|
SubscriptionsSites I Read
|
|
|
|
| The Century RideAbout a month ago, I decided to buy my first road bike. Between ever rising gas prices and diminishing performance from my trusty old hybrid bicycle, I decided it made sense for me to buy a really, really fast bike. I'm not sure what got me into cycling, but it's turned into an all-consuming addiction for me lately. Everyday, almost all I can think about is what I'm going to do for my next ride, or what upgrade I'm going to make to my bike. When I'm online, all I want to do is look up is better bikes for me to drool over and aspire to (Orbea Orcas and Cervelo R3s haunt my dreams). I've even been quoted as saying "I could whack off to sexy bike frames"; a disturbing fact I let slip in a dingy bar filled with 40 year old businessmen types right as all the music died down. True story. Sure, that might be a little weird, but I see no reason to change my habits unless Pope Sidious IV decides to condemn Bikeosexuality. And build a new Death Star. Anyway, back to the point on hand. I like to go biking.
For the first few days of owning my bike, 10-15 miles seemed like a long ride. But gradually, I felt myself getting stronger and more confident on the trails and roads. I attempted a 60 mile ride about 2 weeks after getting my bike. I hit a wall at about 40 miles and suffered through the last 20, but I made it. I decided my goal would be to do a 100 mile ride before the summer was out. I felt it was somewhat ambitious, but very doable.
Fast forward about 2 more weeks. I have an uncle in town who is an avid biker. His passion for cycling was one of the main factors that motivated me to buy a road bike and get into this greatest of sports. I decide to call him up to go for a ride.
"Let's go to Devil's Lake and back. It's a pretty ride. Should be about 80 miles." And so the trap is set. And now, I present you with my thought process throughout the ride.
The Night Before: My ride is mapped out for 80 miles, but deep down, I know that once I find myself that close to 100 miles, my supercompetitive nature will kick in and I'll have little choice but to push on for the final 20 miles of pain. I call friends and 'hire' them to be on call riders, ready to pace me through the final 20 miles if my body starts going down. Century ride, century ride, century ride. I can think of nothing else. I have to work a closing shift this night, and I don't get into bed until well after midnight. I try to fall asleep, but I feel like Hector preparing to accept Achilles' challenge on the field of battle. I'm up against a superior foe, one where victory is not assured. Perhaps I will smite my foe on the field of battle and attain a level of glory and honor achieved by only a chosen few. Or perhaps, 100 miles will be my undoing and I will be struck down, then have my lifeless corpse dragged around the walls of Troy. Or perhaps, 'tis only a bike ride and drawing parallels between a simple bike ride and the legendary battles of the Illiad is blowing things out of proportion. I decide it's only a bike ride, and finally get to bed.
Miles 0-10: I have my alarm set for 6:30 in the morning, but somehow nothing rouses me until 7:30. Damn. I'm running late. I scramble to get my gear in order. Helmet? Check. Gloves? Check. Clip-in shoes? Check. Sunglasses? Check. Biking jersey? Check. Said jersey packed to the hilt with granola bars and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Check. 2 water bottles? Check. Asstight biker shorts? Check. I look every inch the typical biker douche, but damn do I feel good. I down a quick breakfast of cereal and toast, and hit the road. It's roughly a 5 mile ride to rendezvous with my uncle. It's a good little warm up for today's main course. My uncle is a little upset that I show up an hour later than anticipated. It's slated to be a hot day and thanks to me sleeping in, there will be one more hour we have to spend under the scorching rays. But he gets over it quickly, and we begin the journey.
Miles 10-20: I'm settling into a rhythm for the ride. My uncle and I are going at a pretty fast, yet efficient pace, talking and chatting while we ride (mainly about bikes). At this point, we're out of the city and on to some nice country roads. I'm feeling pretty good. 100 miles seems a long way off, but I feel confident I'll hit it.
