Rime of the Ancient Cyclist

TRIZOPHRENIA

by Jef Mallett

$21.95/VeloPress

I'm not a tri-athlete. Heck, I'm not even a mono-athlete.

Although I have dated an athlete with mono. She gave it to me. It was a fun summer gift.

I am a cyclist, but not as competitive as I probably should be if I want to race.

But could I tri?

Doubt it. You see, I can't swim worth a bucket of warm, highly chlorinated water. And, since blowing out both ankles while running 26 years ago, I am remarkably freaked by the concept of rolling them out again (despite surgery, I still suppinate like a door hinge), so I waddle at a very quick pace rather than run.

(I'm auditioning for the role of The Penguin in the next Batman movie.)

So, why did I pick up a book on Triathlons?

Because of Jef Mallett.

Mallett is the creator of the wonderful comic strip FRAZZ and a committed triathlete, who is,by all accounts in this book, fully committable.

I'm a huge fan of Mallett's work, in VeloNews, The Denver Post and wherever else I can find it. TRIZOPHRENIA became interesting because of the guy (not necessarily the subject matter), and his way of telling a story.

First, Mallett was born and bred in Michigan. As was I. He was born ten years after I was, but I don't see that as a problem with liking him. It might be a problem with beating him in a bike race, but that's just the way it goes. He writes from a Michigan perspective, as do I, despite the fact that he's still there and I've been gone for 34 years. He's fully committed to Triathalon, while I'm sporadically committed to cycling. He talks about stuff I know, from places (and a few people) to Michigan drivers and what they bring to a cyclist's fright levels on the road ("Gee, I'm sorry I drove 1500 pounds of steel within an inch of your knee at 75-miles-an-hour") and he writes it all in a way that is entertaining, informative, insightful and filled with comic asides that I just love.

While I don't tri, I do understand the compulsions that come with it -- the training, the cost, the competition, the early mornings, the energy gels that masquerade as food -- and Mallett makes these easily accessible to the great unwashed, those who don't know or understand triathalon and really, never care to understand (like myself, pretty much). His writing is smooth and clear and carries you along with a sense of fun the surrounds every sentence.

To the point that, despite the fact that I said a moment ago that I wanted nothing to do with Tri, you know, it looks interesting in its own way. Maybe I can do a sprint. Maybe. And maybe I could beat his mother in law ...

Naw.

The book may not carry all the deep informational insights that fully formed Triathletes may desire, TRIZOPHRENIA is a fun and informative read for the rest of us, anyone who loves their time on a bike, the road or in the water, and best of all, it comes from one of my favorite artist/writers. 

Denver producer Frank Matson at Citizen Pictures has let me know that their documentary, Race Across the Sky, about the Leadville Trail 100 will be screening in Canadian movie theaters -- all over that fair country, in HD on January 27th and February 7. Tickets are 12.50. I think that's $12.50 (Can), which I dunno what that is in US dinero. Anyway, the movie is a great look at one of premier mountain bike races in the world -- and it happens just up the road from us. The images are magnificent and the storytelling is wonderful.

The race itself is not to be believed:

The race that started 25 years ago as a running race to drive tourism in Leadville has now grown to a lottery cap of 1000+ competitors, many of them the world’s most elite cyclists. But the Leadville Trail 100 "Race Across the Sky" Mountain Bike Race is not just a race of man against man: it’s man vs. man, man vs. self, man vs. elements, man vs. time. Rivalries include six-time defending champion Dave Wiens vs. international star / seven-time Tour de France winner Lance Armstrong.

If you can get up to one of the fine cities of our northern neighbor, check it out. Tickets are at:

http://www.cineplex.com/Events.aspx

Decided to ride outdoors today.

Took nearly 55 minutes to prepare -- dress, set up the bike, etc.

I looked like a Yeti Bicycle Thief.

Took less than 90 seconds to slide on the ice and wind up in a neighbor's front yard.

30 minutes later and I was back in the basement, up on the trainer, Sweatin' Buckets and cursing at Coach Troy.

Where I now suspect I will be until March.

You know, I forgot something as I moved into basement, indoor, training this past weekend.

I forgot the toll that indoor riding takes on the Southern Hemisphere.

When you're outside, you're constantly shifting gears and up on the pedals, and moving your weight here and there and everywhere. When you're stuck in the basement with Coach Troy, you tend you just sit and pedal. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Sometimes hard, sometimes easy.

Then, when you climb off the bike at the end of the workout, or, slightly earlier, hahahaha, you get this little stab of pain where there shouldn't really be any pain. Usually, if there is pain there, you tend to panic. But you recognize this pain. It is the pain of sitting on the saddle. For a long time -- or -- simply long enough for today. And, since you realize that since you haven't been sitting on the saddle much, lately, then you've got to reacquaint your derriere with said saddle.

