Return from the Dead

I think I'm allergic to Big Jim Slade, but only when we cross certain northern state lines. It's as if some chemical change occurs when we hit Georgia soil, and I wind up sick, if I've been in close proximity to our local Majestic Stallion. This is 2 road trips now, where I've returned home sick. I'm just sayin'!

The trip itself was good. The folks at Camp Thunder BSA have changed their view point on public trail usage. In the past it was bootleg deal, no cop, no stop. Though, in this case, I suppose it would be, no troop leader, no stoop feeder, or something else way more clever that I am simply not bright enough to come up with at the moment. Now, they welcome cyclists, regardless of Boy Scout, Girl Scout, Brownie, or Taliban affiliation. You got 4 bucks, you ride. Of course they want you give THEM the $4, but you get the point. They also now welcome camping. They have these giant canvas tents built on deck style platforms, with 2 cots in each. They rent the tents out at $8 bucks a head...er, per person. I smell a BC weekend camping trip on the horizon.

The 1st climb up from the Flint River always lives up to my expectations. It's just 10-12 minutes of granny gear grueling for this clydesdale. BJS and I discussed at the top that this climb is the worst one on the course. While there are a couple of others just about as long, they tend to run along old logging roads or jeep trails. This one is singletrack top to bottom, with switchbacks and gravel, the whole way. Finesse is important. A heavy gorilla pedal stroke will stop you dead, while your rear wheel gleefully spits a shower of rocks on the guy behind you.

The views up top are not too bad for Central GA.

I think I even found a new location for my own bike shop. Bigworms House of Repair Emporium(B.H.O.R.E) may soon be open for business!

The next morning found us at the Dauset trailhead. This is one of my favorite trails systems in GA. There are harder trails, longer trails, and more epic trails, but these are just plain fun. You can link an 18 mile loop with minor overlap, or you can time your laps to be a little shorter, to afford return trips to the truck to replenish water bottles. For those of us who hate wearing backpack style water systems, it's nice to be able to tailor the lap length.  The last few trips to Dauset have been less than spectacular. We had 2 swamp episodes, and 2 years ago we raced there in the dead of summer. Blazing, relentless, heat and humidity were on point. I'm still not sure how it could have been that humid, yet the trails were true dust bowls! Not this time. This time, the trails were as good as they get. I tested the limits of my tire's side knobs at every opportunity, and was rewarded with joyous free speed every time. The first 2 minutes down Bootlegger brings on the perma-grin.

It sucks getting home sick(not the same as homesick), but the trip was worth it in spades. Now, if I can just find a cheap helicopter, then I can move up there, and still keep my job. Big Jim says it has be a 6 man chopper, because he's tired of driving all these road trips. I'll just have to see...

Road Trip!

Another important piece to the enjoyment we share for mountain bikes is the road trip. Part of the draw to this sport is its exploratory nature. Even as kids, the moment you learn to pedal, you begin to realize that with the mobility, comes expanded boundaries. I've seen more places and sights, that would never have been available to me otherwise, atop two wheels.

My travels this weekend take us to places familiar, but not unchanged. It's been awhile since I got us lost along the Flint River, climbing the southern most foothill ridges of the Appalachians. Though I've been there many times, I'm sure much of it will feel like it's all new, and other areas will be as communing with an old friend. A sweet recipe for a giant smile.

I'm chomping at the bit, as I sit here trying to write of this. The pre-trip rituals are in place. I'm wandering the house, hoping I didn't forget anything necessary, the television is blaring my favorite mountain bike videos, and I keep checking the window, to see if Big Jim Slade has arrived, though it's 30 minutes early. Perfect. I can already taste the donuts!

Check back in later, maybe I'll post from the road. Maybe not. See ya next week!

The Sunday Ride

Sunday rides are the cornerstone of most cycling communities. While many of us go out of our way to squeeze in as many rides per week as possible, the majority of cyclists rely on the weekends. Saturday rides abound, but Sunday is for the Granddaddy of group get togethers. Sunday generally seems to be the day that crew members the world over manage to coordinate their free time, and congregate in a societal manner where we misfits function at our best.Saturday may see you at Bed, Bath & Beyond, mowing the grass, or painting dining room, but Sunday, Sunday is for riding and recovery from said ride.

In the Revolutions Cyclery days, Saturday nights were spent in preparation of the Sunday Ride. That may entail prepping the bike, eating a hearty dinner, cajoling your buddies who may be lacking the proper degree of enthusiasm. Or in some cases, Saturday was just a giant party, and the Sunday ride was something to be simply survived. I remember more than one occasion, where 8am rolled around, and more than one crew member still reeked of alcohol, and one or two may actually still be a little drunk! Somehow, when you're 23, and it's 3am, 3 hours seems like plenty of sleep prior to the Sunday group ritual.

