A Yeti Beti Tale

It's interesting that over the years of riding bicycles what I find enjoyable has a sort of ebb and flow to it. There are times when I want to ride only on paved roads and push as hard as I can, or only ride roads at a leisurely pace; and then there are stretches when I want to avoid roads traveled by motorists as much as possible and seek out dirt, gravel and other pathways to ride more regularly. This year has been kind of a mixed bag for me, having done a fair amount of paved road riding, but also seeking out off-the-paved-surfaces possibilities too.

Over the past winter, I ended up selling my fat tire bike during my "everything must go" phase. It wasn't that I didn't like it, but we haven't seen any significant snow here for a few years, and I am not a big fan of driving somewhere to ride (at least not on a regular basis). I had intended to use this bike as a mountain bike as well, so it made sense to keep it, but it was on the heavy side to use for that purpose, so it ended up sitting around far more than I wanted.

Then one day I got on a kick searching for Yeti mountain bikes. I wasn't really looking for a mountain bike - I have a sketchy past with mountain biking - but I was finding myself riding mildly rougher terrain, and wanting to do so, which was causing me to think a mountain bike might not be entirely unreasonable. I have been particularly drawn to Yeti because it's a local company, and I have appreciated that they've listened to the women who race and ride their bikes and then modified appropriately to make the Yeti Beti line.

It was all a passing fancy sort of thought though - nothing seriously would come from it. But, once the thought was in my head, I wanted to try out some different manufacturers bikes. Finding bikes to test was more of a challenge than I expected. Rocky Mountain was doing demos at a local bike shop, but I managed to miss out on that due to some miscommunication. We tried a couple of shops in Denver, but it's fairly difficult to find a shop that carries smaller mountain bikes, and I have grown weary of having to buy before I can try. I knew that I could demo a Yeti at their home location in Golden, Colorado, but the time frames for testing were making it challenging to get there and deep down I knew that I would never plunk down the money for a new Yeti.

As Sam and I sat talking one afternoon, he reminded me that we know someone who owns a Yeti and is about my height, and she might even be willing to let me test it. A quick message was sent off and after some back and forth I was informed that she had sold the Yeti but that she was in the process of trying to sell a Trek mountain bike that she would be happy to let me test.

2012 Trek Lush carbon mountain bike

Sam thought it couldn't hurt to try out her Trek and at least it would give me an idea of sizing and even what I may or may not like about it, so we took our friend up on the offer to let me test out her carbon Lush. After riding it around the neighborhood, it seemed nice enough, but I wasn't really able to test it on anything other than cement. She offered to let us take it home. "Ride it as long as you like and if you like it, then we can talk," was her statement.

It's hard to say no to an offer like that. A test ride for as long as I desire? That just doesn't happen. The Trek was super fun to ride and I even fussed with changing handlebars and saddle to make it something that I would want to regularly ride. Maybe it was all of the rigid steel I'd been used to riding, but something about the full suspension, carbon frame was speaking to me. It was a strange feeling for someone who is used to more classic looking and riding steel bicycles, I confess.

During the process of riding the Trek, Sam and I spotted a Yeti frame online that happened to be for sale by a local. It was an incredibly good deal, but it was a frame-only sale and it was still more than I really wanted to spend to test out my interest in mountain biking. I kind of kept an eye on it but noticed about a week or two later that the frame had sold. I figured someone had got themselves a great deal and I moved on with life, enjoying the Trek.

Unbeknownst to me, Sam had bought the Yeti frame and was setting it aside to give me as a birthday/anniversary gift. To my surprise and delight, Sam hauled out a Yeti Beti SB5... while I was in absolute shock. It's something that honestly neither of us would ever splurge to buy new, but since the frame was a year old (and the deal of the century) and the parts could be sourced at bargain/sale prices, it made something that would never happen into a reality.

I was physically shaking when I realized what was in front of me. And then, I became a bit terrified which caused a whole different type of shaking. What if I didn't like the bike? What if it didn't ride the way I expected? I didn't want to seem ungrateful, but even at a great price, I knew this was not an inexpensive gift!

As if reading my mind, Sam stated, "I figured, even if you end up not liking it, we can always sell it as a whole bike and at least break even - or maybe even make a few bucks."  That seemed to put my mind at ease and I felt as though I could try out this new-to-me mountain bike without the pressure of anything else looming in the background.

For anyone who has read here for a longer amount of time, you are well aware that mountain biking is not really in my wheelhouse. I've had some terrifying mountain bike rides that have kept me from ever really wanting to be on a mountain bike - even on tame terrain. But, the fat tire bike that had been sold off did help get me over many of my fears and while I still wouldn't claim to be the bravest individual when it comes to rocky surfaces, I have become a little more confident with at least giving these types of rides a chance before running away crying like a scared little girl.

What exactly is on this mountain bike? Though it's not a stock build, it has many of the parts that are found on the SB5s: Yeti Beti SB5 Turq frame, Rockshox Recon Silver fork (Sam has a personal aversion to Fox forks, and I have no personal opinion on the matter, so thus the Rockshox), a mix of SRAM Eagle GX and XO1 drivetrain, and two different wheels (because we had one and weren't concerned about having a matching set) - a WTB rear wheel and a DT Swiss front.  I know a lot of people love their trigger shifters, but this build has a twist shifter -- and I have to say, I really like it. Because of my hand/wrist issues, I think having the twist is easier and even if my hand isn't feeling great, I can still shift easily/smoothly.

