New Theme

Since we're rapidly approaching the end of 2014 (gah!), I thought it was time to turn more focused attention to this blog.  Should I keep plugging away, call it done, or revitalize it somehow?  I've had a blog in one form or another for almost 5 years, so the thought of giving it up fully is not my first choice.  Continuing on in the same way, however, is unappealing.  Writing up posts on what we did over the weekend or how cycling is going is getting a bit boring to write and probably even more boring to read.  Being an expat is no longer a new experience.  We're closing out our third year over here and despite the fact we're still not 100% sure what is going on and I haven't learned much German, this experience feels pretty normal.  We don't know what home is anymore, but I think that's because we feel evenly split after our second relocation.  Being on the banks of the Main in Unterfranken feels just as comfortable as being on the Cuyahoga in Summit County.  Sometimes, more so.

Anyway, my blogs have always been about sharing new experiences, be it becoming a bike commuter in Akron, Ohio or moving across the Atlantic.  It only makes sense to continue this approach.  So, Relish will be changing just a bit for taking a more focused theme.

Right before we moved to Luxembourg, the only camera I had was the one in my iPhone.  We thought, "Hey, we should get a decent point and shoot camera before we go because we'll probably want to take some pictures."  So, we picked up a Canon Powershot.  It's a great little camera.  But, something about this continent flipped a switch in me.  The people, the architecture, the food, the cities, the cultures, and the incredible landscapes inspired me.  I took that camera everywhere and despite its great performance, I wanted to shoot beyond its capabilities.  After six months I had upgraded to my Canon 600D, shortly thereafter I began adding lenses to my kit, and "taking pictures" became "photography" to me.  Miraculously, some have taken a liking to my work and have been willing to purchase items from my Twenty20 gallery.

So, in future posts I'll be turning Relish into more of a photography focused blog.  I plan to give background on pictures in my galleries and narrate how my exploration of photography is going.  I have a lot to learn.  There is a lot I don't get or know about.  Most of what I've discovered so far have been by trial and error or by accident.  It's not the easiest activity to get into or keep up with, but it is a heck of a lot of fun to try.  And, well, I relish the experience.

Anyway, that's what's up.  Don't worry, there will still be bike stuff from time to time.

Fujifilm X-E2, XF 18-55mm ISO 800 f/4.5 1/500

Fifteen Percent

Saturdays are the big ride days.  We haven't hit the big mileage yet.  This past Saturday was only 35 miles.  No big deal.  We could knock that out in about 2 hours, and be home in plenty of time to run errands.  I've been spending a lot of time thinking about what route to use for the century and decided that Saturday we would test out the terrain in one of the of the possible areas, a hilly, sparsely populated region east of the Main that's known for it's hiking and mountain biking.  There aren't that many villages, so traffic should be light.  The hills would be a challenge, sure, but challenges are good and it's not like there would be anything beyond a category 3.  They call the hills a "mountain range," but that's definitely a bit of an exaggeration to say the least.

We headed out about 8am.  The shot of espresso hadn't kicked in yet, and my eyes were watering like crazy, the way they always do on morning rides.  The route was completely new as soon as we crossed over the river.  There wasn't any moment along the way that we could warm up and ease into it.  People who aren't cyclists don't understand that being on the road requires 100% focus.  You have to watch everything, everything, cracks in the pavement, stones that can send you flying if hit just the wrong way, drainage grates, stuff that's fallen off of cars that can also send you flying, big tire slicing shards of glass, piles of sand that are always randomly spread across turns, tree branches, roadkill, oil slicks, piles of animal waste, mud, children who haven't been taught to look both ways before crossing the street, old people who never learned and have miraculously survived all these years, loose dogs, horses, various types of balls rolling out of playgrounds and driveways, other bikes, skateboards, scooters, wheelchairs....oh, yeah, and the cars.  We have to do a lot of thinking and thinking for everyone else around us.  We have to be three steps ahead.  It's like chess- fast paced, things could get really bad if you make the wrong move kind of chess.   It's not just the physical exertion of cycling that's tough.  Sometimes a quick pedal to the grocery store is more intense than a 4 hour training ride depending on what we encounter along the way.

Saturday's route passed a rather nice castle.
Castles make climbing better.

The first several miles of Saturday's ride was one of those intense, nonstop experiences.  Saturdays are the one day a week people can run errands and they have to start early.  Shops are closed on Sundays and most close before 1pm on Saturdays.  During the week, most close by 6pm.  If you work all week, Saturday morning is your one shot to get what you need.  The first stretch of the route was along a particularly busy main road.  So, we were hauling right off the bat.  Then, we hit a construction zone which closed one side of the road with no traffic signal or worker controlling the flow.  That had us sprinting uphill a good ways to avoid getting creamed by a car coming up over the top from the other direction.  Thankfully, there weren't any cars, but I was close to the red after that.  It took a while to recover.  It wasn't too much later that we were off that highway, but when we left the traffic, we were in the "mountain range."  The climbs weren't that bad, except for the two times I dropped my chain.  There were a couple of cat 4's.  The biggest climb was a steady 2.5 mile, category 3.  It seemed to go on forever, but it wasn't horrific.  None of the climbs were horrific.  Climbing isn't the soul crushing experience it used to be.  It just is what it is.  The longer they are, the more are tackled, the better it gets.  Cycling becomes something else.

