Adventures on a Bike

I just didn’t feel like writing and now I do.  It’s really as simple as that.

But just because I wasn’t writing doesn’t mean that the Adventures came to a stop.  Since we last got together, I’ve chosen 2009 goals, designed a new training plan, integrated mountain biking into my life and ridden about 1,029 miles on dirt and road.  My goal is to get you up to speed so I’ll be writing more about all these missing Adventures in the weeks to come.

Feels good to be back.

 Remember when they said that computers and the internet would isolate us from each other?  They said we’d spend all day inside, “playing” with computers, disconnected from the “real world”…

Here’s a map that Google Analytics provides which shows the global distribution of web traffic to this site over the last 30 days. Make sure you click it to get the zoomed view. 

The green areas are places where people visit this site from.  The darker the green, the more visitors.

Here is the breakdown within one country, the United States of America

I find it very cool that this little blog gives me the opportunity to connect with so many people from around the world. And I am inspired that my adventures resonate enough with people that they come back.  People from all around the world.  I could never image being this connected to the “real world”.

Thank you, World. I’ll keep sharing my adventures as I find them and I hope you continue to enjoy them.

Back in February, I started shaving my legs. Yeah, at first it was a little wierd, but I kept on.  Among the Descenders, clean legs are in the minority, but not by much.  On my recent trip to the Tour de France, there was only a couple of guys with hairy legs.

So, I guess I’ve gotten used to it.  Yesterday, I was looking at some old photos of me on a bike from last year - here’s a cute one of me, Romy and my daughter after riding the MS Bike Tour.  Make sure you click on it to get the zoomed in image.

Look at those nasty, hairy legs!  I guess it’s funny how we get used to some things.

Last year, my friend Andrew invited me to ride the 2007 MS Bike Tour with him.  It’s a 150-mile event over two days that raises money for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society.  Wow - 150 miles!  The longest I had ever cycled in a day was maybe 40 miles - could I ride a full century followed by another 50-mile day?  I love a good challenge so I accepted and we started training in earnest.

I told another friend, Dave about it and he immediately signed up.  Then his friend Firger, who’s Mom struggles with MS signed up.  Firger actually signed up without owning a bicycle.  Next thing I know, we’ve got 7 people on the team.  We’re started calling ourselves “Team Climb On!“.

When you sign up, you commit to raising at least $400 for the National MS Society.  I was pretty nervous about being able to raise that much so I procrastinated asking for donations.  I had no real connection to the MS community and was happier focusing on the cycling challenge.  In the back of my mind, I pondered whether I would just pony up the $400 myself rather than ask for donations.

Then one day, it occurred to me that one of my best friend’s dad has multiple sclerosis.  His name is John.  John used to have a really active life, he was an avid skier, cyclist, hiker and tennis player. After his diagnosis in 1992 he had to use a cane to walk, then a walker, and now a wheelchair.  He’s unable to move on his own or even feed himself.  John considers himself very lucky that even though he has lesions on his brain typical of MS, they have not progressed and he maintains full mental capabilities.

All of a sudden, what really mattered to me was how we could help people like John live with MS.  I told this story and asked for donations and people gave far more generously than I could have predicted. I was inspired by their contributions.  As the summer progressed, Team Climb On! worked harder and harder to make a significant difference in the MS community.  We were all getting stoked by people’s commitment to do something good.  It drove us to go farther.

By the time the actual event rolled around in October, we had raised $22,047.01 to fight MS.  Each member of Team Climb On! was awarded Top Fundraiser and 4 of us were among the top 150 fundraisers, which is a special honor.  We were presented with a team award and I even won “Rookie Team Captain of the Year” at an awards banquet in January.

Oh, and I did the cycling.  It was a great ride, in fact.  But do you know what was so inspiring and what got me really passionate?  It was the difference we made in the MS community.  It was all the lives we touched.  From the riders on our team who were getting into cycling just for the event, to the people we inspired by our example, to all the people who would benefit from the money we raised.  I had no idea that contributing like that could be so rewarding, so fulfilling. I really got that life is the most rewarding when you are being a contribution.

This year we’re going even bigger.  We’ve already doubled the size of Team Climb On!, which was pretty easy - people want to be a part of making a difference.  We’ve also increased our fundraising goal to $50,000 which I think is actually pretty doable - with a bit of help :)  I’m not worried about the training anymore and there are 30-mile and 100-mile course alternatives for people who are more focused on the contribution aspects than the cycling.

I can’t wait to see how much we can accomplish this year. Visit my donations page, make a contribution and be a part of it.

ps: Would you like to be a part of Team Climb On?  Visit our team web site to see what we’re up to and drop me a line at arlynasch at gmail dot com if you’re interested in joining.  We’re always looking for people who want to make a difference.

Quick author note: I didn’t write much about my Tour experience and rather than bore everyone with a 14-page account, I’ll be posting vignettes over the next several days.  Stay tuned.  — Arlyn

I looked at the guide as if he was crazy.  Was he trying to start a fight?  Get in the van?  I tell him, “You’ll have to carry me into the van.  I’m not getting in.” He shrugged and I cycled on.