Miles 20-30: We hit a hillier stretch. While once my nemesis when first starting to ride, hills have become my favorite part of a ride. The Tour de France has been on during the same week as this ride I'm taking. I've watched the riders attack MOUNTAINS, which puts Wisconsin's little hills into perspective for me. I attack my hills hard, and try to get to the top as quickly as possible. My uncle and I have some small competitions during our ride, be it racing up a hill or sprinting down a descent. My uncle has a much nicer bike than I do, and many more miles under his belt, but my youthful vigor powers me to the top in first place on just about every single hill. However, he's got me by quite a few pounds, so momentum guides him to victory on nearly every descent. Me uncle and I are really in a good rhythm now. We don't talk as much now. My main focus is the road in front of me. I realize I'm at the point of no return. No matter how tired I get, I'm now 30 miles out, and that number is steadily increasing. If fatigue gets the better of me, I'll still have quite a bike ride ahead of me just to get home. There's no going back at this point. Not that that was ever a feasible option in the first place.
Miles 30-40: At around 35 miles, we run into what appears to be a huge problem. The road in front of us is flooded for a few hundred meters. My uncle and I stop and contemplate our situation. We decide there's only one option. The oxen begin fording the makeshift river. But it's not as deep as it looks. We both make it across this vast ocean without a single full rotation of the pedals. We pull a Jesus and float over the water, emerging on the other side dry and unscathed.
Everytime I've gone for a 50+ mile ride, I seem to hit a wall right around 40 miles. My hope on this day is that all the training and miles I've put it in the past few weeks pay off, and I avoid my 40 mile hangup. Sadly, this is not the case. We're 40 miles in and our destination, Devil's Lake, is in sight. There are signs along the roads that read "Devil's Lake, 3 miles". 3 miles isn't much, and yet, it seems like an eternity. We hit our longest ascent of the day right at the entrance to Devil's Lake. It's not a particularly steep hill we find ourselves battling, but it appears to be THE LONGEST FUCKING HILL EVER. Up and up and up we go. I turn the corner, expecting to see the welcoming descent just around the bend. But up and up it goes some more. I'm very fatigued at this point, and this hill isn't helping things. I struggle to go even 10 miles an hour. I'm half tempted to hop off my bike, set up base camp, and plan to reach the summit at a later date. But I fight on, and finally we are rewarded with the inevitable descent. Victoriously, we coast down to Devil's Lake.
Devil's Lake is a beautiful state park formed when a glacier's path ended and formed the lake. It's a good destination for a bike ride. I relax on a park bench and break out a few granola bars and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We've gone 43 miles in a little under 3 hours. It's not even 11 o'clock yet. I find it amusing and rewarding to think that I've already biked 43 miles and most of my friends probably aren't even awake yet. I had always thought it was a long car ride to make it out to Devil's Lake, but now I've made it all the way out there on nothing but the power of my legs. It's really a rewarding feeling. We keep our lunch break short to avoid cramping. We top off our water bottles, and it's back on the road.
Miles 40-50: That same hill that kicked my ass on the way into Devil's Lake proves to be quite a thrilling descent when approached from the opposite side. When I look down at my bike computer and see I've hit 50 miles, my thoughts are mixed. On one hand, I'm already halfway done with my century! On the other hand...I'm only halfway done with my century.
Miles 50-60: There is no talking. There is only riding. At this point, my mind begins to turn off and my body begins to take over. Earlier in the ride, I had been thinking plenty of thoughts. My mind would wander to things I'd done in the past week, my upcoming weekend plans, the usual girl issues, song lyrics, Orbea Orcas, what I wanted to eat once I finished my ride, and a variety of other random thoughts. But now, my mind is blank. The only thing I'm really conscious of is the rhythm of my gears turning and the sound of my breathing. 100 miles. So close, and yet so far.
Miles 60-70: We enter into more familiar territory. I start to recognize my surroundings, which turns my mind back on a bit. Once I hit 70 miles, for the first time, the Century Ride really feels like it's within my grasp. 30 miles is my average ride, and I know I can do 30 no problem. It's just that I've never attempted 30 immediately following 70. This could turn out slightly differently.
