44.058 N 121.314 W

Sights unseen fuel my desire to throw a leg over my bike every day. Every turn and every horizon hold beyond them something new, something I can't see without physically reaching that particular point.

I could give a rip about riding the same route, over and over again, trying to improve my line or time. Why not just hop on a stationary bike and watch the stopwatch compared to the odometer?

Over the past twelve years I've moved six times - Kentucky to Pennsylvania to Chicago to Austin to Utah to Oregon. Such a lifestyle has allowed me to explore new roads and new trails for more than a decade.

Of course with exploration comes the unknown... some days good surprises, others, bad. Maps with ghost roads. New private property boundaries. Misleading topography. So on.

But what happens when you finally round that corner and find yourself back where you started? When I meet people who have lived in a particular place for fifteen years all I can think about is how I would have run out of new trails and roads years ago.

July will be the two year mark for Bend, Oregon, and I'm getting that itch, looking at trail and road maps that have few routes left to highlight. The thought of moving again just plain sounds like too much work. Unfortunately, even worse, is the thought of settling into routes already explored and landscapes already absorbed.

My Pace Car

I've always been a bit of a Ferrari, peeling out at each green light then slamming on the brakes, one block down the street, for a red light. Donna, on the other hand, has always been more of a Mercedes... smooth, classy and controlled, lightly accelerating at a green light, maintaining a moderate speed and hitting every green light from here to kingdom come.

On the bikes, out of the gate, I'm likely faster than I should be. The thrill of being on two wheels, the anticipation of the ride, the fresh air... it all just gets to me and I explode. Then there's my better half, Donna, who out of the gate is moving the same speed at which she'll cross the finish line, a master of pacing and controlled output. I'll never know how she does it.

Rides somedays turn into a game of leapfrog, me exploding then bonking, over and over again, while Donna passes by with her consistent, rhythmic cadence. Of course she only seems to notice when I explode and pass her, not when I bonk and she passes me, concluding every ride with gripes that I'm too fast or she's too slow, not at all paying attention to the fact that we both finished the ride at the same time.

She is my pace car, plain and simple, both on the bikes and off. While my energy and temper explode and bonk, explode and bonk, Donna glides through with a very even-steven approach to everything. Calming me down when I need it, picking me up when I need it. Leading by example. If you've never met anyone who could lead a ride while bringing up the rear, you've never met Donna.

Letting Go

I frequently hear parents talking about their aging children, letting them go off on their own, worrying, and hoping for the best. Letting their child ride without training wheels for the first time. Giving them the keys to the car for the first time. So on. I got a small dose of that this morning.

Donna and I always ride together. I ride by myself once a week maybe, but donna has only gone off on her own maybe three times, and those three times were on the mild trails at Phil's trail area. No traffic. No technical riding. She's perfectly capable of fixing a flat though she always lets me do it if I'm around. So she got the idea of cycling to Redmond, 22 miles away, once a week for a meeting she attends there every Wednesday morning.

Cringing at the thought, I've been supportive but asked her to ride with a flashing strobe on the rear to increase visibility. She cranks it out in about 70 minutes but probably 9miles of the route has 50mph traffic on windy, hilly roads. Even if I was with her, there wouldn't be anything I could do to divert an accident but it kills me not being there to watch for her safety.

So off she goes. Determined. Capable. Strong. Worrying me to death. I knew I shouldn't have gotten her that Salsa LaRaza for Valentine's Day.

Round And Round

Everything about cycling is circular. Physically, the bike is made of round parts. Round bearing pins and rollers in the chain, round chain rings, round cogs, round wheels and so on. In less tangible terms, cycling is circular regarding the effort that goes into the bike and the reward that comes out of it. Circular. Flowing. Rhythmic.

All these things considered, you can't help but consider out-and-back rides very disruptive and unnatural. Loops complete cycling's circular nature.

