cycling


9
Jan 25

Progress is being made

Terrible night of sleep. But the morning’s sleep was better. Usually, I go to bed when I’m dead tired, but I went earlier and just … laid there for about six hours. Also, both cats decided it was my turn to be their personal space heaters. One cat is fine. Both cats are a furnace.

I looked at the weather, and then I looked at the forecasts for family. So, today, after doing a bunch of work, I called my grandfather to see if he was prepared for snow and ice. It seems he’ll have a harder winter weekend than we will. He assured me he is prepared to stay indoors. The porch has already been treated. He has the traditional French toast provisions. He gets the joke, but not being adventurous with cuisine, I doubt he’s ever eaten French toast. Nevertheless, he’s ready to watch the weather come and go. I asked him when it was supposed to warm up for him.

“Springtime!”

Nowhere near soon enough.

Though we’re now forecast to hit 41 degrees this weekend. I might set up a sprinkler and go run around in it.

I spent today working on class stuff for the spring semester. It’s just that for the next 12 days until class begins. Honestly, 12 days probably isn’t enough time. But I have the outlines for the first three weeks of class prepared. Another two or three hours will make me properly prepared to navigate through them. And tomorrow, and part of the weekend, I’ll continue building outlines.

It’s terribly exciting stuff, I know. It is, if you like the subject matter. Lucky for me, I do. We’re going to talk about globalization and media and culture in the first three weeks and, looking through what is in store, I want to talk about them right now, but all those days will be here soon enough, leaving me plenty of time to prepare.

Except there’s never enough time to prepare. The class I’m working on right now meets twice a week, for 75 minutes. I haven’t taught a class of that length in several years. Three, maybe four key points per day. It is a mental shift, and a lot to prepare for.

Tomorrow, I’ll figure out how to boil down the entire history of recorded communication into a class session or two. And then figure out what I can omit for a unit on global cinema, and then another for an entire planet’s worth of television. These are challenging choices.

So, I’m left with the idea that it’s a good thing that I don’t have months and months to prepare; I’d agonize over it. I know that, for certain, because that’s what I’ve done every time I’ve sat down with it over the past several months.

I’ve been working my way through a sprint series of Zwift this week. I’ll do a workout, and then round out the day with some free riding to get about 30 miles in. Yesterday, I did a workout inspired by the outrageous style of Mathieu van der Poel. He’s a six-time world champion in cyclocross, and a world champion in gravel bike. Two titles he currently holds, in fact. He’s been the European champion in mountain bike. He also wins stages in grand tours and in the European monuments and classics. Also, he’s been world champion on the road, too. The exercise was meant to name drop him and try, with a straight face, to convince you that you’re emulating the attacking style of one of the best riders of his or any generation. (There are maybe three generational talents on the road right now, including perhaps the best ever; it is absurd.) Surge and recover and surge and recover. Then go over your threshold some more.

Do that eight times, and you’re just like Mathieu!

The training session has little messages on it, and I was having a good ride, and I was sure it was going to say something laughable like that. “You’re ready to race MvdP!” I was ready to mock it endlessly. But they held off.

From his Tour of Flanders win in 2023

In great news for wattage fans globally, MVDP has even uploaded his power data. You might want to take a seat before reading this next section. Van der Poel averaged a stunning 285 watts for the 6.5 hours with a peak power of 1,406 W. That’s 1,406 watts in the final seconds of a six-hour-and-thirty-four-minute-long race. Most of us could barely say “1,406 watts” at the end of a 280 km ride, let alone hit such a figure. MVDP’s heart rate monitor also had a tough day at the office. With an average heart rate of 141 bpm and a max of 189 bpm, the Dutch superstar’s heart rate was the only thing faster than his speedo(meter).

If you don’t know what that means, it means a lot. It means something nearly incomprehensible to mortal human beings.

I don’t care about watts — I have a shirt that says “More Pulse Less Watts” — but that’s the central metric of the workout. I was doing but a fraction of that yesterday. And I did it for about 90 minutes, rather than all day.

But I set five new Strava PRs yesterday. Four of them on climbs. (Take that, Mathieu!)

Today’s workout was a long segment with eight sprints in it. I hated most every second of it. But I kept getting these great canned messages from the app. Usually they are of the “You’re getting stronger,” standard rah-rah. But in today’s workout …

Read the room, Zwift.

