The Face of Jesus in Matt’s Saddle Bag

Look!  I think I see the face of Jesus.  Like the shroud of Turin, inside his saddle bag, the spare tube and Allen wrenches were wrapped in a tie-dye-esque aged rust stained cloth.  I unraveled the wrenches and held out the cloth.  Behold!  That might fetch a few bucks on eBay.  They’ve been in the seat bag a long time, not quite B.C. old, but maybe before Bieber.  25 miles from home, I was helping Matt from Smitty’s Cyclery in Cincinnati replace a broken shift cable.  Yes.  He carries a spare.

Wrapping your tube and tools are just one of the lessons I learned from Big Matt’s saddle bag.  A former racer on the track and on the road, I’m sure Matt’s no stranger to weight weenie tendencies.  Matt proved you can pack a lot and still pack light.  The bag was packed with the expertise of an Everest climber, the necessities of survival in a few cubic inches.  I’ve had a day to think about it, and there’s not a mechanical incident that would’ve had Matt calling for a ride home.  Inside Matt’s saddle bag: tube, mini-tool with chain breaker, select 4-5-6 Allen wrenches, patch kit, brake and shifter cable, a five spot, a zip tie, and a chain pin.  I wouldn’t doubt there were a spare cleat and/or bottle cage bolt in there somewhere.  He kept the mini pump in his jersey pocket.

The black thing is the free hub body.

Matt explained the zip tie was in case your free hub body dies.  The free hub body is the thing your cassette rides on.  Its ratcheting pawls allow you to coast and engage the gears.  When it dies, and they do occasionally, you’re left…coasting home.  To fix on the fly, you can zip-tie the cassette to the spokes and get yourself home in a fixed-gear sort of way.  A zip tie can also fix a broken bottle cage, keep a busted derailleur out of your spokes or can be traded to the locals for corn and beads.

Wrapping your spare tube and tools in cloth accomplishes two, three, maybe four things.  For one, it prevents you from being the annoying Mr. Jangly Bag on group rides.  Two, it keeps sharp edge tools from serrating your spare tube.  Three, I would hedge a bet that it keeps spare tubes from drying out and/or prevents the valve-tube junction from becoming oxidized.  Lastly, it never hurts to have a rag for sweaty hands or keeping gooey chain greased hands from messing up white bar tape.

The black thing is a zip tie.

While Matt worked to get the broken cable end out of his shifter, I reached over his bike and undid the fixing bolt on his Dura Ace rear derailleur.  Matt’s got many miles in his legs, no stranger to being 2 hours from home with a mechanical.  He’s a mechanic at Smitty’s Cyclery in Cincinnati.  Yet even he packs a spare derailleur cable and a spare brake cable in his seat bag.  I scratched my head.  His Land Shark bike was impeccably clean and well maintained.  Having worked at a shop myself, I take pride wrenching on my own bikes and used to have a relative comfort in thinking that my cables are new and all bolts are properly fixed.  I don’t need to bring a multi-tool or anything beyond a tube, cartridge, mini-pump and five-dollar bill.  There on a flat road, 2 hours from home, Matt snapped a cable, fixed it with a spare in the span of 5 minutes and left me questioning my minimalist logic.

Ault Park, IA

Out on the crit circuit again today at the Melon City Crit in Muscatine, IA. The race is held in Weed Park on the banks of the Mississippi River about halfway between the Quad Cities and Burlington, IA, but somehow the course seemed very familiar to racing back home in Cincinnati.

Weed Park contains a loop of pavement very reminiscent of Ault Park in Cincinnati. For those not familiar, Ault Park is a kilometer oval inside the 275 loop of Cincinnati that has both an uphill and a downhill as well as a small stretch of flat ground that you almost never realize is actually flat. You reach speeds of 35-40 mph at times downhill, jump a couple of small pavement seams at the bottom, and try to keep your heart in your mouth up the hill. Rinse, repeat, do it 40 times and call it a night.