Although Sam is known here as an endurance mountain bike racer, regularly racing in 50-100+ mile events, I definitely do not fall into that category. If I complete a 10-15 mile mountain bike ride, that is "long distance" for me. I don't know why, but mountain biking has just never been something I've been able to do for any sort of distance. It's not just the terrain, but being on a mountain bike tends to do me in quickly. I can ride mileage on a road bike, but settling in for that length of time on a mountain bike has just never appealed to me, nor been possible as my body simply fatigues very early on.

For the first test ride on the Yeti, Sam came along so that he could adjust things for me if needed/wanted. I hadn't ridden the bike yet, other than down the street at home just to make sure nothing felt strange, so when we set out I expected that we were only going to ride at most 10-15 miles (and that would only be the case if things were going well). Instead, we ended up riding just shy of 30 miles. Score one for the Yeti.

I was surprised by how comfortable I was on the bike, honestly. I'm not sure that I've ever had an experience quite like it on a mountain bike (and there have been many attempts over the years to turn me into a mountain biker). I was a little fatigued when we arrived home, but the saddle wasn't quite adjusted to my liking and I'm sure I was death gripping the bars a bit just being on a new-to-me bike. Still, I had fun!

The next couple of rides were solo adventures in the mid-20ish mile range, but they were pleasant as well. By that third ride, I'd managed to add just over 2 mph to my average speed too, which was pretty shocking (but exciting).

What I was noticing early on was that I really like the 1x12 gearing. The simplicity of having just one front ring and only needing a rear shifter was fantastic. Plus, the gear ratios seem to be a good fit for my body. Having a 10-50 tooth on the rear pretty much gives me what I need with a 32t crank. I have yet to find a hill I can't climb, so that says something, I think... and even when that day comes (because it will - I certainly haven't been on the steepest terrain possible yet), I'll just get off the bike and walk. Truthfully, I have more of an issue with spinning out downhill than I do with climbing gears, but that just keeps down hill speeds in check.

It's strange to be so giddy over this type of bicycle, particularly as it's been several months now and I don't tend to be visually drawn to the modern shapes and forms of carbon, but I really do get excited about riding this little lady! Oh, I'm definitely not of the stock that this type of bike was meant for, but I've tried to reassure myself that just because I'm not out shredding, doesn't mean I can't enjoy this bike. And it is a sweet ride. Plus, I feel a little like a bad-ass riding it - even if I really am far from that descriptor.

I've now had the opportunity to ride this Yeti on several rides over the past months and it has yet to disappoint. There are times when I'm tired and not quite up to par, but it's always fun to ride -- even when I'm not at my best. There have been some modifications as I've continued to ride it -- the handlebars were way too wide for me and needed to be cut down (more than once) to get to an appropriate width for my body. We also switched out the short 50mm stem for a 70mm, which helped both a bit with handling and positioning (I do realize most mtbs have short stems, but the slightly longer one seemed to help in this situation). I'm even trying out a non-leather saddle currently - something I've not done in several years on any bike (I do love my leather saddles). While the leather rides nicely on this bike, I worry about it getting muddy and wet frequently, so I think a synthetic might wear better over time.

This bike came into my life at a time when I was adrift in a sea of road-bike hunting, and not having settled on any particular one (and having sold off any incarnation of road bikes I'd had), actually allowed me a lot of focused time to ride the Yeti, which was a blessing in disguise. Had I owned a road bike, I doubt that I would've realized just how much fun this bike really is to ride. I've even taken it on solo, mainly-road rides when we've had cold/icy days, just because it was comfortable and fun to use. Though it doesn't allow for typical road speeds, sometimes enjoying the ride and having the ability to veer off into dirt or gravel, just makes it that much better.

There are days when I've wondered if this is a short-term infatuation or something that will last. It's partially why I've waited a bit to write about the Yeti. It's as though I keep waiting to go on a ride and decide that I no longer like this bike because, typically, that is what would happen with me and any mountain bike. But, I keep waiting and that ride or day has yet to materialize.

A few days ago, I took the bike on a more technical ride and realized I have a long way to go when it comes to conquering my trepidation with certain terrain; however, I also didn't have a complete meltdown when obstacles were presented, as would've happened in the past, and instead dismounted and walked through the area to a place where I felt comfortable to get on and ride again. I think this speaks a great deal to the bike's abilities (and what it's given to me). I know it is capable of far tougher riding than it's been put through to date, but it has also inspired confidence in the rider that hasn't been present on any mountain bike in the past.  Every time I ride, I become a little more bold with tackling something I never would have in the past; and for that, I am so grateful.

Perhaps this same journey could have happened on any modern mountain bike. After all, I am not so foolish as to think this is the only bike that would've been able to bring about more courage over rougher paths, but it is the tool that has taken me there and I have enjoyed every (sometimes overly challenging) minute of it. And honestly, if a bike can put a smile on my face even after I'm physically spent, I know it's a keeper... and this, my friends, is what I believe will be a keeper.

Pedaling Dizzy

**A lot of random musings run through my head on a daily basis. Frequently, these moments happen while cycling. I had considered doing a journal of "100 days of cycling," but, I think I will just share some of the posts I've started writing over the last few weeks. I'm sure many posts will seem like random nonsense to a lot of folks, but perhaps there will be something of value in at least one of them.  I have no doubt that some days will probably be simple randomness, while others may actually have purpose or entertainment for someone other than myself.  I promise not to occupy every post with these rambling sessions, but I find it therapeutic in many ways to be able to share. Although some posts may be written in the present tense (because they were typed at the time of the ride), a good chunk of time has likely passed since.

