08-09-2012
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#19 (permalink) | ||
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añejo
Join Date: Nov 2006
Location: Southern 'burbs, Minnesota
Posts: 6,855
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Quote:
As for your comment on essay length, I should have taken more accounting classes!  Quote:
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08-09-2012
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#20 (permalink) | |
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Canada Dry
 Join Date: Aug 2004
Location: Saskatchewan, Canada
Posts: 49,645
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Quote:
 You are in really good shape.   I mean, I like the shape you're in.  I mean, it's a nice shape you got there.    er, nevermind
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08-09-2012
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#24 (permalink) |
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añejo
Join Date: Jan 2008
Location: Twin Cities
Posts: 5,900
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Thanks to you last two fine ladies who commented!
Right now, I am drafting Part IV, which is the bike ride. Spectating a bike race is about as exciting as watching grass grow. That is a really lame and old comparison, but if I can think of something better, I have to save it for the report. Peace and beer. JG |
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08-10-2012
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#25 (permalink) |
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añejo
Join Date: Jan 2008
Location: Twin Cities
Posts: 5,900
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Part IV
JG: With a belly full of McDonald’s grease and the help of the course map and my I-Phone, I drove to the first bottle exchange, just before mile twenty of the bike course. It was here that volunteers would hand the cyclists bottles of water and Gatorade, as well a packet of energy gel, a favorite snack among endurance athletes. I noticed that wise bikers would slow considerably to ensure they would receive a fresh bottle of liquid energy. On the other hand, some cyclists would pedal though this bottle exchange at full speed and seemingly be stunned when they fumbled the hand off. I recall one gentleman yelling out in disgust upon leaving the bottle exchange empty handed. All I could think was that he was so concerned about not costing himself five seconds by slowing down, when he likely cost himself much more time in the end when he became dehydrated. A bit less than an hour after I had last seen him, PG came cruising by. He didn’t stop to refresh his drinks and just gave me a smile as he flew by. I said goodbye to the volunteers at the bottle exchange and had enjoyed watching the process. PG: Coming out of the transition area on the bike, we had to ride on a short bike trail that went through a tunnel under the town’s main highway. To get on this bike trail, we had to ride on grass for about 30 yards. It is funny watching people ride $3,000+ skinny triathlon bikes through bumpy, wet and, by this point slightly muddy grass and swearing. A few people even dismounted and walked through it instead. The first 17 or so miles of the bike course was shared with the sprint triathletes, so there was a good amount of bike traffic on the roads. As expected, there were a many people out there who were not used to riding in groups, and thus there was a lot of highway-like road rage – generally by people with big egos yelling at slow-movers on the left side of the lane. There are quite a few people that put bells on their fancy bikes just for this reason, but they’re usually the people with good senses of humor who really don’t get worked up anyway. I began my feeding at about mile five when I ate my first gel pack; one with a little caffeine in it that I could actually feel after awhile. We came to a T-intersection at just under an hour. At this point, the spring triathletes split off and suddenly the hammer dropped on the half-iron course. The serious guys got into their tight aerodynamic tucks and started to cruise. There was a lot of passing and being passed as the field sorted itself out. At about mile 19, I came up on two cyclists off their bikes and on the shoulder of the road. As I got closer, I noticed one was bleeding from his hand and the other was taking off his shoe. I slowed and asked if all was alright. They didn’t give me a verbal response but they both waved me on. As we approached the first water exchange, I peeked down at my two bottles - one water and one home-mixed Gatorade. They were both still over half full, so I moved to the left and skipped the exchange. I told the volunteers that some people were down on the course a mile back. One said, “I know” quite hastily, so I think they already knew about the incident. Shortly after the bottle exchange, I saw JG snapping photos. I waved, said something that I’m sure was unintelligible, and kept on cruising. We agreed beforehand that I wouldn’t stop or spend much time interviewing while on the bike, unless of course I needed to stop to barf at that exact point, so no feelings were hurt that I know. JG: I next drove to mile 39, a quiet stretch of a two-lane road. I parked my car on the shoulder and took pictures of the cyclists to kill the time. It was also at this time, with my arms somewhat elevated to hold my camera, when I noticed I must not have used enough anti-perspirant deodorant. I think it is safe to say that I will never be the Old Spice poster boy. I saw PG pedaling hard in the distance, still maintaining his admirable pace of over twenty miles per hour. I called out to ask him how he was doing. He yelled back, “Awesome” and was gone before I