10 years of love and suspension forks

When I was 14, my cousin Adam was married and I went with my family down to Richmond to attend his wedding.  As a 14 year-old boy, I was just starting to evaluate the whole concept of marriage - weighing the pros and cons.  Already, I'd seen plenty of divorces (this was the early 90s.)

But for their first dance, Adam and his bride chose Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters" - and for me, it was a formative moment.


Marriage could, in fact, rock.  I was in.

Fast forward, sweet jesus, 24 years.  I'm 38 now.  Me and the love of my life, we got together nearly 10 years ago, and this year will be our 7th year of marriage.  I've already written about that week, 10 years ago, and how finding love for me was so closely intertwined with racing SM100 for the first time, so I won't rehash too much of that.  Also, I'm not one to dispense advice on the subject of love, given that I've only ever succeeded once, and paradoxically, once is exactly the right amount of times to be right about it, but it sure doesn't make a person an expert.  

But I will tell you this much:
though they might seem very much alike at times, love is not a suspension fork.
Let me explain.

wild lovers I have blown

Not sure if you've noticed, but suspension is difficult these days.  Sag, air pressure, 2 month service intervals, leaky seals, messy oils, a lack of sex, money problems and... maybe most dangerously OPTIONS.  Everywhere you look: Options.  New shit to replace your old shit.  New standards.  Thru Axles.  Boost.  29er upgrade to your 26er.  27.5 downgrade from your 29er.  Tapered steerers to replace your straight ones.  Plus-sized options for those inclined to go that way, just in case your beautiful, normal sized fork-bride isn't doing it for you anymore.  You see where this metaphor is going...we are bombarded, everywhere we look and read, by an industry that is thrusting more and more options and "standards" upon us.

To compound this problem, the fork you have starts giving you a bunch of shit.
Spewing oil.  Leaking air.  Bitching at you for leaving the toilet seat up.   Just sorta making you feel like shit all the time, and you don't even want to ride it.  It's like, you never really noticed it at first, but one day you looked down and that fork you loved so much when you married it has changed so much, you barely recognize it.

Divorce rates, of course, remain staggeringly high.  Given the predicaments above, of course they do.
To fix the suspension fork you have, it takes time...plus new seals, fresh oil, new dampers, labor, and a set of fresh stanchions is going to cost you about $400 these days.  There's a sign just up the street from where I drop my kids off at school that reads: DIVORCE, $159.

Do the math.  You can get 2 divorces for less than the price of just fixing the fork you have.  For many people, that's a no-brainer.  They've been looking at a plus-sized bike anyway.  Fuck it.    Nothing like a new fork.  The new one, too, is a disposable part, just like everything else on your bike, frame included.  Every piece of that bike will, eventually, fall apart.

As a side note, for the rare few, they simply throw away their existing fork and go rigid.  I've actually been running a rigid fork on my Singlespeed for almost a year now, and it's rough but somewhat rewarding for short rides.  As a continuance of this little metaphor we've got going here, Rigid Forks are the relationship-equivalent to celibacy.  Those that can, by all means, go for it.  But for most of us it's just not an option for very long.

I've got some advice for you, here, kids.  And I don't do this very often, but 10 years in with the Love of My Life, and I think I'm entitled to it just a little this one time.
Love is not a suspension fork.
Take care of the Love you have.
Do something nice for it.  Take it on vacation with you.  Do the hard, expensive work to make it like new again.  Along the way, give it some new oil.  Draw a hot bath for it.  Write it an honest note to tell it you love it and how much it means to you and how truly and fully fucked your life would be if anything ever happened to it, so please be careful out there.  Write a bizarre metaphorical blog post about her for the world to read that compares her to a bicycle component and barely makes any sense, but however you do it, show her you love her.

Cycling is a throw-away sub-culture in an already throw-away world.  That's fine.
But take care of the things that matter.

Up, up, up.

