Got Beat Up.

Two nights in a row.

Monday night Heather and I went over to Frick Park. She to read, I to ride. I'm pretty sure she didn't have any trouble with her reading, but I had a pretty nice wreck on the Bowling Green (if that's the right name for it) trail. Basically, it starts near the Bowling Green in Point Breeze and runs down to the bottom of the Homewood Trail.

The descent down to the Homewood Trail is the part that gets me every time. It's really steep (at least to me) and even though I know that I'd be a lot better off to just keep moving and lay off of the brakes, I can't convince my body to actually DO that.

What happens is that I'm on this really steep angle, braking way more than I should be, and of course my back end decides that it really wants to be going a lot faster than my front end. In order to accomplish this, back end goes up over me. Needless to say, physics and gravity and all sorts of other things of science don't look too fondly on that, and the bike and I end up on the ground in a heap.

Looking at the bruises, it appears that I landed on my left forearm, right thumb, chest, both knees, and somehow my right ankle. But not my head. We can all be thankful for that.

Looking at my bike, it seems to have landed pretty heavily on the rear derailleur. After I picked myself up, brushed off all of the dirt, and climbed back on the bike (oh, and no, I didn't try to go down the hill at that point. I just decided to go a different way), it was immediately apparent that the shifting was all kinds of wrong. The chain was jumping all over the place in the back, especially under load. I looked back at the chain, and the cage was definitely not running even to the rear cogs. Great stuff. At least it was still rideable, and I was able to make my way back to where Heather was camped out without too much trouble.

I took the bike to Pro Bikes at lunch today. They confirmed that, yes, I did, in fact, bend the derailleur. Or the hanger. They're not sure which. They'll check it out and let me know. They know me by name there. First and last. It's a little scary. I probably spend too much time (and money) there.

That was Monday night.

Last night (being Tuesday night) was another night at the Oval for the Cat C race. Heather came with me again so that she could watch. Before the race, there was a little class about treating yourself in the event of a wreck. Foreshadowing?

I didn't feel especially awesome before the race. I probably should have eaten more before we left. I had a Clif bar and some goo before the race, but that was about it since 3:00, I think. I joked to Heather that I would be finishing 35th of 35.

Everything started out fine. I got a little nervous when they said we'd be doing 35 laps this week, instead of the 32 that I was used to, but really, what's another mile and a half among friends.

I was doing pretty well for the first few laps. I noticed pretty early that I was far back in the field, so I shifted to the right and started moving up. I was probably somewhere in the top fifteen by the 10th lap or so.

I'm not sure what happened after that. I can point to a few things as probable causes, though: As I was going through the third and fourth turns on one of the ensuing laps, I drifted pretty far to the top of the track and totally lost the wheel in front of me. Right as I realized I was going to be in trouble if I didn't get my butt back on someone else's butt real soon, I heard a wreck to my left.

I don't know if that spooked me or what, but I didn't end up getting back on anyone's wheel, and I saw the whole field starting to move along without me. Amazingly, there was one other guy who was having some sort of similar (but probably entirely unrelated) problems. I pulled up behind him, and we trudge along for a number of laps (I don't know how many) before the group finally lapped us. During this time, it became pretty evident how windy it was coming up the last stretch toward the finish line.

Once the group came back around, get on someone's wheel and stay there. With that taken care of, the last eleven laps were pretty easy going. I still can't believe what a difference it makes to have someone in front of you doing the job of cutting through the wind.

The one really great thing about being 34th of 35 (the guy who wrecked was down for at least a lap or two before he was able to get back into the race) is that I missed the wreck right at the finish. I can't personally verify this, but from what I heard, it sounded like the winner decided to slow down as soon as he crossed the line and celebrate his victory. Of course, someone else ran into him, and I think someone else ran into that guy. Celebrating because you won a C race? Come on. Get a grip.

