I get very attached to my bikes. We all do. Whether they are a prize-winning race pony, a ‘project’ bike that you tinker on, or your weekday commuting companion, every bike has a special meaning for its owner.
I rode 2 awesome race machines courtesy of Fitzroy Revolution and when I moved to VIS I had to hand my babies back. Every time I go into the shop I have to go to say hello to them. They wag their little tails when I come up to pat their handlebars and when I leave they give me a look that breaks my heart. ‘We’ve shared so many good times,’ they say, ‘Is that worth NOTHING to you now? What are you riding now? Does it climb as fast as we did? I bet it doesn’t love you like we do.’
I wish I could keep those bikes forever. They have so many special memories for me.
Even my trusty Clydesdale commuter has a very special place in my heart. When I was a student it was the bike I’d ride on nights out, with a cheap bottle of red jammed into the bidon cage. We went to London together and used to fly across the city to work each day, tucked behind Ed the rower and his road bike. Back in Melbourne, it comes to work with me and loves sitting at cafes (although it always forgets its wallet when it’s time to pay the bill). Over the years, so many parts have worn down and been replaced that only the seat post and handlebars remain from the original… but it’s still the same bike to me.
A while ago, I put my hardtail mountain bike up for sale. It’s a great bike but I’ve decided I want to move on and get something with enough suspension that it will make even me ride smoothly. Or so I thought. I got a call today from someone wanting to buy it. He asked me a million questions and then told me that he was going to use it to commute to work. I told him that riding an XTR groupset with race wheels and tubeless knobblies might be overkill for a commuter bike. In response, he assured me he rode, for some of his route, on gravel paths. My heart sank. I couldn’t let that happen to my beautiful bike! But who am I to judge?
I don’t know whether I can let my bike go to a life of commuting. But maybe, if it’s like my commuter bike, it will get a special place in this guy’s heart too. I just hope he knows how to use tyre sealant…
Jersey selection for the recreational cyclist
How to choose your jersey
Given that your kit will play a crucial role in first impressions to other riders, it is important to project the right image. The first rule of jersey selection is to dress for the occasion, and choosing an appropriate jersey/bike combination is critical. For example, if you are riding a flat bar bike, a plain jersey/knicks combination is a practical yet stylish look. Plain kit is also appropriate for pro cyclists wishing to ride ‘under the radar’ out of season. Black is the preferred colour for those who ride under the radar because they are doped to the eyeballs.
Jerseys that you have earned may be worn anytime. This includes Around The Bay in a Day, Amy Gillet Ride and Degani Kinglake Challenge jerseys. Wear them with pride and use them to start snappy conversations with other cute single riders. This also applies to world and national champion jerseys, although you are unlikely to need to use them to find hot cuties as you probably have one already.
If you are riding quite quickly, you may upgrade to a club or shop kit, preferably in return for that shop giving you some love. Naturally, if you ride like a tool you should wear a RadioShack jersey. However, please note that there is nothing quite so stylish as a fast cyclist in a plain jersey.
Singlespeed riders should at all times observe Bylaw 3.5.2(a)(ii) of the Inner Melbourne Singlespeed Regulations, which states that every bottom atop a Brooks saddle must be clad in tweed print shorts.
Fluoro jerseys and jackets are to be used for commuting only. Under no circumstances should fluoro be taken out on a bunch ride unless it is for practical joke purposes or you believe it will keep you alive. (Before you get upset, safety conscious readers, please let me emphasise that Lisa’s Mum firmly believes that a good fluoro commuting jacket is worth its weight in gold. Just not when you’re not commuting.)
A good rule of thumb is to ensure that the ratio of $ spent on kit vs $ spent on your bike remains approximately 1:10.
Trade team jerseys
Lisa’s Mum loves trade team jerseys but only on trade team riders. She once tried to wear a CSC trade team jersey but it was for a fancy dress party back in 2007 when Basso had just been busted and in the end it fell through because she couldn't organise a matching blood transfusion bag.*
As another rule of thumb, the better the trade team is, the more reasons there are that you should not be wearing their kit. If you must wear it (i.e. if you have been given it for a present by a well-meaning yet unschooled relative), please at least make sure the jerseys and knicks are from the same team. It goes without saying, however, that if you are extremely good at riding and can beat anyone over any distance, on any terrain, then you can wear what you like. Best combined with hairy legs, this really stirs up aspiring Euro pros. Other situations where wearing a trade team kit is acceptable are:
- you are on the trade team
- you own the trade team
- your friend is on the trade team and gave you the jersey
- you're an alcoholic Belgian cyclo-cross fan with a string of failed marriages and a penchant for pommes frites (in which case, bad lycra fashion is the least of your problems).
