A break? PArty up.

My friend Eva had a birthday party. I saw a man with a tattoed cast.

La Ruta Part 3: Race Day 1

This is getting tedious...I’m sorry but like the race promoters say..”More than a race, a personal growth journey.” I’m trying to take you there.
Race day #1. We are gathered in front of the Best Western Jaco, it’s 5am and techno music to make the europeans blush is pumping. To our right, hidden by the hotel, is the pacific ocean and to our left are mountains, rain forests, volcanos, 9 micro climates and the endless unknowns of Costa Rica. With 515 starters it was important to be near the front for the start. I made it within the first 50 people along with Tim and Topher not far behind.
A quick rundown of my race day choices might be interesting for some of you, in case you decide to do this one day. Much debate goes into these choices and Topher and I spent much time calling around and waffling. Ultimately I decided on these things.
HydroPack..no bottles or cages for easier carrying of bike.
Hutchinson Bulldog Tires.. for mud with some custom knob shaping thanks to my clippers
Two Pairs of thin socks.
Fingerless gloves
Lube
Electrolytes
4 energy bars
4 packs of hammer gel
two tubes
extra brake pads, chainring bolt, Co2, valve stem,
sunglasses
cyanide pills
Ergon grips

The race start was great. The sky was dark blue with streaks of light coming from the east. For a 1/4 mile the race headed east and for a brief moment I thought hanging in the front would be a possibility, but as we turned left and looked up into the emerald jungles my dreams were run through a cheese cloth and all of my grandiose beliefs in my ability were strained out and I was left with the raw truth. This race was about going up. 10mins in and we started our first hour climb. I had prepared myself for the worst, this was expected but the wall of gravel, the lewd glistening of the jungle and the sight of Tico’s scampering up the road in front of me was a one-two-three punch. I settled in and waited to reel them in from below like bringing a kite back to earth.
We climbed and climbed and climbed, then moments of relief came in the form of a short decent that lead to another climb. The weather was almost perfect, no rain, random cloud cover to protect us from the sun and about 75-85 degrees. There were lead motorcycles, support four-wheelers and cars where cars could go. But they couldn’t go everywhere, and we were warned about a 12mile section that no emergency vehicles could get into and I walked past several motorcycles with riders trying to get them unstuck on the muddy climbs.
Most of the roads in that section weren’t really roads. I walked down one section. Topher later told me he walked down more than that. I don’t like walking downhill, but I also like my teeth. The mud was legendary, but probably not as bad in past years. My bike actually suffered frequent chainsuck for the first time and it made noises similar to the sound of sharpening and ax on a grindstone. A savior was the frequency of stream crossing which gave us plenty of chances to wash the mud and lube off our bikes. Plus a quick dunk for the body was better than any Landis style waterbottle douche.
During one particularly harrowing climb I looked over and saw Andreas Hestler lying on the side muttering something about the heat and loving Canada. I figured he was good to go, made fun of him and kept on riding. About a quarter mile up a farm kid was watering his cows and after a moment of wondering what his “When I was a Kid” (when I was a kid I had to hike 10miles up hill both ways to get to school), tales would sound like I thought about turning around to tell Andreas about the kid with water. Again better judgment interrupted that thought.
You have to understand that this first day was about survival. I went in knowing that any mental collapse would be the death taps and even if physically I broke down I could keep pushing if the brain was accepting of the situation. At one point I was out of water and the climbing starting to feel like a tread mill. I had been riding with a local named Marco for a while and he was gracious enough to give me clues about what was coming and he actually had a couple guys on a Ducati feeding him even though that was clearly against the rules. But it was standard practice for all locals and I didn’t feel bad about accepting plastic bags of water, coke, fruit and baby formula during the three days. At one point I stopped and used the bit of advice Keith Bontrager had given me and asked some kids who were watching the race if they could get me some water.
Again these four boys were in a place I couldn’t imagine there being a school, and there definitely wasn’t any electricity, but they ran inside and came back out with a two liter bottle of fresh water that I filled my camel back with. After thanking them and the shadowy figure of a woman in the dark house, I took off, rejuvenated by the generosity of people.
A particularly cool part of the race were the number of people who sat in front of their houses watching the parade of lunacy ride by and extra special were the locals who sat with their hoses ready to spray you down. I took advantage of each opportunity.
Through the day I steadily caught people, and took great pride when I would pass the majority of them on downhills. At least if I couldn’t climb with them I could fly my IF colors with pride as I took nasty lines around them. Loco Gringo.
As hour 7 came and went I started to worry about Topher, and wondered what he was experiencing. Hopefully it wasn’t hate for me.
My relief came when I rounded the final bend of the day and saw the finish line in a field on the side of a hill overlooking the central valley of Costa Rica. The organizers had showers, food and massages ready for us. Top notch and I was much happier with where my entry money went.
I showered, ate and got a massage from a man who wasn’t shy in the least. Tim came in on his single-speed and we sat and waited for Topher. And waited. And as the cutoff time inched forward we began to worry. When woman after woman came in in we worried some more. Then when the white-bearded, shirtless, cutoff jeanshorts wearing hippy with SPD sandals came in we really began biting our nails. At 11hrs and 46 mins he finally showed with a big smile and 14mins to spare before the cutoff time of 12hrs. If he hadn’t made the 12hr mark he would have been out of the race but allowed to ride the remainder days without getting timed. Apparently he took a few naps. Only about 260 of the 515 people who started made the cut off.
I directed him to the showers, massage man and food. I cleaned the bikes and waited for the shuttle to take us to our hotel in San Jose.