Some sort of flu/cold-like illness has taken over my body, and although it hasn't kept me off of my bicycle, I can definitely feel what it is doing to my body (and brain). Yesterday, as I was riding down a grooved, paved highway, I had felt as though I might pass out. It was as though the grooves in the roadway were having some kind of mesmerizing/hypnotic effect on me and I was sure someone would find me passed out on the side of the road (Just don't steal my bike, people... that's all I ask). But, because I made it through okay, I had decided to try again today. I woke up feeling even worse than the day before, but decided that I just need to keep going, even if I'm not able to get in any speedy rides.

The weather forecasters predicted a cool summer day, and even though I am getting a late start, I decided to put on a long sleeve jersey. Unless it's truly cold out, I typically don't opt for long sleeves, but with the illness and all, I figured it was better to have an extra layer that I could always remove if need be. As soon as I walked out the door, I could feel the heat. "Dammit! Why is it always the opposite of what they say it's going to be?" I muttered to myself as I went to get my bike. I thought about going back inside to change, but I knew I wouldn't likely make it more than a few miles, so I decided to stick with the current gear.

I should also say that this is the day I decided to try out clipless pedals/cleats again while riding. After debating back and forth about whether or not to try this for any length of time, I decided to put on my big girl pants and just give it a solid try for a couple of weeks to see how things go. I was a bit woozy as I started out, but I figured it would pass as I got going. It's funny how not being able to breathe very well can cause that light-headed sensation.

The ride was moving along splendidly (well, except for my runny nose, constant sniffing, headache, inability to breathe properly, and overall unbalance). Trying to find roads that are clear of debris, mud, and so on after the flooding is challenging, so I've been riding pretty much the same routes until I know that I can get through other areas. This gave me confidence when it came to the clipless pedal situation because I knew where all the stops and slowing would be, so I didn't have the anxiety I typically experience when riding attached to the bike. Score 1 for the pedal system.

I headed north (to drier lands) and decided to do an out and back quick ride. I was really getting warm and was debating stopping to remove the long sleeved layer, but something told me to just keep it on. Besides that, I didn't really have proper storage for it, so it would probably end up tied around my waist. As I was nearing the turning point to come home, I decided I would go a bit longer to see if I could get more time in the saddle. The dizziness was setting in, but I'm so determined right now to get my riding time before the weather turns that I just decided to go for it. I headed south down a highway, and before I knew it, I needed to turn around and head home.

I crossed the street to make a loop to come back home, and was turning the bike to face back in the direction I would be going. I had removed my right foot from the pedal so that I could put my foot down and wait for the light to turn. As I started to put my foot down, I could feel myself losing control (due to the balance issues mentioned above) and I started leaning to the left. Of course, instinctually, I wanted to put my left foot down to balance myself, but it was still attached to the pedal which just caused me to become more unsteady and before I knew it, I was on the ground.

Inside, I was thinking, "Wow, that really didn't hurt as bad as I recall it being the last time," but I knew I had to get up because traffic was coming and who knows if they'd actually see me laying in the middle of the road? Thankfully, the cross directional traffic signal was green as I hoisted myself back up. I limped to the curb to drink some water and regain my composure, just as a driver went by and yelled out his window, "Hey, are you okay? That looked rough!" All I could do was nod in his general direction as I seemed to be dazed and confused. I hadn't hit my head, but I think just my general illness was creating a disoriented feeling.

Cleaned up, it doesn't look so bad.... but it bruised nicely later

I looked down at my left leg and realized I was actually bleeding more than I thought, but I still didn't feel too bad, so I got back on the bike and started riding. What else was I going to do? I was 15 miles from home and really had no choice. Little did I realize that less than a mile up the road, I would cross paths with Sam who was on a break (sidebar: Sam wouldn't inform me of this fact until later that evening as he proclaimed, "I saw you out on the highway today... You had a huge smile... and you were hauling!" I would explain that in reality, I was probably laughing at myself for being such a dope). I could feel my left elbow burning now, and I couldn't help but laugh as I had debated earlier about removing the outer shell.  It was bad enough I was wearing my short-shorts, but as I would discover when I got home, it probably would've been quite a bit worse had I been wearing only the sleeveless jersey underneath.

Possible lessons today:
- Be smarter than ones pedals
- Listen to the inner voice
- Don't ride when ill/dizzy

In the end, I lived through the fall, and didn't remove the cleats from my shoes because of it. Really, I blame my overall klutizness, and the fact that I didn't exactly have full equilibrium with the flu that had taken hold. I'm hoping this will be the last of the falling for awhile though because it's not particularly fun, and as much as I appreciate looking the part of a cyclist, I don't really want to be a beat up rider out on the roads. Besides, I really need a cool chainring bite on the other leg to get full street cred, I think.

Everyone Knows it's Windy

**A lot of random musings run through my head on a daily basis. Frequently, these moments happen while cycling. I had considered doing a journal of "100 days of cycling," but, I think I will just share some of the posts I've started writing over the last few weeks instead. I'm sure many posts will seem like random nonsense to a lot of folks, but perhaps there will be something of value in at least one of them.  I have no doubt that some days will probably be simple randomness, while others may actually have purpose or entertainment for someone other than myself.  I promise not to occupy every post with these rambling sessions, but I find it therapeutic in many ways to be able to share. Although some posts may be written in the present tense (because they were typed at the time of the ride), a good chunk of time has likely passed since.

Today was a very windy ride. I think I dislike the wind above all other weather elements. The only thing that can make wind worse is combining it with.... Oh, there it comes... rain. Now that I am sopping wet and heading into an apparent hurricane (we don't have those in Colorado, do we), I basically buckle down and just go as far as I can.