Today's ride only proved that point. The 1X1 had tremendous strength is resisting my efforts to turn the bike around, back onto the same track it had left only seconds ago. The only reason I even agreed to an out-and-back ride today was because old man winter dumped 3 inches of wet snow and roadways to other trails were a mess of slush and puddles. The river path on the other hand, just around the block from the front door, remained covered with soft, relatively dry snow.

The ride was still a very rewarding experience. Fresh air. Scenic landscapes. And the legs burning from the resistance of 2.7 inch tires at 20psi rolling through 4 inches of heavy snow. Even at 32X18 the heart rate was staying up there. So it wasn't all that bad, just not very natural. The bike was confused why we were turning around... did I do something wrong? Cuz I can do better I promise if we just keep going!

The 1X1 was moping the whole way home as it criss-crossed its own tracks. Been there, done that.

Dirt Or Asphalt?

Its that time of year again where my biggest dilemma of the day faces me at 7am, head for the dirt or hit the asphalt. Asphalt is guaranteed... dirt on the other hand, might be too soft or muddy, might be a bust of a ride. Snow is still melting and earth is still thawing. But I always lean toward dirt.

Base miles. Right? Hop on the KM and its two hours of rhythmic spinning, burning calories and getting my legs ready for a few off-road centuries this season. Dirt on the other hand is more fun... its where my roots are.

Road rides are fun too I guess - passing roadies and watching as they try to decide to wave or not as they notice I'm riding steel and one gear instead of full carbon and dura-ace. Then again, maybe I just think too much. I mean, if my biggest dilemma of the day is trying to decide what kind of ride to do, I've got it pretty good.

Captains Log:
(As In A Captain At Sea... NOT Star Trek)

Thursday
March 23
7:30 a.m.

Months and months of waiting have finally paid off. Morale had been down for quite some time, the crew was getting restless, and I was getting worried.

Today's discovery started with the decision to leave the 700c at home and roll out on the 26" WTB's. Cruising through town, ok.... a few shortcuts.... 200 meters of paved bike path..... then, in all its glory, there it was... DIRT! Dirt within riding distance from home!

None of that freakin' white stuff! No Ice! Just good 'ol dirt. Ok, so maybe a bit soft in spots and maybe a trace of snow here and there but after having my therapeutic maze o' trails buried by old man winter, I'll take what I can get. It will be months before the good stuff starts to clear but in the mean time, I'll try exhausting my interest in the low elevation areas. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder, doesn't it.

Who Likes Crack?

In all my years of cycling I never saw anyone jump for joy after discovering a crack in their frame. Over the years I've cracked a Cannondale (big surprise), Rocky Mountain (good warranty service) and Gary Fisher (fantastic warranty service), and every time I've felt a sinking sensation in my gut, wondering what I did to deserve such bad luck.

This past weekend I was reminded that bad luck falls on all of us, and that any victim can use a little sympathy and encouragement. Just 30 minutes before beginning a group ride in Oakridge (following an early morning two hour drive from Bend) a crack was discovered on a one-week-old, custom steel front / aluminum rear, 29er full-suspension bike. OUCH! I felt so bad for the guy, as did most everyone there. No, sympathy won't fix it, but it can help in the grieving process.

So the lesson was two-fold:
a) bad things don't only happen to me
2) do unto others as you'd have done to you (show some sympathy)

I Should'a Had A V8!

How dumb am I.... probably 30 chains later, after stretching SRAM 8-speed chains like they're made of dental floss, I've finally found KMC and their Kool Chain. Slapped one on before riding Oakridge this past weekend and no problems at all. The true test of course will be durability. Anything will be better than the 400 miles I've been getting out of the SRAM chains. The KM, 1X1 and Inbred each got one... all set to go for the next season (or at least half of it.)

Don't Get So Huffy

I easily impress myself... peering out the window, checking out the thermometer, the morning ride will be a bit brisk. 28 degrees isn't the end of the world cuz check me out; pearl izumi vest, jersey, shell, pants, booties, skull cap plus smart wool socks, and windstopper gloves. Yep, I'm just so dedicated going out ridin' 30 miles in this.