Regardless of my result, I'm glad I finished the race. For a while there, I thought about just pulling off and giving up. Those laps where it was just me and the other guy were rough, but at the very least it was good exercise.

A few things to take away:

• Don't try to move too far ahead. When you follow the guys who are moving up on the right, chances are they're going to be faster than you. If you can't keep up when they break, you'd better have a good plan to get back in with the rest of the field.
  
• Pay better attention on the turns. I still don't know how I drifted so far up the track on the fourth turn, but it killed me. I was out on my own, and there was no way to get back in. I was screwed.
  
• Always pay attention at the end of the race. If someone is going to slow down so they can shoot some "V"s at their friends, you'd better be ready for it.
  

Better luck next Tuesday, maybe.

We love you, Eve.

Last Wednesday, June 10th, our little kitty cat, Eve, died. We had taken her to the vet in the morning to have her teeth cleaned. They called us around 2:00 in the afternoon to let us know that they were going to have to pull her top left fang. That really wasn't very surprising to us, because in the past few months it had started to get a little lower, to the point where she had a bit of a snaggletooth.

We waited for them to call back to let us know that they were all finished and we could come and pick her up. The whole day in the house was pretty lonely without her. The vet called at 4:30 and asked to speak to Heather. I told her that I was Eve's other parent and she could let me know whatever. She got a little bit quiet, and then she told me that Eve had died.

Eve's physical that morning had gone fine. She had no problems with the anesthesia. The extraction of the tooth went really well, as did sewing everything back up. The tooth was really infected. The vet told us she came up out of the anesthesia without any trouble, but when they went to remove her catheter she got really fussy and kicky. When they did get the catheter out, Eve passed out and then she was gone.

They tried doing CPR for twenty minutes and tried to get another line in to give her emergency fluids, but she had no blood pressure and it was almost impossible to get into a vein. They tried, but they just weren't able to help her.

The vet told me that she thought that Eve might have had a surge of adrenaline that was just too much for her little heart to handle. She had never had this happen to her before, and she was really upset on the phone. She asked if we wanted to come get Eve to take her home. I said yes and asked if she'd still be there when we got there. She said she would wait for us to get there before she went anywhere else.

Heather and I drove to the vet, each of us a mess. We thought Eve was just getting her teeth cleaned. We knew that tooth was going to have to go, but lots of cats get their teeth pulled. It wasn't like this was some new experimental treatment. And she was only eight! And (to the best of our knowledge) really healthy! Like I said, we were both really upset.

When we got there, one of the vet techs led us to an exam room. Heather and I sat and waited. After a few minutes, our vet came in carrying Eve. Eve was just laying there, not moving. She handed her to me, and I looked at our little kitty and just started crying. It was so awful to see her like that. Not moving, not doing anything. Just there. I was cradling her, and if she had been alive, she'd have never let me hold her like that (she loved to be held, but not like that). It was terrible.

The vet talked to us again and tried to explain everything that had happened. She was crying as she told us how sorry she was. I know that she was genuinely upset and that they did everything they could. I have no bad feelings toward her or the practice.

We took Eve back home and buried her in our backyard. We wrapped her up with a towel and gave her her two favorite mice, two crinkly foil balls, and some primroses. Laying her in the ground was really hard. We both gave her little kisses and pet her one last time.

These past few days have been tough. The first time we came home from being away from the house, she didn't come to meet us at the door between the garage and the basement. When I sit at my desk to work, she doesn't come up behind me, reach up, and scratch the back of my chair. That was her way of letting me know that it was time to give her a little attention, which I was always happy to do.

She doesn't come up behind me, but every little randomly occurring noise from the house makes me think she's on her way in to see me. Heather is just as upset as I am. We both just can't believe that she's gone and she'll never be back.

---

Eve was the best little kitty cat. She owned our house and let us live there. That's how it was from the moment we brought her into the house and let her out of her carrier. She was comfortable from day one and she seemed happy to let us take care of her.

