This song appears on the mix played during the “boot camp” training sessions I do at Carleton. It’s a heinous piece of work, maybe the worst song I’ve ever heard. The video is just as bad. (FYI, Selena Gomez repeats “I love you like a love song, baby” just 18 times in this song. I would have sworn it was 1800, but I counted.)
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EgT_us6AsDg[/youtube]
Like many localities, Northfield is currently a site of hard-fought political campaigning. Some local candidates have good ideas, while others have bad ones, but none have the sort of bold ideas that will lead the city through the challenge of a prime-numbered calendar year.
Into this breach, I now step with a bold idea to capitalize on one of Northfield’s main assets. No, not the thriving colleges. Not the vibrant downtown. Not the endless opportunities for outdoor activities. Not even our manure-scented poultry industry.
No, I’m talking about our downtown waterfall on the Cannon River – and not as an impediment to canoeing, kayaking, jetskiing, waterskiing, or yachting. I don’t care about those drowning-intensive activities, but I do care about the logs that are so frequently trapped on the lip of the dam. For too long we’ve ignored this flotsam, but the time is now right to use these logs to raise our fair city’s profile and even, I argue, to raise our poor city’s revenue.
First, I propose to install several high-resolution cameras over the waterfall so that we can broadcast continuous video of the logs stuck there. Dubious? Think of the “eagle cams” that broadcast the wonder of baby raptors being hatched and fledged, such as the one from Decorah, Iowa. The Northfield “Log Cam” will be like that, only with way less squawking and way better chances of dangerous plunges over the edge. And what the eagle cam did for Decorah, the Log Cam will do for Northfield – launch us into national and even international prominence as a place where the spectacles of nature can be seen by anyone with high speed Internet access.
As everyone knows, logs have numerous advantages over eaglets. At least three are important to my plan. First, the stream of logs is continuous throughout the year. Unlike eaglets, which are born in late winter and fledge in the spring, leaving the nest empty and boring, logs come down the Cannon River throughout the year. Second, logs come in all sorts of interesting shapes and sizes, unlike baby eagles that are, almost by definition, identically tiny and ugly. Third, Northfield’s climate and weather ensures that logs will come down the river in large numbers at unexpected times: with the spring snow melt or with major rainstorms. Autumnal eagle baby booms are unknown to ornithology.
The second part of my plan is even more promising. I propose that we create a sure-to-be-lucrative gaming enterprise by which anyone – here in Northfield or around the world – can wager on the exact timing of any log’s eventual trip over the falls. In this “Log Drop” game, the bettor who chooses the time closest to the actual moment a log restarts its trip toward Red Wing would receive a fair payout, while the city of Northfield would enjoy a nice skim of each wager. Local businesses would enjoy a spillover effect from any bettors who come to Northfield to place in-person wagers and to soak up the ambience of our beautiful town.
Obviously, we would have to collaborate with appropriate state and national authorities in this endeavor, but I am confident that they will see the wisdom of this plan. In addition, we will have to take measures to ensure that no one games the game by prematurely sending logs over the dam with long poles, scuba divers, trained super-ducks, sticks of dynamite, or other means. I am confident that this problem too can be resolved.
If the Log Cam is smart (and it is), the Log Drop is genius. Imagine the flood of onlookers who would come to town to visit the falls firsthand each spring or after one of our innumerable summer deluges as the swollen Cannon carries more and more logs downriver. Imagine the excitement of the Defeat of Jesse James Days crowds as they get in on the betting. And unlike most aquatic activities, the Log Drop does not depend on the height of the river. The logs come no matter how much water is flowing down the river, and they eventually go over the lip unless gravity stops working.
In combination, the Log Cam and Log Drop will help Northfield both garner the prominence which we so richly deserve and help us broaden the current of revenues which will ensure that we thrive through 2013 and beyond.