La Ruta Part 2

As we exited from the airport a man holding a sign saying “Tinker” was gesticulating wildly at us because we had bike boxes. It was tempting to accept his offer and see what kind of digs the “T Dog” got. Our better judgment led us through the crowd of taxi drivers till we found our ride to the hotel. I let the kid with the sign that said “Harlan” wheel my bike box to the van, while Topher let some random man with no hotel connections haul his bike. He ended up giving the guy a tip. It was fun watching them try to be overly careful with our hard cases, no matter how awkward they were too handle.
With Lilliana, the Kalexma hotel owner, behind the wheel we made it safely to the hotel. Our drive took us past random people standing next to burning piles of trash and every house had bars over the windows with uniformed school kids milling about in the streets. Their starched white shirts and pressed pants sharply contrasted the dingy city and humidity.
At the hotel we asked Lilliana if she knew where the Best Western Izaru was, since that would be the central point for racers in San Jose. She took us outside and pointed to the north where we saw a Best Western sign across the road. That was pure luck to be in such a central location at a third of the price, even if the hot water heater gave a shock when touched while in the shower. Our luck didn’t stop there, Lilliana’s daughter was the head of La Ruta’s transpiration and we had her at our disposal for pre-race questions.
We ate some dinner, flirted with some local girls then went back to our room to fall asleep watching Costa Rican TV. Just before falling asleep we caught a strange expose on soccer players who intimidate opponents by jamming their fingers into their opponents rear end. We agreed we were glad to be cyclist.
First full day in CR we got up, ate our first of many meals based around rice and beans began prepping our bikes. Ready for a test ride we decided to go explore San Jose. Getting directions from the Kalexma was turning out to be oddly difficult, mostly because of the language barrier, even though from the map it looked like it should be rather simple. After deciding to strike out and wing it we realized the main problem was the lack of any street signs. Apparently everyone in Costa Rica is born already aware of where everything is. After about an hour of winding around neighborhoods on very few tourists maps we made it to the central park and the trees with multicolored bark. (see pic) That was our first taste of Costa Rican biodiversity.
We meandered to the other end of the park and jumped inside of an empty reastraunt to grab a bite to eat and wait out the rain. The food was great but what was really interesting/unsettling was the requiem table that was being set up at t he entrance the whole time we where there. On the table was a couple of photos of an older couple surrounded by various dishes of food, an open bottle of coke, beer, lit candles, flower pedals and one lit but unsmoked cigarette that was allowed to burn down to the filter.
Thursday we had to catch the shuttle to the race start in Jaco on the Pacific side. We walked over to the Best Western, signed in and handed our bikes off to the bike transporting truck. It was nerve-racking watching them pile our bikes in, then putting a layer of cardboard on top and then add another load of bikes on top of ours. We found a few new niks later but over all our bikes came out unscathed. We jumped on our bus and began the 3hr ride to the coast. Costa Rica is famous for having notoriously slow roads because of potholes and 260 degree switch backs. Our bus had Jose as a tour guide to give us Gringos a bit of cultural and ecological history, both are partially intertwined. At about the half way point we stopped for a bathroom and refreshment break. I had my hands full of things like plantain chips, avocados and coconuts and went to pay. I pulled out 2000 colones ($4) but dropped some change and after I picked it up my colones were no where to be found. The guy totally snagged my money when I bent down and put it in his drawer. I wasn’t about to get into an argument so I left all my crap on his counter and walked out to another shop and got something from someone else. I’m such an easy target!
On the bus we had bike legend Marla Streeb with her husband and son next to us. She was a nice legend and talked easily about Costa Rica and her baby. None of that “oh when I won this race,” or “I’m Marla Streeb don’t you know”. I came real close to insulting her husband about being from California, but fortunately their baby Nico was the only one left with his foot in his mouth. Our hotel was 4star all the way and right on the pacific. They had cocktails waiting for us which we killed while staring at the sea and waited for our room keys.
The beach had a volleyball net set up and signs that said no swimming due to dangerous undercurrents. I don’t know who was supposed to get runaway balls in the ocean. Maybe they had a fish net with a long handle.
We caught the bus to the race registration hotel in Jaco and proceeded to stand in line, get our bags, electronic timer sensors and other race paraphernalia. They had a party planned and trotted out two sets of three scantily clad women, each set representing a different sports drink. I think there is a picture of me wedged between two of them. The party was preceeded by a fireworks display but with a 3 am wake-up I don’t know who they expected to stay up and party. I don’t think the UCI passes out a Rock Star award. Topher and I did our best to not let the ReStart energy drink girls feel useless so we went and tried to dance with them in the rain for a minute, but our better judgement sent us to our hotel within minutes.