Over the five years that we had her, Eve amazed us in so many ways. She was always there to greet us when we got home. When we were upset about something, she would come around and let us pet her (I think she regarded this as a win-win situation).

Eve slept on our bed with us every night. She would curl up next to me and just rest against my side. It was one of my favorite things. Although she wasn't always as cuddly with Heather, Eve took care of her when I went to Florida for two weeks for work. During that time, Heather said Eve would lay with her anytime she was on the couch and slept next to her every night when she went to sleep.

Eve was the Best Little Kitty Cat. We will love her and miss her always.

Lucky 13

Tonight was my first race at the Washington Boulevard Cycling Oval. I registered for the Class C race in an effort to see where I might fall amongst other people. Thanks to Brian for pointing me in the right direction.

I didn't do as badly as I thought I might have. I finished 13th in a field of 18, and I think I stuck with the group pretty well throughout the race.

I did get some help from one of the marshals. At one point I lost the guy in front of me and I was having trouble getting back up, so someone planted a hand on my back and helped push me back into the group. If not for that, I probably would have been completely out of reach of the rest of the field.

There are at least two things I need to improve:

• I need to be a lot better at holding my line through the turns. I'm pretty sure I made a lot of the other riders fairly nervous (actually, probably pissed off) on at least a few occasions, and the marshals told me a few times to do a better job. At one point someone told me to relax my elbows a little bit, and I think that helped.
  

• I should probably downshift as we approach the slope at the end of the lap, and then shift back up once we get to the top. It wasn't so much that I was really having trouble staying with people going up the slope, but I might be able to make it a little easier on myself if I don't have to hammer so hard to do so.
  

There are other things, I'm sure, but those are probably the big ones. As time goes on, I can think about moving up and stuff like that.

At one point I grabbed the wheel of someone who was moving up. It turns out he was moving to the front of the pack (I think he ended up finishing first or second). I was able to stay with him for close to a lap, but then he was gone and I was in the middle of nowhere trying to keep the momentum on my own. It didn't take long for the rest of the group to catch me and spit back toward the end.

Apart from that, I felt pretty good. Definitely good enough to want to go back next week and do it again. I need to go back down to the oval on my own, or better yet, with someone else, to practice the turns with a rider on my right. I don't want to cause undue anxiety, or worse yet, a wreck.

The weather outside...

It's supposed to be 35° in the morning. On May 18th. WTF?

Them's the brakes.

I had a good ride this morning. I'd have ridden at lunch, but I had to mow the lawn since it was supposed to rain this evening. Not wanting to disappoint me, it did rain this evening. It's been raining a lot. Really.

I was going to ride last night after I finished up with work. I got all dressed, headed downstairs, and went to check my tire pressure. Front tire was fine; topped it off. Rear tire was... really low.

I didn't feel like going through the hassle of taking off the tire, checking tube and tire and then reinflating, so I figured I'd just throw on the other wheelset. This was a good decision. As I was dropping the front wheel into place, the rotor clipped one of the brake pads and... the pad came right off of the piece that holds it in place and fell on the floor.

I couldn't believe it. I took the wheel back out and tapped the brake pad on the opposite side. Fell right off. Apparently, they were pretty well shot. I feel extremely fortunate that they decided to wait until just then to crap out, as having that happen while I was riding would probably have been fairly unpleasant.

I checked the rear brakes, but they still look to have plenty of life. Makes sense, as I do most of my braking with the front brake.

Obviously, I wasn't going to be doing any riding. I called REI to see if they had the brake pads in stock (I'd have gone to Pro Bikes, but they close at 6:00 on Mondays). They confirmed that they had plenty, so after Heather and I had dinner (tomato-garlic chickpea pancakes with salsa spread and some corn), I headed over to the Southside Works.

I picked up the brake pads, some degreaser, shot bloks, and Camelbak drink tab things. Lots of stuff on sale right now. I forgot to look for water bottle cages that won't rub paint/metal onto my bottles and make my fingers all silvery every time I take a drink. There was something else I forgot, but already it's slipped my mind. Again.