My ride on Sunday was notable in that I finally got my first dog bite. Riding down a stretch of road I’ve covered many times, a fairly large Lab-ish dog came barreling out of a farmyard, barking like a maniac. White Fang headed me off, then circled back as I slowed down, studied my legs, and lunged, chomping down on my left knee. I must have yelled then, and Old Yeller’s owner was certainly shouting (“Naughty dog! Come back here! Naughty dog!”), so Rin Tin Tin let me go. I rode up the road a bit, then pulled over, looking back to make sure Cujo wasn’t mounting a second attack. I had a big red mark on my knee and the bite marks were clearly visible, but at least I wasn’t bleeding. My riding partner asked if I wanted to go back to talk to the owner about Lassie, but I wasn’t too eager to return to the scene of the crime. I finished the ride without any trouble from the savaged knee. A thorough and painful washing of the gash with rubbing alcohol when I got home seems to have headed off any infection, though the wound still looks awfully like a dog bite.
Next time I ride that route, I’m taking some pepper spray and and an itchy trigger finger.
So today I got up at 4:15 a.m. so that I could get ready for a long bike ride that was scheduled for 5. This was obviously a stupid thing to do, but the early rising paid big dividends. Along with two friends, I enjoyed a wonderful outing, maybe my easiest and most enjoyable long ride ever. One of my fellow riders had picked out a great figure-eight route that hit a lot of hills but also covered long stretches of rollers and even some flat terrain. The temperature was perfect, the sun was bright but not intense, and the steady westerly wind was alternately a manageable headwind, a negligible crosswind, or a comfortable tailwind. (The only less than perfect moment was when I was bitten by a dog. Bad dog!)
Because of all that perfection, I was able to enjoy the amazing scenery. God, I love bikes.
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After finishing my workout at the gym on Wednesday afternoon – one of the greaterrible cross-training sessions masterminded by Thad Caron, a pretty good personal trainer – I wondered why I was feeling so goddamn wasted. Every muscle group ached, and my arms and legs had that heavy overused feeling. So I tallied up the training I’d done that week, and was a little surprised to realize I’d already done six workouts in five days (bike rides on Saturday, Sunday, and Tuesday plus gym sessions on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday).
With two more workouts planned – a gym session at Thursday noon and a bike ride that evening – I saw that I would get my weekly total up to eight sessions in six days. This is a heavy load, probably the heaviest I’ve ever done – and it was pretty much completely accidental. I hate missing the gym workouts because I love the camaraderie and the results, and I hate missing bike rides because I love riding bikes.
After doing this count, I popped some ibuprofen and went back to work, grateful for my comfy office chair. Thursday, I did that last gym session and enjoyed a great bike ride in the dusty gloaming.
It felt good to get off my bike and know I wouldn’t be getting back on it or going back to the gym for a few days.
At 8 a.m. tomorrow, I’ll start my second 100-mile gravel race of the year, the West Side Dirty Benjamin, which runs around Chaska, Minnesota. I’m looking forward to the race, but I’ve never entered an event with less serious preparation: I didn’t pay any attention to eating good carbs this week, I haven’t done much serious riding since the Almanzo a month ago, I barely cleaned my bike tonight, I have no real plan (except: go fast), and yesterday I learned my helmet is so old it’s probably useless in a crash.
The race is supposed to be “flat and fast,” so perhaps my lack of readiness will be balanced by a course that doesn’t break my legs off. But whatever! Riding bikes is supposed to be fun, so I’m going to have fun.
THE DAY BEFORE
Vivi inflating my bike tires. 45psi worked great!
Vivi helping me make my trail mix, of which I brought way too much.
RACE DAY
The race’s staging area, full of cars and even fuller of bikes and riders. A great, inspiring sight.
At the start, racers packing in.
Me on the start line.
The only official stop, near mile 40.
A long descent, around mile 70, after the only checkpoint. I was snapping pictures while my partner fixed a puncture.
A minute after the kick to the line. (I finished second in the two-up sprint.)
A few minutes later, after a warm Coke (delicious!) and a slice of blueberry bread, I felt good enough to smile but not good enough to remember to unsnap my helmet.
My thighs and their ridiculous tan lines, a few minutes after finishing.
My weary bike and my mileage total.
Back at home, I broke my two-week beer fast with this glass of deliciousness.