Then, in the last 5 miles, I had my soul crushed.  On the profile the last bump was nothing, just a blip.  You can't really tell what a climb is going to be like from a profile, a grade percentage, a distance.  This one started humanely enough.  We shifted down and got into the rhythm.  I shifted down again a few minutes later.  Then again.  Then again.  The grade just kept getting steeper, crazy steep.  I was tired.  This was the fifth climb of the day and I didn't have it anymore.  I started paperboying a little.  My husband was doing the pulling.  I kept wishing he'd go a little faster.  I didn't have the strength to take a pull, but my front tire was millimeters from his rear tire.  I was afraid my weaving was going to take him down.  I couldn't come alongside since the road was too narrow.  For some reason, cars kept coming up behind on this little road to nowhere.  Didn't they have somewhere else to drive?  There's nothing up there but a barn!  I had a stale Haribo frog in my mouth.  I didn't have the energy to chew through it; I was too busy trying to breathe.  The frog was in the way of the breathing.  I tried shifting down again, but I was out of gears.  I pushed the frog into my left cheek and tried to slow down the breathing.  I was in the red, way into the red, and I was out of gears.  One more gear would have been enough.  I was mashing the pedals, my legs were on fire, and we were barely moving anymore.  Then it happened, the same thing that happens on every climb like this.  You think you see the top, only to have the hope ripped away when the top just reveals itself to be a false flat.  This was supposed to be the little climb.  Breathing was becoming an issue.  I wasn't getting the oxygen to keep the legs moving and the heart beating at a bearable rate.  I looked up from my husband's rear hub to his back and called out in a really high pitched, raspy voice, "Need to stop.  I need.  Break."

"Yeah, ok. Yes."  I was relieved to hear what sounded like relief in his voice.  I climbed off and laid my bike down in the grass,  my breathing was what could probably be termed as hyperventilating.  I bent over trying to slow it down.  The frog was gone.  I don't remember eating it.  A car was coming up the hill, flying actually.  I cursed.  I can't just quietly die up here on this hill without some driver flying past staring agape at my physical failings and the drool running in a ladylike manner down my chin.  Seriously, where the heck are these cars going?  I gulped down a ton of water and unzipped my jersey.  It was humid.  I should have worn a lighter-weight jersey.  Or something.

It took a few minutes to get back to feeling somewhat normal again.  We clicked back in and finished the climb.  It was a little longer before I could speak properly again, though.  We got back to the house and after a giant egg burrito and a cold glass of chocolate milk, I looked at the profile again.

Oh, so that's what a quarter mile with a 15% uphill grade feels like.

Gear Check: BikeInside

When we moved here, The Company changed a lot in our assignment contract.  One of those things was that we received a company car, a big ol' VW Passat.  The thing is pretty big as Euro cars go, which is nice for traveling (not so much for Euro parking).  The only minor downside to receiving a car that is basically free is that our roof bike rack from our old car isn't compatible with it.  A new roof rack wouldn't be that expensive, but it would only fit a Passat.  So, by the time we move home we'll have two racks we won't be able to use.  Of course, the alternative would be a hitch rack, which would work with any car.  But, since the car isn't ours, we can't install a hitch.

Enter BikeInside.

www.bikeinside.de

We determined that the best solution for our situation was a system that fit inside our car.  If it was universal, even better.  Lo and behold, a company in Germany makes just such a rack.

BikeInside is compatible with pretty much any model vehicle on the road.  You can check their list here.  It works basically like a tension rod, bracing against the right and left interior sides of your vehicle.  It can be installed towards the front of the car with the seats folded down, or in the cargo area depending on what works best for you bikes.  The front wheels of the bike are removed and the forks fitted into the quick release bracket on the rack.  It takes less than 5mins to get the bike inside the car and attached to the BikeInside.  It can fit up to three bikes at a time depending on how much room you have inside your vehicle.  The rack itself barely takes up any room so you can leave it in your car all the time if you prefer.  But, thanks to no tool installation you can remove it after every use.  Now, depending on your vehicle, you may have to break your bike down further, either removing the seat post or rear wheel or both.  Additional accessories are available to ensure a proper fit and stability.

So, even if you don't have the situation we do, you may want to consider BikeInside for these reasons:

1.  Protects your bike from the weather during travel.

Because it is extremely frustrating to get your bike all nice and clean for a trip just to have it gunked up on the highway while on the top or back of your car.

2.  Increased security

Keeping your bike in your car reduces it's chances of getting nabbed while your stopped for dinner or you're the gas station.  It won't be obvious, especially if you have darkened windows, and you can always throw a blanket over it too.

3.  Doesn't affect fuel consumption

With the bikes inside the car you won't get any of the drag that you get from roof racks. Drag increases fuel consumption.

4.  Doesn't add length or height to your vehicle

This is a huge plus for parking.  A lot of hotel parking in Europe is in underground garages, making roof racks impossible to use.  Parking spaces are also smaller, so extending the back end of the car with a hitch rack can cause issues.  Of course, this isn't as big of a problem in the States, but if maneuverability is a concern, BikeInside solves that problem.

5.  Keeps your bike stable inside the car.

A lot of people find it easier to haul their bikes inside their car, usually by just laying them down.  For one bike this isn't a big deal, but if you are hauling more than one it can be a hassle.  Bikes shouldn't be stacked on each other.  Pedals and handlebars can get caught in spokes, derailleur arms get bent.  The BikeInside keeps your bike upright, stable, and safe from entanglement.