You didn't miss it, though. If you dare be late, or a few guys simply decided that you were iffy, the shop phones were armed, and your answering machine got its speakers blown out by high decibel swearing and belittling, heard by most any neighbor who may be awake, and maybe even by the sleepy drivers cruising the neighborhood streets en route to their morning coffee. Spanish Mackerel was the most common recipient of this treatment, and as those of you new to the crew can still see, it never worked. His appearance on rides is still more a marvel than a regularity. I'm not certain of this, but he was likely also the first to get voicemail, versus the machine. That little bit of technology basically nullified our wake up calls.

By 7:45, the lot would be full of guys lubing chains, trying to decide what clothing was necessary for the day ahead, and bugging me to fix something that they could just never find time to deal with before that very moment. These rides typically had 6 or 8 guys, but sometimes topped 15. It really was cool to have so many folks riding together. 

Our rides started at 8, and we had to be back by noon to open the shop. Outside of those constraints, the ride route and pace were free reign. We always rolled from the shop, and linked as many kid built cut throughs, city parks, and bum trails as possible. Sometimes the ride headed through downtown, and over to the campuses. We'd spend hours bombing urban downhill runs through the empty college thoroughfares, down loading ramps and stairs. Competition abounded to see who could hop onto the highest benches and walls, without destroying chainrings in the process. Newcomers to these rides would swear we took them out to intentionally kill their equipment, thus securing the shop's future.

On other rides, the urban trails were simply a means to an end; connectors to the trails of the day. We rode all points of the compass from the shop, only to return later, exhausted and stoked, to be lucky enough to do what we did every Sunday.

Lately, I've been missing the big group rides of old. Then along comes an email from Elio. Superbowl Sunday, Urban Gorilla Ride, rolling from downtown at 8, hitting most every trail within the city limits. Elio has been hosting these urban gorilla rides for awhile, and he once told me that the idea came from the old Revolutions rides. So Superbowl Sunday rolls around, and I find my freezing ass rolling through the early morning deserted streets of Tallahassee, to meet a ride that was born from the imagination of a guy who was inspired by our old rides. The empty city streets instantly brought the memories flooding back. The group of mountain bikers milling around City Hall, waiting anxiously to see who all would arrive, brought back even more. A few of us from our BC crew had discussed meeting this group, but then splitting off to do our own thing, but when I saw 15-20 guys ready to ride, I realized that I was not gonna miss this one.

My partners had not shown when the ride departed the meeting spot, but as we came over a big hill, headed for the trails, my guys were climbing the other side. The spectacle of 20 guys cresting the hill, lit by the early morning sun hit home, and they had no intention of missing out on an opportunity like this, either. We picked up a few more on our way to the trails, and by the time we hit singletrack, there was a train of 25 or more bikes snaking along. Silk went to the front and set a steady pace. Nothing scorching, just steady. We never stopped until we'd passed through the Fern, Tom Brown, Cadillac, and across the dike to the Alford Greenway. A quick nature break, and we were back underway, without another stop until we'd skirted the lake, and crossed to the Miccosukee Greenway. At this point, there were still 12-15 guys hanging together. Unfortunately, this is also the point that my legs decided it was time to let me know that it was time to head for home.

When I split off from the group, it was saddening to watch such a big bunch still riding together, knowing that my day was done, and not knowing when the next big group ride would come around. I didn't realize it at the time, but my wait was shorter than expected. One week in fact, was all it took. I guess it was just a perfect storm of word of mouth, but today's ride had 10 people show up, when I was only expecting about three.

Afterward, I told Big Jim Slade that we have to find a way to make this more regular. Earlier this week, Storming Norman asked what had happened to the big rides. I rattled through the list of folks who'd taken up breeding, opening new businesses, school and injuries. The crew is alive and well, but those still riding are few and far between. I offered up my contact info to a few folks who asked when and where we ride. Perhaps an infusion of new blood will be good. I look forward to the return of Wrecking Ball, and with him, hopefully Little Wrecking Ball. Juniors like Mingo Jr, Lil' WB and Rupe are the future of the crew. Hopefully they will stick with this as they get older.

Regardless of where the numbers come from, the Sunday ride will remain a staple of cycling crews everywhere. The new faces may be new to cycling, or they may simply be new to us, but either way, the flow of people meeting up to get their weekend warrior on, will not die off anytime soon.