Buttocks, saddle. Saddle, buttocks. Why don't we all just get along?

But it takes time for The Gluteal Family to once again become friendly with the Specialized Milano Clan. They can be friendly, at certain points in the summer, but you spend a lot of time hoping that they keep being friendly and don't get into a fight that leads to a flare up that leads to misery with fifteen miles left to go on that day's ride. And, any sort of rapprochement between the two takes time. Time in the saddle. Or, as the French say, "Le Saddle Time."

So, I had to realize that it would be a long, slow ride back into long distance comfort. No matter how much padding was on the saddle or on me, for that matter.

I ached a bit, but knew that would pass soon, as long as I kept riding, as long as I kept applying saddle to that upon which I sit.

Then, however, came the most exciting part -- the moment when all the bits that fell asleep during the workout decided to wake up at the same time.

Hallo! A Great Deal of Commotion!

Even the cats sought shelter.

Edmund King, writing for The Guardian in the U.K., touched on an issue that cranks me six ways to Sunday whenever I come across it. Here's the opening paragraph and a link to King's full story.

***

Beware! There seems to be a new type of cyclist out there -- not the Lycra Lout, but the iPod Zombie. I must declare an interest as a keen cyclist, pedestrian, train passenger, driver and, indeed, iPod user. However, like drinking and driving, I don't think iPods and cycling mix. On my bike, audible warnings are just as important as visual ones. Even if you can see what is in front of you, you have to hear what is behind you as you move out to avoid potholes or raised manhole covers.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/nov/30/ipod-zombie-earphones-music-cycle

***

Hey, I understand how music can help a workout, but keep it on the indoor trainer, rather than outside where your butt, if not your life, is suddenly on the line. Headphones are illegal for drivers. As you and your bike are vehicles, why do you think the rules are any different for you?

Ride wise. Ride safe.

You have a bike fund.

I know you do. I have one, too.

It's kind of hidden, off the check book register, off there in a corner of the bank account that the spouse doesn't really know about.

"What's this $70.00 you've got written at the top of the page?"

"Oh, nothing. I was just adding some stuff up. Heh. Heh.......sweetheart."

It's there.

It's for the little stuff that you need, the gloves, the helmets, the shoes, the repairs (low end). And the bike stuff that you want, the bikes the gearing, the helmets, the shoes, the repairs (high end).

It gets tugged and pulled at during the year when there's a surprise cost, (Hey, should the shower be venting water to the outside of the house?) but, in general, it sits there until you need it.

Well, somebody else is needing it now.

Think about pulling $20 bucks of it, not a lot, not the whole thing, and tossing it toward one of the many charities that are looking for help this time of the year, from The Salvation Army to The Food Bank of the Rockies.

Because of the economy, they're seeing a lot more calls to help coming their way. They need our support to help these folks out. Twenty bucks. It's not all that much.

But it goes a long way toward helping families this time of the year.

You'll make that back well before your first training ride this spring.

And you'll ride with a lighter spirit, a little more spring in your stroke, that first climb of Lookout.

You will.

Trust me.

Staring out the front window on Wednesday last, I decided it was that time of the  year to move the Roubaix into the house, for as you all know, "Bikes live in the house," despite what my wife says.

I wandered down to the basement, set up the Performance rollers (with the optional stability bar since I am no fool) and dug around for the Training DVD's that will carry me through to next season: two Coach Troy torture tests from Spinervals and the StrenDurance in Hawaii disc from Global Ride. I dug out a fresh, not too moldy, water bottle; found the indoor riding bibs that can only be ridden in the house when the family is away because they are remarkably see through; and, the indoor riding shoes, which are different from the outdoor riding shoes only in age and level of decreptitude.

So, the indoor season begins. Coach Troy begins his march to the sea, and I take the time to honestly appraise the current me, which is different from the earlier this year me only in age and level of decreptitude.

And a few more pounds of extraneous goo.

Well, at least the bike is inside the house.

I came across some classic cycling photos today.

One is of Paul Sherwen covered with mud at Paris Roubaix. The agony in his face is telling of the ordeal.

Another was of sprinter Freddy Maertens, his face in a rictus of agony as he pushed across the line, frantically pursued by a crowd of riders who looked just as miserable as he did.

Another was of British cyclist Tom Simpson struggling up Ventoux on his way to a meeting with tragedy.

Another was Luis Ocana screaming in the mud at the side of the road in the Tour de France after a crash.

Another was Tyler Hamilton racing with a broken collarbone.

Another was of Joseba Beloki and the descent from hell.

And all I could think was ...

we do this for fun.