Miles 70-80: I'm in very familiar surroundings now. Fatigue is starting to set in again though. I take a quick pit stop to down some more granola bars. I pull my phone out of my pack and give my on-call biker friends a ring, hoping for the royal escort for the last 20 miles. It seems everyone is too busy with work to go for a 20 mile jaunt. I swing by my parents' house and pick up my dad and brother. Partially, I want someone to pace me for these last 20 tough miles. But also, I wouldn't mind having someone else there to share in my hopeful triumph. I'm grateful that dad and bro are up to the task.
Miles 80-90: Something happens to me a little after 80 miles. I catch a second wind, and now I feel unstoppable on my bike. I don't even know how to explain it. I start practicing my sprints. I'm flying down the roads. I picked up my dad and brother to pace me for what I thought would be a tough final 20 miles, but I find myself going at a blistering pace that they struggle to keep up with. I didn't think this would happen. At this point, I don't really have a specific ride in mind. I just want to grind out my last 20 miles. I try and think of where I'd want to hit 100 miles. I head for Madison's arboretum.
Miles 90-100: Once I surpass 90 miles, I can smell victory in the distance. I'm incredibly excited, but also very in-the-zone. My 80 mile mark second wind burst of energy has settled down into a more focused power that I harness and control. Once again, I turn my mind off to a degree. I settle into a rhythm. Dad and brother can't keep up at this point, but I can't break my rhythm. I'm too focused to adjust my speed at this point, so I leave them in my wake. The arboretum loops around, so I figure I'll catch them on the turnaround. There are a few riders in the arboretum ahead of me. My competitive nature kicks in again, and I make it my goal to catch and then pass every other rider I see on the trail. I'm over 95 miles in, yet I'm maintaining the fastest cruising speed I've gone on the entire ride. 96 miles. 97 miles. My pace just keeps increasing. I want this so badly. When my bike computer reads 100.00, I want to be going really fast. 98 miles. I can't believe what is about to happen. I get to 99 miles. I basically go into a sprint. I look down a bit later and see my bike computer hit 99.78. At this moment, I am overwhelmed by my now inevitable achievement. My eyes get a little bit moist, and I am washed over with a wave of euphoria. Faster and faster I go. 99.97, 99.98, 99.99...
100 miles.
I stop. I hop off my bike, savoring the moment and taking in my surroundings. I admire the spot where I accomplished my first century ride. It's quite a feeling. I bike 3 and a half more miles to my house. A part of me wants to just crawl into bed and sleep forever, but there's no rest for the weary. I take a shower, and then I immediately go out to grab dinner followed by a 7pm Ultrascreen showing of The Dark Knight. I'm really too tired to say complete sentences at this point, but I feel amazing. I slam a Red Bull, and enjoy my first viewing of the Dark Knight. A pretty solid day's work I'd say. Next up, the bicentennial ride baybee!
| | |
| A Series of Dreams, part 1Lately, I haven't been much of dreamer. When I do fall asleep, I enter a world of dark nothingness. It's not exciting by anyone's standards, but it recharges and rejuvenates my mind and body, which is all I can ask for. But the other night, I had a flurry of dreams like I have not experienced in quite some time. There's nothing like a vivid and memorable dream to motivate me to put my thoughts out on the page. I love attempting to glean some insights into my subconscious. I haven't been writing much lately, so my style could be rusty. But here goes nothing.
My sleep schedule on this night was particularly messed up. I had been at a friend's having a few White Russians and satiating my appetite for my latest addiction, BATTLESTAR GALACTICA. Flame me all you want for being a nerd, but that show is the balls. And I am probably a Cylon. We plowed through as much of season 1 as we could, until not even the sight of Hayden Panettiere standing naked in front of me begging for the business could have kept my eyes open. It was around 3:30 in the morning. I was a little drunk, and really tired. I decided I would be the couch crasher for the night, and head home when I woke up. I snuggled up on the couch, faded into my world of dark nothingness, and rose again at around 7. I packed up my few possessions, and headed back to my house.
