seven percent? I dunno.

It doesn’t really matter because about halfway up my legs caught fire. Not that gradual heating up where you start to think “Uh-oh, I am fucked,” but the sudden injection of molten lava and acid into every muscle at once, and the pain hits you like a Trump speech, nasty, awful, unbearable, loathsome, and filled with vileness and bile.

Surfer kept going and I heard the hoofbeats of the onrushing herd, the sound intoning “droppage” from all those carbon wheels starting to accelerate at the very moment I had decided to decelerate in the other direction. [Reader’s note: Technically, acceleration is a change in velocity over time, so acceleration can be both positive, or negative. Unfortunately, along came the automobile, and engineers simply couldn’t have a positive and a negative accelerator pedal. Too sciencey, and the general populace became acquainted with negative acceleration as deceleration.]

The wisdom of Daniel Holloway

However, my decision to post up at the front hadn’t been completely dumb reflex. Best U.S. Bike Racer Daniel Holloway had once told me that it’s better to be at the front of a climb and then drift back as the faster riders pass, trying to latch onto the very end, than it is to be at the back of the chain and try to match their accelerations.

The only problem with his strategy was the “latch on” part.

Elijah blew by. Charon blew by. Head Down James Blew by. Pain blew by. DNA dudes blew by. SoCal Cycling dude blew by. Megajoules FLEW by. Then a string of complete strangers blew by. In the horror fog I got that funny feeling that I was the last guy, and unable to look back, I grabbed the final wheel in the sweep.

There were only about a hundred yards to go. Only. Kind of like “only another hundred yards with both thumbs slammed in the car door.”

If Mr. Scott had been in charge he would have uttered more obscenities than Howard Stern, but the engine was engulfed with flames, smoke, poisonous gas, and eruptions of plutonium from its cracked nuclear core. I played every mind game in my thin and tattered book of tricks until I came to the last page, which was ugly, brutal, and jagged around the edges and writ large: “Don’t quit, wanker!”

Everything went dark around me except the stranger’s wheel, and at that very moment when the collapse of willpower and muscular power intersect, I was over the top. At that precise moment of course the beasts at the front jumped. I mechanically stood, and what I did wasn’t a jump, or even a hop, barely even a skip, but it connected me to the caboose.

I glanced back only to see the brokedick remnants of the peloton smeared along the roadside in little clumps like bugsplat on a windshield.

“You made it,” Pain said with a grin, as if he’d just strolled around the block with a puppy. “Good job.”

I said something no one could understand. Me, either.

Freedom isn’t free, at least on the NOW

To make a miserable story less so, additional people got ejected from the lead group. I brought up the rear as we rolled into the first rest stop at Trancas. Pornstache looked breezy.

“Great idea, getting a free tow with the NOW ride,” I mumbled.

“Aw, come on,” he said. “It wasn’t that bad.”

I looked around at the other riders, none of whom was within ten years, and most of whom weren’t within twenty. “Yes,” I said. “It was.”

Before long the ambitious plan to ride Yerba Buena, an endless, badly paved, faraway road of death had been reconditioned into a trip up Decker Lane, a less endless, well paved, much steeper road of death. I went along, got to the top and gave up, turning tail and riding home.

Fortunately, I was overtaken at Zuma by two very fresh dudes from team Every Man Jack. They set the needle at 26 and hauled me back to Sunset in no time, which was great, but which left me with another 30 miles to go and no legs to get there with. I got to see a motorcycle collision, a police rolling enclosure along PCH for a group of marchers, and my friends Deb Sullivan, Kristina Ooi, Alx Bns, and Matt Wikstrom, all in the course of my ride home.

When I got back, I was, um, tired. Or should I say a zombie?

In any event, if you ever start thinking it’s NOW or never, I encourage you to choose never.

END

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Do bike lanes make drivers friendlier?

May 19, 2018 § 12 Comments

You can’t help notice the change when you start getting closer to Santa Monica. The overt hostility that is a fact of life here in the South Bay seems to weaken, then disappear altogether.

Take this morning.

We were pedaling harmlessly down Catalina in Redondo Beach, when a scruffy, overweight guy in a tiny, beat-up Subaru who was double parked shouted through his open window, “Quit running stop signs!”

There were no moving cars in sight at 6:30 AM, and his engine wasn’t even on. Rather than chomp down on the bait, I flung it back in his stinking face with a smile and a wave. “Have a nice day!”

This infuriated him. He fired up the ‘Roo and raced up alongside us. “Quit running stop signs!” he shrieked.

“Thanks,” I said. “Have a great day!”

