Housekeeping note first. In "Heretic Homer," (season 4, for the true junkies) Homer Simpson decides he's had enough of church on Sunday. His effort to start his own religion (with virtually every form of sloth you could imagine) fails, but God tells him as the credits roll, "It's ok, Homer, 9 out of 10 religions fail in their first year." I suspect you could say the same about blogs.
As a blogger, I'm not particularly reliable. The six month gap since my last post here makes that clear enough. Alas, as I read regarding the demise (after far more than a year) of one of my favorite blogs, life always wins. So it has for me for a while. But I'm back. At least tonight. And probably not again for a while.
So I'll cross the first of 22 topics I have jotted down off my list: Lycra.
It's "that guy's" uniform. Up on Canada Road, Skyline, over in Sausalito, and especially on CalTrain. Always with the lycra.
I resisted. At some level I agree with the good people at Rivendell who suggest that the implicit snobbery of requiring a uniform to mount a bike ruins the experience -- or at least cheapens it -- for everyone else.
Up to December, I didn't own any. But I'd gone on a couple of rides where, frankly, I felt out of uniform, and a handful of friends I respect sport it from time to time. Lo and behold, Christmas left me with a nice pair of riding shorts from velowear.
So I waited for the rain to clear and hopped on the road bike to head to work. It was as though karma was after me for my hypocrisy (karma seems to figure heavily in my experiences here). Less than a mile into my ride, I had a flat. I walked home, changed, grabbed the commute bike, and headed to the train (not wearing lycra shorts for the first time on the train. Not. Gonna. Do. It.)
Undeterred, I tried again the next day. And here's the thing: I really liked the shorts. Really. A big improvement over my shorts. That was it. I'm officially that guy.
Jersey? Check.
Clipless pedals? Check.
Lycra shorts? Check.
"That guy?" Check.
Any sense of moral superiority is gone. I've become what I mock. And sure, I'll point out that nothing I wear has any big, fancy team logo, or psychedelic colors, or what have you, but if you see me out there on my road bike (still won't wear that stuff on the train in the morning), I'm him and he is me. And it's gotten worse, but that's a topic for another day.
And I'm ok with it. Turns out there's a reason for all the lycra. It's really quite comfortable. What's a guy to do?
Showing posts with label that guy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label that guy. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Pride
You know that scene in Pulp Fiction where Marcellus is talking Butch through the dive he'll take in the fifth round?* (I would link it, but it appears Mirimax takes their copyright seriously.)
"you may feel a slight sting. That's pride f__ing with you. F__ pride. Pride only hurts, it never helps."
Maybe pride hurts when you're taking a bribe to fix a fight, but when you're on your morning commute?
The pain drives you.
When "that guy" passes you -- or you pass him -- it's time to dig deep. You can't let him get the better of you, right? Drive the legs, keep the rpms up, stay strong.
The other day I passed "that guy" on Terry Francois. He was moving along ok, but I was a little faster. Now, I played hockey the night before, so my legs weren't in tip-top shape to scream the rest of the way to work (or they would really scream at me), but I was doing alright. It wounded his pride though, and he hopped on my wheel. No time for mercy . . . or tired legs.
On the turn to the Embarcadero I observed traffic laws and followed the cars in front of me turning right. That was his opportunity as he bolted around them on the left, then weaved back through them back to the bike lane on the right. But it only gained him one car length and I made it up quickly as we approached the light at 2nd. Then he did something strange: he slowed to a stop.
Why is that strange? 2nd terminates at the Embarcadero, so there's no cross traffic. I've literally never seen a cyclist stop there without pedestrians in the cross walk.
He made a complete stop and I told him, "I'm a bad person, I run this one." He smiled, chuckled, and replied, "Got ticketed for it just a little while back." Ouch. He might have been this guy (same place, pretty close to the same time).
To his credit, he learned his lesson from that ticket. Not me; on I went, and thus ended the race. Though I kept motoring just to make sure. Plus, the sprint down the Embarcadero in the morning is a fun one.
Light or no light, he didn't stand a chance.
"you may feel a slight sting. That's pride f__ing with you. F__ pride. Pride only hurts, it never helps."
Maybe pride hurts when you're taking a bribe to fix a fight, but when you're on your morning commute?
The pain drives you.
When "that guy" passes you -- or you pass him -- it's time to dig deep. You can't let him get the better of you, right? Drive the legs, keep the rpms up, stay strong.