After 24 miles going from sprint to sprint to sprint — some of them a bit uphill, mind you — and a few more miles just passing the time, I found I’d set Strava PRs on five of those eight sprint segments.

When they don’t feel especially fast it just means you are especially slow!


7
Jan 25

I wrote a lot

The thing I was writing yesterday, that I was trying to decide if it should be serious or silly or both? I chickened out and gave it a normal tone. It’s too real to be flip. And too absurd to be serious. So, here are roughly 1,400 words on gambling in sports. It begins:

Welcome to the wide world of losing it all, where you can experience the thrill of maybe and the agony of near certain defeat.

It’s just a matter of when, and how you lose it. And how easy they made it for you to do so. And, also, how much. And how.

If that doesn’t grip you, the rest is a meaty summation of links I’ve been hanging on to for a while. Now I know you’re hooked. I finally wrote the thing because I needed to clean out my inbox. And it’s important.

One of my colleagues wrote to say that he was going to include it in a class. Hopefully not in a “Don’t do it this way” sense.

I was looking up something not too long after this got published and was amazed at how much more stuff had come out, just today, that should go into the thing. The online gambling world moves so, so fast. One more reason to stay away.

Gambling is a thing I could never do — I will never have money that is that disposable — and thus there are many nuances that I don’t have firsthand experience with, but some of the people wrapped up in this have some heartbreaking tales. And it’s skewing younger and younger, as a habit, and, for some, an affliction. Scary stuff.

The snow has not melted. Mostly because it is extremely cold. We watched a neighbor try to blow snow off his driveway today, but it had frozen in spots, and so he was having a difficult time with it. I think my lovely bride pointed it out in the hopes that I would internalize the lesson. He’s a pretty industrious guy, our neighbor, but he must have been busy yesterday since he didn’t get to this chore until today. And so now he struggled because some of the snow had frozen into place. It was good that we cleared ours yesterday.

And it is even better that there’s no more in the forecast, at least until next weekend perhaps. Like all modern playfully superstitious people I will assume that it is because we have a snow blower at the ready.

In our last house, we had a driveway not much longer than the length of a car. A few shovel strokes and you were set. But, last winter, our first winter here, we returned from a trip and found that this driveway is much longer when you measure it in shovel lengths. We came back to a day-or-two old pile of snow six or eight inches deep. And so, we shoveled. Only it was so cold we just stayed cold as we cleared the drive. That was enough for my lovely bride to go buy a snowblower. A few weeks later snow returned to the forecast, I assembled the snowblower as best I could (it was missing four parts) and waited for the snow. I did not add the oil or gas because, I thought, Let’s just see what happens tomorrow. And when that tomorrow came around it was dry as a bone. That was the last threat of snow last winter. So, the blower went into the storage.

Last weekend I brought it out. And remembering that it needed a little extra assembly, we went to the hardware store. I was missing two bolts that held the handle together, and two that hold down the chute. (And, yes, I had to look that up just now.) If there’s one thing in the world I’d like to not do on a Saturday, it’s go to the same place twice. To prevent that, I decided to take the snowblower to the hardware store. Maybe someone there could help me find the appropriately sized hardware. What I’d been using were random bolts and screws I had, and also some bungee straps. But we had the time and opportunity to do this right, plus there’s this great old guy at the hardware store, the sort of fellow that’s done everything and wants to share his knowledge. And I am a sponge, particularly about snow blowers. This is my first one.

Only, he wasn’t there. But a young guy pitched in to help. In fact, he took over the project. I just stood and nodded and thanked him. Maybe I look like the old guy to him. Maybe this getting old thing will have its advantages when I eventually do get old. Anyway, I bought four bolts and two knobs from him. We picked up some bird seed and left.

And this is where you know this story is about the snow blower, but also, Saturday. We left the hardware store and stopped by the drug store. My lovely bride had to pick up a prescription and I wondered around looking at the advancements in cat toys and sleep care. Then we went home. I pulled the snow blower from the back of the car and set out to add the new pieces.

One bolt was missing.

Now I’m going back to the hardware store for the second time, which is the thing I didn’t want to do twice on a Saturday. Only my car won’t start. It’s been cold. The battery was sluggish. I hadn’t driven it in several days. I tried again. It cranked. I drove to the hardware store, left it running, locked it up, went inside, and found the bolt I needed.

The guy saw me.