Installing the new brake pads was a piece of cake. Take out the old ones, snap in the new ones. Adjust them so that they're close, but not too close, to the rotors. Verify that when you apply the brake the wheel does, in fact, stop. That's about it.

No problems with the brakes this morning. I have to remember to check the rear tire on the other wheelset to see if that tire has deflated again. I don't want to forget about it until I want to use that wheelset again. But that's probably what will happen.

Thank you, Frick Park, for reminding me that I suck.

Frick Park kicked my ass today. Repeatedly. Chris and I went out, since it's the last time we'll get to ride before he packs up and heads to CA. I had to pick up the Combi S from Pro Bikes yesterday (it needs a warranty-covered fork repair, and it's getting a new XTR front derailleur that I bought cheap on Chainlove) so that I'd have it for today.

We headed from his place over to Frick sometime around 11:00. Starting from Frick Museum side of the park, we made our way down the trail that starts near the bowling green. There's this ridiculously steep (to me, in my mtb infancy, at least) section that I finally made it down today, with only one minor slip that led to a little cut on my elbow.

We made our way up to the Iron Grate trail, and that's where the fun started. I took the lead, for some strange reason, and I don't know how or why, but at one point I just left my bike. Dragged that elbow, my shoulder, and my right leg through some dirt. The elbow was the only thing to suffer any (further) damage.

"That blood on your shorts, is that...?"

"Oh, that's just my elbow. No big deal."

We looked around, but couldn't really figure out what it was that caused me to spill. We may never know.

I climbed back on the bike and we started down the trail again. I want to say the rest of that trail went without incident, although I certainly moved a little more slowly. Actually, Chris ripped his Camelbak on a low-hanging tree branch. I'm short enough, and I guess my bike also low enough that it wasn't an issue for me.

I had another nice fall at one point (with no addition maiming), and so I decided that maybe my tire pressure was a little too high (somewhere around 50psi on a tire rated for 35 - 80). I let some air out and we started again. Shortly thereafter I wiped out. Again. On the left side this time (my previous falls had been on the right side, so at the very least, this made the dirt look more even and balanced).

I still have no idea what my problem was, but once we got down to one of the MUPs, I decided that I'd had my ass kicked enough for one day, and we headed back to his place.

It was great to get out on the trails again. The weather was gorgeous, sun was out, riding was nice when I was upright and pedaling, but really, what happened today? I just don't know.

Thrift Drug 200k

Yesterday was the Thrift Drug 200k, Western PA's first brevet. Not coincidentally, it was also my first randonneuring event. I was made aware of it by my friend Dan, and once it was determined that my knees were no longer giving me any trouble, I decided to give it a shot.

The morning started a bit ominously. I was supposed to be at Jim Logan (the brevet organizer)'s house at about 6:30. He lives over in Shaler. I live in Munhall. There's something like 17 miles between those two places, and I didn't leave the house until almost 6:20.

I made good time getting to the Millvale exit off of 28, but then managed to get a bit lost. Backtracking and retracing cost me some time, and I finally ended up getting to Jim's house at about 6:55. That gave me loads of time to unpack the car, sign in, get ready, etc... I had really hoped to use his bathroom before we left, but alas, there was no longer time for that.

At this point, I could give you a blow-by-blow of the 129.93 miles that made up my ride (I got a little lost near the end, which accounts for the extra four miles). Doing that would take a long time. Probably almost as long as the 11:40 it took me to complete the ride (9:00:39 seconds of ride time with 2:40 for stops, breaks, etc...). Instead, I'll hit some highlights (and/or lowlights).

The ride started off great. We left from Jim's and made our way into town, through town, and across the Smithfield St. Bridge. From there we headed up Sycamore St. to the top of Mt. Washington. I was pleased to be the first person to make it to the top. Considering how long it took me to finish the whole ride, I now realize that everyone else was just conserving energy for the next 118 miles.