“Fuck off!” he roared.

“Jesus loves you!” I added with a beatific smile.

Into the peace zone

By the time we got to Santa Monica there were cars everywhere. It was morning rush hour and everyone was in a panic to get extra coffee extra quick while texting and driving and emailing “Traffic!” to their bosses as they frantically looked for a parking slot near their fave kaffeehaus.

We were crammed into the narrow little green stripe with traffic passing inches from us. No one wanted to know why we ran stop signs. No one honked except for a dude who gave us a friendly beep and shouted “Have a good ride!” as he passed.

As we drank our cup of coffee on the sidewalk we marveled at the constant stream of bikers, pedestrians, and people riding those little electric Bird thingies. People were everywhere, and didn’t appear to be following any noticeable rules of the road except for the rule of “The shortest distance between me and there is a straight line and I’m taking it.”

Has it changed or am I older or both or neither?

I remember when there was plenty of conflict riding through Santa Monica and Venice, or at least I think I do, back when Abbott-Kinney was an early morning ground zero for epic Walks of Shame, bedraggled waifs hoofing it barefoot with their high heels in one hand and their handbag in the other, long before Uber.

After the bike lanes went in, and it did take a few years, it seemed like bike riding in Santa Monica exploded, and along with it people’s expectations that lawless, unpredictable, stoned or soon-to-be-stoned bikers/skaters/e-bikers/walkers/Segway-ers were lurking on every corner ready to trash their clear coat. And incredibly, people slowed down, or at least they sure seemed to.

In a similar vein, the horrible Bikeway o’ Death on Hermosa Ave. in the South Bay seems to have resulted in completely non-hostile drivers for that short one-mile stretch, combined as it is with BMUFL stickers in the roadway that parallels the cycle track, which gives cyclists a choice to either ride in the Deathway or on the road. No one honks at me any more there.

Is it possible that badly engineered, inherently dangerous, congested and confusing bike infrastructure can actually slow down motorists, make them more patient, and give cyclists a safer riding environment?

Nowadays when I drive downtown I hold the wheel in a lizard grip because of all the cyclists, none of whom is predictable, and all of whom seem to zoom randomly in and out of the numerous bike lanes. It’s almost as if repeated, nonstop chaos keeps the cagers on their toes.

Or at least, it keeps us off their hoods.

END

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Not free wheeling

May 17, 2018 § 2 Comments

There are lots of good ways to self-test, you know, to see how bad the disease is. Number of times each day you check Strava, how well you know the inventory at Competitive Cyclist, and of course the old standby, how many bikes you have in the garage or, better yet, in the living room.

But there is no better diagnostic tool to determine how far the illness has spread than the number of wheels you own. Because let’s face it: A bike can’t really use more than about two. So when you find that you own, say, four sets of wheels, you have a problem. A spare wheelset is defined as more wheels than will fit on your bikes. So if you have two bikes, you should have no more than four wheels.

This time a couple of months ago I had two spare wheelsets. That’s exactly two sets too many. One reason you keep extra wheelsets is because WHAT IF ONE OF THEM BREAKS? This is a huge fear, that you will break a wheel and then not immediately have another one. If you don’t have a spare wheelset you might have to miss a day riding while you shop. Goodness knows you don’t know anyone who has an extra bike wheel you could borrow. No, sir.

Anyway, I had two spare wheelsets. One came with my ‘cross bike. I immediately yanked them off and replaced them with a set of FastForward disc F4’s, because for someone who doesn’t race ‘cross and who hardly ever rides off road, it’s crucial to have all carbon high-performance wheels for all the low-performance rides.

The other spare wheelset was, of course, ma racin’ wheelz. Cuz ever racerz gotta have racin’ wheelz. These were a gorgeous set of Fast Forward tubular F3’s. Light, lighter, lightest, and they handle like only sewups can handle. Problem was, not that there’s ever a problem with having crazy light race wheels, after three years they had less than 2k miles on them.

In other words, I never got to enjoy their awesomeness very much, only about fifteen times a year, to be exact. Also, the tubular tires meant I couldn’t really train on them. Also also, I had just gotten my wife a pair of FastForward clincher F3’s, which weren’t as light as mine, but could be ridden daily. This purchase also resulted in another set of spare wheels and an acute case of spousal carbon wheel envy.

So I worked out the biker math like this:

Sell the wife’s old wheels for $20 + Sell the Giant tubeless wheels for $20 + Sell my F3’s for $700 + Sell my F4’s for $600 = I wouldn’t have any wheels for my road bike.