The BikeInside in use in our Passat.

A wheel bag is a good idea for car travel as well.

We've tried our BikeInside for a couple of months when we've wanted to take the bikes further afield or travel with them.  It was a huge help when we drove to Denmark a couple weeks ago.  As you an see above, our bikes fit inside the car while still allowing plenty of space for luggage.  For our car it is necessary to remove the seat post, but the rear wheel can stay in place.  We picked up a cheap dual wheel bag for our front wheels and that tucks in nicely alongside one of the bikes near a passenger door.  With our two bikes and wheels inside, we still had plenty of room for a couple suitcases, camera bags, and a couple duffels filled with cycling equipment.  That still left ample space to pick up a couple souvenir items on our trip.  We didn't have any issues with parking, now that the bikes were inside the car.  When we spent an afternoon at Lego Land, we were confident that the bikes would be safe tucked under a cover, going unnoticed.  It poured for the entire drive home at the end of the weekend, so we were very thankful to have the bikes inside and dry.

So, I highly recommend picking up a BikeInside if you are looking for an internal bike rack system.  They work in almost every car and with almost every style of bike.  While you can't pick them up at an American dealer, they ship internationally from the website.  At about $160.00 (w/o shipping), it's a reasonable and valuable option for transporting your bikes.

We're very pleased with ours!

Pedaling About

So, here we are, rolling down into the last half of July.  The Tour is in full swing and here in old Bavaria the temperatures are on the rise.  We're at 90F this afternoon so the shutters are pulled down, the fans are blowing at maximum velocity, and occasionally Cat 1, Cat 2, The Dog, and myself climb up to the top floor (there are 5 in this wacky house) where the floor air conditioner is and enjoy a civilized temperature for a few minutes.

The cycling, however, is still going on.  Last weekend, we treated the bikes to a fieldtrip in Denmark to cycle around an island in the Baltic.  Let me tell you, Ærø may be a little place, but it packs quite a bit into it.  For cyclists it's one of those places that is just about perfect.  Despite it being Denmark, there are some decent hills.  Because it's Denmark, there's plenty of wind.  Because Ærø is special, there's plenty of coffee stops, good food, fantastic people, clear roads, big views, old churches, and even a craft brewery.  Oh, and there are cobbles.  Plenty of teeth jarring cobbles.  And, when you're done riding for the day, the sunsets can't be beat.

Empty roads and beautiful skies.

One of the quintessential windmills

Typical lane in Ærøskøbing, the oldest port town on the island.

House in Ærøskøbing

The amazing beer of Ærø

Great place to try your legs on some cobbles.

Island residents sell homemade items from their doorsteps and trust you to leave the money in the provided can.

No caption necessary.

But, that's going to be it for the traveling for a while.  For the rest of this fast moving summer we're focused on cycling closer to home.  The Rapha Womens 100 ride is, of course, this Sunday.  Once again, I will be joining other women all over the globe to ride 100km to support women's cycling.  While it'll just be my husband and I on our own since there aren't any organized rides in these parts, there are plenty of organized and supported rides around the world to join up with.  So, if you're up for doing 100km on Sunday, join us!

And, after that?  Well, the two of us are going to tackle something a little longer.  Over the next couple of months we'll be training to attempt our first century ride.  Without anything else going on, might as well give it a shot, right?  I'll let you know how it goes.  But, I have to admit I'm looking forward to the next couple of months just being about the bike.

The Mountains in Our Minds

The trail branched off from the main route just outside the town, and after getting through that gauntlet of a town it's at this point in the route (the one I call Crosswind Way), that I settle in for a short recovery before the said crosswinds kick in after the turn onto the road.  I never gave the trail a second thought.  Except where it intersects the Mainweg, you can't see it.  It disappears into a grove of short, thick trees and the shade of the overpass.  It looks like one of those little branches that appear all along the cycle routes for taking local traffic into the outskirts of neighborhoods.

But, I am bored.  It's not that Crosswind Way doesn't have it's rewarding scenery.  It does.  It passes through a deep valley cut by the Main, covered in vineyards.  There are some red stone ruins dotting hill tops, flat river barges, small towns, and sweet smelling woods.  But, after time, even things like that become old hat.  I am itching for a change of scene and a change of wind.  A glimpse at the map indicated this trail would lead me down another valley into the ominous sounding Odenwald.  Ominous sounding forests are just what I need.  So, at the last second as I head down the hill out that town, I lean right and turn under the overpass.  There is no wind, for a bit, but as I come out of the shelter of hedges and farm buildings on the other side of the highway, it hits me full in the face.  The cross winds of Crosswind Way are now a headwind, the constant headwind of the Main Valley.  I shift into a smaller ring and got into the drops.  I don't see many people, just the occasional retiree on an old upright, with a "morgen."  I come out of the rhythm for a nod and a smile.  I'm just out to explore, no need to retreat too far into my head and ignore the world.  I'm finding a new one, after all.  I pass through a nondescript town, with gravel based businesses lining it's outskirts.   Gravel mining is a thing in these parts.  Shortly after exiting the town streets, I hit my first stretch.  I shift into the next smaller ring, but keep my hands on the hoods.  The faster I ride over the gravel, the smoother the ride and the less chance of wiping out on a loose spot.  My eyes search for a clean line around the holes and squishy patches and my tires find it.  I'm not a huge fan of gravel, just because of what it can bring- punctures but, once I'm on it, I can't help but not enjoy the rush of attacking it at full speed.  I'm out of the town, long out, the road ends at a T; no indication of which way the next town is.  That's the way you go exploring on a bike in Germany.  Pick a town name on a sign and follow the rest of the signs there.  I pause for a moment and pull the map up on my phone.  I could take the road on my right, or see where this gravel takes me to my left.  A huge flat bed truck carrying half a dozen tractors rumbles past throwing dust on me from the road.  I turn left.