Back In the Saddle

2011 rolled in like a freight train, and I never saw it coming! I was ready to calmly let 2010 go it's way, and had scheduled a little R&R time for myself, the week following Christmas. My little brother, whom I had not seen in over a year, was in town, along with his 3 boys. I spent time hanging with them, and watching the year quietly reach its twilight. I used the time to get in plenty of riding, both road and mountain. Phil was in town the weekend of Christmas, so a Christmas eve spin was in order. It was really cool to get to spend some time with him. His Team Type 1 venture keeps him on the go, and large chunks of last year were spent over seas.

Things were going quite nicely, until we got word that Ms. Worm's uncle was in poor health, and an unexpected trip to Michigan was scheduled for the week after New Years. Last minute trips are always sketchy, but again, all went surprisingly well. I was nervous about driving in the snow, and sure enough, 10 minutes into the rental car, I'd slid across 3 lanes and up onto a sidewalk. No harm, no foul, and we were back under way. It snowed pretty much everyday we were there, and it was post card beautiful. I wouldn't want to deal with it on a daily basis, but it sure was nice to visit.

We returned from MI on a Friday, and Saturday morning was the annual trip for Tour de Felasco. This year, every one's schedules were all conflicted, so the usual Friday night throw down was discarded. No sweat, just wait until next year! Felasco was odd this year. Due to some arrowing inconsistencies, we got off track before lunch. The group had several different versions of how to deal with it, so we wound up in 4 different groups. Each group achieving different mileage. This year I took me 6+ hours of roll time, for 55 miles, and I was only with the crew for 45 minutes of that. That sucked. Felasco is a social event for me, and the social side went right out the window.

After Felasco, my sinuses staged a revolt, and eventually took over my lungs, before finally running out of steam, and allowing good health to win out. Two weeks, I spent my nights hacking up multi-colored squirrels, and keeping my poor wife awake with the retching sounds of bronchial battle.

At long last, my schedule is returning to normal. I'm on my bike again, and even managed to put in 10+ hours of roll time last week. Now I'm just tired, but it's a good tired. The kind you strive for, and lounge in, with the feeling that your are on the right path. Coach Silk keeps calling the plays, and I'm executing as many of them as I can.

2011 came out of the gate like a wild bull ride, but maybe, just maybe, the bull has realized that I'm not to be bucked quite so early.

Snow Ride! Take It Easy...

I awoke Sunday morning with intentions of doing a 40 mile loop on the rural roads of Gadsden County. A quick look at the weather slowed my roll, though. 35F and winds gusting in the 20's, did not sound like fun, no matter how much I think I like to get my Belgian on!

Luckily, Big Jim Slade came through with a mountain bike plan, so I went into scurry and panic mode, to make it to the prescribed meeting time and place. After Saturday's rains, Munson was sure to be in prime condition. As I was loading my bike, I saw flecks floating down into the bed of the truck. My first thoughts were of snow, but nah! This is Florida, so someone must be burning trash piles this morning. It sure is early to be burning, I pondered, but then again, at least the fire would feel warm. And I continued getting dressed and loading my gear. 20 minutes later, Ms. Worm gives me a call, to tell me it's snowing on her in traffic. She's so excited, it's becoming infectious.

It was spotty at best, and certainly was not accumulating, but the fact that we got snow this far south made for a unique occasion. As I sat through various red lights, I watched the small flakes drift and skitter across the hood and windshield, eventually melting where they came to rest.

We rode probably 2 and a half laps of Munson, as I begged off from the Twilight Loop. Forgive me, but to me, that loop is good for packing on miles, but it just gets boring. Munson still feels like a mountain bike trail, and the constant twists and turns keep me entertained. Twilight was a blast, when I had 35hp in my throttle hand, and 12+" of suspension travel to eat the whoops, but at bicycle speeds. it leaves something to be desired. I had fears of riding Twilight this windy, damp morning, and having nothing to occupy my attention, except "turn the pedals", and "Damn I'm cold".

The guys entertained my desires, and I tried to keep things from getting monotonous by mixing up the directions and randomly throwing in the short cut trails. The pace, for me, stayed medium to high, for most of the ride. I'd heard of the knock down drag out battle these two had at their last Munson ride, and quite honestly, I just didn't want to get dropped. They let me lead, so I tried to keep it at a pace that kept me from getting passed. Besides, the best way to defeat the cold days like this, is to refer back to Rule #5, ride hard, and the reap the warmth that comes with the effort. The wind was blowing so hard in some sections, you'd round a bend in the trail, and instantly be 2 gears to high.(Except for BJS, who only brought one gear, anyway.)