knew it. Around this time, I crossed “Watch the Tour de France” off my bucket-list, but not because I had accomplished it. Watching a bike race is about as interesting as sitting in Ben Stein’s economics class in the movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. PG: After the first bottle exchange, everyone seemed to have found their pace and we all settled down. Around mile 22, an ambulance flew by us in the opposite direction, and I assumed they were heading to the downed cyclists I had passed just 10 minutes ago. We had one or two nice long hills on the back side of the course as we headed toward the second bottle exchange. While I didn’t completely drop the hammer up the hills, I stood and spun a bit to get the blood flowing back into my groin and to stretch my back. It was fairly uneventful leading into the second bottle exchange at mile 32. I ditched my bottle in the designated dumping area of a ditch and took another bottle from the volunteers. I still had about half of my Gatorade bottle remaining and made a mental note to drink that before getting back into my water. I also snagged another gel from the volunteers and ate that right away. I was starting to feel a little burn in my legs and clicked through my cycle computer to determine my speed for the first half. I noted that I was above 21 miles per hour, faster than I had trained for. But, I decided that since I was still feeling great overall, it would be okay for me to keep churning at a decent pace. After all, it was race day and I couldn’t leave anything on the course and all that. So I continued to drop the hammer. I flew by JG around mile 39 and again tried to yell something which I imagine was incomprehensive into his voice recorder. I am sure it was one of the most boring interviews ever, but I would like to think it was 20 times more colorful than anything Minnesota Twins star Joe Mauer has ever said into a microphone. JG: After my stimulating two-second encounter with PG at mile 39, I decided to try and find him one more time on the course, hopefully at the top of a hill this time so that I could see the cyclists in a bit of pain. I followed the course map to what I thought was mile 50, at which time my I-phone told me I was in the middle of a large lake. No wonder I couldn’t see any bikers. Once I emerged from the lake, I found my way to mile 52, which was on a slight uphill. I again snapped pictures of random cyclists to kill time until PG came into view. Still cruising and looking great, he paid homage to Johnny Cash by yelling out “Burnin’, burnin’ burnin’” as he cruised by. At this point, I was convinced he would medal in the triathlon. Watching PG and the other cyclists keep up such a fast pace for the entire 56 miles caused me to reflect back on the longest cycling venture of my life. In junior high, I participated in a bike-a-thon to raise money for a Christian camp associated with our church. We rode 150 miles over 2 days. I am pretty sure that we stopped for breaks every ten miles or so, had lunch in the middle, and finished in a pace of less then 10 miles per hour. I don’t believe I wore a helmet and went shirtless on the 2nd day. I ended the day so sunburned that my back was blistering. Times have changed. PG: As I headed back toward the city, I saw some dark clouds to the south. This was great because it actually became overcast for a while, meaning that we didn’t have to battle the heat. I found myself sticking around the same few guys for a few miles and we all pretended like we were drafting off each other for a while. I passed JG again at some point; I’m not really sure at which mile, but I was feeling my efforts at this point. I checked my bike computer again and my average pace was still at about 20.8 miles per hour. For some reason I had this notion in my head to try to keep my pace as close to 21 miles per hour the whole way, completely ignoring the fact that my longest training ride was about 58 miles at a pace of 17 miles per hour. Undeterred, I ate another gel and guzzled more water to wash it down. I hadn’t really processed how this best bike ride of my life might impact me in the upcoming half-marathon. It wouldn’t hurt me that much, would it? Next Up: Transition 2
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JG's Blog 2011 Trip Report - "Where I Wanna Be", including JG's Guide to Playa 2012 Playa/Tulum Trip Report - "All My Rowdy Friends Have Settled Down" Last edited by January Guy; 08-13-2012 at 09:15 AM.. |
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08-10-2012
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#26 (permalink) |
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añejo
Join Date: Jan 2008
Location: Twin Cities
Posts: 5,900
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An exchange about to take place…
 …and it’s a success!  This would also be my preferred style of biking for 56 miles.  "Oh water bottle, how I love you so."  Our hero pedals by - looking great, PG!   Cyclists generally prefer a diversion like seeing a camera  Apparently this is the universal way for cyclists to acknowledge people  Such nice smiles after so long in the saddle!   And then there are some goofballs. Hey, that’s PG!  Dig hard up that hill   I have several pictures of this guy. I am pretty sure he is the one who yelled out in disgust when he dropped the water bottle at the first bottle exchange. I am also pretty sure he thinks I am stalking him by this point.  Yes, Ben Stein, I compared your economics class to a bike race. Deal with it. 
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08-10-2012
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#29 (permalink) |
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añejo
Join Date: Oct 2006
Location: on an island in the sea.....