The gravel ends in a parking lot for a shooting club.  A quick scan of the lot reveals a break in the trees where there should be another road which will take me on to my chosen town.  I hope this isn't one of those shooting clubs with the target course in the woods.  I follow the path, just a dirt single track now, dip below the parking lot, around a patch of fist sized gravel, over a footbridge and onto another gravel road.  The gravel continues for another several kilometers before petering out and depositing me in another town.  I have no idea which one, but the sign says my destination is still quite a ways off.  With the pavement firmly beneath my tires, I breathe a sigh of relief from the gravel rattling, and kick into a more civilized pace.  A turn here, a turn there, a camp ground, a group of bird watchers, a farmer straight off of a postcard sitting in the bed of his truck with a pipe in his mouth and his dog at his side.  The countryside rolls by.  The hills rise around me, no vineyards, just dark trees- the Odenwald.  As I round a bend a large hill looms up in the distance, red walls crown its brow and a tower perches on the crest.  Another castle.  But, this one is new, so I let my eyes linger on it for a bit, before the hill twists out of sight.  After all this time, I still have a thing for castles.  They are huge monuments to this experience.  Reminders I'm not in Ohio anymore, reminders not to take that for granted.

After thirty or so kilometers, I've arrived at my destination, but I don't know it yet.  I'm expecting to roll out into a town center, paved in cobbles, with a church in the middle, and a bench next to the church.  That's the usual choice for a break to take a snack and refill the bottles if I need to.  I don't need to yet and the way to the quaint center is hidden around construction barriers and passing local traffic.  I decide to take the easy way through the congestion and head straight at the intersection.  I'll sort the way to the church bench after I get out of this cluster.  But, I don't.

It's not long before the road takes a severe uphill grade.  I'm basically committed at this point without making a u-turn.  I'm definitely leaving the town, almost as soon as I arrived in it, and I'm going up. A wooden, hand painted sign on the right of the road points up the hill I've unintentionally arrived on.  It says "Berg."  I glance up to the top of this hill; just the hint of red stone peaks through the trees.  The berg I saw from the valley below.

Sometimes the mind does weird things.  Things that are huge, things that terrify us, that intimidate, just stop being a big deal.  The butterfly feeling never hits.  We say, "I'm not afraid of you today."  We don't know why, we just aren't.

I don't make a u-turn.  I stop thinking about locating the town center.  I want to see this castle instead, and do so I have to climb this hill.  So, climb this hill I will.  I focus.  My head in its weird non-panicky state says, "Find the rhythm.  Speed isn't rhythm.  Just go up the hill.  Just go up.  If your speedometer is reading single digits, who cares?  You're going up this hill.  When you get up there, and you will, your life will never be the same."  And I find the rhythm, or it finds me.  I'm in the sun, full on my back.  I breathe through my mouth.  A bead of sweat runs down my left temple and falls on my shoulder.  Switchback.  I'm in the shade.  I took the turn tight on the inside as a red hatchback passes.  I hear the telltale grind of dropped chain.  I roll into a wide spot on the side of the road and sort it out.  I must have bumped the shifter when I stood up in the turn.  I click back in and keep going up.  Sorry, I'm not going to let the dropped chain dissuade me.  I'm going up this hill.  Switchback.  Sun.  The grade steepens.  I downshift and put my hands on the tops.  I hear the sound of laughing children coming fast behind me, and then they're on me.  In two firetrucks.  They barrel past, a small head pokes out a window and looks back, waving.  Sorry, kid, I'd wave back, but I'm kinda in the middle of something.  Switchback.  Shade and a break in the grade.  But, the road is positively pocked with holes.  This will probably hurt on the way down.  I leave it in the low gear and spin my legs out a bit, swig a bit from the bottle before the next increase hits a few meters ahead.  Ok, I should probably fill my bottle at some point.  There are no more switchbacks, just a steady increase in the grade.  Sun.  Shade.  Sun. Shade.  The sound of water somewhere.

Sun.  The trees are below me, just the castle sits above.  I run out of road and find the fire trucks at the same time.  Their passengers are running around the playground at the base of the fortress.  I pass between these random emergency vehicles and smoosh my front tire into a parking lot filled with loose pea gravel.  I'm going so slow at this point, it doesn't matter.  It's like landing on a feather bed.  My bike and I swim out and make our way to the near vertical cobbled road leading up through the castle gate.  The cobbles are set in such a way, basically stepped, so vehicles and shoes have something to grip, but there's no way I'd be getting a bike up that.  A sign nearby say's don't even try.  So, I unclip and walk, pushing the bike along the path next to me.  Another sign advertises a museum and the toiletten, aka. places to refill my bottles.  We climb through the first gate into a courtyard with a cannon.  We stop and turn around.