Ragged Mountain Access Meeting - THIS Wednesday.

I've written already about Ragged Mountain, and the nature of public land, and the concept of shared use trail access, and the struggle that our local brass has been battling to try to get reasonable, common-sense, shared-use policies for trail access applied there.  The kind of lesson about sharing that you'd teach your 4 year old.

And it would seem that situation is coming to its necessary and mysterious finale.
You gotta get there.
There being here.

5:30 PM, Wednesday, July 20

Jefferson School, African American Heritage Center

233 4th st nw, 2nd floor

Charlottesville va 22903

SHOWING UP.
That's half of loving something.
Probably the hardest half.

After that, most things tend to fall into place.  Or sometimes they don't.  But the only part of the equation that you can control, you must.

For me and mine, I'll abandon the lectern here, turn the mic over to my beautiful, well-spoken, kind, forward-thinking, calm-yet-firm, love of my life to represent the family while I manage the kids and try to explain to them the same concept of sharing that Shannon will try to explain to grown-ass adults.  Hopefully at least one of us will be successful.

And as long as you do the same, and so does your neighbor, and so does your riding buddy, and so even do the people who oppose shared-use access to Ragged Mountain, and as long as we're all there as voices of reason and sanity, even if those voices disagree on some of the specifics, I'm pretty sure we'll get a deal done.

Here's the good word, straight from the tippy top of CAMBC, and I'll sign off:

Fellow Mountain Bikers: Parks Advisory Board (PAB) public meeting on Ragged Mountain is scheduled for THIS Wednesday, July 20, 5:30 pm (details/location below).  At this meeting the PAB will open the floor to public comments for Ragged Mountain.  Speakers are limited to 3 minutes each.   First, let me catch you up on what we believe is the current process The PAB currently has the list of options B, C, D, and E to work from.  At this meeting next week, they will hear public comments, but will not make a vote. A 30 day comment period will follow this meeting At the next PAB meeting (August 17), they will take a vote, and that recommendation will go to the Parks Department, and ultimately City Council.   At some point in the early Fall, the Parks Department will recommend to City Council/Planning Commision a plan.  Council will likely accept that plan.  Our intent is to cover every issue, in a factual, non-confrontational, way.  We intend to be courteous and respectful of the wishes of the hiking only advocates, but we also are firm in our belief that a shared use system as outlined in Option E meets the goals and the preferences of our community.  Jon calls this a WIN, WIN, WIN strategy; WIN for Ragged Mountain ecology (large areas set aside for environmental protection) WIN for Passive Use (specific trails for hiking only, quiet, scenic spots) WIN for Active Use (responsibly designed shared use trails that support mountain biking) Thank you for your support over the last few years;  we are on the homestretch, but the outcome is very far from certain.  We need to finish strong.  Please let us know one way or another if you are able to speak at the meeting and by all means, hit us up for questions.   Meeting details: 5:30 PM, Wednesday, July 20 Jefferson School, African American Heritage Center 233 4th st nw, 2nd floor Charlottesville va 22903 Front door is on Commerce Street

All the dirt you wander through

Married White Male seeking reality-altering, mind-bending, enormous, terrible bike ride.
Tomorrow.
Late notice, I know, and I can't leave until noon, because, you know, MWM and all.
But still, world-distorting, life-affirming, massive, and wonderful, and awful bike ride sought.
Until there's progress, at least there's this.
Will pay gas.


Up, up, up?

Enterpainment

Enterpainment.  The word of the week.  Use it in a sentence.  Be cool.

Allow me to generalize.  It's the only thing holding us together:
As humans that are existing in an often monotonus and repetitive daily grind, it's natural to seek out a project - something to remind yourself that you are actually alive and capable of dealing with real, genuine adversity.
As cyclists, this is sometimes where riding your bike and trying to ride your bike faster meet.  Training.  Where fist meets the tree, and skin meets the road.  Going faster is pretty uncomfortable; this thing we call fun, it hurts sometimes.