The other day I passed "that guy" on Terry Francois. He was moving along ok, but I was a little faster. Now, I played hockey the night before, so my legs weren't in tip-top shape to scream the rest of the way to work (or they would really scream at me), but I was doing alright. It wounded his pride though, and he hopped on my wheel. No time for mercy . . . or tired legs.
On the turn to the Embarcadero I observed traffic laws and followed the cars in front of me turning right. That was his opportunity as he bolted around them on the left, then weaved back through them back to the bike lane on the right. But it only gained him one car length and I made it up quickly as we approached the light at 2nd. Then he did something strange: he slowed to a stop.
Why is that strange? 2nd terminates at the Embarcadero, so there's no cross traffic. I've literally never seen a cyclist stop there without pedestrians in the cross walk.
He made a complete stop and I told him, "I'm a bad person, I run this one." He smiled, chuckled, and replied, "Got ticketed for it just a little while back." Ouch. He might have been this guy (same place, pretty close to the same time).
To his credit, he learned his lesson from that ticket. Not me; on I went, and thus ended the race. Though I kept motoring just to make sure. Plus, the sprint down the Embarcadero in the morning is a fun one.
Light or no light, he didn't stand a chance.
And, yes, I realize this is further evidence I'm becoming "that guy." Still no lycra pants or team jersey on the commute, though. That's where I'm drawing the line. For now.
* For you non-Tarantino fans, Marcellus is an organized crime boss, and Butch is the boxer he's paid to rig a fight.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
CalTrain: Picking Your Seat
The dilemma: which seat to take?
In the mornings I rarely have the option. Getting on at Millbrae, it's stand or stand. Sometimes you can lean on the bike rack railing, if that works for you (it's not very comfortable). But on the way home?
I take an express (unless I'm stuck at work past 7). It's a quick way home (15 minutes for me), but not surprisingly, it's also a popular way home. Nonetheless, unlike my train into work, it isn't often so crowded that I can't get a seat (and when it is, some nice lady is ineffectually yelling at all the non-cyclists to get off her car). So which seat to take? Upstairs are the rows of single seats. Nice, but not a lot of legroom. For whatever reason, I like to be on the sunny/west-facing side. Not sure why, but I do.
The cream of the upstairs, however, is the first seat because it has another seat opposite it where you can stash your stuff and which leaves you with extra legroom. Unless the train is really crowded and someone comes up and takes that seat. Then neither of you have any legroom and you uncomfortably struggle not brush each other's legs or make eye contact. Not a pleasant situation. But not as bad as what happens down below, in the hold.
Downstairs the seats lure you in with the promise of American personal space: an empty seat beside you and across from you. Leg room, elbow room, privacy. Lovely. It's like that lucky flight in coach where you have a row all to yourself. And like that lucky flight, it's rare.
There's always the one guy across from you. Even if you have all your personal space, there's no guarantee he's not going to chatter at you about whatever's on his mind ("excuse me, can't you see I'm reading this book?" you think to yourself as you try to manage a polite smile). Sure, that guy might be a really nice fella, but more likely he's a really annoying fella. I take strong odds in that direction (which is why I sit upstairs).
Even if that guy isn't annoying, chances are high those empty seats next to and across from you won't stay that way. Once again, try to find space for everyone's legs while avoiding awkward brushes against "that guy's" shaved legs and at all costs avoid eye contact. I'd rather stand. Nowadays I won't even take the chance on the seats in the dungeon; I'll just stand for 15 minutes and remain grateful that Millbrae isn't far away.
If I have the choice -- and normally I do -- I go upstairs. Even if that means limited leg room. I'll just read my book in peace.
In the mornings I rarely have the option. Getting on at Millbrae, it's stand or stand. Sometimes you can lean on the bike rack railing, if that works for you (it's not very comfortable). But on the way home?
I take an express (unless I'm stuck at work past 7). It's a quick way home (15 minutes for me), but not surprisingly, it's also a popular way home. Nonetheless, unlike my train into work, it isn't often so crowded that I can't get a seat (and when it is, some nice lady is ineffectually yelling at all the non-cyclists to get off her car). So which seat to take? Upstairs are the rows of single seats. Nice, but not a lot of legroom. For whatever reason, I like to be on the sunny/west-facing side. Not sure why, but I do.
The cream of the upstairs, however, is the first seat because it has another seat opposite it where you can stash your stuff and which leaves you with extra legroom. Unless the train is really crowded and someone comes up and takes that seat. Then neither of you have any legroom and you uncomfortably struggle not brush each other's legs or make eye contact. Not a pleasant situation. But not as bad as what happens down below, in the hold.