I was able to stay with Dan and Dale (another rider; he was riding this crazy Softride bike) for maybe the first 45 miles or so. After that, they pulled ahead and I just couldn't close the gap. Oh well.

Made it to WV without issue. The two or three miles through Ohio were uneventful. The next fifteen along the Ohio River were really great. Nice and flat, without tons of traffic. I even had a chance to see the nuclear power plant in Shippingport, PA. I didn't even know there was a nuclear power plant in Shippingport. Prior to yesterday, I had never even heard of Shippingport. Turns out the Shippingport plant was the first nuclear power plant in the United States, but it's been decommissioned since 1982.

Miles 75 - 100 were fairly miserable. I turned away from the river and made my way through Rochester, PA. Rochester, as far as I can tell, is one big uphill climb. If I never see Rochester again, I'll be perfectly happy. My granny gear has never seen as much action as it did in Rochester. In fact, after I finally made it through Rochester, I was pretty much broken.

Most hills after that resulted in me dropping down to the granny and the lowest gear in the back. I was just plain broken. Demoralized. I think miles 75-85 took more than an hour. I'd climb at about 6.5mph, slope back down a little bit, and then climb twice as high as the last hill. It was painful.

As if the steady uphill climbs weren't enough the wind was steady and constant, and at no time was it ever at my back. The wind was no friend of mine.

After I finally reached the last controle at mile 100, things were pretty good. There was a three or four mile stretch on Three Degree Road that was exactly what I needed - mostly flat with just a slight bit of rolling up or down. For those few miles I was actually able to stay at about 20mph. It was perfect.

Nothing too terrible after that. As I mentioned earlier, I got a little bit lost in North Park, which gave me a few extra miles that I didn't really want or need. I read my cue sheet and saw that I needed to make the left onto Hemlock. The cue sheet also informed me that I would be crossing Wildwood. Something happened with my eyes at Wildwood, because I got to that intersection, and I swear the sign said Hemlock. I turned left there instead.

Once I realized I wasn't where I needed to be, I checked the GPS on my phone, in hopes that it'd be easy to meet up with where I was supposed to be. No such luck. I turned around and headed back to where I screwed up in the first place. I checked the sign at the intersection. It said Wildwood.

I finally pulled back in to Jim's driveway at 6:40. I certainly didn't crash in a heap as soon as I stepped off of my bike or anything like that, but I was glad to be done. Jim asked if I'd consider doing a longer event, like a 300k, and I told him I'd have to think about it. I'd have to get myself into better shape.

Honestly, I don't know if I could be convinced to ever ride that route again. That's not to say I didn't have a good day, or that I didn't feel good about getting through 125 miles (with no knee pain!) under my own power. It's the longest single-day ride I've ever completed. I'm proud of that. I just don't know that I could ever face Rochester again.

Things to take away from the Thrift Drug 200k:

• I might need a new saddle. I bought my current saddle after last year's MS-150, and it's been 1000x better than the stock saddle that came with my Portland, but for a lot of yesterday, I felt like I wasn't centered on the saddle, and that I was falling off of the right side. This led to all sorts of nasty chafing on the inner thigh of my left leg. So maybe I need a wider saddle.
  
  
• No knee pain, but my left shoulder was a mess all day. I'm not sure if this more to do with my new stem (110mm, -6°) vs. my old stem (100mm, +10°), or if my shoulder was already somewhat out of sorts from my hockey class on Thursday. I'll need to monitor that.
  
  
• My bike rack weighs a ton. I had taken it off a month or so ago, since I didn't really have much need for it (I work from home now, so I don't really have a commute where I have to take clothes to and from work). I put it back on yesterday, and just the rack (let's not even get started on the pannier full of food, tubes, etc...) made a huge difference in the weight of the back-end of the bike. Needless to say, that was removed as soon as I got home.

I guess that's all for now. I'm taking the day off from riding today.