All that emotion I expected to hit me at the start of the climb, finally arrives.  But, it's not the butterflies of fear, the choke of trepidation.  It's a lump in the throat.  It rises, and my eyes well up.  A big green landscape wraps itself around me and below me.  A big old castle stands behind me.  I got here on my bike, the whole way.  I climbed a hill, pretty darn big one, a category 4 actually, on my own because I wanted to.  Because I said I would.  Because I couldn't let this hill or any other scare me back down the road.  I climbed.  I climbed.  It went pretty good and here I am.

The mountains in my head had been defeated with that climb.  My life isn't the same.  After filling my bottles and having a quick snack, I headed home the way I came.  The descent down that hill was the most fun I can ever remember having on two wheels.  Descents are a reason to climb.  But, the climb itself is the real reason.  With every pedal stroke, we get higher, stronger in the body and in the head.  If this hill can be climbed so can others.  The road is wide is open now.  There is nothing to fear.

Don't believe me?  The next day I climbed two more hills just like it.

The Secret

I'm going to let you in on something.  You know all those pictures in the magazines, the blog posts, and Instagram of people cycling in Europe on these wide open roads in these grand vistas? You know those inspiring write-ups about solitude on the European roads?  Those quiet little villages with nothing but sheep and the perfect little cafe?  Ok, those places exist.  They do, I promise.  BUT, that's not Europe anymore than DisneyWorld or the Grand Canyon is representative of America.  The reality is Europe has cities and cars and lots of people too.  It's not a postcard, it's a living place.

A good portion of my cycling is through villages very similar to the one shown here.  It can be a pretty intense experience.  The streets through these towns are narrow to begin with, and then they are made narrower by parked cars.  Pretty much every corner is a blind one.  Buildings are right on top of the road  and there's just a wee strip of sidewalk.  There are intersections that are a free for all, meaning there is no indication of who has right of way.  There's this road furniture designed to slow down traffic.  Really, it just serves to make things more difficult.  And, guys, cobbles are really, really common.  Every single town center is paved in cobbles, some new and smooth, others at least 100 years old and just as gnarly as the one's you see in the Classics.  Hate to burst bubbles here, but there is nothing pleasant about riding over cobbles.  Then, there are people.  People live in the villages, towns, and cities of Europe, believe it or not.  Even the smallest village has people walking around during the day.  Some of these people step out into the street without looking, walk out from between cars, blindly open car doors, let their dogs and children run willy nilly into the streets.  The cars, of course, can be an issue too.   There are four rush hours- morning, before lunch, after lunch, and the evening.  In some regions there is only one road connecting all the communities so traffic can get pretty backed up even in the little one horse towns.  Speed limits are higher.  ATVs are street legal.  Tractors are street legal.  Vehicles I can't even identify are street legal.  It can get pretty wild on these roads.  All these everyday things can combine to create situations that would make your average American cycling advocate soil themselves.

Of course, yes, cycle paths and on road infrastructure are more common.  But, cycle paths aren't designed for sporting cyclists.  They can be used for training, but they can get just as congested with commuters and folks out for a leisure ride as the roads are with cars after lunch.  On-road lanes are common in large cities, but in smaller cities and towns they are as rare as they are in America.  Some of them are routed in inexplicable ways which confound those who have never followed them before.  Oh, and people park their cars in the lanes over here too.  The systems of Belgium, The Netherlands, and Denmark are not the norm.

So, if people want to ride the epic roads seen in the calendars, blogs, and magazines they have to throw the bike on the car and drive to them just like you do when you want to ride epic roads in America.  For the most part, European cyclists have the same challenges American cyclists do.  It's not the Promised Land (ok, Belgium is the Promised Land).  Before you start freaking out and labeling me as negative, don't panic.  Bare with me here.  Riding a bike in the majority of Europe is better than it is in a good portion of the States, but not for the reasons you may think.

The secret to happy cycling is not in lanes, lights, sharrows, paths, or boxes.  The secret to happy cycling is attitude.  Jerks and morons are everywhere, and that's not going to change anytime soon.  But, there is a prevailing attitude from cyclists, drivers, and pedestrians that bicycles belong on European roads.  For the most part, drivers aren't surprised or miffed when a bicycle appears in their path.  Well, if they are they keep it to themselves.  Pedestrians are still oblivious, but they don't go ballistic when you gently bring them back to reality with the ding of a bell.  Other cyclists still do stupid things, but those guys are in the minority and generally live in cities.  Close calls still happen, but they aren't rooted in hatred and ignorance.  They happen because the situation was just sketchy.  They happen because city planners come up with some wacky designs.  They happen because people get distracted and don't pay attention.

So, you know what, America?  You have the potential to become the greatest place in the world to ride a bike.  No, you don't have roads with the heritage, you don't have the storied legacy and rich cycling culture.  But, you have wide roads and open ones.  You don't have to go through busy city centers unless you want to.  You have intersections that make sense and standardized traffic laws.  The odds of getting plowed over by a thresher are slim to none.  You have endless cycling possibilities.  All you need to do is to change your attitudes.  Drivers, stop thinking the roads are your's to own.  Stop believing you're the dominate form of life.  Cyclists, stop believing that drivers supersede you on the totem pole.  Ride like you belong there, deliberately and legally.  Pedestrians, while I realize you're few and far between, just try to remember that there are other people in the world and they really don't want to run into you.  Law makers and enforcers, start enforcing traffic laws and seriously prosecuting violators.  If drivers aren't held accountable when they endanger the lives of others, their attitudes won't change.  While you're at it, go after cyclists when they are on sidewalks or riding the wrong way.  If our attitudes change to being more mindful of others and accepting of all transportation methods as equals, we can revolutionize American cycling.

