rantlust

Posted by riyer on July 30th 2005 in Health & Fitness, Outdoors, Rants
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Those of you who know me, know that I love riding my bike. I have owned a Diamond Back road bike for almost 13 years now, which means by all technological metrics, my bike is an antique. I am not the type who depends on fancy gear only to ride a few miles nor do I shave and wax my legs (most professional bike riders do). For many years I did not even own a pair of spandex (I am told that wearing spandex is a sexual kink but my needs are simply velo-centric). BTW until last year I did not even have the usual bike jersey - I own a red jersey now (which has only helped the damned SUV drivers to aim better)

Fresh from a backpacking trip at Mt. Whitney last weekend I started saturday wanting to ride up a neighborhood mountain (Page Mill road or Sandhill road), or atleast go as far as my legs would take me. I routinely do 20-30 mile rides and hope to do a few 60 mile rides this season - but I know I am lousy on mountain roads and bonk easily. Unfortunately Saturday was not the day that I was going to beat my mountain blues - thanks to some indulging I had done in what might appear to be a simple piece of gear - a pair of shoes.

A few weeks ago I had bought a pair of biking shoes (w/ cleats0. For those of you who don’t know about bike bike cleats and how they work, consider yourself blessed. When you wear biking cleats with matching pedals, your shoes lock with your pedals making it difficult to dismount, unless the cleat tension is right and you have practiced dismounting with said cleats - this requires a sublte twist of the ankle and pull away from the pedal, not the most natural of movements…very very far from intelligent design, I should say.

The last time (before today) that I actually fell off my bike was when I was trying on a pair of aerobars. Aerobars are two bars perpendicular to the handlebar that you might see pro riders stooped over during a time-trial. (They are banned in many races except in time-trials). Even for many seasoned bike riders maintaining speed and balance with aerobars remains elusive because they limit the maneuverability and response of your bike. I refuse to touch my aerobars and it should soon find its way on eBay.

On Saturday, the lack of any practise with the damned cleats, resulted in 4 extremely embarassing falls and a failure to even attempt the neighborhood mountain. (Imagine this sight if you will, both my feet locked onto the pedals unable to dismount, falling sideways at the corner of El Camino and Calderon). The visual image is not far from that of a dead horse with its feet tied, about to be carted away as a prelude to being dog food (or maybe some Frenchman’s dinner). I am sure the motorists, who did not want to run me over with their stinking SUVs, enjoyed a chuckle.

It turns out that remembering to unlock my cleats, shift gears and brake - all at the same time, is an excessively complex and co-ordinated task for a simpleton like me. My high school friends will tell you that I can barely chew gum and have a conversation without shredding my tongue. So shifting gears and braking had all my faculties occupied. I assumed that my foot would come off the pedal as they always do when I had the conventional pedals with toe-clips (these simply hold your sneakers in place). Nope! The cleats held firm and to make matters worse after having fallen on my left side, the left cleat released, but the right cleat held firm to the pedal. Imagine trying to get off your butt with a bike still attached to the bottom of your right foot. It would have been hilarious if it weren’t so painful.

The fact is that it is hard to get the tension and positioning of cleats right the first time. After the 2nd fall any semblance of pride as a bike rider had vanished. I was determined to salvage my workout of the day and as I crossed Sandhill road the sight of the mountain broke my spirit. I chose to veer right on Whisky hill road and headed to the Roberts market parking lot at the Canada/Woodside/Whisky Hill road junction where I collected myself, licked my wounds and decided to return home. (The ride home had two more falls, one for simply being courteous at a stop sign).

30 miles by most accounts is a decent ride and a good workout, but on Saturday it felt like being subjected to a medievial torture routine. I was always skeptical of the general axiom “in no other sport is the gap between amateur and professional greater than in cycling”, but now I have a healthy respect for it. The ride up Sandhill or Page Mill still beckons and I may yet conquer them however I shall leave the ride up Alp de Huez to the pros.