THE DAY AFTER
I took a 20-minute recovery ride, paced by my riding partner…
I washed my bike, because pretty much all of it was covered in grit like this.
My carefully-chosen “reward” beer. An interesting drink…
As of 9 a.m. today, 120 hours remain until the start of the 2012 Almanzo 100 in Spring Valley, Minnesota. I think I’m ready. I’m wearing a cycling cap as much as I can. I’ve started tapering, partly by accident (owing to especially busy work and home schedules) and partly by design (skipping my gym workouts this week and doing some short but serious rides). I’ve laid off the beer till after the event (my last beer was a good one, though: a Surly Bender). I’ve planned for both carb-loading at midweek and for race-day nutrition. I’m trying to do some sleep doping. I have a long but manageable list of to-do items related to clothing, equipment, and bike. I have worked out transportation with a friend who is going to ride my legs off during the race. I’m picking up inspiration from this great book:
And I’m happy to see that the weather for race day won’t be as infernal as it was last year.
Tuesday was a great bike day. The morning commute was fast and fun, charging me up for a scheduled nighttime ride. In the afternoon, I swung by Fit to be Tri’d, the great little downtown bike shop, to see if I could drop off my machine later in the week so they could fix a rubbing brake. Tom, the shop owner, took a quick look at the brake, grabbed a handy Allen wrench, and fixed the brake right then and there. Any charge? No. This was awesome, so I bought one of his snazzy new shop water bottles to even things out.
I zoomed home, enjoying the lack of rear-wheel friction and even more excited for the evening ride. The weather was perfect and promised to stay that way into the night. After the usual domesticana, I headed back out at 7:30 in a new jersey from the Minneapolis company Twin Six and ready to soak up a couple hours of gravel.
My riding pal Dave had selected a great route that started flat but got hilly as the sun set. The roads were dry and just dusty enough to create a nice grit mask, helping the five of us haul some serious ass – we covered exactly 30 miles in about 1:40, for an amazing average speed of 18 mph. This would be fast on pavement! I felt great the whole time, which surprised and pleased me since I’d still been noticeably sore that morning from my long ride on Friday. All in all, it was a great bike day.
1. Gravel is really fun to ride.
2. Empty cans of Bud Light and Natural Light are the most common kinds of roadside litter. (You never seen microbrew beer bottles or cans thrown in the ditch.)
3. During the last quarter of a long ride, my internal narrator becomes heavily reliant on cursing.
4. People rarely dump trash at an intersection, preferring a spot between two junctions. But they’ll throw anything out there: pristine white bags of trash, intact-seeming televisions, old furniture, piles of clothes…
5. Adult cattle stare unafraid at you pedaling past them. Calves spook, but calm down when they see their mothers standing still. Horses watch at first, but run away if you get too close.
6. Work gloves are usually found smashed into the shoulder of the road or resting almost untouched in the center of the road.
7. Dogs get much less cute when they run up behind you, barking and snarling.
8. On every ride, you’ll find at least one giant mound of horse shit.
9. Almost every pickup truck driver will wave at a cyclist. About half of the minivan drivers will wave. Very few car drivers will wave, and they often pass way too close and fast.
10. You might not see another person for hours, but one will appear – on foot, on a motorcycle, in a car or truck, or on a tractor – as soon as you stop to water the ferns.
(More a more technical review of Friday’s long ride, see my post on Think Gravel.)
Tuesday night, I went out to the garage to mount my new tires on my bike. The old tires had great, but bald as cue balls, and I was eager to run the new rubber.
I decided to start with the back wheel, since – what with the cassette and rear derailleur – it’s messier than the front. Though I removed the old tire quickly enough, I then wasted 45 minutes trying to get the (very, very tight) new tire on the wheel. When I finally succeeded and put the wheel back on the bike, I realized that I’d installed the tire backwards – with the tread direction running opposite to the actual direction of the wheel’s rotation – and that the fully-inflated tire rubbed against my rear fender. Off came the wheel again, so I could take off the fender (two minutes) and reverse the tire (five minutes!). When I inflated the tire, I discovered that I had somehow punctured the tube. Take off the wheel and the tire again, remove the ruined tube, install a new tube, remount the tire, remount the wheel. I probably would have harmed myself if, after all that, the wheel didn’t turn, but thank goodness, it did.