To be cont...

La Ruta Part 1

La Ruta 2006: Hola Gaucho!

Despite the fact that we were on a mission to retrace the steps of a group who raped, pillaged, plundered, converted and attempted to steal the soul of an indigineous culture in the name of a Queen and gold, I was looking forward to participating in the 14th addition of La Ruta De Los Conquistadores. I’m sure it was a torturous 20 years the Spanish endured in order to find a passage between the Caribean Sea and the Pacific Ocean but I hardly see how it is fair to call it progress when we do it in three days on a bike. Fortunatly I approached the race expecting the worse, and as the hours in the saddle ticked by and climbs poured from the heavens like melted nacho cheese I basked in the glory of once again conquering Costa Rica like my Euro forefathers. Without the raping or pillaging and so-forth. This time they got my money.
Five weeks before La Ruta race day I had a decision to make. Sign up for 24hr Worlds or not. I felt like one more big event in my dosiere was due but god how I dreaded the idea of staying up past 2am unless it involved a dancefloor and some solid narcotics. (just kidding) But since there was little chance of dancing in a heavily Southern Baptist state like Georgia it seemed like La Ruta would be an acceptable cop-out to all those people who thought I should show my endurance skills as a 24solo racer. (I did it once 2003)
So with decision made to go it was time to recruit an unsuspecting partner in travel, expenses and pain. In stepped Topher Valenti. A nice Italian boy, a little naive, a little hairy and one little gear. But big wheels and a big smile seemed like good company and true to his dashing style he signed up without much thought. Over the next few weeks I slowly came to realize he hadn’t much idea about what were were about to get into.
We booked our flights for October 31st, which is Halloween, which might explain why at the airport I helped a Terrorist get through security, why a man in a wheelchair wore three fedora hats at once and why the Haitian next to me on the plane was unable to allow his elbows within three feet of the rest of his body. Or why when I offered him a hunk of my apricot and pistachio bread he stuck it in his 1970’s brown polyester suit pocket without a thanks. And finally why he periodically burst out in tourettes like converstions to the back of the seat in front of him all the while madly skribbling words in the air with his index finger as if he was conducting a flea sized orchestra in fast forward. Oh yes, and why he stood up clapping when the plane landed in Miami. Did he know something I didn’t? I would like to imagine the terrorist, the three hatted man and my Haitian sitting around a table in a Cuban cafe in Miami’s little Havana congratulating each other on another successfull weird-out and dedicating it the the late-great Hunter S. Thompson.
Of course the plane was late leaving Miami for Costa Rica so I arrived a couple hours after Topher who was on a seperate plane. An interesting greating at customs was the multiple flatscreen TV’s extolling the eco-adventures that awaited. Canopy tours, zip-lines through rainforests, whitewater rafting and picturesque horseback rides on empty honeymoon perfect beaches. That was in full view above the passport toting crowd in line. As we inched forward posters for a new tourist attraction became more visible posted at waist level on the immigration booths. A montage of two images, a man behind bars in a dark prison and a young Costa Rican female looking up into some far-away space forlorn and distraught. “You get fined, but she loses her soul” or some derivative of that was the message. Not exactly a catchy sales jingle. Apparently Costa Rica has a healthy sex-for-sale industry. Disturbing to know that people come here for more than a nature tour, and I start to feel embarassed to be me; white, male tourist traveling with another sort of white male tourist. I guess the pillaging of the souls has yet to stop. That includes my soul.
I’m not the best planner and tend to intentionally ignore the details after creating a general plan. All in the name of the unknown. For some reason I felt a little more responsible for my travelmate’s good time so in order to iron out potential problems I booked a hotel a the Kalexma before we arrived in San Jose, which included a pickup from the airport.
I have to go to bed. This is to be continued.....