Unfortunately, the snow was scarce until the very end of the ride. As we rode the Paper Cup trail back to the parking lot, I was just noticing the flakes in the air, and the dampness as it landed on my face, when Big Jim asked if it was snowing again, or was it just my tires throwing sand in his face?

I know it's minuscule to the folks who ride at other latitudes, but for Florida guys, it was cool to be able to say we got a snow ride.

The Juniors

Revolutions, and later Bikechain, has raised quite a few juniors over the past 15+ years. I suppose the first two were Carl and Armie(sp?). I was living in Daytona, for school, when the boys opened Revolutions. But we always got together to ride whenever I came home. That's how I met Carl. He and Armie were the original shop rats. I kept hearing Armie's name, but never met him until some years later. Carl however, I rode with on these visits. He was a freshman or sophomore in high school, and built like a fire hydrant. At 12, the boy had calves bigger around than other kids' thighs. He was fearless, and talented, and was usually the first to try whatever dumb idea was brought up. When we began racing as a crew, Carl would just destroy the junior fields. That's how it is with juniors, the kids who develop the fastest, typically ride the fastest. I can remember more trash talking coming from the Joe's Bike Shop team juniors, as they tried to figure out how to beat Carl.

Carl has grown up now, but like most of us, is still a big kid at heart. His talent has grown along with him, and if you ever do a campus ride with him, he'll scare the shit out of you, dropping huge ledges and skying over staircases. He's living in Orlando, turning wrenches for a big shop down there. Most of his racing involves skinny tires these days. I've even heard rumors that he's married now, but like any kid, he's damned hard to get hold of, once he left the T-town nest. If anyone talks to him, tell I said to call me up, or else!

Another of the juniors, that luckily got a little less direct influence from us, as I think his Dad had better sense than to turn him loose with us, is now commonly referred to as Little Ball. I'm pretty sure that Little Ball was racing around his Mom's womb as a zygote. That's him on the right. He rode the smallest frame that Kona made, and he weighed less than his pedals, until he was about 19. Thanks to mountain bikes, Little Ball has been to the Olympic Training Center several times, and rode in Mexico representing the US of A at the Pan American Games. Now a days, he's typically found trying give Big Jim Slade a heart attack.

I guess the 2nd generation of Revolutions juniors came in the form of a 4 pack.  Joel, Jacob, Jarond and Phil were all friends who somehow got sucked into mountain bikes together. Joel was the most talented at the time, and regularly did well in the junior races. He seemed to be the leader of the little group, and more often than not, it seemed like it was the 3 J's versus Phil. The boys would come by after school, and when they got too rowdy in the shop, Red Dragon usually gave them a choice between menial labor tasks, or getting out. Phil would watch the J boys as they bitched and moaned there way out the door and headed off, as he picked up a broom or rag, and did Dragon's bidding. The boy was tenacious, and wanted to be in that shop. The J boys all found their way into various sorts of trouble, and have long since given up bikes. But Phil, well he's a whole story all his own, and there is a book now being published to tell his tale. On the brief side, he kept racing with us until he discovered the darkside, road bikes. He showed even more promise in FL criteriums, where fearlessness will take you a long way. I can't tell you how many times I've seen him put his 20" handlebar through 15" gaps, all in the middle of full gallop, no holds barred, 30+ mph road sprints. He did a 12 hour solo mtb race, back when folks just didn't do that around here, just to prove he could. To top it all off, Phil is Type 1 diabetic. He nearly died at 6 months of age, when he was diagnosed. He never let it stop him, and after meeting a fellow diabetic cyclist in college, they started Team Type 1. TT1 has blown up, and for 2011, the team is now fielding a pro squad on the European race circuit.

Generation 3 was brought around by Little Ball. You guys know him, too, as our own lovable but grumpy, Ice Berg. I remember when Ice Berg first came around. Double D told me, "Great! I guess we're raising yet another junior to kick our asses!". Ice Berg has definitely lived up to his billing, and as long as he doesn't crash or break something, is still a threat at most any race, be it road, mountain, cross, of mx. This boy's story is still developing, so stay tuned.

The most recent batch of juniors looks to consist of Lil' Wrecking Ball, Mingo Jr, and Rupe, Stormin' Norman's offspring. This is the first generation of juniors, in which the Dad's are crew members. Luckily, these boy's Dad's are present and accounted for on most rides, so they don't get the full B/C dose, that some of the others got.