The slope gets steeper and the speed picks up and the next turn greets me with snow and ice on those areas of the road where the sun never shines. Cringing with fear the 50 meter stretch is soon behind me. Its all good and over the next two hours I'll be so brave as to attack strong winds, hail, snow and slick pavement.

Rolling back toward town I'm so proud of myself. Then I pass a die-hard cyclist and shrink back into the fortunate, sissy rider that I am.

The die-hard cyclist... a grocery store clerk riding her huffy to work (and the closest grocery store is at least another three miles down the road). Mud and grit already stain the back of her pants and coat from lack of a fender. The apron is visible, sticking out from under the coat. Cotton socks. Cotton gloves. A chain that sounds like it hasn't seen lube for 1000 miles. 15 pounds of pressure in the tires. No helmet despite the frequent spots of ice and snow. And a plastic grocery bag hanging over the handlebar, likely carrying her lunch a personal belongings.

To anyone who rides and has never heard of Chris King, Shimano, or Pearl Izumi... Keep On Rollin'

A Fortunate Mistake

A weekend road ride turned out to be 1 hour longer and 20 degrees colder than I had anticipated. Exploring new routes, new roads, new scenery is always the best part of a ride but you really rely on your map being accurate.

As we rode into a 25mph headwind, we discovered mistake number 15 on the Deschutes County road map. Bear Creek Road dead ends before Dodds Road! During the last unexpected hour of the ride, I cursed the map maker as my fingers got colder and colder. Then, on a short straight stretch of the highway, this view popped up. What more can you ask for on a road ride in early March.

I'll still say that the map maker better hope I never run into him in a dark alley, but ee-gads what great scenery.

Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting

Rolling down the driveway today I wasn't sure if I was going scuba diving or heading out to a Kung Fu class. I feel like the Michelin man. So much neoprene-like material, but the all-black attire looks more like a ninja outfit and feels like a scuba outfit. The Lake winter shoes have worn out so its booties or nothing for the rest of the winter.

I dared the snow gods last night by putting a new road tire on Donna's LaRaza. Getting any particular bike ready the night before guarantees you won't be riding it the next day. Today's ride was great cuz it was the first ride this week with Donna. The downside was the snow, which no local meteorologist seems to be able to forecast with any accuracy.

But its all good. The weekend is just around the corner, concluding a really long work week for Donna. Morning rides and lazy afternoons are just around the corner. There's a bag of hot wings in the freezer that have been calling my name since Superbowl Sunday and I think we've got a fresh bottle of Hidden Valley Ranch. Maybe a Godfather marathon type of afternoon? It would be something new for Donna... how do I get her out of the room for the horse-head-in-the-bed scene?

Give Me An Inch, And I'll Take A Mile

Yes, I'm guilty of always wanting more. Harsh winter this year. Snow so deep we only dreamed of just throwing on shoes and walking around town. Once the snow was low enough for that, I didn't want to walk or run, I wanted dry pavement to ride. Now the pavement is dry and its easy to get greedy and long for the trails to dry (which won't be for two more months). So today, wahooo, dry pavement and a 25 mile road ride on the 38X17 monkey. Just being thankful for what is instead of what could be. Two hours of house cleaning, nine hours of work and 1hr 20minutes of ride time. Todays ride was great but looking out the window now, more white stuff is falling from the sky - tomorrow's ride might call for the Schwalbe Ice Spikers.

Mother Nature Blows

... and blows and blows and blows. Dang! Wind gusts of 35mph don't sound so smokin hot when you're considering a road ride. I vowed not to get the studded tires out again this year. Hate to start this whole thing with a rant but enough with the friggin snow already. Settled for a painful jog this morning - ouch, I hate running unless someone bigger than me is chasing me. Tomorrow the wheels come out again, rain, sleet or snow.