Under no circumstances should the following trade team jerseys be worn: Mapei, Jelly Belly, Aqua Sappone's zebra edition, Carrera's stretch denim kit circa 1990, Cipo's skeleton suit...and come to think of it, most of Cipo's other suits, too. Each was an aberration and everyone just wants to forget them.
James, I hope this answers your question. If other readers have additional pearls of wisdom to share, Lisa's Mum would happily add them to her PhD thesis (appropriately referenced, of course).
Ride Happy
*This may have actually been me, not Lisa’s Mum.
The Ride Happy highlights of 2010
Another year has rolled around and it feels like only yesterday we were getting around in happy pants and bleached denim and listening to Bon Jovi. Or maybe that’s just me. 2010 has been a massive year for Ride Happy. In the spirit of nostalgia, here’s a look back at my highlights for the year. Feel free to add your own in the comments. Or even VOTE at the bottom of the article – it’s similar to the ‘like’ button on Facebook, where you kind of want to write a comment on someone’s status update but really can’t be bothered.
Hardest race
There are several contenders here. First is the road race at nationals in January, where the mercury nudged 47 deg, the roads melted and most of field didn’t finish. If it weren’t for Andy giving me icy bidons each lap, I would have been one of them. Next is the Baw Baw Classic in April, where we had rain, driving cross-winds, hail, then snow going up the steepest, most brutal climb in Australia. Should have packed a jacket. If anyone here did either of these races, RESPEKT. You are hardcore. But I think the gong goes to the Giro Donne – 10 days of racing through the toughest, most mountainous terrain around in the height of Summer. No rest day. Lots of gastrolyte. Full of Italians. I think that’s why they called it the hardest women’s tour in the world this year.
Best race
Undoubtedly Tour of New Zealand in February. This was a 5 day, 6 stage race where Donna the Supercoach had gotten me into amazing form and it all paid off. I now get to point at photos of Linda Villumsen, who recently podiumed at the world champs in the time trial, and say excitedly, ‘I beat her in a TT!’ But apart from being in shape, the tour was awesome because I had the best teammates ever and the team (Aust-NTID) all got along really well. Bron Ryan, Sarah Roy, Alex Carle, Bec Halliday and Laura Luxford – you guys rock. Someone now only has to say, ‘No.7 Special Fried Rice’ and I get the giggles. Sorry, that’s an in-joke. You’ll have to ask the girls. Or you could ask our team managers Ben Cook and Paul Larkin, who were equally awesome. I don’t know how you can plan a good team and leadership dynamic, but crikey if I could bottle that one I would.
Nicest gesture during a race
At the Baw Baw Classic, I didn’t bring spares, thinking we had neutral service. We didn’t. In steps Sean ‘The Man’ Hurley, who offered me his spare wheels and went without himself. This is in a 100km point-to-point road race. Luckily, neither of us punctured. When I asked The Man what he was going to do if he punctured and didn’t have spares, he said, ‘Are you kidding me? This is Baw Baw! Puncturing will be the best thing that could happen to me!’ What a star.
In Stage 7 of the Giro Donne, I was in a world of hurt going up some berg near Lake Como when 2010 world champion Bronzini offered me a can of Coke. I could have kissed her. Lucky I didn’t, because her girlfriend was in the group behind us and would have kicked my arse.
In a kermesse in Belgium – my first ever race with the national team – Lauren Kitchen moved to the front of the bunch to protect Spratty, who had just gone up the road in a break. A Belgie didn’t take kindly to Lauren being in her way and hit her and yelled at her in Flemish. I then saw Kirsty Broun ride up to the Belgie and say something which made the Belgie retreat immediately to the back of the pack. Later I found out that Kirsty had told her that Lauren was her teammate and if the Belgie dared do that again she would have to deal with Kirsty. That’s a mate.
Best insult
‘You’re stupid’ – said by a 40 year old professional cyclist while tapping across the finish line 30 minutes down on the winner. Yes, Carlee Taylor, that is IRONIC.
Best soigneur
This is also a highly contested category. Beth Duryea @ AIS is pretty amazing, not least because she managed to get me into THAT skinsuit. She knows what everyone in the team likes and she operates by stealth, so the only clue you get is a pack of your favourite flavour gels in your bag, or your favourite cereal appearing in the breakfast box. However, first prize goes to the Lovely Andy who drives all over the countryside with me only stand by the side of the road in rain, hail or shine and wave a bidon. He even listens to my boring race debriefs, makes the right sounds and gives me hugs. In 2010 he has come into his own as an excellent mechanic and has shown a willingness to be paid in coffee and fruit toast. High 5!