Now, to clear up a myth. Many of you have asked about a junior who has been seen riding with us on occasion, lately, and typically joins us in Felasco. Contrary to popular belief, this guy is crew, and not a junior.

History

I straight stole the image above, from Dave Hall's site. Thievery, I know, but we have enough old school locals lurking around here, that they should definitely recognize one or two players from the game above.

Lately, we've been seeing an influx of new folks in the crew. As life goes on, the core group is still around, but busier than they used to be, and their appearances on the rides are fewer and further between. They are not gone, in the way that Romeo, Vee, or even Big Tony have moved on. They are still in town, just caught up with ball games, diapers, teething, or in the case of Spanish Mackerel, butterfly watching.The new guys who have either just discovered riding at an obsessive level, or guys who have had that all along, but only just discovered the ego and image destroying, dysfunctional family, that is the BC crew, keep our group rides numbers up.

One of the new guys recently suggested that those of  us who have been around around since the beginning should share the history of the crew. This is a great idea, but I have 20 years of crew stories. You guys are gonna have to get these in installments. Hopefully my brothers in arms, at Bikechain and Dirtysouth, will jump in from time to time, with their own stories. If I have to tell them all, they're getting bent to my liking!

Tonight, I tripped over the picture up above, and the memories came flooding back. The purple Joe's Bike Shop jersey worn by Kingsnake, our Revolutions Cyclery jerseys, worn by Double D, and the old Scwinn kit of Zack then Murfree, now Finn.I was there that day, and have a plaque hanging on the wall to prove it, though not from that elite class above.

One of the guys I surfed and skated with, Tom Hellman, unknowingly changed the course of my life one afternoon. I went to pick him up to go skate some ditch, or some other spot we'd heard about, and sitting in the corner of his living room was this crazy looking bike. It looked like a bmx bike on steroids. I couldn't help but be drawn to those huge knobby tires. "What the hell is this?" I asked. "It's a mountain bike.", he replies. "My brother is living in Japan, and he's been riding one all over the mountains. He said I should give it a try, so I bought one at Sears." That was it. Innocuous as it sounds, the damage was done. It wasn't 2 weeks before Ms Worm, my then girlfriend, and I had been to Sears and picked out 2 ultra cheap, but crazy expensive to us, mountain bikes. Grade F department store Huffys, but more than enough to set the hook so deep, that 2 broken collar bones in my first 6 months, were not enough to shake me of my new found, 2 wheeled habit.

The first real bike I bought was a Specialized Rockhopper Comp, purchased from the first serious bike rider/racer I had somewhat befriended, Dave Baton. Dave introduced me to Jason Snow, and later to Nathan King. Kingsnake was still a 16 year old junior back then. He drove this old van, and rode a red Dakar with the shifters and brake levers all drilled out, 70's style. First flat I got was on a campus ride with those 3 guys, and my buddy Tom. I tried to bunnyhop a curb, not at all understanding the physics of it, and promptly dinged a rim and pinched the tube. I was so new that having a spare tube had never even occurred to me. Kingsnake throws me his tube and pedals off to fly off some huge loading dock, while I fiddle with the foreign valve stem, that clearly had had all of the rubber stripped from the outside. Yep, first presta valve stem, too. Completely embarrassed, but too stubborn to give up, I just kept trying to figure it out. Nathan finally comes back, looks at me like I'm an idiot, takes the whole thing away from, fixes it for me, and then promptly drops the hammer so that I get spit out the back. Tough love from a kid still in high school! But when it came to bikes, he was far and away my senior. Bikes will do that. Age goes out the window in the respect hierarchy, and I liked that. Master Baton, Kingsnake, and Snowman taught me a lot, and not all of it in the nicest terms, but I absorbed all I could. Those were the guys I looked up to in this new world I'd discovered, and hell. I was the same age or older than most of 'em.

By the time that pic was snapped, I'd been riding and racing for about 6-7 years. I had been working in a bike shop, for 3-4. Kingsnake still awed me with his natural ability, and still does today, when I get to see him ride, but it's not the same as it was that first year. By then, I was in it deep. Everything revolved around bikes. That bike shop I was working in, was Revolutions Cyclery. Double D is wearing the old jersey in the center of that pic. Revolutions was where the crew started. That melting pot of 20 something year old guys sent us down a path that continues to this day. I have been to more weddings from that crowd than I can count. I was best man in 2. I have adopted nieces and nephews; the offspring of crew members. I have many, many friends that came of that shop, and somehow the numbers just keep growing.