Once I got home, I messed around for awhile on my piano, and wasted a few hours. However, I had to work at 3 in the afternoon. I decided my 3 and a half hour nap would not hold me over for my shift, so I climbed back into bed, planning to sleep from roughly 10 to 2. My mind slowly drifted away as I entered into a state of peaceful slumber. And so it begins.
I awaken. I gaze around me, and a wave of fear and confusion washes over me. I have no idea where I am, or how I got here. I appear to be laying in a giant bird's nest. It is bedded with straw and twigs, and is about 20 feet across. I am on the side of a huge cliff. I pull myself to my feet, and slowly venture forth to the edge of the nest. Gazing out over the landscape is truly a breathtaking sight. There is a sheet of clouds, though the clouds are far below where I am. I am higher up than all of the clouds. The clouds are so thick that I cannot see the ground beneath me. The sun burns brightly, dominating the sky. It illuminates the clouds so that they all glow varying shades of vivid red and orange. The clouds look very much like flames. I am taken aback for a bit by the powerful beauty of this sight. Then I snap back to 'reality' and analyze my situation.
Somehow, I've found myself in a gigantic nest, thousands of feet up on a cliff. The scenery is spectacular, yet all of my instincts are telling me to find a way out. And quickly. I look behind me for an escape route. I am just on a ledge of this cliff, not the top. The rock face goes further up, so far that I cannot see where it ends as it fades into the sky above me. I look around the nest, hoping for a path down. There is nothing. There also don't appear to be any reliable footholds or handholds for me to take a chance climbing. I crawl back to the edge of the nest overlooking the landscape. There appears to be a small tree sticking out from the nest. It extends about 6 feet over the edge of the cliff. Suddenly, there is a voice in my head. I can't tell if it's someone else's voice, or my own thoughts.
"Reach for the furthest branch."
I know what I need to do, but I don't think I can do it. The tree looks thin, like it will crack under minimal weight. To reach the furthest branch, I would need to put my whole body onto this tree that extends out over the edge. I hesitate.
"Reach for the furthest branch."
Now, I am torn between my instincts telling me to get the hell out of this nest, and the ones telling me that extending yourself over a tree that is thousands of feet above the ground is a suicidal idea. I take a deep breath and decide to go for it.
"Reach for the furthest branch."
Ever so cautiously, I slowly put more and more of my weight on this tree. The beautiful scenery dims. I have tunnel vision now. The entire focus of my being is on 'the furthest branch'. There appears to be berries and flowers growing out of the branch. It's quite a lovely looking branch.
"Reach for the furthest branch."
I am now almost fully extended over the tree. I stretch my right hand out as far as it can go, but I am far short of the furthest branch. Slowly I inch closer and closer. Any second now, I expect the tree, and myself along with it, to dislodge itself from the nest and plummet thousands of feet until I am lost beneath the fiery clouds below.
"Reach for the furthest branch."
There is no going back now. I close my eyes, and take a few deep breaths. Then I open my eyes, and lunge for the edge of the tree. My right hand grasps the furthest branch with all of my might. Then the tree breaks free from the nest. I begin falling. But there is no sensation of falling, like in so many dreams. Instead, my consciousness/spirit(?) floats out of my own body, and I watch myself fall. The flowery branch is gripped tightly in my hand. I look so peaceful and happy, though I'm falling to certain death. And that's the last thing I remember from that dream.
I actually had 4 separate mini-dreams within this 4 hour span, so I will continue on next time. Feel free to give your analysis.
| | |
| Dies irae! Dies illa!It's 7:25 in the morning. I struggle to turn off my cell phone alarm as I groggily rise from my 4 hours of blissful slumber.
"Fucking A..."
With heavy heart, and heavier eyelids, I drag myself up from my bed and zombie-walk my way to the shower. I take one of my legendary 2 minute showers while simultaneously brushing my teeth, power my way through a bowl of Raisin Bran Crunch, and grab my 20 ounce double strength Rockstar energy drink from the fridge. Heigh ho, heigh ho, it's off to work I go. But before I begin the epic adventure through the winter wonderland of Madison, there is one last thing I must do. I take my iPod out from my pocket and gently caress its smooth and seamless figure. What to listen to, what to listen to....that is the question. My 10 minute walk to work, nay, potentially my entire day hinges on this seemingly trivial decision.