It really could be that easy.  If people can ride their bikes in Europe in far more intimidating and challenging situations and not hate every kilometer or get creamed as soon they clip in, then American cyclists definitely can too.  There really is no excuse.

Prepping for Paris-Roubaix

All is quiet now...

This Sunday all of us who are suckers for a great bike race will be sitting down in front of the TV (or hunkering along a roadside in northern France if we're lucky) to witness one of the greatest single day races on the calendar.  For cycling connoisseurs this is the greatest month in cycling.  Sorry, July.  Last Sunday we had De Ronde van Vlaanderen, Paris-Roubaix this Sunday, and then the week of the Ardennes Classics beginning on the 20th.  It's the height of the Spring Classics season, and there isn't a better time of year to be a cycling fan.  I love the Spring Classics, particularly the ones in April, more than anything else on the schedule.  I love how unpredictable they are.  I love the landscape.  And, I love the intensity.  It's really hard to pick a favorite race.  Even after spectating almost all of them last year, I still couldn't pick one.  You can't beat the atmosphere at the Tour of Flanders.  Paris-Roubaix is hauntingly gorgeous.  The legacy and unique nature of the Ardennes can't be denied.  But, for many Roubaix is their number one.  It's a pretty big deal.

This week the teams are out on reconnaissance rides, prepping their bikes and minds for the Hell of the North.  Meanwhile, we fans have our own prepping to do.  We certainly shouldn't arrive on Sunday ill prepared anymore than the riders should.  How does a fan prepare, you ask?

First off, it doesn't hurt to review the events of last year's race.  You can watch the entire broadcast of the 2013 Paris-Roubaix here.   Of course, it wouldn't hurt to catch up on the 2012 edition either and relive Tom Boonen's famous solo ride.  Next, there are the documentaries.  The most well-known is Jørgen Leth's A Sunday in Hell which documents the 1976 edition featuring The Merckx, Roger De Vlaeminck, Francesco Moser, and Freddy Maertens.  This is one of the greats in cycling documentaries, but a little difficult to get your hands on.  Snippets are available online, but if you want to watch the whole thing you'll have to buy a copy.  Those aren't too easy to find either.  The next great documentary is the 2009 Road to Roubaix.  Lastly, you can catch the CBS broadcast of the 1988 edition which not only covers the race, but provides some great behind the scenes footage of Team 7-Eleven.  And, if you don't mind an amateur's attempt, here's my quick video of the Arenberg from last year.  


Trouée d'Arenberg from CG Inlux on Vimeo.

As for reading material, I have two recommendations.  First of all, the write up on The Inner Ring website is a fantastic, quick read on the history of the race.  They also feature some beautiful photos.  For a more lengthy story of L'enfer du Nord, check out the recently published book The Monuments by Peter Cossins.  I haven't gotten to the Roubaix section yet, but the Liege-Bastogne-Liege chapter was very well done.  

With all that under your belt you should be pretty well prepared for Sunday.  As for Sunday itself, all you have to do is find the least dodgy feed (unless you live somewhere that will broadcast in English), sit back, and watch the drama unfold.  Of course, all of this would be more enjoyable if preceded or followed by a bike ride (depending on your timezone).  But, you're guaranteed a successful Roubaix if it includes a great menu.  I've spent most of the week focusing on my Roubaix Day dinner and I'm pretty pleased with the final lineup.  For those who are interested, here's what I've come up with:

Starter

Deviled Eggs de l'enfer

Main

Poulet avec Pavè

"Punctured" Flat Noodles with Herbs

Classic Spring Classic Salad

Dessert*

Cinnamon-Sugar Dusted Shortbread Cobbles

or

Nutella Mud Pie

*Dessert Menu dependent on Sunday's weather.  I'm hoping for rain.

Drink pairings have yet to be determined.  I'm taking recommendations, as long as it's something I can find in a German grocery store.  

Anyway, Sunday will definitely not disappoint in regards to the racing.  Will Cancellara pull off a fourth win?  Will Boonen set the new record for the most wins?  Or, will another contender take the glory?  We'll find out on Sunday.  See you there!

Stranger Things Have Happened, I Think

I'm pretty sure we all have things we hate, downright detest.  We probably have lists.  Well, I have a list.  When I was a kid my list was Mathematics (this included all branches therein, homework, and class), going to the orthodontist, piano recitals, and Easter dresses.  I loathed Math (or Maths as you may prefer) because I didn't get it, struggled with it from the time we began subtracting, and it was always the thorn in my report card.  The orthodontist, well, who really enjoys the orthodontist?  People sick in the head, that's who.  The fellow who "reshaped" my mandible and scarred a good portion of my childhood was old-school in his methodology.  His techniques included, and I kid you not, hammers, chisels, cement, and the employment of assistants with a disturbing lack of empathy.  While I'm glad I no longer resemble a bulldog, I can't say I ever warmed to the guy.  Piano recitals were just irritating.  Spending months on end practicing the same tired tune over and over again for the supposed entertainment of other parents who really only care about their child's performance always struck me as ridiculous.  And, Easter dresses?  That was just a matter of taste, the bane of the tomboy.  Since reaching adulthood, the list has certainly changed.  Math no longer troubles me, I have mastered the calculator and can successfully get through life.  The orthodontist hasn't been seen in over ten years and my mouth is quite happy about that.  I haven't touched a piano or publicly performed music in ages.   Of course, I haven't had an Easter dress since I began choosing my own wardrobe.