The great thing about being at the depths of misery at a specific point while cycling is that it really can only get better from that moment on. Once I'm wet and the wind is at my face, all I can do is keep pedaling and let my mind wander. Today my mind is focused on an upcoming organized ride: Venus de Miles. I'm supposed to do the 100-mile route, and I am consumed by the idea that I won't be able to climb into the mountains. I've been able to complete two centuries this summer (Note to readers:  I know I haven't discussed the second century here yet, but details on that ride are coming soon), but somehow that doesn't feel as though it's appropriate preparation for what is coming in just a few weeks.

*Image found here

I keep pedaling through the wind. God, the wind just will not stop. Being on a lightweight bike isn't helping the situation either. I feel as though I'm going to be blown off the road at any moment. In my head I feel as though I've been pedaling for hours, but a quick glance at time reveals it's only been about 30 minutes. I make the decision to turn off the main road to attempt to get a break from the wind, but it doesn't seem to have done any good.

In the distance, I see a cyclist coming in the other direction. I don't normally pay too much attention to who a rider is and tend to just offer a nod or a wave in their direction. This person looks familiar somehow to me though, so I slow a bit and actually look. I know her, but from where? She seems to be looking at me in the same way - as if she recognizes me. After we've passed each other, I believe I know her from Venus de Miles. There's a woman I met for the first time a few years ago at my first VdM, and I've somehow managed to meet up with her randomly during the ride every year since.  Since she's a local, we always talk about doing training rides together because the universe seems to be putting us in the same place at the same time every year, and we seem to ride about the same speed, but our training rides never happen - at least not together. Was that Helene? It must've been. I swear, this is the third time I've passed her on the roads this summer and I've not said a word. I really do need to call her.

Continuing down the road, I can't help but mentally chastise myself. I'd like to say that I'm not angry, but it wouldn't be the truth. I'm angry at the weather and the forecasters (because, of course, they somehow control the weather patterns), I'm incensed at my body for not being capable of doing the things I expect it should be able to do by now, I'm furious at myself for not running in almost two weeks - even though I promised myself I would run at least 1-2 times every week when I had started again earlier in the year. I'm upset that I don't follow up on all the things I say I will do - like getting in touch with Helene to ride.

The rain... make that hail now... is pelting me in the face. It hurts, but somehow feels appropriate. Ping...ping... ping... I can hear it bouncing off the bike. Why am I out in this? I could make a phone call and ask someone to come and get me, but then again, I knew what the weather was going to be and made the decision to come out in it regardless. Do I really want to explain to someone that I need to be out on this ride today... that this is my therapy and how I work through all of the garbage in my head? Would anyone even understand?

I'm approaching the largest climb for today's ride and I start to cry. I feel weak, incapable, and stupid for venturing out into this mess. My body is tired and even though I haven't given it a day off in who knows how many days (...or has it been weeks... I search my memory banks for the last time I did nothing... I really can't recall), I seem to expect that it will cooperate anyway and be at its best now, when I need it. For a brief moment, I consider walking up the hill. I want to believe that there's no shame in walking it, but I just can't convince myself and continue pedaling. By the time I reach the top, I'm breathing - nearly hyperventilating - so hard from crying that I want to stop, but I don't.

I've cried through a lot of moments in my life, and I can't help but think about every person who's ever told me that crying is a sign of weakness. I may be emotional at times, or express frustration through tears, but it is absolutely, without a doubt, not weakness. Suddenly, I feel stronger, more capable. Has the wind stopped? I think I can see the sun trying to break through the clouds, or perhaps it's just my imagination. No matter, I'm almost home now and ready to get about the day. Really, that wasn't so bad I tell myself, as I smile and start pondering where tomorrow's ride will take me.

Musings from My First Century Ride

Typically, writing posts comes fairly easy for me. This post is a bit different. I cannot begin to express how many times I've imagined what I would say in a post after completing my first century. The problem has been that I've struggled in the aftermath determining what it is I want to share, and perhaps even more so, what someone would want to read. I had a lot of self-reflection time during my many hours in the saddle, and it's almost as though I worked through things that I cannot describe in words. I cried (more than once), I laughed at things that seemed amusing, I buckled down and focused when needed, and actually enjoyed most of the ride. 

To some cyclists, perhaps a century ride has become of little significance, and to those people I can understand not wanting to read some random individuals' report on her first century. I can also appreciate that there are those who are waiting for the blow by blow recounting of what took place. I am quite certain I will be unable to please either side of the aisle, so I have decided to just go with what feels right. If you are up for reading through it, please feel free to do so, but I am writing this post for no one other than myself... mostly as a future reminder to self that I (spoiler alert for those continuing) was able to accomplish something I never truly thought I would or could do...

It was a beautifully clear, blue morning. Not a single cloud in the sky. On any other day I would have been rejoicing to see such a gorgeous summer morning, but this was one day I was hoping for cloud cover. I was already starting out an hour and some change later than originally planned, and the heat was making itself known. Not quite the hottest of summer days, but still warmer than I'd prefer (especially being somewhat heat sensitive).

