Dickhead in the Wind!

Sometimes, I don't know why, I get out on the bike and it feels like CRAP! Everything is wrong, I feel like a fat toad who hasn't been on a bike in a year, the wind is like a hurricane in my face (no matter which direction I'm riding), and then, I start imagining that some bastard has screwed around with my seat height. These and a hundred other rancid thoughts start to pollute my stream of consciousness while I'm doing this thing I profess to love so much. So last night, as I fought my way out Placer Street swearing aloud at the wind, shaking my fist at people in cars whom I deemed to have passed me too close, I finally arrived at the turn-out to Rattlesnake and the trail to the top of the world. Ahh, good old dirt! I saw a familiar short, steep section ahead and thought, I will not gear down for this hill, I'm going to hammer it! I stood out of the saddle, made three strong strokes and something snapped. The rear wheel locked solid and I found myself in that oh so awkward position of belly laying on the stem of the handlebars, while my lips could have kissed the front tire.
I thought I had snapped the chain for sure. But no! Then I thought it was the rear deraileur, nope not that either. What it was was my own careless (brainless?) attention to detail. I had fixed a flat tire on the rear the day before and only finger tightened the axle quick release. The wheel popped out of the drop outs and locked against the chain stays. I quickly looked around to see if anybody saw it and then, magically, my whole attitude changed. Humility. The rest of the ride was much better!

The Race of Truth.

Sunday marked the beginning of a series of time-trials that the Redding Velo club is putting on. I have always loved racing the clock, so I loaded up my red bike and headed out to Millville to ride. The course was a 6.2 mi. down and back, with riders starting every 30 seconds. I flew like the wind on the way down and broke like the wind on the way back. But, all and all, I was pleased with my time of 18m. 04s. Yesterday's T.T. was the first in a series of four (one a month) through August. I was very impressed with how well the event was run and how nice the folks all were. There was everything from high dollar, purpose-built bikes, to tandems, to a full suspension mt. bike. (God, that hadda hurt!) I am definitely going to try to hit all four of these events and I encourage everyone to come on out and blow your cookies... I mean ride!

On Walden's Bike by Hawking

For years I have dreamed of being a naturalist writer in the spirit of a Henry David Thoreau, Annie Dillard or perhaps Joseph Wood Krutch. I would wax poetic on the simple, seemingly insignificant doings of such romantic things as, Water Skippers, Nesting Birds and Poison Oak plant development. But alas, I am a rider of bicycles, so I tend to flash through these "Universes in Miniature" and get set for the next "Intense" section of the ride. Hey wait a minute, some physicists speak of theoretical, sub-atomic particles dubbed Tachyons. These particles are said to be able to travel faster than the speed of light. Maybe I am in a universe of Tachyons while riding my bike. Information simple cannot be received, processed and sent fast enough to have any bearing in the physical world, as we know it. But somewhere deep inside me, it's all getting in.

Priorities

The weekend was full of matriarchal charm as the women in my life took center stage in the form of my daughter's 20th birthday and of course Mother's Day. Being the season of moderate temps, I simply hit the trail nice and early. Rousing no suspicion of fulfilling my own selfish needs in the form of 2 more epic bicycle rides and wearing the hats of "Good Dad", "Good Husband" and "Good Son", an art form that I have perfected through years of trial and miserable error. The worst of times was back in the 80's when an old buddy of mine, who was an icon of cycling in Shasta County would promise me, "an easy little 2 hour jaunt and you'll be home for lunch!" Then, for the nineteenth time, I found my self somewhere in the Manton area, hoisting my seventh draught beer and watching the sun set, along with any hopes I had of sleeping in my house that night. The bottom line is this, I enjoy cycling, I love my family!

Sittin' on Top o' the World

Last night about 5 P.M. I arrived at the "Top of The World" on my Cross-Bike having fairly flown up the "Rattlesnake" trail. Quality training rides and excellent nutrition really do pay off! There was a guy sitting up there when I arrived, he had ridden up before me and was just kickin' it enjoying the lovely weather and scenery . He was delighted with my bike. We had a nice chat about everything from full rigid bikes, to one-speeds, to 700c wheels off road. Then, one by one, three guys on expensive, full suspension bikes arrived, then a girl who jogged up there came puffing up. It was a regular hoot-nanny folks and by gaw, I am so proud to a Redding local!

