Is recreational harmony too much to ask for?

Saturday morning Chris and I bundled up and biked our way down to Lake of the Isles for the Penn Ice-Cycle Loppet. I'll give a brief, albeit belated, race report and photos tonight, but I need to get this little rant off my chest first.

My third time out (ever) riding in snow went pretty darn well. I maneuvered the roadways with confidence, but since we weren’t breaking any land-speed records yet, we politely pulled off for a couple of cars on the narrower side streets. All in all, our experiences with cars were friendly. Surprisingly, the runners made for our toughest encounter. They really seemed to resent sharing the trails around the lakes with us, even thought we were chugging along at a relatively slow speed, giving them their space and riding single file most of the way. A self-righteous group running three abreast around Lake Calhoun confirmed the animosity I sensed. When we announced that we were “on your left” and tried to pass single file—nearly having to ride in the snow bank—one of the women sneered to her cohorts that she was “not moving over” and went blabbing on about why as we trucked by.

It took all my strength not to turn around and explain a few things to her, but I tried to leave it behind with her and her shoddy stride. Boy was that painful. It incited me because I think people out recreating should be a little more cordial—especially in the winter months when that population is sparser. We’re all fueling up our endorphins, breathing in the fresh air and making our lives a little better. Why hate on those we encounter? Why not smile and say enjoy your ride/run/ski/etc.?

I try to be positive, but sometimes I feel that cyclists can’t win. I know it’s not a new gripe. I just make the mistake of assuming that being considerate (to a fault) and following the rules of the roadways and pathways will make my recreational experiences pleasant. I falsely assume everyone will love me if I’m “good”—okay, this is a deep-rooted psychological thing that probably stems back to childhood. (Note to self: therapy, therapy, therapy; it’s the only cure.) Cars don’t want us on the roads, but runners and walkers don’t want us on their paths. I may as well be one of those riders who throws caution to the wind, blowing stop signs and running women jogging with double-wide baby strollers and multiple dogs off the trails. ::heavy, heavy sigh::

There. I’ve publicly vented my frustration. Now to put this well behind me and remember I can only control my own cycling behavior. Next time I encounter such a crusty soul, I’ll turn around, smile and tell her to have a nice run. Then, I'll suggest that if running makes her so miserable and bitter, then maybe she should take up biking instead!

Ice bike ... racing

Next Saturday Chris and I are kicking off 2010 bike racing with the Penn Ice-Cycle Loppet. I can't wait! As miserable as the cold temps can be around here, I really love living in Minneapolis. Events like these make winter much more tolerable. 

Ice bikes

A few years ago I hated mountain biking. Heck, half a year ago I never made it through a ride without becoming completely enraged.

It scared me. I wanted to be fearless. I wanted to like it. But I stunk. So I cursed. I screamed. I nearly swore it off. (Let's be honest, breaking my leg on the MTB did not help the relationship.)

Then, one day last August, it clicked. That fateful outing at Murphy Hanrehan I, gasp, had fun. I wanted to keep going. I laughed. I swore, but not in the same frustrated way. I fell. I scraped. I bruised. But I enjoyed every moment. I started craving singletrack like Chicago-style pizza or raspberry chocolate chip ice cream.

It's been quite the love affair ever since. So much so that I scoffed at winter "snowing" on our parade. I told Chris that I wanted to keep riding. I read about these crazy people who studded their tires and rode the trails all winter. I wanted to be crazy, too. He knew a few of these guys. And, so, the two of us figured it out. After a prolonged DIY tire-studding project, we went on our inaugaral "ice bike" ride this weekend. 

No trails yet. Due to lack of time we just tooled down to Lake Harriet and rode around on it. The snow-covered singletrack is now calling my name.  The months until spring feel that much more tolerable knowing that my off-season riding may now consist of more than mundane trainer sessions.

The new crazy

Last year I registered Chris and I for a class in this:

Tonight, I registered us for the Leadville 100. (Here's hoping our names are picked in the lotto! If not, I'll find an equal challenge. I hear there are plenty of fab 100-mile mountain bike races to be entered.)

What bike adventure will 2011 bring? I'm think that's the year we pack for France and watch the Tour.

Short & fat

On September 19, I participated in the Chequamegon Fat Tire Festival's Short & Fat race while Chris and our friend Eric took on "the 40." This wasn't a first-time thing, but it felt like it in a sense. (note: this is THE highlight of my year, whether I am there to race or watch. I love the atmosphere and the variety of people. And I absolutely adore the staff of the Hayward KOA who never fail to make us feel welcome and renew our faith in humanity.)

I realized how far I've come physically, mentally and technically this year - it became most apparent in the early miles of the race as I pushed through the sketchy riders, premature hill walkers and senseless crashes. Last year, I was one of them. This year I was striving for a goal beyond finishing. I didn't feel heavy and plodding. I felt quick and strong. The hurt wasn't my body screaming "you aren't fit enough to do this," but rather a marker for how hard I was pushing. I was conditioned to work through it instead of succumb to it.

It was easily my most confident and aggressive race of any sort. I love climbing, and since the Birkie trail offers an abundance of horrific hills, I managed to do most of my passing on the ups. My stature is not such that gravity pulls me down hills anyway, so it typically works like this: I pass the large guys on the up and watch them fly past me on the down, then repeat. I hung with the same pack of guys for the last half of the race and that helped me keep pushing myself.

I shaved 12 minutes off my 1:34 time last year for a 1:22 finish, but fell short of my 1:15 goal. I am satisfied to know I raced the best race I could on that day. I didn't really factor unavoidable time-sucking mishaps into the equation.

1. Getting to the starting line 30 minutes before a mass start of 800+ bikers means you get a crummy spot in lineup. This means you will waste valuable minutes once the gun fires waiting to move. You will then be forced to creep along for a couple of miles, trying desperately to penetrate the wall of people in front of you. Once you hit the first hill, if you started that far back, you are definitely in a pinch because the pack is still dense, people start falling or randomly stopping, and you can't plow up it as you wish.

2. I was flying down a hill when two guys collided directly in front of me, which left me no choice but to hit them - my first multi-person crash! I got air once my tire hit someone’s body/a bike; thick sand softened my blow. At the time, only my momentum was hurt. Of course, once I returned home I realized my wheel was bent, but nothing a little truing couldn't fix. All in all, I enjoyed being momentarily airborne. I think this has made me even less afraid.

3. Remember the part where I said I knew I could work through the hurt rather than succumb to it? Well, I worked through it to the point my body forced me to succumb. I hurled from pushing pretty hard on an uphill. This was highly rewarding at the finish line when I rolled in along two guys on a tandem who witnessed my "moment" and congratulated me. I took strange pride in that. ::grin::

I am already saying my nightly prayers that my envelope gets drawn next spring so I can participate next year. I swore I'd never do the 40, but now I am starting to flirt from afar. Could I do it? I have a few months to mull that over ...

In closing, I want to share my favorite photo from the race: this was from the mass start. And, yes, that is me sticking my tongue out in the background. FYI - my biggest fears while mountain biking include a stick to the eye and biting my tongue off. I guess the tongue one is pretty valid; I need to find a safer concentration quirk.