We tend to forget the pain, of course.  That's the nature of the human psyche, and an important component in the forward propagation of our species - we have a tendency not to recall just how bad it felt.  Childbirth.  Heartbreak.  Intervals.  These are the things we tend to block out, and thankfully so.  Otherwise, there wouldn't be races, or love, or a reproducing population in general.

nameless, faceless road rash.  OUCH.

On that same topic, Pokemon Go is taking the fuck over.

Consider this situation: you're out there riding intervals, up on the parkway somewhere, head down, hammer down, swerving a little, doing your usual thing which is basically augmenting the monotony of your reality with a little adversity.  Enterpainment, as you know.

And behind you on the same road, here come a couple of 17-year olds in their Mom's honda, staring at some bizarre, virtual reality world of Nintendo-based genius that only exists in their phones and their heads.  Head down, hammer down, swerving a little.  Sound familiar?  It should.  They are, without a doubt, augmenting their own reality with some man-made adversity themselves, fully distracted from the monotony of their lives.  Not so different than you are right at that moment, except they're about to run you over.

We have way, way more in common than not.  Sure, we are going about self-imposing our respective forms of challenge in different ways, but we're all on the same road, and that's actually the problem.

It's your right to forget how to deal with adversity, but do so at your own risk - lest you lose the ability to actually deal with trauma when it finally comes knocking at your door.  It will.  Same goes for hunters, hikers, street racers, naturalists, and even triathletes, and all the other people and their forms of entertainment that we find bizarre but have to share the world and the road with anyway. It's either infuriating, or it's like looking in the mirror at a brick wall.  Or more than likely, it's both.

We live in a Brave New Weird World, getting weirder all the time.

In fact, sometimes it's not even a world at all - just a virtual reality version of the world that is indistinguishable from the actual world.  But no less weird, or new, or brave.


Have caution: get used to it.

Up, up, up.

Will Leet on a farm

Proof that Will Leet will show up anywhere, at any time, and whoop up on anyone.  

No one is ever safe.  

Who takin' care of my farm?

Up, up, up.  

Cycling-Relevant Information about getting a Vasectomy

I've tried to keep this off the blog a bit, because hey, these are my nuts I'm about to tell you about.  But given just how many bike rider fellas have heard about me getting a vasectomy and contacted me for more information, I figure I'll just come right out with the splendid details and allow the masses to pore over this and, quite possibly, set your troubled minds at ease.


Things you, Mr. Cyclist in your spermal prime, might be wondering about getting a Vasectomy.

1) Is it going to hurt?  I'm super scared of this for some reason.  
The answer for most people is no, it doesn't really hurt.  And for you, My Cyclist in your prime who weighs all of 145 lbs if you've stuffed your pockets with hammer gels, the answer is 10 times no.  The reason for that is, these days, they give fellas like us a 2 MG Xanax to take 45 minutes before you go to surgery.  I'm no expert on dosing, but I can tell you that a 2 MG Xanax for those of us who pursue endurance sports and get a little tipsy off the first beer, is enough to render you worthless for about 12 hours.  I'm talking black out drunk.  Think Jeff Cup and then went straight to Foxfield without eating lunch kind of shitfaced.  In my case, I took the little xanax right on time, and my wife drove me to the procedure.  It's an outpatient deal, takes about 20 minutes, and you're out of there.  And by "out of there" I mean, they're going to wheel you to the car in a chair while you laugh and sing the wrong words to Fiona Apple.  Just shitfaced.  So my wife drives me to the doc, and I'm a little sleepy on the way there, but OK, and then we get out of the car in the parking lot, and I'm a little shaky, but again, fine, and I straighten up, pull it together, straight faced walk to the greeting desk at the doctor and the nurse says, "OK, clearly you've taken the Xanax."  And, quite surprised, what I try to say back is, "How did you know I took the Xanax?"  But what comes out of my mouth is pure gibberish.  I'm shocked by how drugged I am, like, walking into walls and unable to speak or focus on anything.  And I'm basically having a great time.  So the nurse walks me back to the surgery room, which looks basically like the dentist office, chair and everything, and the instructions from here are super basic: take off your pants and underwear, cover up with this sheet, and the doctor will be right in.  Unable to articulate that I don't understand her or follow instructions in general, I completely blow it.  I take all my clothes off, lie down on the dentist chair buck naked, and sort of half way cover up with the sheet, but it's still folded up and doesn't really cover up anything, and I can't stop laughing until I pass out.