However, when you add the above it comes out to just enough to buy a pair of NEW F3 clinchers, which like my F3 tubulars are all carbon and made of 100% carbon. In other words, sell four wheelsets in order to buy one.

This doesn’t sound very economical, but it is a huge space saver and plus now I have new wheels and not a single extra pair laying around anywhere. Not even in my living room.

END

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Dream bike vacation

May 16, 2018 § 1 Comment

When you take a dream bike vacation, you pretty much have to take your bike. And you have to ride it. Having a dream bike vacation and not riding the crap out of your bike = flail.

Except, not.

The last few dream bike vacations I’ve had have been dreamy. Two have involved bike cartage and all the fun that entails, and one involved bike rentage and all the disappointment that entails. “Could you get this bike with 50,000 miles on it since January to ride like brand new? No? Oh, okay.”

Still, no amount of first-world bike problems can much detract from going somewhere strange and riding strangely with strangers, or alone.

It’s quite frequently not about the bike

Especially when family is involved, it’s not only not about the bike, it’s often adamantly not about the bike. Like, “If you take off at 5:00 AM again and don’t get back until four, we’re dumping your stuff on the street and flying to Nice. Or Baghdad. Without you.”

Not that I would ever abandon my family in order to go ride strange roads strangely with strangers, but that’s certainly how they have seen it. So with a big chunk of July open and beckoning, it seemed like a perfect time to take at least part of my family on a dream bicycle vacation. But it was gonna take planning and deception. One of those I excel at.

Does anyone here like German grammar?

Since we were going to Austria again, and since we’ve already seen the sights, or at least those you can see on five euros a day, which basically means the lounge at the youth hostel, I figured I would spice it up to get people excited about the trip. Instead of saying, “Gosh, it’s going to be fun waiting for me all day to come home from a bike ride!” I came up with this #winner: “Wouldn’t it be fun to take an intensive course in German grammar for a vacation?”

The thought was that the other two members of my entourage would say “No, thank you,” and then I could shrug and say “Well, I TRIED,” and then huffily add, “I guess I’ll just take my bike since our interests OBVIOUSLY don’t align.”

Seemed like a sure thing.

Unfortunately, Entourage Member No. 1 said “That would be great! I can’t imagine anything more fun!”

More unfortunately, Entourage Member No. 2 said “That would be awesome! I’ve always wanted to learn German!”

So, now what?

You’re going to be Institut shionalized

In Vienna they have a branch of the Goethe Institut, which is the global educational propaganda arm of all things Germanic. They also have two-week intensive courses split into different levels so that no matter how badly you mangle your cases, there’s a nurturing environment appropriate to your level in which you can sound like an idiot and be subject to only mild ridicule.

I signed us all up for the two-week course, which is from nine to one every day, and includes several cultural events, by which I suspect means huge quantities of salty food and beer. My comprehension of slurred German should improve drastically.

On the surface, two weeks of intensive study sounds like a terrible idea until you think about it. What’s the most fun thing about travel? Being able to talk in the local language. What’s the worst thing about travel? Getting murdered. But after that, it’s getting a bad case of flesh-eating bacteria, followed by trying to speak the local language only to have everyone answer you in English.

Of course at the Goethe Institut they speak at you in German from start to finish and make you feel like you learned something at the end, or at the very least like you failed a competency exam. And when you’re stuck in a class with a bunch of other foreigners all of whom want to sound ridiculous, good things are bound to happen.

Protecting those you love

For us, however, the single most important aspect to being in class all day is that it spares our son and daughter-in-law the utter hell of having parents/siblings/in-laws descend on them for three weeks. Instead of having to come up with plausible excuses for not being together breakfast-lunch-tea time-dinner-dessert, everyone can shrug and say “Gotta go to class” or “Gotta review the genitive.” No one’s feelings get hurt, which is much better than them having to say “Could you guys go somewhere far away, like home?”

Back to the dream bicycling thing

Instead of making each day an assault on some awesome new cycling route, the Grammar Class Vacation allows us to rent an apartment far from the school so that we can all commute daily on rental city bikes. Nothing like getting to class drenched in sweat and stinking like old cheese to make quick friends!

And on the weekends, I’ve arranged through a buddy to have a genuine 58cm road bike ready for me. Mon-Thu I’ll be an obedient slave to German grammar. But Fri-Sat-Sun? I’ll be practicing it. On the bike.

END

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Giro d’Italia wrap-up

May 15, 2018 § 3 Comments

The Giro is on Stage Ten, which means there are nine previous stages and a rest day that no one has paid any attention to. Let’s catch up on the exciting news, along with a few behind-the-scenes quotes from the stars.