The night prior, I had told myself the morning would bring the start of my first century ride. I didn't tell a soul. It's easier not to feel so bad if I couldn't actually complete the goal if no one knew about the plan at all. I told Sam and a couple of others that I was planning a "long training ride" the following day, but I knew I was gunning for the "big" goal. Perhaps it was a bit early in the training process. After all, the longest ride I'd been on to that point was just over 60 miles. Was it asking too much to jump to 100 so quickly? I was simply ready to get it "over with" and wanted to make it happen. In truth, I needed it to happen because it was causing undo stress to have this seemingly huge goal looming over me.  It's funny. When I say I'm going to do something, people seem to expect that I am going to complete it. It almost felt as though if I couldn't finish this I would be a complete failure in the eyes of all who were aware of the goal. In truth, I have no doubt everyone would be accepting of whatever reality came about, but I don't enjoy disappointing others (nor myself), so I began to feel manufactured stress from the situation. Finishing the 100-mile ride was no longer optional.

There were, of course, some issues throughout the day. It started with getting approximately three hours of sleep the night before. I woke feeling extremely sleep-deprived and my body was not doing well. My hip was aching from a kickboxing class a couple of days prior, my knee was throbbing, and I honestly wasn't feeling up to the ride. I continued to get things underway, however, and prepped what I'd need for the day. Wow! The day. Yes, this was going to take the day to complete.

Early on, I passed by the kickboxing studio - just as class was about to start. I considered not riding at all and instead stopping for class. I longingly looked at the window of the building, mentally waved to everyone, but kept pedaling. There are plenty of days to do kickboxing... this day was about accomplishing another goal.

Fairly flat for this portion (though that didn't last long)

If you read my early summer post about the plan to ride a century before the end of August, you may recall that I wanted to do a flat route. Living at the base of the Rocky Mountains, this is about the least likely scenario one can possibly imagine. Anywhere I ride, there would be climbing involved, but I hoped to keep it to a minimum. Not planning the route didn't exactly help this goal though. I am surprisingly adept (often without even trying) at figuring ways to keep climbs to a minimum, but today I told myself I was just going to go and deal with what arrived in front of me.

As I began to warm up, I felt a little better, but somewhere around mile 18, I began to second guess my decision to not stop at the kickboxing class. I was preparing to climb a small hill when all of a sudden my knee cap felt as though it might fall out (I realize this is highly unlikely - but it's the best way I can describe it). Unbelievable pain went shooting through my body. "Great," I actually spoke aloud. "Just what I need." I shifted to a super-spinning gear and made it up the brief climb. I was convinced I wouldn't make it to mile 25 at this point. The knee continued to ache for several miles, but I was going to keep going. I continued to repeat to myself on every climb, "Take it easy on the knee," meaning that I had to spin, whether I liked it or not.

Probably one of my worst decisions about this ride was that I had absolutely no idea where I was heading. I hadn't pre-mapped a route, so I figured I would just ride until I hit 100 miles. It seemed somewhat reasonable when I started, but as I continued, I realized how bad an idea this really was. I rarely know where I'm going when cycling alone, but I think on a ride of this length, it would've been a good idea to have an idea of some sort of direction. Ah, well... que sera sera.

Mentally dealing with the idea of the 100 miles seemed the biggest challenge. As I started out I was attempting to figure out how to break the ride down so I wouldn't be thinking the entire time, "I still have fill-in-the-blank miles left to go." I had decided I had two different break-downs: 10 mile increments and 25 mile increments. I also reminded myself that I could stop when I needed to and that there was no prize for finishing without stops. This would cause its own sort of battle toward the end of the ride, but it worked fairly well to keep me motivated.

My goal was to complete the ride in 10 hours. Ten hours seemed reasonable with climbs, and I knew I wouldn't be able to maintain any sort of speed, so the goal was simply to finish - even if it took longer than 10 hours. When I stopped at the 40-mile stop, I couldn't help but think another 7 hours on the bike might kill me. I had to remind myself that I was 2/5 of the way completed, and almost to the half way point, so there was no reason to get discouraged.

I continued to hold out hope for cloud cover. The weather forecasters had promised clouds and showers, but they never came. Early in the afternoon I started seeing big, white, cumulus clouds coming over the mountains, but somehow they never quite managed to cover the sun. As long as I kept moving though, the heat didn't really seem to be too much of a bother.

There was nothing horribly eventful to report until I hit just over 75 miles. I had done as large a distance as I could think of and was re-entering town. Now what? I still needed to complete nearly 25 miles. Should I just go to the local multi-use path and trudge back and forth until I had done the miles? I was starting to feel the tiredness sneaking in at this point, and I knew I needed to avoid severe climbs, but the idea of going back and forth on a trail system with people walking dogs, skating, running, and so on didn't appeal to me. Instead, I chose to take a loop route that I ride frequently. I knew it was only about 8-10 miles, but I thought I could probably complete it twice and be close to done. The ride home from the end would still be about 5 miles, so it was worth a go.

Fatigue was definitely setting in at this point. I found myself needing to stop more and more frequently. They weren't long stops, but they were becoming closer together which concerned me. Thinking back on it now, I believe it was more of a head game than an actual, physical tiredness taking place. Yes, I was tired, but I knew I had more in me.

Just as I came around the corner of a small climb, I had to stop. It just so happened to be directly in front of a small church. I couldn't help but say a silent prayer. All I wanted was to finish. My pace had slowed (I could feel it), and I knew my hands and feet were simply done, but I believed that there was nothing stopping me but my own mind. Truly, I was almost done anyway. I repeated that I could complete a 15 mile ride in my sleep, got back on the bike, and continued on.

I will admit, I cried for a brief moment when I saw the GPS turn to 100.00. I was almost home, but the emotion of realizing I had actually completed a goal that seemed so monumental was exciting and overwhelming. I had actually done it, crazy as it seemed just a few weeks prior. Even stranger still, I had done a century ride on an aluminum bicycle - again, something I never thought I would ever, ever be able to do.