Quirkiest drug test
Two spring to mind. The first was at Tour of Canberra in April, where it took so long to process the athletes that by the end they took the blood sample from me by torchlight. My relationship with the ASADA chaperone could at best have been described as frosty. The second was in Italy at the Giro Donne where they were a little more relaxed with their protocols. In Australia, ASADA sit there and watch you take a whizz. In Italy, they give you a cup and point you to the toilet. No one spoke English and I probably should have thought twice before asking in mime whether they wanted to watch me pee.
High point
Getting selected in the Aussie team for a season in Europe. All my dreams.
Hope you have had an equally eventful year. The lows only make the highs higher.
Ride happy
Have a Ride Happy Christmas
Just a quick post today to say that I hope everyone has had a Merry Christmas and a fantastic holiday break. I've got a week of fun in the high country to enjoy and perfect conditions for getting my leg back on track. I hope you've got similarly awesome things to look forward to.
Ride Happy!
It's REHAB time
In a perfect world, cyclists would be able to ride and ride and never have to stop for annoying things like snow and fresh knicks. But this is not the Natural Order. There is, always, some limiting factor that will step in to make athletes slow down and take stock of things. For some (Euros), it's winter. For others, it's sickness. For me, it's biomechanics.
I believe that athletes fall into two basic groups when they train lots. There are those who get sick, and those who get injured. I rarely get sick. My immune system has just returned from awards night at the Golden Nodes, where it won Best Supporting Immune System in a Melbourne CBD Office Block. Suffice to say, it is awesome. Unfortunately, the same can't be said of my lumbar-pelvic stability.
I have had an incredibly frustrating few months of late. I got a mysterious hip injury in late Sept, which referred laterally into my knee. With some carefully managed physio and rehab from the good folks @VIS, we got it under control within a month. I was stoked: I had lost some time to prepare for nat champs in Jan, but not a critical amount. I was back on track.
Then, with no warning, I had a relapse in early November. Back to square one. More rehab, more physio, another ultrasound. First was the unpleasant realisation that my window to prepare for nationals had closed. Second, the frustration of not being able to ride. At all. And not knowing why. Third, the realisation that the deep-rooted biomechanical imbalances I'd worked so hard to correct over the past year were still there, and back with a vengeance.
So my last few weeks - or maybe months now - have been pretty subdued. Despite getting injured relatively often, it still amazes me every time how depressing injury can be. Past rehab, no matter how dilligently performed, attracts no karma. I'm lucky to have some amazing resources at my disposal - the VIS have pulled out all the stops - but it doesn't quite fill the void created when riding my bike was taken away.
I missed the Tour of Bright last weekend. It's my favourite race. Instead, I went to Bendigo and tried to play support crew for Andy who was racing an mtb enduro. I wasn't very good at it - as most athletes know, being around people racing when you can't is not very fun.
On the plus side, I am feeling a lot more relaxed now than I usually do this time of year, which for cyclists is the last month before nationals and the time when all the precious final touches are put on your form. I've even started to like rainy days (I KNOW, it's schadenfreude). And this weekend I went home to Adelaide for a Jacobs family Christmas and enjoyed all the pudding I could handle. What's more, I've tried all these cool new things since being injured that I haven't had time or reason to do when in full bike training. Water running, weights, massage, core work, pilates, paddling, jogging... I even got to make my christmas presents this year for the first time in ages.
I admit, I'd still prefer to be riding though...
Ride happy.
Things I don't understand about cycling
But back to more important things.
There are a LOT of things I don't understand about cycling. Having said that, I promised myself that this would be a short post, so please consider what follows as a highlights package. Please feel free to add your own suggestions as comments.
- When they do track sprints, why don't they go hard from the gun? I'm aware this probably sounds stupid to a trackie, but really, WHY? I'm not sure who first came up with the idea of playing cat n mouse instead of going for it, but man, that must have taken some guts.
- Why do boys never smile on the podium?
- Why do people attack at the start of a race? Unless you're Emma Pooley and this is the Plouay World Cup, you're never going to stay away. Don't give me that 'exposure is good for the sponsors' line. Stupidity is bad for the sponsors.
- Who made the unquestionably awesome decision that we always race for money? What other weekend sport lets you do that, other than poker?