That's it.  Procedure over.

Again, I'm sort of a lightweight, but as a cyclist, generally speaking our tolerance for pharmies is low, and for a procedure that so many of us have so much trepidation about, it was like I was barely even there.  Just the easiest thing you could do.

I guess I sort of remember the doctor coming in and laughing at me.  Then I think I might recall some poking or prodding, and maybe I said ouch one time, but I don't know.  Eventually, they wheel me out to the car, and my wife drove me home, and gave me a Tylenol with codeine, and I slept for about 15 hours.  Woke up the next day, used some ice, but it was basically fine.

Anyway, to directly address the question: why am I so scared of this?  I think that's a natural human male reaction to someone cutting and pilfering around at sack level.  And this is especially true for cyclist who spend an inordinate amount of time avoiding saddle-related pain on long rides.

But really, take that Xanax, and everything from there happens just fine.  Enjoy the ride.

2) How long am I going to be off the bike for? - OK, so this is a subject you can split rooms on.  The literature says you should give it a week at least.  I know guys who said they rode 2 days later.  My dad went duck hunting the next day.  Other guys had a lot more swelling and were off the bike for 3 weeks.  So it really varies.  I can tell you that running is probably out for longer than riding.  You're going to have a strict "No flopping around" policy for a while.  But the pain really isn't bad.  Maybe a 2 or 3 out of 10, that just sort of hangs around for a while.  I guess I went for a ride exactly 7 days later, and it was OK.  Now, close to 1 month out, I'm basically back to normal, just minus a little fitness that I lost along the way.  Every now and then, getting on or off the bike, I'll sit on them though, which never used to happen, and sucks a whole lot, but I'm told that goes away.

3) What if I have a saddle sore?  No problem.  They do ask that you shower first.  But the procedure is more directly on your balls than on your taint.  So your saddle sore can heal as a part of the team.

4) Who was your Doctor?  - This question has come up a lot.  It would seem that this sort of procedure happens quite a lot based upon referral, which makes sense.  Dr. Frazier Fortenberry here in the Foof has vasectomized probably half of town.  Good guy.  10 out of 10, would get vasectomized again.

5)  When should I get the procedure done?  - I guess the off-season is what most people would recommend, but here in VA that doesn't really exist.  The Friday before the Tour De France start would give you a good excuse to sit around, ice your haunches, and watch the Grand Depart.  I guess a lot of doctors are booked the week of March Madness and the first round of the NFL playoffs.  So consult your local listing.

Anyway, that's about it.  I'll trail off here, but assuming you've read this far I imagine you're a cyclist local who is slowly resigning himself to the fact you're going to have this done.  Feel free to reach out and we can rap about it.

For me, there's one way back, and it's up, up, up.

Dear Bear

Dear Bear,

You're killing me here.  Not literally, of course.  That would be bad, and it's my hope that this letter will serve as a mediatatory step between where we are right now - which is a really unhealthy, angry, one-sided relationship - and one of us getting killed (you.)

You see, Bear, here's the thing.  This started out OK.  To be honest, it was kind of cool having a bear hanging around a little bit.  The kids haven't seen you yet, and I was hoping that might happen somehow in a safe, manageable way where no one felt used or endangered or inappropriately spectated like some kind of zoo critter.  And that time you went up the trail about an hour after Scanlon went down the trail and we got it all on camera - hilarious.  Well-played.  Your comedic timing, I felt, was spot on that time, and I applauded your style.

back when you were funny.