But there's still a list of preferred avoidances.  The list is mostly composed of food products like quiche and smoothies containing too much roughage.  Flying from US airports is on there.  Climbing hills on a bike is somewhere near the top of the list.  Like Math, I hate it because I struggle with it.  That's probably pretty lame of me.  I stopped hating Math because, basically, I no longer needed to do it.  I didn't "defeat" my Math issue by working harder at it, I just went through my formative years detesting about 100 minutes of every day spent in class and doing the work, having a pretty crappy attitude, then blissfully moving on once school was behind me having never really faced the beast.

I could very well just go about my cycling in the same way, tell myself I'm not built to climb hills and therefore never will successfully and avoid the hills at all possible.  Or.  Or, I could grow up a little.

A funny thing happened on Saturday.  The weather forecast was amazing so we planned a cookout with a few friends for the evening. We decided that an hour or so bike ride in the morning wouldn't be a bad idea given the evening's menu of hamburgers and beer.  It wasn't going to be a killer ride.  I was pretty beat after a full week of long rides and landscaping.  We were going to go easy.  We thought after having explored the major touring routes lately, that it was time to venture more "on road" into the smaller valleys.  So, we headed out.  Despite a Flemish headwind from the get go, things were going well.  After glancing at the map, we chose a 30km loop through some villages that would get us home in plenty of time to prep for our guests.  Google presented us with tantalizing "bike friendly, fit for grandma" roads.  All was going well until the second village.  Then, traffic started getting rather congested to the point we were track standing more than moving forward.  But, the map was pretty adamant that we would be in the clear once we hit the town limits.  I mean, there was a solid green line indicating a bike path next to the road.

There was no bike path when we got out of town.  In fact, this so-called bike friendly road was anything but.  It was a narrow road and a long, solid climb in heavy traffic.  My "Aaargh! Giant Hill!  I hate this!  I hate the world!  I hate everything!" switch was on the verge of getting flipped.  Then, it didn't.  I just kept pedaling.  I wasn't chipper about it, and I certainly wasn't flying, but my legs just kept doing what needed to be done.  When we got to the top, sure, I was hurting, but there we were.  There had been no stopping, there had been no walking.  And, you know what?  A thought crossed my mind.  "Hey, this is actually rather nice.  I think I sorta get the attraction."  Well, then it started pouring.  So much for the warm positive feelings and that beautiful forecast.

Then, we had to go down the hill to the next village.  Ok, I definitely get the attraction to climbing now.  If it hadn't been pouring buckets, my shoes weren't full of water, and if I hadn't been rather concerned about the husband riding on slicks...What am I saying? That descent was one heck of a ride!

After that it should have been pretty straight forward following the signs through the villages back to ours.  The trouble was, the weather just kept getting worse.  There was standing water on the roads, there was no sign of a let up, and it was getting progressively colder.  Once again, Google showed us an alternative "short cut"- solid green line, through forest, little to no traffic.  We should have known better.  I have to admit, I had a bad feeling when we turned onto the new route.  "Through forest" usually means tractor or logging road.  The forests are usually on top of large hills.  Such was the case.  This climb was brutal, vertical, positively evil.  Yeah, and there were still cars who were there for the shortcut, no speed camera advantage.  I was dying.  My poor legs, abused by a week of daily rides broken up with mulch spreading, shoveling, and rock hauling, were screaming.  It was torture.  It went on for miles.  I needed a break, also known as "photo opportunity."  But, we got back on those bikes and kept going, slowly, mind you, and we climbed that sucker.

The next descent wasn't so fun.  The road was tractor wide and it went straight down that hill all the way to the river, no turns, no pauses in the gradient.  It was still pouring.  There was mud everywhere.  I had a death drip on my brake levers.  Now it was my hands' turn to do the screaming.  That descent wasn't fun, it was freaking scary, especially when a tractor came at us full tilt.

We made it home, though rather a little worse for wear.  But, oddly enough, when we pulled into the driveway I didn't think back over the ride and focus on how horrible it was, how much it hurt, and how much I hate climbing.  We talked about how much fun that was.  I realized that actually I could do it.  With a little work and dedication, climbing would no longer be on the hate list.  I may never "dance on the pedals" up 11% grades, but I don't have to hate it.  I don't have to avoid it.  I do have the capacity to improve.  I could actually get to a point of enjoying it.

We'll see.  But, if I start praising quiche you should get concerned.

The World is Round, People!

Look at this!  Two posts in one week?  Crazy, I know.  But, I'm feeling inspired, so here we go.

Women's cycling has been in the forefront this week.  With the Women's World Cup starting on the 15th and the fact it's getting actual coverage, the success of the Half the Road film, and the publicity female pros are getting, people are really starting to take notice.  Good things are happening.  It's pretty exciting.  It's also stirring debate, particularly on the same old subject of gear.