“Oh no! Did it not work?”

Just missing a part. He was sure he’d picked it out for me. I was ready to pay. He would have none of it. It’s a galvanized thing and costs about $.40 cents and so I didn’t mind. He surely did pick it out for me, it probably just got lost in transit. But he would have none of it, and he insisted I take the part. And maybe the hardware store, twice, isn’t such a bad thing.

Then I drove over to an auto parts store, to test my battery. The guy came out, shivered through the test, and suggested it was just the cold. That’s what I expected, but I figured I had the time and I could get ahead of this for once. It just needed to charge, he said. Keep it running for a while, he said, let the alternator do its work.

I continued the drive, and filled up the tank, and then slowly drove home the long way. It cranked just fine after that. We’ll try it again tomorrow, as part of another domestic tale that will most surely be worth your time.

Anyway, it did snow yesterday, but not enough to seem to need the snow blower, I thought. Later, I was reading posts and realized that is a value judgment people actually make. Maybe I had that one right.

But the snow blower is here. Ready. Ready to not be used. Because we’re playfully superstitious about this.

Ten years ago, today … and I’m not making this a regular feature, but I mentioned it in passing yesterday and it’s super cold here and this is a nice change of pace … we were in the south Caribbean. Specifically, here:

This is the famous California lighthouse in Aruba. It was built between 1914-1916. Topping out at 100 feet, the stone was quarried on the island. The lighthouse is named after this part of the island, which was named after a 1910 shipwreck. The SS California was traveling from Liverpool to Central America and people on board were having a party when the ship ran aground at midnight. The next day the locals saw the damage and waded out to pick up the vessel’s cargo: merchandise, furniture, clothes, and other provisions. They took it all down to Oranjestad to sell it.

We’d gotten there by bus, but the return bus did not return. We started walking. It’s an island, but it’s a long walk, about eight miles as I recall. Finally, a bus which seemed to have the business model of picking up stranded hitchhikers gave us a lift. And then we rented a cab from a lovely woman who was proud to give us a great tour of her home, full of history, demographic insights, and natural medicinal remedy tips. She took us to her brother’s house so we could see iguanas, because they were always in his yard.

We’d hired her for a 90-minute tour, but she turned into an almost three-hour experience.

Aruba is a desert island. And they have the cacti to prove it.

(Click to embiggen.)

She also took us to these picturesque places, like this inlet by the Bushiribana ruins — a gold smelter used to extract gold from the nearby hills for about a decade in the early part of the 19th century — on the eastern side of the island.

I just found her on Instagram. She’s still showing off her island home with that same incredibly warm, welcoming hospitality. I just uploaded a picture we took with her 10 years ago today and tagged her in it. I hope she’s doing well. That was a great trip, Aruba was just one day of it, and the time we spent riding around with her is a real standout moment in a trip that was, truly, filled with them.

I’m not going to do a reminiscence post about the whole trip or make a regular deal out of 10-years-ago today. (It’s all in the archives here, if you want it.) I only wrote all of that because there’s something like a 57-degree temperature swing between here and Oranjestad.

This evening, after an afternoon of profitable work — emails were answered, a syllabus was formatted, etc. — I went downstairs to give my bike a try. I did a 15-mile sprint session in Neokyo. Three spring segments at about 30 miles per hour (so it is confirmed, I am getting slower), but one PR and … what the heck is that?!?!?

Then I rode another 15-mile segment elsewhere, and passed 95 other people along the way. They didn’t know that we were racing, but that’s more of their concern than mine.

So it was that I got back on the bike, for the third time of the new year, and felt much better about it. Time off is a good thing.

But now I’m behind on the mileage spreadsheet … so time off has drawbacks?

Until tomorrow, when I return with tales of unimaginable exploits and feats, ” rel=”noopener” target=”_blank”>go read that column on gambling.


3
Jan 25

A furry Friday

New year, still the same features which we will start easing back into in the coming weeks. Of course, we can never overlook the site’s most popular weekly feature, checking in on the kitties.

I caught Phoebe here in a little moment of silly. She has three speeds — affectionate, intense relaxation, silly — and it’s that last one that’s perhaps the most difficult to capture. It’s a little fleeting, and she doesn’t show it off except in just the right circumstance. This, I guess, was one of those moments.

I’ve come to think of it as the cats are petting me back when they do things like this.