Now it’s 6:30pm and I have half a bottle of water.  There are 141km on my odometer with 3,218m of climbing in my legs.  I’m standing motionless at the bottom of Alpe d’Huez, right where the road pitches up and there is a storm raging in my heart.

The Croix de Fer had really taken it out of me.  My legs hurt but screw that.  I’ll chew my legs off before I let the pain stop me.  Getting lost sucked but at least I bagged the Col du Mollard.  Shit, I’ve wasted a lot of time getting back on course.

The van.  Screw the van.  Death is in the van.  I’m low on energy.  It’ll take me 2 hours to climb L’Alpe.  That puts me at 8:30pm if I don’t stop to refill my bottles.  Maybe I can ask a fan for water.

They’ve painted every square inch of road on L’Alpe.  They line the road, even here at the bottom.  Some of them are eyeballing me to see if they should cheer for me.  Will I start up the hill?  Death is in the van.  You can’t get in the van.  The fans wait for me to make my decision.

Sweat drips off me and onto my bike.  I’m part of a group, a team.  My actions affect others.  This is not a one-man operation today.  If I go on an epic, the guides are responsible for me.  But, it doesn’t get really dark until 9pm.

Cyclists and cars stream by me.  The party has begun on L’Alpe.  It’s 14km to the top with another 1,100m of climbing on 21 legendary switchbacks.  The van is death.  No one knows where I am.  They’ll worry and it’ll cause a problem for the guides.  They’ll have to look for me.

Oh crap, how am I going to live with this?  Maybe I should just go.  Screw them, they’ll find me.  Pain is temporary - quitting is forever.  How am I going to live with this?

I take one last look up that beautiful, crazy, epic mountain and turn away.  I ride slowly back to the group and without saying a word, rack up my bike and get into the van.

The storm in my heart rages on.

‘Twas the night before le Tour, and all through across the land
Not a cyclist was racing not even Hincapie;
The TiVo was programmed to record every second,
In the hopes that victory would…  something that rhymes with ’second’.

Oh, I hate poetry.  But I do LOOVE le Tour! And it all begins in about 36 hours.

I’ve previewed the first few stages, I’ve read all the analysis. I’ve haunted VeloNews.com for any last minute updates on Astana’s status, I totally understand the whole ASO/UCI thing.  My TiVo(s) are empty and set to double-record the first 7 stages (just in case!!!).

I’m ready.

Months of preparation and years of experience have gotten me ready to spectate the next three weeks of the most amazing sporting event ever concieved.

I’m ready.  Are you?

Ok, I’m a spreadsheet guy. I admit it. And according to my cycling spreadsheet, I’ve ridden my bike 3,097 miles this year.  I’ve basically ridden my bike from San Diego to Boston. Wow.

View Larger Map

Here’s another one for you - so far this year, I’ve only driven my car 1,566 miles. So, I’ve ridden my bike almost twice as far. Now that’s a carbon footprint I can live with.

Which is better - crossing a cattle guard at 8mph while climbing or at 39.7mph on the descent?

I think it’s best at slow speeds.  My bike gets all hobbly-wobbly, the tires feel only half-inflated and I worry about falling over and disappearing into the grate who’s bars now seems to be more than 2 feet apart.  Plus, you get for one short second, the barest idea of what it might be like to ride the cobbles of Paris-Roubaix.

All you get from zipping over them at 39.7mph is a brief, “Oh god, I hope this works!” moment and then ZZIIP, you’re done.

But enough of my opinion, you decide

It was sometime in the ’80s, one of those really bright, clear SoCal days and my Dad and I were at the Schwinn store in downtown Orange. He was helping me get my first road bike, a Miyata Six-Ten, very similar to this one.

Note the panniers - this was a sturdy touring bike, designed to go long distances and be ridden in all kinds of weather. I imagined myself cycling across the country, with everything I needed on my bike. It was a triple and had 18 gears. The quote from the salesperson was, “This thing could climb trees if you had the traction.”

I loved that bike. I rode my Miyata up Chapman hill, which was the longest and steepest hill in the City of Orange.  I rode into the “back country”, past Irvine Lake, out past the old landfill into Santiago Canyon.  One time I went so far that I came out on the Irvine side and figured my way back home.  I rode down the Santa Ana riverbed to the ocean in Newport Beach and back.  I rode all the way to San Diego once, on a three-day ride with a church group.

I wore spandex bike shorts, wore t-shirts and had a pair of special cycling shoes, although they were not clipless.  I carried bananas in my pocket as a snack, even though I don’t really like bananas, because that’s what Greg LeMond seemed to do.  I wanted (but never had the guts) to wear a Campagnolo hat, with the bill turned up like a bike racer.  My helmet was hard-shell and occasionally saved me from smacking my head.

At some point, I stopped riding my bike.  Probably when I left home for the Army, as I was ready to move on to bigger adventures.  The Miyata my Dad found for me had served it’s purpose.  Lots of adventures and lots of growing up.  Probably just what my Dad had in mind when he got it for me.  Happy Father’s Day, Dad!