The length of Weed Park is long, but the loop is eerily familiar. The first half is downhill, reaching the edge of your speed nerves, then a bump at the bottom, and a longer climb back to the top to the finish. The biggest difference between the two is that everything is larger here and the tight chicane corner is before the finish instead of being after the finish.

Did I mention the bump? It isn't as much a bump as it is a speed hump - you know the ones you have to cross head to Ault Park that you can't see and nearly eject you while you are warming up when you forget they are there? Now you have the picture. Every lap you are hitting these things at 35 mph, many folks are catching air, some folks are pumping over it, but no matter how you look at it, you are hitting this thing hoping your friend next to you is better at landing a jump than Evil Kneivel at the Grand Canyon.

No matter how much I describe it, you won't really get it without a picture or two. I have inserted a few and will let you decide which you think are the best attempts. To keep it in perspective there were no crashes on the bump today. The bump may distract you, but this really is a fun course.

Racing Snake Alley

Looking at all the pictures and listening to all the lore, Snake Alley's focus is on the fabled climb of the crookedest street. The climb certainly doesn't disappoint and watching racers through the day it certainly is a difference maker.

We saw more than one instance of racers getting cut off in corners, falling over and being forced to walk the uphill cobbles in road cleats. There were several instances of racers being weighted too far onto their front wheel, slipping the rear tire, losing all momentum and pretending to have Turrets Syndrome for a few moments. All caught by someone on camera to live in infamy on the internets over the next few days. If you kept track of riders you could also track guys that nailed the start, were first up the hill, and then got lapped about 4 laps later.

One of the unseen parts of the race, everyone is up on the hill to watch, is the cyclocross start. The first time through Snake Alley is less than 1/10th of a mile from the start with a 90 degree corner along the way. In crits you always want to be toward the front, but in this crit you HAVE to be up front immediately.

Having just completed Ault Park this past week you get a false sensation of what starts are like - no one seems to ever be in a hurry to get moving right away. At Snake Alley guys are sprinting off the line to get to the hill in the front ten as if they were OJ Simpson trying to get through an airport.

The climb is the evident focus of the crit, but as they say what goes up must come down. If you step back and think through the logic and do some calculations you realize half the course is about having the kajones to descend through four corners of a crit at break neck speed.

After climbing up a 21% grade, bringing your heart to near explosion, you have to take a right turn, stare down an 8%-10% grade, turn right, descend more, turn left, descend more, turn right, carry all your speed and turn right again. Doing this alone might be fun and interesting. You could Strava your downhill speed and brag to your neighbor. But here you have to do it with all your freshly minted racing friends, whom you have never raced with, surrounding you.

The climb at Snake Alley gets all the attention, but the descent is underrated.

What is a "Snake Alley"

Snake Alley is one way going down
 except for the race.

Before we left Cincinnati we mentioned we were heading to Snake Alley to several cyclist and the response was a pretty unanimous "oh, really?" The kind of response that says "I heard of it, but I ain't never been there." Which, before this weekend, is exactly what I knew of it - there is an alley and it snakes - and of course OVCX regular Drew Dillman has won the hotly contested Juniors 15-18 race two years consecutive.

Today our mission was to find out exactly what this Snake Alley really entails. A preview ride the day before the real race should at least tell us what some of the hub-bub is about, but the real race will be a new experience to all in the car.