I scroll downwards.
Afro Medusa? Nah, makes me think of a Tijuana night club. Not gonna fly in snowy Wisconsin today.
The Bee Gees? Groovy, but I'm running on empty in the sleep tank. I'm in no mood to walk like a ladies' man this early in the day.
RHCP? Too upbeat for me at the moment. I prefer to be stoic and reflective as I prepare to embark on another day of the grind.
I get to Souljah Boy and pause. I contemplate for a moment how the worst song I have ever heard captured the hearts of a nation. I recite 3 Hail Marys for the sorry state of the world of music, and quickly move on.
I scroll and I scroll. I scroll past my perennial favorites, Daft Punk and Muse. I'm not feeling them for some reason. But a few names catch my eye.
Beethoven. Mozart. Rachmaninoff. Tchaikovsky. Vivaldi. Wagner.
There we go. I decide to take the easy way out and queue up Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries". And then it begins. No longer am I Tom Barry, a lone man heading to his ultimately meaningless job in a vast sea of anonymity. No, I am Tom Barry, champion of Valhalla. For 10 minutes and 8 seconds, my soul takes flight. Then I walk through that door, and come back down to the real world. But that 10 minutes and 8 seconds was all I needed. Now I am refreshed, energized, and ready to face another day for another dollar.
Recently, almost all I've been listening to are compositions from the Classical and Romantic eras. In my humble opinion, this is the golden age of music. I've gone through stages of listening almost exclusively to classic rock, jam bands, hip hop, and electronic dance grooves. Most likely this recent Classical infatuation is just another temporary stage to add to the list. But oh, what a stage it is! For me as a music listener, I have always been drawn to the emotional aspect of music. I love and appreciate the talented technical musician. But if the world's most talented musician technically can't move me, it's not worth my time. However, when technicality and emotion are combined into one, then something truly special happens. And no one does this better than the Classical composer.
I have Mozart's "Requiem Mass in D Minor" playing as I write this. It's easy to just listen to the music and ride the wave. But sometimes I dig deep and really try to analyze each song I hear. And what you find is incredible. All the majesty of this most powerful of compositions came from the mind of ONE PERSON. The ability to create an incredible work for every single instrument in an orchestra and a full choir just blows my mind. I often have a hard time just coming up with a simple bass line during a jam session. I sometimes try to put myself into Mozart's mind as I listen to this song. I think Mozart knew exactly the kind of emotions he wanted to draw out from people through his music. I don't understand the Latin words being sung, so there are no lyrics to affect the thoughts and images brought to light by the music. The emotion wave is fueled not by some lame emo lyrics, but by the beauty of the notes. It is music in a more raw, pure, and powerful form than anything you'll hear today.
So next time you have to embark on a petty walk to class, work, or what not with only the company of your iPod, pause and think about the soundtrack to your walk. Try to give some REAL music a try. I know Classical/Romantic era music is not everyone's cup of tea. But if you make an effort to enter the mind of one of the great composers, you just may like what you find.
| | |
| Let's Get Back to BusinessOh boy, it has sure been awhile since I've updated. I think the time has come for me to get back into my groove. I've recently landed a job as a paid blogger as part of a 'guerilla advertising' campaign for a new company, so I'll definitely be back with a vengeance (all of my Xangaing actually paid off! More on this later). I have a few too many tequila shots in me tonight to write a serious entry, but expect something earth-shattering within the next few days!
| | |
| YES! YESSSS! YESSSSSS!!!!!I just found out that Daft Punk and Muse are both going to be playing at Lollapalooza 2007. Daft Punk and Muse are my #1 and #2 favorite bands by far. I am in total shock. This is going to be the greatest event of my entire life. | | |
|