Having learned my lesson from the hour’s struggle with the real wheel, I needed only fifteen minutes to install the new tire on the front wheel – oriented correctly and without ruining another tube.
I’m not eager to do any further wheel work anytime soon.
I was excited all day about the trip to my bike shop to get my machine back after its spring tune up.
I (semi-ironically) call my bike a “machine.”
I tested several saddles last year and chose one based on comfort and weight.
I call a seat a “saddle.”
I talk about “time in the saddle” when I ride.
I call the shop where I bought my rig “my shop.”
I (semi-ironically) call my bike a “rig.”
I am recognized by voice when I call the shop.
I bought new tires after being out-descended by my riding partner on my last ride.
I care about being out-descended.
I turned down the shop owner’s offer to put my new tires on my rig so that I could do it myself.
I bought a floor pump so that I can adjust tire pressure by 5-psi increments.
I can tell the difference between 45 psi and 50 psi.
I washed my cleats by hand after my last ride.
I prefer one brand of cycling shorts to another, and my bib knickers to either.
I own a pair of arm warmers, and understand their function.
I can go faster, further than I could last year at this time.
Note: The biggest sign that I’m not yet a “real” bike rider is that I only have one bike.
I’m not much for great clothes (except maybe shoes) or fine food and drink (except maybe pizza and beer), but I do like bags – backpacks, shoulder bags, fanny waist packs, and so forth. Over the last few years, my collection had grown steadily, so in January I resolved to cut back. I gave away a waist pack from Lowe Alpine (nice, ancient, and unused), then used a great Carleton listserv to sell an LL Bean backpack (nice but unused), an Eddie Bauer attache case (nice but unused), a Mountainsmith daypack (nice but unused), and my custom Timbuk2 messenger bag (nice and used, but too small). The Timbuk2 has been my mainstay for a couple years, the bag I strapped on my back every day for the ride to work. The bag never quite worked for me, though: I was always squeezing necessities (iPad, lunch, gym clothes) into it or leaving them out.
So while it was a bit tough to give up these bags, the sales garnered enough money to buy a new custom messenger bag from a new San Francisco bag maker, Rickshaw. The new bag arrived today. It’s much less tricked out with pockets and such than my old Timbuk2 bag, but the simplicity is nice, the construction seems solid, and it appears to be plenty big enough:
Tonight the girls entertained themselves while I cleaned up the kitchen with the “Naughty or Nice” game at santaclaus.net.
They laughed for literally a half hour straight, putting everyone they could think of into the game: themselves, their friends, classmates, fictional characters. And on and on. Santa’s a pretty soft touch; he hardly ever gives anyone – even the Ingalls girls’ nemesis Nellie Oleson – a poor rating.
But my god they loved it.
Wednesday, I took the day off to do a long gravel ride, my first substantial bike outing after the Almanzo way back in May. I had initially intended to do an all-day century, but then I decided that my legs probably couldn’t handle a hundred miles of gravel cycling. Luckily, the guys down at my bike shop had just done a nice 50-mile tour in my neck of the woods – a ride I hadn’t been able to do at the time, but that seemed like just the ticket for Wednesday.
And it was. On short notice, a friend decided to come along for the ride, which made the day a lot more fun than a solo half-century would have been, especially during a few intermittent sprinkles and a stiff wind at the end. I wound up riding 57 miles in five hours, which felt just right for the day. And the route itself was great: quite a few miles of gravel roads I knew, but even more on roads that were new to me – including two stretches of “minimum maintenance” road that were really glorified trails. The first was steep, but doable:
The second started easy and finished hard, with a badly washed-out section that we could not ride (but that others can!):
These tough sections were more than balanced out by a lot of rolling gravel roads that were tiring, but not brutal.
We did make a stop at the meat market in Nerstrand, Minnesota, to refuel with some beef jerky that my partner kindly shared with me. Delicious! I hope we can do some more gravel riding next year…