Some research on Wikipedia revealed some information about the Alley - or at least I am hoping this specific Wikipedia page wasn't hi-jacked.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snake_Alley

Spencer and Kenzie headed up the bricks

According to the Wikipedia page the alley was constructed in 1894 to connect downtown Burlington, IA to the close by neighborhoods. Due to the steepness of the hill, the alley winds in a serpentine fashion about 275 feet, rising about 58 feet vertically over that span. The resulting grade is approximated at 21% - though that appears to vary if you take the outside line on all the curves. The pictures on the internet give it a Lombard Street from San Francisco feel to it. Wikipedia says, again hoping it is accurate, the crooked section of Lombard is about 1300 feet long, making Snake Alley about 1/10th the size.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lombard_Street_(San_Francisco)

To prepare for this race we had to find something local to Cincinnati to practice. Through discussion and research we found that Adams Road is relatively close to Snake Alley in dimension. If you haven't been up it, head up the Little Miami bike trail to Loveland and head up the hill just north of the downtown Loveland section. Many of you have done this and groan audibly when someone suggest starting a ride up Adams. Now go race up it a few times with about 2 minutes between attempts and your heart rate already spiked.

Closeup of the pavers used

Many of you will agree that sounds hard, but what brings the lore that Snake Alley has earned is the fact that the climb is also cobbled. Yes, it is laid brick from bottom to top creating the opportunity to lose your traction, fall over, slip and have to run up a 21% grade in road cleats. 


I bet this Alley could tell quite a few tales and I hope to capture some to share tomorrow.

A Loaf of Toast on Bowling Night

It’s bowling night, a typical Wednesday for my Dad, 1980 in Menomonee Falls, Wisconsin.  He’s 38, bowling age 38.  The name etched into his brown swirl designed custom ball reads “NICK.”  The Arial font inscription used to be white.  It’s nicotine stained a sweaty-grey/yellow.  With a soft right handed curve, the ball leaves his hand and his custom fit tan Velcro wrist guard.  Chunk.  Roll.  Crash.  He left 1 pin.  His score on the overhead projector at Petroff’s Lanes reads 168 in the 9^th frame.  The “one eyed whop” as his buddies affectionately call my half Italian dad, picks up the spare and pours Miller High Life from the pitcher into his glass before he sits back down with his Custom Products teammates.  If you don't know, the derogatory term "whop" is an acronym for "without papers."

It’s surreal sometimes, especially filling out the racing age on the waiver at Cincinnati’s Wednesday night Ault Park Crit race series.  I’m now older than my dad on bowling night.  With a zipper instead of buttons and spandex for cotton, I’ve got my sponsor’s jersey on.  Custom Products, a metal fabrication company was owned by a buddy of my dad.  BioWheels bike shop is owned by my buddy Mitch.  The rest is the same.  Pro bike.  Pro shoes.  Name sticker on my bike.  Some having raced earlier, wives of friends racing are sitting in the grass with their kids or chatting with friends.  No doubt there’s a hidden bottle of Sierra Nevada in someone’s cooler.  We’ve got nicknames too, only a little more politically correct.  There’s OB and Pistol Pete.  My friend I-Pro James has a shaggy snarled greying beard.  It’s bowling night, a typical Wednesday for me, 2012 in Cincinnati, Ohio.  I reluctantly scribble “45” on the form.

Sometimes I get suckered into thinking I’m just like Dad, which is worrisome.  He died in his early 60’s of all the things related to not eating healthy or exercising.  I'm sure the blatant racism among his friends didn't help either.  I breathe a sigh of relief as I roll up to the start behind a 23 year old.  The similarities end with the sponsor jersey, my age and that I’m competing in a sport on a Wednesday night.  While most guys around me have a 20oz bottle of GU Brew electrolyte drink, pretty sure every guy on my dad’s team had their own pitcher of Miller High Life or PBR, likely 2 or 3.  I’m sure a few guys after the bike race headed for a vegetarian burrito at Chipotle, but still got to bed at a reasonable hour.  My dad and his buddies in 1980 could turn 3 games of bowling into an all night affair capped off with an after midnight breakfast at Milwaukee’s famous diner George Webbs.  Think Frisch’s Big Boy’s little brother.  There they’d pull out the smokes and “shoot the shit.”  My dad’s treat to his drunken teammates, a full 20-odd slice butter-slathered loaf of toast.