(Seriously though, thanks for not eating Scanlon.)

OK, but here's the thing.  Sometime in the last couple of months, this got out of hand.  Your behavior, which I will enumerate and expand upon below, is outside of what I'm prepared to accept from a neighboring and presumably slightly dangerous wild animal.  I've been as cool about this as I can, but this is still North Earlysville, and I reserve the right to act like ruthless white trash if you keep acting like such a dick.

OK, let me get into it here, and please be sure to read this to the end so we're on the same page moving forward.

1)  I can no longer tolerate you ignoring me screaming at you while you are eating from my trashcan.  Let me be clear - that's not to say you can't eat the trash.  It's fine if you want to pick through it now and then, and obviously your ice cream addiction is something you don't really have a handle on yet.  I get that.  I relate to that.  I see how you push aside the leftover vegetables that my kids won't eat either in order to tear apart the ice cream container and lick every inch of it dry.  I've DONE that.  So let's be straight, it's OK from time to time.  But when I step out not onto the porch at 4 AM in my underwear and I just had a vasectomy 3 days ago and I'm pretty sore, and I yell for you to beat it, do NOT, ever again, under any circumstances, give me your fuck-you-I'm-a-bear face and continue to eat the trash.  I will not be ignored.

2)  When I go back inside, get my shotgun loaded with bird shot to scare you off, storm back outside angrily, and shoot said shotgun in order to scare you off, I need you to at least ACT scared.  Run off.  Hustle for once in your life.  A slow walk with a fuck-you look over your shoulder again will not be tolerated.  It's a SHOTGUN.  I need you to at least act like you're somewhat put off and repelled by my white-trash-shotgun-shooting-in-my-underwear rage.  Do not simply walk to the edge of the yard and wait for me to go back inside so you can resume eating trash.  I'm watching you, you slippery fuck.  Also, if you could remind me that my 500 gallon propane tank is right there and I should be more careful with my shotgun warning shots so I don't blow up the entire zip code, that would be sweet.

3) You need to be more gentle with the trash can.  I know this is difficult for you because you don't have opposable thumbs, but you are really destroying it.  It's not a live, wild animal that you have to stalk, hunt down, and kill.  It's entirely inanimate.  It's not going to get away.  Take your time, calmly bite through the bungie cord that holds the top on since you destroyed the hinges, and have yourself a nice meal.  Light some candles, dude - enjoy the moment - it's fuel for your soul too, you know.  If you spike the trash can off the heat pump one more time, I swear to God it's on.

4)  No more diapers.  Period.  End of conversation.  Those weren't even diapers that came from my trashcan, so I know you're two-timing me at the very least.  Not cool.

5)  No more daytime trashcan raids.  Look, I know you get antsy out there sleeping all day, and the ice cream is calling or whatever, but you gotta stay put until nightfall at the very least.  Preferably between the hours of midnight and 5 AM should be fine.  Also, Shannon sometimes goes running at 5AM or some ungodly hour that I don't ever see unless I'm awake and trying to manage the fucking crazy bear that won't stop eating our trash, so if you can finish up early on those days that would be super helpful.  In fact, if you can just try to manage your behavior in such a way that my bride doesn't have to lay down a suppressive fire with the shotgun from the front porch while I shovel trash back into the house in the middle of the night, that would be a good step towards her not shooting you for realsies.

I think that's it.  Really, Bear, I don't feel like I'm asking too much.  We've got young kids here, lots of people coming out to ride the farm at all kinds of hours, and as a general rule no one wants to party with a bear that wants to party back.  Let's all try to get a handle on our tempers here, act like good neighbors, and return this to a healthy relationship that I know it can be.

I believe in us, bear.

Up, up, up.