Stage One: Jerusalem Time Trial

Winner: Tom Dumoulin

Race summary: Machines rode machines.

Winner’s quote: “It’s been awesome getting to race here the year that the U.S. is finally moving its embassy to Jerusalem. A few dozen Palestinian protesters may get murdered, but I’m proud to stand with the Donald, Ivanka, and Jared.”

Stage Two: Haifa to Tel Aviv

Winner: Elia Viviani

Race Summary: #Fakebreakaway establishes #fakegap until race directors order #robots to chase #fakebreak and #boringrace ends in a #bunchsprunt.

Winner’s quote: “We’re athletes, not politicians. Just because Muhammed Ali went to prison for his principles doesn’t mean anything. Our contracts don’t require us to have principles.”

Stage Three: Be’er Sheva to Eilat

Winner: Elia Viviani

Race Summary: #Fakebreakaway establishes #fakegap until race directors order #robots to chase #fakebreak and #boringrace ends in a #bunchsprunt.

Winner’s quote: “This has been the most magnificent Giro ever. Next year I hope we can start the Giro in Myanmar, or North Korea.”

Stage Four: Catania to Caltagirone

Winner: Tim Wellens

Race Summary: #Fakebreakaway establishes #fakegap until race directors order #robots to chase #fakebreak and #boringrace ends in a #bunchsprunt.

Winner’s Quote: “It was really exciting watching our power numbers and calculating exactly how it would all end. We weren’t sure it would work out like it does 99.9% of the time … but it did!”

Stage Five: Agrigento to Santa Ninfa

Winner: Enrico Battaglin

Race Summary: #Fakebreakaway establishes #fakegap until race directors order #robots to chase #fakebreak and #boringrace ends in a #bunchsprunt.

Winner’s Quote: “Our team director made sure all of our computers were synched so we could dial it in like a science. The fans were crazy, they were so excited!”

Stage Six: Caltanissetta to Etna

Winner: Esteban Chaves

Race Summary: Froome got dropped, causing everyone who follows pro cycling at all to rejoice.

Winner’s Quote: “It was like a chess match, a chess match with power meters so we could all know that it was, you know, more or less pre-determined. That’s how chess is, right? I’ve never played, myself.”

Stage Seven: Pizzo to Praia a Mare

Winner: Sam Bennett

Race Summary: #Fakebreakaway establishes #fakegap until race directors order #robots to chase #fakebreak and #boringrace ends in a #bunchsprunt.

Winner’s Quote: “Incredible excitement for the fans, and for the racers, too. The breakaway could have pulled it off, really.” [snickers]

Stage Eight: Praia a Mare to Montevergine di Mercogliano

Winner: Richard Carapaz

Race Summary: Ecuadorian gets first ever Giro win for his country, but most of the attention goes to Froome, whose asthma has 100% recovered, resulting in a fall and more lost time.

Winner’s Quote: “Eight boring stages, one exciting win. This is what makes pro cycling the world’s greatest spectator sport!”

Stage Nine: Pesco Sannita – Gran Sasso d’Italia (Campo Imperatore)

Winner: Simon Yates

Race Summary: Froome continues to tank. Haters gonna hate!

Winner’s Quote: “I win the fuggin’ stage. I’m the first Briton ever in the pink jersey, not counting Elton John, who was in a different pink jersey for completely different reasons. And what do they write about? Froomey flopping.”

Stage Ten: Penne – Gualdo Tadino

Winner: Matej Mohoric

Race Summary: Yates’s teammate and “co-leader” Chaves loses 25 minutes. Yates stays in pink, does best schadenfreude ever in the history of cycling. “It would have been better for me if he was still there in the classification.”

Winner’s Quote: “I dedicate this win to every person who has ever confused Slovenia with Slovakia. Which is pretty much everyone.”

END

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Discover your city

May 14, 2018 § 1 Comment

A couple of months ago I wrote about one of the best biking experiences of my life. It wasn’t a trip to a foreign country, it was a trip in my very own city.

Called the MVMNT Ride, it’s not so much focused on cycling as it is focused on people meeting and sharing community while riding. On Saturday, June 9, the ride leaves from Ladera Center at 6709 La Tijera Blvd. at 8:00 AM, makes a stop at Leimert Park where we will enjoy a brief talk about the area, and then stops at Watts Towers. From there the ride retraces back to Ladera Center for a total of about thirty miles.

How much does the ride cost? It’s free.

What type of ride is it? Slow.

Who should come? Anyone who wants to explore L.A. on two wheels with friends.

You can get more information here. See you there!

END

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