The Lost Weekend

A whirlwind of a weekend, this last one was. Me dear old Mum turned 70 so there was a big party with lots of old friends from out of the area here. I surprised her with a real blast from the past in the form of our old, old friend "Hippie Charlie", from our L.A. days. Let me tell you friends, the 60's are still alive and kickin' albeit a wee tad gray! Old Char got going on subjects ranging from peyote cults to government mind -control plots until finally, I had to take him out for a little walk to the Sundial Bridge. Then as if by magic, in the light of the setting sun, friends began arriving one by one on their bicycles until Charlie finally yelled out, "Do you know every person who rides a bike in this town!?" We had not seen him in almost 35 years but it was just like old times again. He stayed Friday and Saturday night at the Motel 6 and "boogied on home" early Sunday morning. I got my weekend rides in, while he explored the area in his Prius.

Happy May Day!

The earliest May Day celebrations appeared in pre-Christian Europe, as in the Celtic celebration of Beltane, and the Walpurgis Night of the Germanic countries. Many pre-Christian indigenous celebrations were eventually banned or Christianized during the process of Christianization in Europe. As a result, a more secular version of the holiday continued to be observed in the schools and churches of Europe well into the 20th century. In this form, May Day may be best known for its tradition of dancing the Maypole and crowning of the Queen of the May. Today various Neopagan groups celebrate reconstructed (to varying degrees) versions of these customs on 1 May.

The day was a traditional summer holiday in many pre-Christian European pagan cultures. While February 1 was the first day of Spring, May 1 was the first day of summer; hence, the summer solstice on June 25 (now June 21) was Midsummer. In the Roman Catholic tradition, May is observed as Mary's month, and in these circles May Day is usually a celebration of the Blessed Virgin Mary. In this connection, in works of art, school skits, and so forth, Mary's head will often be adorned with flowers. Fading in popularity since the late 20th century is the giving of "May baskets," small baskets of sweets and/or flowers, usually left anonymously on neighbors' doorsteps.

Super C.X.

Last Saturday I took one of the best rides I've ever been on. I rode from the downtown area, over the Sundial Bridge, worked my way over to the North side river trail and took the steep, up and out section to Quartz Hill road, out to the Hornbeck trail. I rode the loop of the ditch trail and back the Hornbeck proper. Then I rode back in. The whole key to my wonderful experience was the fact that I was riding my 1990(?) Bianchi cross bike. That bike is by no means the best road bike nor is it the best single track bike, but it will smoke a full-on mt. bike on the road and it works great on off- road trails like the Hornbeck. I found perfect conditions out there, no mud and no dust. Just that beautiful hard pack with a hint of moisture from the little rain we got earlier in the week. I would love to run a road/dirt time trial someday and see if I could get others interested. Maybe a mini Paris Dakar rally for bicycles.

More Stuff!

We had a great "Bicycle Swap and Sell" on Sunday. The place was buzzing with people buying, swapping and trading, parts and complete bikes. I want to thank everyone who came and by all means, come on down for next one. Maybe some time this coming Fall.

My Best Thinking

I have often wondered, is possible to damage one's brain by engaging in anaerobic exercise for extended periods of time, (a.k.a. hammering your friggin' noggin off on a bicycle!)? I have noticed that after a morning long ride, I often spend the rest of the day in a sort slack-jawed stupor, mumbling incoherently, eating everything in sight, then sneaking off for a wee nap. When I get up, I take two Tylenols, make dinner and vegetate in front of the T.V. until early bedtime zonk-out comes.
I think I may be just a little too competitive out there when I'm riding with others or when I happen to see fresh meat... I mean another rider, up the road ahead of me. I made a pact with myself that this would be a "base building" year wherein I would spend quality time riding well with in my aerobic zone 90% of the time. But last Sunday I was up to my old tricks again, blasting off the front of the pack only to be buried (200 meters from the summit) by guys who look like they're made of beef jerky.
Now, armed with this knowledge, I plan on really paying close attention to the messages my body is trying to send to me. So, tomorrow night at the Lemurian kick off ride from Chain Gang, I plan on riding nice and easy on the group ride up Rattlesnake on my one-speed with Noel and Stewart to the Top-Of-The-World. Yeah, Right!