I wish I could say this ride felt epic, or at least that it was so painful I would never want to do it again (I in fact uttered very similar words at one point toward the end of the ride, stating that I could not understand why anyone would do this more than once in their life). The reality is that the entire day felt pretty normal, and in the end, very anti-climactic. I left for the ride quietly, saying just a few words to our dogs who were lounging around the house. I returned to a quiet home and a very much appreciated cold bottle of water and a smile from Sam. It was as though I had gone to work for the day and returned home as normal and expected.

Somehow, I kept climbing fairly low considering the terrain in this area - I ended at just under 2,000 ft climbed

Frankly, I'm not sure what I expected. Balloons? A banner and giant megaphone announcing my success? A confetti-filled parade? I suppose I hadn't really thought that far ahead, but it really did feel like any other day. In the end, I can say my body wasn't really hurting - at least not in the ways I anticipated. I expected my backside would be in dire straits and that my legs would be completely worthless, but both areas were actually fine. I was experiencing fatigue and some numbness in my hands, as well as soreness in my feet (it was only the second time I had worn new cycling shoes - Note to self: BAD IDEA!), but overall, I didn't feel miserable. I definitely didn't want to be on the bike anymore that day, but I certainly didn't hate cycling at the completion.

True, it was not the prettiest, the best, or the fastest century ever, and I had many thoughts throughout during which I believed I should have pushed myself to go a bit faster or harder, but for a first round attempt, I do think it was respectable. I had the opportunity to see what I am capable of accomplishing and to have yet another realization that I actually am stronger and more capable than I often believe. Perhaps it could have been more enjoyable to ride with another person or group of people, but I think this was the perfect way for me to experience my first 100-mile ride.

Catching Up on Life and Bicycles

I feel as though I've gone a bit quiet here in the blogosphere. It isn't really intentional, but life has been full and busy and... well, unfortunately that means I tend to slack off on anything that requires me to sit and focus (e.g., the blog). There are things to share and they will come in time but I thought a quick post was in order for some quick updates.

On the personal/job front...
Sam has officially been offered a position locally, so it looks like we are staying here in Colorado for the time being. I think we were both a little anxious about leaving the area, but were willing to do so if needed for our survival. He is very excited about the position, the potential with the company, and as an added bonus, it's less than 10 miles from home, so he can bike a lot more frequently to work (always a nice discovery in our book).

As for Sam's health, he is doing much better after his emergency room visit. Thank you to all for your well-wishes, good thoughts and prayers. He was pretty quickly back to pedaling, running, kickboxing, etc, so I am grateful for his swift recovery.

My mock up (2-sides, anyway) of a potential switch gear box painting

A few weeks ago, I submitted a model of what I would paint on one of the several switch gear boxes around town through our local Art in Public Places program. My maquette, as well as the many others, went on display and up for public vote at the local museum, and I was informed today that I was one of the five that have been selected to paint this year. I am excited (and nervous, as it's a decent sized project), but grateful to all those who took the time to go and vote. I will do my best to take some in-progress photos as I begin working later this summer, and am looking forward to a new adventure.

On the bike front...
As some of you read here, I had put my Rivendell A. Homer Hilsen up for sale locally in an attempt to cover the out of pocket costs involved with Sam's ER visit mentioned above. Fortunately, we were able to figure out a way to get these costs covered without selling the bike, so I'm happy to report that I'm still riding him and glad to have him in the bicycle fold. I appreciate everyone who helped spread the word that the bike was for sale. I thought it would go quickly, but the universe has a way of working things out in the end, so I suppose he was meant to stay right here.

Old version of my Surly Pacer

In an odd twist, my Surly Pacer made a return to our household recently, but the only thing that remains the same is the frame and, hmm, well, that may be about it. I will attempt a post about that bike in the near future and all its fun changes (as well as more on how it ended up back here), but it was interesting to have a bike come back into the house that I assumed I would never see again. I recall that I didn't feel horribly fast on the bike before, and that has definitely changed with the modifications.

Somewhat recently, I wrote about my dilemma with a the Trek Lexa SLX. The Lexa remains in my possession for the time, thanks in part to Sam's diligence and the extension of the 30-day trial period from the bike shop. They assured me they wanted me to be comfortable and happy with the decision, and that they didn't want me to keep something I couldn't use, so I'm thrilled to report that after a much-fought decision on my part to go in for a bike fitting, the ride seems to be a lot easier on my hands (I really hate it when Sam is right). I am hoping that it remains comfortable and will be something I can keep and use regularly.

Today is bike to work day, so hopefully everyone enjoyed a peaceful ride in on his/her bicycle. Although I work from home, I did get in a lovely ride this morning and was happy to see so many out and about on two-wheels enjoying the day. It's a hot one locally, so remember to take it easy and bring extra water for the ride home. Happy riding, as always! :O)

Aluminum vs Steel: A Test with the Trek Lexa SLX

Last summer, I wrote up some thoughts on my personal preferences and experience while testing out a carbon road bike. I admitted up front that I am a lover of steel, but I wanted to see and feel the differences for myself and what I could be missing out on. More recently, I've been frustrated with what I'm able to find in a steel road bike - more specifically, that I cannot find something that fits well and is lighter/faster (and, of course, somewhat affordable). We've tried building up our own versions a few times, but it just hasn't gone well at all. Ultimately, I don't want to spend all the "good weather" months hunting down a bike. I want to spend the time riding my bike.