Posts: 7,993
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OK, PG looks WAY too happy for someone who has just swam (swum?) and biked more than I have in years, combined
  I would be drooped over, glaring at the camera, while giving JG the finger (provided I still had enough strength to hold it up). WTG dude- you really are an inspiration
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08-12-2012
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#30 (permalink) |
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añejo
Join Date: Jan 2008
Location: Twin Cities
Posts: 5,900
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Part V
JG: After PG passed me at mile 52, I texted his aunt-in-law Jodi to let her know that he was still doing well. She replied with, “He is almost there. Just like the Popeye shirt he was wearing yesterday - strong to the finish!” I wanted to ask her why PG has a Popeye shirt, but decided to table the question for another time. As I leisurely made my way back to my car, I did some quick math in my head. So, he’s at mile 52 meaning that he has 4 miles to go, and he is biking about 20 miles per hour meaning that he covers a mile in 3 minutes, meaning that…he will be in the transition area only twelve minutes from when I saw him!!! I quickly drove back but had to park three blocks from the transition area. I was pretty sure I had made it in less than 12 minutes, so I just waited for him at the spot where he would dismount his bike, instead of waiting for him at the transition area. I wanted to snap a picture of him coming in from the bike and then run to the transition area with him. At one point, I snapped a picture of a guy who I thought was PG, but after running with him for a few strides, I realized that I was following the wrong athlete. I can only imagine what he felt as a big, random, sweaty guy was chasing him. Several minutes more passed and I still had not seen him. I figured that one of two things had happened: he had either made great time and beat me there, or he was dead. PG: As we reached the outer part of the city, people were starting to sit up on their bikes and slow their pace. I kept my pace until about mile 55 where I passed the 1-mile sign. At this point we wound through town a bit so it was good to sit up and take the turns easy. We came back onto the narrow bike path and it felt like the Tour de France with people lining the trail. We all had to ride single file through the swarm of people. I heard “Go daddy!” from what sounded like my 6-year-old and I gave a wave to the crowd hoping he’d see it. Sure enough, just a few feet farther up were my wife, kids, and mother on the right side next to the rope, cheering and taking pictures. I thought about putting my hand out for a high five but didn’t trust that I could do it without crashing magnificently in the middle of the crowd. I finished back through the now very trampled and muddy grass corner and rode up to the dismount area. The officials had now tripled in number and were screaming at people left and right to get off their bikes sooner. JG: I hustled to the transition area, but a fence kept me from going to his exact spot, where the presence (or not) of his bike would tell me his fate. From my distance of 20 feet, it looked like his bike was not there, although it was tough to see with so many bikes packed in so closely. I texted Jodi to say, “Can’t find him. His is either already running or he is dead.” I am sure she appreciated that. A sprint triathlete who had already finished walked by and I asked him to check for PG’s bike, number 239. He walked to PG’s spot and poked around for about ten seconds, seemingly not finding anything. Oh no, PG is dead. Just then, the triathlete peaked up, smiled, and said, “239,” as he pointed toward PG’s bike. I let Jodi know that PG was indeed alive and she said, “Okay, that’s good.” PG: I dismounted and started to jog my bike up to my transition spot, but my legs were like rocks. I walked a few feet with my bike on my left side and then tried to jog again, but I was just dead weight. I walked gently up to my spot, hung my bike on the rack, and took off my helmet calmly, seemingly realizing that I was probably not going to win the race. I took my time as I bent over to change my socks and shoes. As I’m tying them I realized my toes and the whole outer sides of my feet were numb. Tingling numb. I strapped on my race bib, grabbed my water bottle, and started to jog out of the transition area. But, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t push off my numb feet with more normal stride, so I started to slog through my gait and plop down on my heels with every step. I wound out of the park and back through the crowd onto the road. My cheering section moved out from the bike trail to the running path and greeting with a roar. I waved, forced a smile, and gave a “Whoo!” as I passed. I didn’t see a yellow shirt with them, so perhaps JG sweat so much that the shirt became a brownish/orange with salt stains. Either that, or he was one of the cars that was being scolded by the cops for driving on the course, while claiming he was a member of the Associated Press. Next Up: The Run This is the guy who looked like PG from a distance, and thus whom I stalked for a bit. Also, to answer your question in advance, that is the correct usage of who vs. whom; I looked it up.  This is actually PG coming into the transition area (picture courtesy of his wife).  PG just starting his run and presumably about to blow by another athlete (picture courtesy of his wife). 
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JG the paparazzi.