And, as Poseidon is demonstrating there, they do that quite often. There’s a lot of affection around here.

I made myself get on the bike this evening. That’s the right verb for it, too. Finally I got talked into a little round of a light spin, and then see how it felt. And, after about 11 miles, it felt pretty good. So I started pedaling a bit harder and faster. I did nine more miles and stayed ahead of everyone who was likewise in the Zwift virtual world.

Nothing of them knew we were racing, but that’s really their fault, isn’t it?

So I’ll probably sit around like a slug this weekend and watch football and do a little work and then get back to spinning the back wheel of my bike and going nowhere fast sometime next week.

Already, I’m behind on my mileage spreadsheet.


2
Jan 25

It has no title as yet

I’m working on this essay, and I can’t decide if it should be serious, or if it should be humorous, or if I am able to thread the needle.

This is all the head work, the biggest part of the process. It doesn’t emerge fully formed, but it coalesces in my mind before I start to type. Then, when I finally do sit down at the keyboard, I just add in the typos, and a little more context than anyone would want. I have a lot of source material to draw from, in this particular case, and it’s all serious. But I want to be mindful of not being a clucking do-gooder with too much serious tone. Heavy tone probably ruins the point. Who wants to read that guy. Also, there’s going to be an issue of understanding in this piece that’s now coming together in my mind. While I’ve been assembling likes and anecdotes and research on it for some time, I am close to overthinking it. Which means it is almost time to put typos to ideas, and out-of-context notions within the confines of the context.

What I think I’m saying is that I need a better writing process. And also about 36 hours in each day. And two unflappable copy editors.

A funny thing happened today. I rode my bike on the trainer. Hated every second of it. One day off, I guess, was not a sufficient recovery from overdoing it last week. So I stopped at 15 miles and resigned myself to trying again tomorrow. Maybe. If I feel like it.

It could be the basement view. It might be the many steps to get back up after a ride. It could be that I haven’t fueled well these last several days.

Whatever it is, I need to get better at it. And soon.

Anyway, there wasn’t much more to today, a day which crept up to 43 degrees, which will be something we can’t say again until mid-February at the earliest. I think this is the year I will utilize the 38-and-under protocol I implemented when we moved north. Roughly, the wording of that agreement said, when it gets to 38 degrees, I don’t have to go outside for anything non-work related if I don’t want to.

Also, there’s a winter storm coming this weekend. So I’ll be outside shoveling snow at some point in the next few days. But, after that, the 38-degree protocol will be observed.

Don’t read that as grouchy, but rather, pragmatic. Much the same as many of us heard from our parents about how there’s nothing good that happens after midnight, nothing important is going to be going on outside at 37 degrees, or colder, either.

Cheery pragmatism, with a great degree charm.


1
Jan 25

Happy New Year

We brought in the new year in the same way we have the last two years, counting down the seconds, riding our bikes on the trainers. Doing something three times makes it a tradition, right?

They were just a few symbolic miles, almost soft-pedaled. I was cooked. But, after consecutive days of 54, 58, 64 and, finally, 56 total miles last night, my year on the bike ended like this.

That’s a new PR, in terms of miles, be it ever so humble. December also became my second largest month ever (second only to February) despite no rides in the first two week. For the year, February, September, October and December are the most prolific of each of those months in the last 14 years. In 2024, I rode around the circumference of the planet — at this latitude, anyway.

I’ll complete my first trip around the equator, distance wise, in the next month or two.

None of these numbers mean anything, beyond the context of my spreadsheet.

Speaking of spreadsheets, I did the regular file deleting and updating of things today. One of those things that gets updated each month is a spreadsheet on site traffic. Last year we had almost three-quarters of a million site visits. Who knows why. It was the best year ever, and a 12 percent increase over 2023. Some of those were even people, and not bots. Whatever brought you by, I’m glad you’ve visited. Please come back around again.

Also today, in the process of doing the monthly computer chores, I added one banner here on the blog. (You know those rotate, right? The one on the top and the one on the bottom change each time you load or refresh the page. You knew that, right? You also knew there was a banner on the bottom too, right? Because you read the entire page every time you come by. There’s only five posts per page, and that’s not too much to ask.)

Anyway, now included in the rotation at the bottom page, something I saw at the Museum of the American Revolution two weeks ago.

Let us hope that’s a perpetual sentiment.

Happy New Year!