The idea was to go and try out a bunch of road bikes in shops. I was going to leave all my pre-conceived notions about what a road bike should be, what I like and don't like, and what material the bike should be made of at home. That was a little tough for me, but I was willing to play along to see what sort of bike could be best for me.  We found a really great sales guy (actually the assistant manager) at a bike shop and after a quick chat about what I'm currently riding, what I like and don't like, he suggested a bike for me to try: a Trek Lexa SLX. It was not a Trek-specific shop, so I didn't feel as though there would be any pre-determined idea on the part of the shop-boys (and girls) as to what I should try. My immediate issue with this pick was the fact that it's an aluminum frame. As with my test ride of carbon, I have nothing specifically against aluminum, but I've had aluminum bikes in the past and they have caused incredible pain - so much so that I had sworn off aluminum bikes for any future potential bike purchase.

*Image from Trek

I reminded myself, however, that I was keeping an open mind. The assistant manager told me he has severe hand/wrist issues and he can ride the aluminum just fine because of the carbon fork. He explained how the aluminum tubes Trek now makes have changed and off I went on a test ride. Sam's first comment was, "Woah! You just got on and went... crazy!" He was referring to the reality that typically when I get on a new-to-me bike the first time, I'm always a little hesitant. It didn't happen with this bike. Score 1 for aluminum. After riding in a circle to test out positioning, Sam joined me on a ride to see what I could do on this bike.

Immediately, I was impressed with the positioning. I didn't feel overly leaned forward, nor did I feel too upright. The handlebars seemed unbelievable perfect, and I loved the gearing on the bike too. The only complaint I had was the saddle (but that's to be expected on a short test ride). Sam claimed he was having to push to keep up with me (I don't know how true that was, but I felt fast enough, so I was satisfied). We switched bikes at one point so Sam could get a feel of it, and then rode back to the shop.  All had gone well, but I had the nagging of my past experiences with aluminum poking me - though just a bit.

We walked away from the shop to take a look at some other things, but ultimately came back. We were assured that we had 30 days to test out the bike on my own and if it didn't work, we could bring it back. I liked the fast feeling, I liked the positioning, so it was hard to not take him up on the offer. After some idle chatter, we decided to take it home. After bringing the bike home with us, I took it on a few rides: one with Sam along so that we could make adjustments as needed "on the fly," and two others on my own.

I was on a buyer's-high, for sure. I couldn't believe how fast I felt on this bike, and was excited to get out on the road. We tried out one of my already-owned saddles on the first half of the ride and then switched to another. It was a great way to feel immediately which one was working better. After the saddle change on ride one, all was going well. My hand and wrist were giving me a bit of a problem, but I assumed it was due to over working them over the prior several days. Not a big deal, I thought. I would carry on.

The second ride, I went on alone. My hands were still bothering me, but because the days were back to back and I was already experiencing the pain, I assumed that it was just something that needed to heal over a period of time. The ride was fairly short (under 15 miles), but my hands weren't doing great and I was tired, so I decided to head home early.

The last of the three rides, I set out with the intention of going on at least a 35-40 mile ride. I'd purposefully given myself a couple of days to recover from the over-use of my hands the prior week, so I thought this would be a better indicator of how the bike was working for me. This bike wasn't purchased for purposes of longer distance riding, but I wanted to know that it would make it through a solid ride, and I didn't think that 35 miles was an unreasonable distance to expect out of a faster, lighter bicycle. At about 4 miles into the ride, my "bad" hand was in extreme pain and going numb. My other hand was also having some buzzing sensations through it, but I could tolerate the uncomfortable feelings on that side. I stopped early on to shake out my hands, thinking that I might just need a quick break, however, the pain and numbness continued to increase the longer I rode. By mile 12, I had pain shooting up through my entire arm, to the base of my shoulder on the bad side. The oddest feeling to me on this ride is that I was entirely comfortable with the positioning, the set-up, the saddle - everything was great, except for the pain in my hand/arm. The problem was (and is), I can't be in that much pain every time I want to ride.

By mile 18, I didn't think I would make it home without a rescue phone call, but because my body was comfortable, I figured I would do my best to keep my hand off the bars and make it home. At just under 30 miles for the ride, I was in severe hand and arm pain when I returned the bike to its spot in the corral. I was so upset that I sent an e-mail to Sam telling him that I really didn't think I could keep this bike. I told him I was enjoying it, but my hand just couldn't stand all the pain. That pain continued on for several days, during which I elected not to ride this bike again.

During that same few days, Sam was doing research, attempting to understand why this bike was causing me so much pain - and in just one specific area. I had my own ideas of what was going on - more specifically, that the aluminum frame was causing this mystery pain. Sam's conclusion was a bit different. From the research he had completed, he believed it was the tires on the bike. Lucky for him, I'd already ordered a set of tires (God help me with my white/cream tire obsession!). He postulated that it was both the tire itself and the tire pressure. During the next ride, I would try taking the tires down to around 90 PSI (I'd been riding at 110-115 PSI) to see if that would help.

Trek Lexa SLX with Schwalbe Durano tires

Goodness knows I wasn't exactly looking forward to testing out this theory. After spending several days in pain, I really didn't want the experiment to fail. The first reason being that I really like the bike. While it's not the "look" I would naturally be drawn to, it is comfortable and easy for me to ride. Never in my life have I had such ease when getting on a road bike. I wasn't willing to give up without a fight, so I tried to patiently wait for the arrival of my new tires. Patience is not a virtue of mine, but because it coincided with illness, I was able to wait out the new Schwalbe tires.