Captain Look Out rides Again!

You know, lately I've been getting a lot of mail regarding the whereabouts of one "Captain Look Out," the fictitious moniker of a once-powerful Mt. Bike rider here in Northern California. The problem with nailing down this semi-mythological man's being is that those who knew and rode with him are all either dead or missing large pieces of their reasoning power. I will not try to pretend that many years ago Mt. Bikers didn't believe that certain herbal concoctions were not only necessary but essential to performance enhancement.
Oh sure, I've caught fleeting glimpses of what might be "The Captain" through the years. Riding an ancient Gary Fisher bike, a beard to his knees, out there flailing away at the pedals, alternately screaming out curses and blessings to the oblivious passersby in their cars. Well, in honor of this once great icon of cycling, we are going to be holding our first annual Sell and Swap Bicycle Meet. We look forward to seeing you there and who knows, maybe "The Captain" will bless/curse us with his presence.

Life Cycle

I am alone, riding a trail that I have been on hundreds of times. Only the bikes have changed through decades of being out here. A certain amount of natural and man made influence can be seen. A large section of the trail fell into the creek in 1995, necessitating a new route up and around the slide. I've seen new houses go up, stealing into"my" trail areas. So far they are just little breaks in the tree line, high atop the surrounding ridges. For over 20 years now I've been riding "out west of town." I try never to forget how lucky I am to have these areas to ride my bikes in. They are spaces where my soul can soar and I can play out my alter ego existence as the next great, up and coming world champion, be it youth, veteran, master or senior.

Bicycle Swap Meet.

O.K.! It's official. We are going to hold the first annual Bicycle swap meet on April 27, 2008. That is Sunday, the day after the Lemurian bike race. We'll get going about Noon and go until it's over. Bring your trade-able, sell-able stuff and a folding table or ground cloth and let's swap and sell! Also, make a list of what you might be looking for (between now and then) because if you're like me, you'll get there and go blank. Hope to see you there!

"I am not a Communist!"

"But I do tend to be a bit Socialistic at times." I am hatching another plan involving bicycles, this one is a swap meet. You bring your boxes of crap and I bring mine. We swap and sell our crap. I leave with crap I can use and you get new crap too. It's amazing how much crap I've accumulated in the last 20+ years of crapling... I mean cycling.

Strange Dreams

My brain, recoils like a gun stock against a discharge of the words, Martin Luther King Jr. was shot on this day 40 years ago. My brain, is not able to wrap around and hold the reality of petrified wood. In my brain, God is a Walt Disney-like chap who created the earth and then buried and hid rocks and fossils to make me think the earth is much older than the bible tells me so. In my brain, a scheme is hatching wherein I go to O.J.'s five and dime and buy a bunch of small, hard rubber balls to sling shot at the Mo-Fo crow who sits outside my house each morning, cawing and croaking like a mad man in my early morning dream-sleep. Fuck it! I'm up!

Monkey Boy and the red-headed step child

So I made a complete fool of myself* by inviting a young whipper-snapper out to "MY HOUSE" aka Turtle Bay East CX course and challenging him to a four lap, impromptu cyclo-cross race. It would not have been so bad if I hadn't made all those smack-down comments throughout the day to him at work. Of course, it was warm yesterday but I truly believe that if I hadn't aspirated my own Power Gel Puke on the third lap, I would have finished better.
*Please disregard all previous references of my being "The Woody Allen of cycling", "Jimmy the bottle rocket", or any of the countless other derogatory monikers I have proclaimed of myself in earlier entries. This was "THE BIG ONE" folks.