Holloween In Costa Rica

Umm, I don´t know if I should blame the date or the plane for the strange crowd on the plane Miami.
Back to Central American internet? Can´t find all the buttons.
If you want to keep track of the race...Live coverage at www.adventurerace.com

Adios

You are so nice!!

The party/auction was a splash. At 7 I was pretty worried about the turn-out, but with about 25 people we started the bidding.
I never saw a war I liked until I saw my first bidding war. The fireworks were a sweet sound as people dualed for a coveted item until they paid beyond what it was worth. Sparks grew into fire as the drinks came to fuel the rabid bidders. In the end Topher and I raised $1056. After paying party costs and tipping our waiter, Anthony, we were able to donate $190 to Neighborhood Bike Works, and I walked away better able to afford my trip. It was great. Everyone came away with huge deals on great things.
Independent Fabrication team manager John Bruno and super cross racer Mo Bruno stayed with me and brought great IF items for the auction and were a huge help. Thanks to those folks. Plus Mo picked up UCI points for her top 5 finishes of the weekend.
Here are the people I need to thank..Forgive any forgetting,,

Independent Fabrication, for being the bomb
Theo, who owns Lourdes Greek Taverna
Trophy Bikes
Hidden Creek Sports
Bakery at the Mills
East Falls Fitness
Brunos
Johnny Mannanas
Stephanie Stago Massage
Joe at Breakaway bikes
Picnic
Intermezzo
CBOP Photo Lounge
Thompson
Hutchinson Tires
Topher
Clif nutrition
My sister and Kevin
Neighborhood Bike Works
My Mother
And Dad

Tonight is the nite!!

Are you coming? Hidden Creek Sports donated a BadA** waterproof backpack. I walk in and the owner Ann doesn't hesitate to offer up this MXTex back pack. I've never met this woman before, but her generosity was above and beyound. They have a neat and new store on Ridge Ave in East Falls. Their Clientel is mostly water sport folk but there are some items in there that cross over nicely into the biking world.
Breakaway fitness has ponied up two VO2 max tests to auction, Firehouse Bikes gave a custom tee-shirt and Manayunk Triumph was good enough to give a great Shirt for auction. It's the Scottsman moto club shirt. Wait till you see it.
Maybe it wasn't mentioned before but it is the Manayunk Diner and "Cocktail" lounge. The place has class and mixed drinks.