The day I set out, I was still recovering from being ill. I felt okay, but was still hacking like I smoke 2-packs a day. In addition, the wind was not my friend. We had a storm rolling in and that always makes for a challenging westward ride here at the base of the Rockies. My intention was to do the exact same ride I had done the week prior, but unfortunately, the wind was making it overly challenging. Instead I opted to do a loop that was close to home so I could come back as/if needed. Unfortunately, even with the new tires, things still weren't going well. Again, early on (just shy of mile 5), the bad hand was going numb and I was starting to experience pain again. The left hand that had experienced a small amount of buzzing during the prior rides seemed to be doing better, however.

I ended up finishing the ride at just under 15 miles because the wind was making everything more brutal than it should have been. By the time I was done, I was experiencing the same pain I had been on the prior rides. Angered by this reality, Sam was determined to figure out why a bike that fits so well was continuing to cause so much pain in just this one area of the body. He contacted the bike shop to see if there was something we should try before we gave up entirely on the bike.

Their recommendation was to lower the handlebars. This always seems a bit odd to me as one would think this would put more pressure on an already bad spot, but I was willing to give it a try because I just didn't want to give up. Sam lowered the bars and I took it on a 3 mile ride just to be sure I could handle it. Things seemed fine, so the following day, I set out on a slightly longer, short-ride to see if my hand experienced the same pain. Just before mile 5, I was expecting to experience the start of the numbness, but it didn't happen. I thought it was odd, but carried on.

Around mile 8, I started to feel some numbness sneaking in, but over 10 miles (a short ride, certainly), there wasn't the extreme pain that had taken place on the prior rides, though I was still getting similar sensations. Could that have actually worked? The only way to know for sure would be to take it out on a longer 20-30 mile ride - which I wasn't exactly excited about, knowing the history of what had happened on the bike.

A couple of days later, Sam and I set out together to do a longer ride. We planned to take our time, stop and make little adjustments to see if it would change anything as we went along. While it was a bit of a nuisance to stop every couple of miles, it seemed like the only reasonable thing to do. We'd stop and adjust one thing at a time and then carry on. We lowered the bars, and lowered them more - then raised them back up. We shifted the saddle back and forth, and tilted it up and down. We moved the brake levers in a bit, and tilted the entire handlebar up and down. By the time we'd finished the 25 mile ride, things felt about the same as when we'd started bike-wise, but my hand was feeling the effects of all of the changes for sure.

(left) Rivendell A. Homer Hilsen, (right) Trek Lexa SLX

Undeterred, Sam suggested pulling out the Rivendell and having me ride each bike up and down the street to take a photo to see if there was a significant difference in positioning. When lining the bikes up next to each other, everything seemed to be at similar heights and angles, and even though the geometry of each bike is different, the handlebars were set at almost the same spot, as were the saddles. The photos are blurry and hard to really see, but it is visible that there is more pressure being placed on my hands on the Trek, and I have a bit more of an elbow bend on the Rivendell.

Really, this just confused me more because I am entirely comfortable on the Trek, except for the one hand/arm that refuses to cooperate. At this point, the plan is to try yet again by raising the handlebars back up to their highest point, and tilting the saddle up to see if it will force me to put more weight on my back side, rather than on my hands. If that doesn't work, I'm at a loss as far as what to make of all of this. I've read enough to know that many people believe the frame material in this day doesn't really matter. Many believe it's simply more important to find a geometry and set up that works for the rider. I don't know if the damage to my hand and wrist is just so much worse on one side that there is no fix on the bike. Yet, I still think about the reality that I can ride my steel bike without issue. Is it the weight of the bike? Perhaps it's simply too light and forcing my body to absorb too much of the road, and the frame material wouldn't change any of it. The bike isn't that light, but it's significantly lighter than the Rivendell, and definitely zippier.

Although we are still taking a few days to fiddle with things to see if we can get it to work, I don't have the highest expectations of getting the Trek to work for me - which is a shame because I've actually grown fond of it - or at least the speed - despite the pain. I'm frustrated because I would like to be able to ride a bit faster on some rides, but I just can't quite figure out what to do to get this bike to work with me instead of against me. There's a part of me that thinks I just wasn't meant to have a faster bike, and a part of me that wants to fight to the very end, attempting to find a solution. Ultimately, as stated from the get-go, I just want to ride, and spending the summer worrying about pain on any bike isn't exactly what I had in mind. Hopefully, the solution is just around the corner, but until then, I carry on with the heavier steel bikes. If nothing else, at least I'm comfortable.

*Edit:  After this post, I completed a century ride on the Trek, so we have definitely been able to resolve the issues I was having. In the end, it was just minor tweaks that helped fix the pains in my hand/arm, but patience was definitely needed to get to that point.

Bicycle Envy

Ahh, the latest obsession... the Trek Bellville. A beautiful looking mixte that is supposed to be eco friendly. Not sure I buy that portion of the "sell," but it is pretty.

I'm not sure that I should even be permitted to look at bicycles anymore, but they are all just so amazingly pretty! It's difficult not to look, and besides, looking doesn't hurt... it's the buying that becomes an issue. I am perfectly happy with the bicycles I have, but there's some sort of need to look at all the different options out there. I know there are a lot of Electra haters out there, but I even love the new Ticino from Electra.

It's becoming some sort of sickness that I just can't seem to stop. Maybe it's because I'm getting antsy waiting for the '76 Schwinn that's been on its way for the last week or so, and I just want to be able to see it in person, but I seem to keep finding these beautiful bikes. I suppose I wouldn't feel so guilty pining for them all if I didn't have a car payment, but unfortunately, I'm not one who has the ability to live without the car right now... maybe someday.