- If you have a race that involves skinny blokes racing up to 200km a day, up mountains and across countries, for 3 weeks at a time, at a pace that is faster than most people can ride for an hour, why are people surprised when some of them get busted for drugs?
- Why don't time triallers get along with other time triallers?
- Why do I climb so much faster when I'm 2kg lighter? It's not much of a difference compared to my overall body weight. Come to think of it, why do my scales consistently measure 2kg too much for most of the year?
- Why is cycling a team sport but only 1 person gets the Olympic or world championship medal? If I could change one thing about the Olympics (and miniature dachshund harness racing was already on the fixture), it would be to give medals to the whole cycling team. This would also help out multiple generations of cyclists giving talks at their grandkids' show-and-tell who have to explain to a class of 5-year olds that grandpop drove himself into the ground, his friend got the medal instead of him, and he couldn't be happier.
- Why, in the peleton, is it wrong to wear black socks, but fine to wear a teeny-tiny little hat that looks like it should have a propeller attached to it?
- While we're on socks, what is with this obsession with long socks? The only time in my life I remember long socks being fashionable was at school when your legs were getting a bit prickly. Ladies, do you REALLY want your calves to look any bigger?
Ride happy.
A solution to magpie season: the RMD project
The following dropped into my inbox earlier this week and I enjoyed it so much I had to share it. It’s proof that strategy consultants can solve just about anything. Here they tackle the classic problem of magpie attacks in Spring in just 3 Powerpoint slides. Jerry Castle is the genius behind it. Hope you laugh as much as I did.
If you are finding the writing a bit small, just click on the slide to enlarge. Take the time to read it... I promise your efforts will be rewarded!
It's here! By unpopular demand... Ali Baba and the 40 Triathletes!
Once upon a time, there was a poor cyclist called Ali Baba. Ali Baba had a bike made from pre-loved parts that he had salvaged from his neighbourhood environmental collective. The wheels squeaked, and it had only one gear, but it was a homely bike and got him safely to the organic sustainable fair-trade childrenswear shop where he worked, and home again, every day.
One day, Ali Baba decided to go home a new way and found himself lost in the middle of a big forest as it was getting dark. Ali Baba felt scared. Suddenly, he heard the unmistakeable squeak of unlubed chains and the clap clap of cyclists clicking out of their cleats 200m away. Ali Baba hid behind a tree and waited. Sure enough, soon a tribe of 40 lycra-clad blokes wearing tiny singlet bra tops appeared in the clearing. They all had expensive featherlight bikes with bottle-cages behind their saddles and aerobars pointed toward the sky.
‘Oh no,’ thought Ali Baba. ‘Those pretty boys will see my old bike and will know I am here. I am just a poor shopkeeper and cannot afford holidays in Noosa or GPS wristwatches. They will laugh at me.’
But Ali Baba’s bike was old and pre-loved and invisible to the eyes of the 40 triathletes, who could only see bikes made after 2008. The men got off their bikes.
‘Open sesame!’ one of the triathletes cried.
Ali Baba could not believe his eyes. In front of the triathletes, a big stone rolled away to reveal a cave of riches. There were deep dish wheels, and aero helmets, and little belts with room for gel bottles. There were weighted vests, and pool buoys, and elastic laces. In the corner, there was a row of Softrides, hanging on the wall gathering dust. Ali Baba had never seen such so much carbon.
The triathletes spoke to each other in a funny code that Ali Baba could not understand. They talked of thresholds, and zones, and nutrition plans. He felt sure they were terrorists and were plotting their next hit in a land they called ‘Kona’. What the hit was, Ali Baba did not know, but he knew whatever it was would involve something called a ‘negative split’ and lots of ‘bricks’. They referred constantly to their leader, a guy called ‘Training’. All the triathletes loved this Training guy and never stopped talking about him. Ali Baba felt very scared and hoped he never met Training. He sounded very demanding and not altogether productive.
The men shared protein shakes and then left, saying that they did not want to be late for Training. Ali Baba stayed hidden until they were gone, then leapt out and cried, ‘Open sesame!’ The stone rolled away and Ali Baba ran inside. He grabbed some power bands and creatine and stuffed them in his pockets and pulled on a shiny new pair of fluoro yellow racing flats. Ali Baba pedalled home as fast as his rattly old bike would take him, his head filled with thoughts of the treasures in the cave and the strange men in lycra.