I'll be showing the velonews DVD "Crash", to scare potential roadies and turn them to the light.

Seee you there.

You want it..The List of things

The List..an incomplete one

bike stuff
$100 Gift cert to Trophy bikes
VO2 Max test from Breakaway Bikes
Truvativ Carbon Rouler Cyclo-Cross Cranks
Bontrager Race X carbon Mtb Bars
Shimano 105 brakes
Ultegra/Open Pro rear wheel
Pink Toe clips
Wool Jersey
105 9sp shifters (used)
Thompson stem or post coupon
FSA Carbon Seatpost, Stem
Thompson x4, 110mm, 31.8, 0degree stem
Boxes of Cliff bars
Kenda Pro deal on tires

gift certificates
Picnic Cafe
CBOP camera store
Bakery at the Mills
East Falls Fitness
Johnny Mannanas
Intermezzo Cafe and Lounge
Buckets
Tommy Gunns (tentative)
Dinner for 2 @ Lourdas Greek Taverna in Bryn Mar


things
1.5hr Massage from Stago Massage
Case of Victory Beer
IF hat and socks
Dirt Rag beanie
Costa Rican Dinner
Family Portrait
Topher’s Body

Auction/Fundraiser at Manayunk DInner

Party is Saturday Night the 21st, at the Manayunk Dinner on the corner of Main and Ridge next to the Movie theater. We'll be upstairs starting at 6pm and the auction will be at about 7:30-8. THey actually have decent food, so don't be afraid to eat while you are there, plus there is a bar.
I've gotten a lot more donated items and gift certificates, so it's not totaly bike-centric. Spread the word.. ALL strangers welcome.

Elk is the sasquatch. Last weekend we had an adventure in the woods of Michaux. Peris is Heath's baby monkey.

Party ON! October 21st. Specifics Later....

I'm having a party. It's a party first and a fundraiser second. The fundraiser to help me pay for the race across Costa RIca, La Ruta De Los Conquistadors. The fundraiser will be auction style, and don't worry it's not all bike stuff. Local companies are helping me out with gift certificates. Plus 20% of what I raise goes to Neighborhood Bike Works. That is a pretty cool program in Philly that does a lot of bicycle advocacy and after school programs. Check it out in the links to the left.
So far I've got Gift Certs from:
CBOP Camera on 19th and chestnut
The Bakery at the Mills, in East Falls
Picnic, next to Trophy Bikes on Walnut
Massage, from Stago Sports Massage
Intermezzo Cafe, also next to Trophy

And I've just started.
Bike stuff is piling up..
Carbon Cyclo-cross cranks,
Thompson Stem or Post gift cert,
Bontrageur Carbon MTN bar,
105 Brake Calipers
FSA 27.2 carbon Seatpost
FSA 31.8 110mm, -17 k-force stem
Thompson X-4 31.8 110mm stem
IF hat, socks
Dirt Rag Beanie
Wool Tete De Course, short sleeze jersey

I'll also auction off some weird things,
A meal cooked by me, I'm not bad!
An art print by my friend Eleanore Grosch at www.pushmepullyoudesign.com

I'm not sure where this party is going to be. I wanted to do it at a bowling alley but cost is prohibative. Just plan on Sat October 21st, between 6-9pm, so racers can come and go and others can stay as long as they like. I'll update as information is gathered. Flier invites will be passed out.