Ah, gear.  I'm a gear freak.  I just realized this recently when I was planning for an upcoming trip. I had more gear going into my bag than I had clothes.  I like things that involve collecting gear.  I love backpacking, an activity that is so gear centric most backpackers end up talking gear with each other instead of where they've been.  I love photography, an art that also requires an endless amount of gear and gear to carry said gear.  Then, of course, there's cycling.  You wear gear, your bike wears gear, you need gear for the gear, you need gear to clean the gear, and there's always new gear.  It's a gear freak's dream sport.  So, I'm always looking at cycling gear and I picked up on the debate raised this week on women's gear, specifically clothing.  Being a woman who rides a bike and needs clothing to do so, I have some opinions on the subject.  I've written about it before, and I'll get to that later.  First off though, here's what I think about the debate itself.

I like it.  I'm glad we have people talking about this subject outside of women's cycling blogs and forums.  I'm glad it's mainstream this week.  I'm very happy that people are saying, "Hey, look at this!  There are things that are moving in the right direction, but there's still work that needs to be done."  That means, at least in my opinion, that thanks to media coverage on the pro road side of things, that change is going to trickle down to the rest of us.  I really like that all sorts of women riders with all sorts of opinions are weighing in.  I really like it that the guys are voicing their opinions too.  I agree with some things are that said and I disagree with other things.  But, that's ok.  People are talking about it.

So here's what I think.

I'm not a roadie.  The Rules?  Eh.  Sure, I definitely agree there's a right way and wrong way to ride road, but I can't get fanatical about it.  To each their own (although, I think sporting team kit and wheelsucking a complete stranger for miles on end is very sad).  I certainly wouldn't pass muster for most roadies.  I'm an amateur.  Definitely.  I ride an entry level road bike.  I'm built like Cavendish during his husky years.  I hate climbing, passionately.  I have no desire to join in group rides or compete, ever.  I can't hang.  I honestly don't care.  Road cycling is something I enjoy doing on my own terms.  I like riding my road bike best.  I like how it handles, I like the aesthetics, I like the speed.  I like the gear.  But, you know what?  I also like riding my hybrid slowly along at German grandma pace, and I like spinning around on my hipster Schwinn in jeans and T on a warm evening.

Image www.teamestrogen.com

What I don't like is getting pigeonholed.  I think the cycling industry loves pigeonholing people, men and women alike.  Get some clear market definitions and it makes it a lot easier to sell stuff.  I don't like being told that because I'm a woman things have to be different for me, that I have to make compromises, that I have to fit in a clique to ride my bike.  I've never been good at that sort of thing, and I've never seen the point of it.  I mean, we're cyclists, right?  We're all just cyclists, men and women alike.  We're all at varying degrees of experience, we all have varying interests.  I don't think anyone likes being told they have to dress a certain way because they ride at one level or another.  I certainly don't think anyone, man or woman, likes being told they have to wear a certain color or style in sport because of their gender.  It's like telling women we have to go back to wearing dresses 24/7 and telling guys they have to wear a suit to work everyday.  It's a pretty archaic attitude.  All of us should be able to find the type of gear that performs best for our needs, our comfort, and our style.  It really shouldn't be that big of deal to find what we're looking for.

Image www.vulpine.cc

Look, I don't wear pink.  I don't do glitter.  I've been a committed tomboy since birth, and I'm not going to betray that when I ride my bike.  It would ruin the experience.  I like subdued stuff and earth tones.  I like solids and classic designs.  I like my jerseys to have real sleeves, pockets that fit more than an energy bar, and cut in way that acknowledges the fact I'm leaning over in the drops just like the boys.  I'm really pleased with brands that carry stuff like that, and I'm excited to see more and more new companies coming to the market with these types of styles.  Rapha has been a leader in that realm, but now we have the recently launched Velocio and the two year old super cool Vulpine in the ring (I mean, look at that sweet merino).  Even established recognizable brands like Castelli are toning down on the girl power centrism.  I'm not saying no one should make the pink, sparkle, flower stuff anymore.  Lots of women out there really like it and that's what they feel the most comfortable in.  That's cool.  We all need to feel good when we're riding.   I'm just really glad the industry is starting to put the breaks on the pink pigeonholing.  The clothing thing is moving in the right direction.  I hope down the road some of the lower priced shop brands will get on board so women with tastes like mine aren't frustrated by their gear options when entering the sport.  Nobody wants to drop a ton of money on clothes when they're first starting out, so cheaper, shop accessible options would be good.  Heck, I still have trouble swallowing some of the prices for the online brands.

But, beyond clothing there's still a lot of work ahead.  I hope the changes in that market will begin to affect the rest of the cycling industry.  WSD models are really making great advances, I'm loving what I see from Giant and Raleigh.  Its nice that those of us who need smaller frames and components can buy a bike off the rack and it's not baby blue or covered in butterflies.  My greatest hope is that I'll be able to walk into any bike shop someday and get treated respectfully and not like the little woman who doesn't know a cassette from a headset.  Not all shops are guilty of this and there are some amazing ones out there that are pleasure to work with, but to be honest Europe needs to try a little harder.

All in all though, I think we have reason to be excited and positive about what's happening.  I hope the debate continues and things keep changing.  As one of my favorite people, Cate Blanchett, said recently, "The World is round, people!"  Women cyclists have just as much right to the road, the bikes, and the clothes the boys get and the sooner we're are no longer marginalized or passed over the better.  I think we're on the right road.