Over the next few days, Ali Baba noticed a change in his behaviour. He liked his fluoro running shoes and found himself timing his rides into work. His powerband helped him sell more childrenswear than ever before. And the creatine... well, Ali Baba grew muscles he never knew he had. Pretty soon Ali Baba had changed his ebay username to slowtwitch9999 and had posted his old singlespeed for sale.
But it wasn’t enough. Ali Baba couldn’t get that cave out of his mind. All those treasures... it was too much. He had to have more.
The next day, Ali Baba rode back to the clearing with a plan and 3kg of Rohypnol.
‘Open sesame!’ he cried. The stone rolled away. Ali Baba danced inside. He gathered some bidons and filled them with food colouring, water and roofies. Then he walked outside the cave and waited.
Soon, Ali Baba heard the sound of grunts and unclipping. The triathletes had returned.
‘Good evening gentlemen,’ Ali Baba said, ‘I am a travelling salesman and I am peddling super-elite wares. This high performance drink has eleventy million vitamins and minerals and will improve your performance by over 11%.’
The triathletes looked at Ali Baba suspiciously. ‘I’m not sure,’ one said, ‘It looks a bit carb-heavy.’
‘It smells a bit funny,’ said another. ‘Say, where did you get those fluoro shoes?’
Ali Baba took a deep breath. ‘It’s very expensive,’ he said. ‘I guess it’d only be for the more serious competitors amongst you. But because you guys look nice, I’ll give you a free sample.’
‘I’ll take it!’ they shouted.
And so Ali Baba gave all his drink away and before long they were all out like a light, curled up on the ground in their compression pants. And Ali Baba backed up the large cart and donkey he had parked nearby and loaded into it all the treasures from the cave (except the softrides).
And later, Ali Baba opened an internet-based triathlon store and never had to sell childrenswear again.
The End.
Riding unhappy?
Hi guys
I’ve just received a comment on Ride Happy which made me stop and think. I’ve reproduced the comment below to save everyone having to look it up (comments can be viewed by anyone, but you need to click on the link below the post):
Sounds like you're riding a bit unhappy there. I figure if people are out and about, cyclists, triathletes or what not, they are out and about, and riding their bikes. Why so much negativity if they're not as "euro" as you think people should be. How boring if we were all the same.
I’m not sure who made the comment, but it’s a valid one. My previous post was a bit snobbish and you were right to pull me up on it. I agree – whatever your poison, getting out and about on your bike is awesome and there should be more people doing it. If more people rode their bikes instead of driving we would all be better off. And yes, I would HATE it if we all rode Colnagos and didn’t get out of bed for less than 100km. I admit, I would prefer it if some people washed their bikes more often but honestly, if you saw my commuter bike you’d say the same to me. (But yes, that’s my snobbery again.) The fact is that this weekend was beautiful in Melbourne, sunny and still and perfect bike riding weather. I was stuck having coffee at a café by myself because I’ve just gotten injured again and on physio’s orders I couldn’t go ride with my mates. So instead of getting out and about I was moping around feeling sorry for myself. So I think I vented some of that cabin fever in my post. But that’s no excuse and I apologise to anyone I may have offended, whether you are a triathlete or not.
Having said that, I try hard to ensure that Ride Happy isn’t a skipping-through-the-daisy-fields plain vanilla type place. Life’s too short to take too seriously. Yes, I crossed the line from whimsical to cynical in my last post… but if we can’t laugh at ourselves what’s the fun of it all?
I’m still trying to decide whether to publish my Ali Baba and the 40 Triathletes story. Perhaps it’s better left out. Happy to take comments though.
Ride happy – I’ll do my best to do the same!
Ali Baba and the 40 Triathletes: Part 1
I try not to make fun of triathletes. As Andy says, it’s like poking fun at retarded children. Also, I used to be one, and it seems hypocritical to take the mickey out of people for doing exactly what I thought was super-cool back in the day.* But then again, isn’t that what we all did with hypercolour t-shirts? And the Spice Girls?
Lisa’s Mum, however, has no such qualms. On Saturday, she was feeling extremely lively because I swapped her decaf coffee for regular without telling her and she was bouncing off the walls. We were parked at our local cafe and a swarm of walruses had descended, fresh from beach road and swapping stories about how carbon their gear was. They had taken up all the tables around us and were talking loudly and had stacked their filthy bikes against the window in front of us. We marvelled at the size of their saddle bags and wondered what treasures were hidden inside.
The sight prompted Lisa's Mum to tell me the story of Ali Baba and the 40 Triathletes. By the time she had finished my eyes were the size of dinner plates and my flat white had gotten cold (truly the sign of a compelling story). I'll recount the story here soon... stay tuned.