Yeah: That Hurts

For my peeps who don't know what cyclo-cross is....let me explain. Imagine you're being chased by three guys with clubs who are just a bit slower than you and intent on having a little ultra-violence fun for the night. They are slow enough to not catch you as long as you keep running as fast as possible, but you can't stop or rest or even lose them because they are always breathing over your shoulder. Do that for an hour.
I simulated this event twice this weekend. Hit myself in the face with my bike and definatly got caught. We ride around on road bikes with knobby tires through fields, sometimes we are forced to dismount and run up hills and over barriers. My lungs hurt. Actually my throat from breathing so hard. I imagine my wind pipe to look like the wind swept cliffs of the western deserts.
Ryan Leech and I left town in what was to be the last trip for his '84 Volvo 240 wagon. Rain on the horizon, and his girlfriend Camilla waiting in Brooklyn we crushed it to NYC. Traffic on the BQE was a giant slinky with Asian kids rocking out all around us. We made it, went our seperate ways and agreed to meet in the morning. Drew, Gabe and Mark were hanging out and we proceeded to have a wine and cheese party.
Gabe went home, but Drew, Griffey and I went to the place where kids our age go to die and stare at each other. Lots of bangs, tights, glittered trucker hats and one-offs. A drink and bad DJ set later I decided to go back to the Apt. and sleep.
I awoke to a gut feeling that something was wrong. Fortunatly I was wrong and when Mark woke we went with his girfriend Tina to the farmers market and Enids. After some rushing through breakfast to meet Ryan, he was late due to "Bad" traffic.
Afer my second coffee and a chat with a random bike builder, (they're like flies) they showed and we took off like flies, in the Guvn'r.
Oh the laughs were great, and the halcyon day was filling us and overflowing as the destination and excitment neared. Camilla is a photographer with a partner, Kate, in NYC. Have a look at their sight but don't fall in love because she's taken and will only break your hearts' desires.
At the race I met my cross super-star teammate "Mo" Bruno, and Team Director/Racer Bruno. They ARE! not married. Just a strange coincidence of names. We raced through some fields, across a rocky culvert, through some woods and back to the field. It was the fun kind of pain, but lasted an hour. Being a UCI race both days, made the competition supernatural. Payout was high so every bad-ass in the country showed up. I had no chance. Thats all right. 26th on Sat and 24th on Sun showed a steady improvement. By my calc's I only have to do 12 more races to get to a winning spot.
Now to the excitment. Sunday we go to leave and Ryan warns me that the rain from the night before may be causing a problem with his car. Okay, I'm used to this and is the reason I decided to stop driving. We load up and Ryan turns the key......It's sick. Electro-Shock Therapy helps breifly. Delusion returns and we try repressed memory therapy to induce some sort of reboot to a more innocent period before all the problems began. After many group sessions the Guvn'r was diagnosed an incurable lunatic and was admitted to the walled confines of a scrap yard. A very moving moment for us and we all reflected on the fine line we live between sanity and complete mental breakdown.
Reuben administered some post-tramatic consultation, and his firm grounding in reality got the rest of us through the toughest of times. Ryan felt the lose the most since he had invested 6 years in a dying cause, but he finally let go of his christ complex and refused to participate in another hopless resurection.
After a little sleep and rehabilitaion at the House of Ginny we made our way to a newly rented chariot on Monday and darted across Long Island to return Camilla to her duties. Driving on Ryan and I enjoyed a new freedom from the burden of the unpredictable actions of the feeble minded Guvn'r. I could tell an old noose had been loosened from his jugular, while a new one was simultaneously constructed in the corner of his mind in the shape of a new metal master.

Busted

I cracked my helmet in two places at cross practice. Got a bruise on the side of my head, shoulder and hip. Busted up proper. Went to go visit a new friend who invited me to a latin party. Got to the club door and realized I was way underdressed and funded. Rode home in the rain, got a flat a mile from my door. Walked to the steady beat of my rolling flat.

Sweet Revenge, Terror of Teaberry

You want the hardest race around? Try the Terror. I convinced my friend Eric to go and do the monster loop at party pace, and spent the rest of the day worried he was was going to kill me if he made it back alive. Tents were coming down, caterer was loaded up, and we were almost alone in the parking lot. Eric rolls in after a 6hr45min day with a smile. Now I'm still watching my back in case he is toying with me, waiting to hit me like pigeon poop in a Dairy Queen Blizzard. (really happened once).
THe hardest but most rewarding race around if you approach it right. I tried to warn him, but you can never really do the experience justice with words.
Jamie came out of the woods a few minutes after Eric, missing the pedal body to his candy. Apparently it fell off in the first ten miles, but at each aid station he decided to keep going. So in the end he rode 30 miles on a bare spindle. I guess thats what peace Corps in Africa will do to you.