Downstairs the seats lure you in with the promise of American personal space: an empty seat beside you and across from you. Leg room, elbow room, privacy. Lovely. It's like that lucky flight in coach where you have a row all to yourself. And like that lucky flight, it's rare.
There's always the one guy across from you. Even if you have all your personal space, there's no guarantee he's not going to chatter at you about whatever's on his mind ("excuse me, can't you see I'm reading this book?" you think to yourself as you try to manage a polite smile). Sure, that guy might be a really nice fella, but more likely he's a really annoying fella. I take strong odds in that direction (which is why I sit upstairs).
Even if that guy isn't annoying, chances are high those empty seats next to and across from you won't stay that way. Once again, try to find space for everyone's legs while avoiding awkward brushes against "that guy's" shaved legs and at all costs avoid eye contact. I'd rather stand. Nowadays I won't even take the chance on the seats in the dungeon; I'll just stand for 15 minutes and remain grateful that Millbrae isn't far away.
If I have the choice -- and normally I do -- I go upstairs. Even if that means limited leg room. I'll just read my book in peace.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
New Bike Computer
The last few months have seen a rapid change in my commuting decor. First, the new (used) bike. Second, bike jerseys. Now, a computer. There's no getting around it, I'm very nearly "that guy" everyone else rolls their eyes at and wants to pass.
I've never really cared to have a computer on my bike. I had to get to work and would get there when I got there, whether or not I knew exactly how fast or how far I was going. But when Performance Bike opened their new store in San Mateo 10 days ago and was giving away $20 gift cards, I wasn't going to turn that down. On top of the $20, my daughter gave the prize wheel a spin for me, and voila! She hit "the big prize." Looking at the "big prize" table, a bike computer was the obvious thing.
This isn't too fancy; it's not wireless, won't do my heartrate, no GPS. You know, about what you'd expect for $44.99 (or free, in my case). Last weekend I hooked it up. One false move with a ziptie (wireless does have a certain appeal); I've got one wrapped around the rear brake cable housing at the top of the down tube, but the brake still works fine, so for now I'm leaving it alone.
I admit it's kind of fun to have the computer. It's interesting to know what my top speed is, what my average speed is, and what my cadence is. I know now that my commute to work (when I ride all the way in) is very nearly exactly 17.5 miles. It's kind of fun to keep track of my total miles on the odometer. It's interesting to see what my speed is like on the flats, up hill, down hill, into and with the wind. All interesting.
A concern I started with, that I'd be distracted by the computer, hasn't materialized. I generally know what I'm looking for before I look down and can get the info in a hurry.
The biggest thing I think I'm feeling the computer do is speed me up. I want the speed I'm looking at to come up. I want that average speed to come up. Overall, I think the info the computer gives me pushes me harder. That's probably a good thing. Stronger, faster, and in better shape all sound pretty good.
I've never really cared to have a computer on my bike. I had to get to work and would get there when I got there, whether or not I knew exactly how fast or how far I was going. But when Performance Bike opened their new store in San Mateo 10 days ago and was giving away $20 gift cards, I wasn't going to turn that down. On top of the $20, my daughter gave the prize wheel a spin for me, and voila! She hit "the big prize." Looking at the "big prize" table, a bike computer was the obvious thing.
This isn't too fancy; it's not wireless, won't do my heartrate, no GPS. You know, about what you'd expect for $44.99 (or free, in my case). Last weekend I hooked it up. One false move with a ziptie (wireless does have a certain appeal); I've got one wrapped around the rear brake cable housing at the top of the down tube, but the brake still works fine, so for now I'm leaving it alone.
I admit it's kind of fun to have the computer. It's interesting to know what my top speed is, what my average speed is, and what my cadence is. I know now that my commute to work (when I ride all the way in) is very nearly exactly 17.5 miles. It's kind of fun to keep track of my total miles on the odometer. It's interesting to see what my speed is like on the flats, up hill, down hill, into and with the wind. All interesting.
A concern I started with, that I'd be distracted by the computer, hasn't materialized. I generally know what I'm looking for before I look down and can get the info in a hurry.
The biggest thing I think I'm feeling the computer do is speed me up. I want the speed I'm looking at to come up. I want that average speed to come up. Overall, I think the info the computer gives me pushes me harder. That's probably a good thing. Stronger, faster, and in better shape all sound pretty good.
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