A ride with Noelly Frejole and Brook

I have been noticing that Noel is rollin' out for Sunday rides just about the same time as the Gazzigli Boyz are on Sunday mornings. So I hooked up with he and Brook yesterday and we hit the Hornbeck recreation area. What a fun ride we took. Noel reminds me of a kind of Sir Edmund Hillary of cycling. He is incredibly strong and big! Brook is a bike handler extraordinaire. Incredible flair and style. We laughed our butts off and rode some superb trails. I took my Monohopper and hung in there fairly well. My quads started locking up a bit towards the end of the ride, when I would get up out of the saddle for climbing (one-speed). But all and all I had a great time and hope to do it again next Sunday. Come one come all. The more the merrier!

Freak-out!

1975, We were a motley crew of long haired, harebrained pranksters. We were rolling through downtown Reno Nevada (the"BIGGEST LITTLE CITY IN THE WORLD") in a 1960 V.W. bus. It was spring break and day 6 of a road trip that had taken us to a "vision quest" in the North West section of Nevada (the area is now used for the annual Burning Man festival.) Three of our party of seven were standing in the back of the bus with their heads and shoulders sticking out through the roof hatch of the bus yelling at the top of their lungs "Eureka.. We found it!!" Then they began tossing small handfuls of peyote buttons to the bewildered crowds of blue-haired, day-gamblers as they shuffled down the side walks toward their tour buses.

I had, up until this point, just been sitting in the back of the bus brooding and mumbling my general disdain for this whole affair and kept quipping little statements of dissension toward Matt the driver and hatcher of this silly scheme. Where upon the inevitable killer-bong made it's way back to me. In a fit of one-upmanship, I took the biggest hit of monster hash of my life and rose from my seat like a ghost from Marley dream. My smoking head was now sticking out of the top of the bus and I began screaming like a madman, "That's it! You've bought the whole pig... Hocks, Tripes and chitterlings!" "Now go roast the Bitch on your sacrificial fires you Mongrels!!!"

Smoke and particles of spittle continued to issue forth from my yowling yapper as my tirade escalated into a truly disgraceful oration, well beyond anything proportionate to the relatively prosaic situation into which our little band of hippidom had found itself. The crowd started looking on in fear and disgust when suddenly, to my horror, I realized that two of the crowd were my grandmother and grandfather Dixon. But worst of all they saw me! "Oh Charles!" leona pouted. "Isn't that JIMMY in that dirty old hippie wagon?" "JIMMY HONEY!" my papa sang out in a melodious, artificial voice. "Jesus Christ...We're BUSTED!!!" I yelled and dove into the back of the bus then buried myself in a mound of sleeping bags.

I never completely copped that entire story to my folks or why I was unable to look my Nana and Papa in the eye for years after the debacle.

Evenflow

Wednesday night ride at Turtle Bay East, smells of Chamomile and Ceonothus filled the swirling air, while fresh green grasses rolled along in lush, long waves. Lupine in bloom with purple flowers, yellow little ones, shimmering bright in rainbow-light, storm skies broken. Shiny oak leaves young and tender, buzzing in the high branches. My machine, smooth and quiet as I roll through the course, still looking for that perfect lap. Then , I think I put one together. At least , it was perfect for me.

Nothing means Anything!

I love to try to get down to the real nitty-gritty of the inner workings of peoples minds. My own included. I have a dear friend (we'll call him Cap'n) who is a self proclaimed Atheist. I have no problem with that as long as there is a well considered philosophy behind it. But through the years, catching glimpses of the inner workings of Cap'n's mind have been like trying to read wisps of smoke from ships on horizons afar*. The other day I was reading a sort of philosophy for dummies book and I came to Existentialism. There it was! Cap'n is a flippin' textbook Existentialist! I finally had him pinned down. I quickly contacted him and feigned a position of matter-o'-factness and asked if he had read any Nietzsche lately. He asked me "What the Fuck" I was talking about. "Come on Cap'n!" I said and started going down the list of existentialistic attributes his life espoused. "I don't know what you're talking about!" He demanded. "Dammit Cap'n, to say you don't believe in God and then have no philosophy to bring some "meaning" to life, is tantamount to a monkey sitting at a typewriter randomly pecking out The Lords Prayer. No doubt about it, I gotta find a new breakfast cereal!
*Paraphrased from Pink Floyd.