Crotch rocket

I got a new bike. It’s funny—every time I think “crotch rocket” I start singing “Hot Blooded” by Foreigner in my head. I don’t know what’s sadder, that I know the words (from the double disc Foreigner album I have at home… I’m a loser) or that I make such an absurd association. Anyway, I could jump right into talking about my ride, but that’s not my style; here’s the long road to on-topic prose:

Last week I had something of a well-being meltdown. Tuesday during hills I noticed that I felt really bad instead of the normal bad, but I chalked it up to the hot weather (as compared to the week before, not weather in general. It’s always hot here, remember?). On Wednesday I was scheduled to do my last superlong run, but my stomach had other ideas. After 12 miles I couldn’t go anymore. I didn’t even shower—just headed home, (showered,) choked down some rice, and hit the sack at 8:30. Sleep cures all.

Oh wait! No it doesn’t. Thursday I felt worse, and after a quick run in the morning that also ended in disappointment, I decided to take the afternoon off. Well, that’s not true; originally I was just going to go to spin class instead of tacking on the additional hour after class, but it took me 30 minutes to get out of the ^*%!ing parking garage at work; spinning classes were not in my future when I’d be that late. Instead, I went straight to the bike shop to purchase the ugly bike.

When I got there, the guy who’d helped me test ride bikes was gone, but the fitting specialist was there. I asked if he’d ever buy a bike he thought was ugly and he reacted quite strongly (no). This wasn’t helping me overcome my hesitation to drop a chunk on my new pony, but I made the plunge anyway. I’m better than that, right? Besides, I’d called every Felt dealer between here, Austin, and Dallas; there was not an S22 in my near future. If I wanted a new bike it had to be this one.

I meant to get a ride in with my new baby—dubbed Lucetta/Lucy—on Friday, but things didn’t work out between work and the desire to actually hang out with my roommate more than saying hi before eating the dinner and trucking to bed. Instead, we ate some mexican and went to bed early. Saturday would be the inaugural ride: 120 miles of (hopefully) bliss.

I had emailed George on Friday about the extreme shittiness I was feeling and he suggested a cut my ride to a more “reasonable distance.” I took this to mean 115 miles instead of 120. About 3 miles into the ride though, I was thinking I’d be lucky to squeeze out 20 given the unpleasant feeling in my crotch. Apparently this new seat was going to cut the mustard in all the wrong ways. By the time I got to the 23 mile mark where the group had stopped to refuel/let me catch up, I wanted a ride home in a car. I said I was cutting my ride to 40 miles til someone said they wanted to buy raffle tickets for my fundraiser; I then decided I could eek out 60 with the group to raise another $20. It’s for charity folks! Besides, I didn’t know where the turnoff was to take the 40 mile loop. A few minutes later we pressed on.

The ride got better. After mile 23 I didn’t get dropped again, and I sorta went numb about 30 miles in. Once I wasn’t distracted by the fire down below I really liked my Lucy, and could focus on exerting some effort on the road instead of finding creative ways of sitting to relieve my pain. I got to socialize a bit, work in a solid 60 miles, and become accustomed to my new baby, particularly the different shifting setup. By the end of the ride I was glad I didn’t wait around for my dream bike—I loved Lucy (awww). After all, she was plenty nice enough for me and an unbelievable improvement over Big Hoss. Besides, I don’t need to be one of those tri dbags that has an extraordinarily nice bike but is slow as crap… then I couldn’t make fun of them constantly (while also being insanely jealous of their disposable income). Besides, I’m a kid; when I’m over the hill (29) and need the extra incentive to train, I’ll roll up in a top of the line bike—and I’ll make sure it’s carbon too, because when I sell out I’m gonna go all the way. But my nasty side is making me digress… And I’m joking about the 29 by the way.

People always anticipate being faster on a new bike, even when they say they don’t have such silly expectations. The truth is, new bikes do make you faster. Initially when riding the new wheels one thinks, “Oh bummer, I’m not any faster than I was on my old beater bike.” Then comes the realization: throwing money at it won’t fix the problem. Personally having this experience will allow one—well, allowed me—to fully accept that reality and work even harder on the new bike than the one before. For me, I’m no longer ashamed of my bottom-of-the-line road bike with broken aerobars (though you can’t SEE they’re broken I still know), $30 mountain biking shoes, and non-fancy wheels because I no longer have those things save the non-fancy wheels. I’m on a tri bike that, while tacky as shit, is decent in the sea of expensive bikes it hangs out with on a regular basis. It’s easier to ride than my old bike, and (with my new seat that I replaced Saturday immediately after the ride) more comfortable. Riding is fun, and I’ve never genuinely said that before. I expect the next year to bring great breakthroughs in my biking abilities. Who knows, maybe I can drop another 2.6 hours from my time in Arizona 2007! Dare to dream.

Oh, I should mention that I actually am faster on my new bike than my old one. It could be the 5 lbs I lost (via the bike, not via the fat), the 650 wheels (which are actually faster, and the smaller tube size allows me to take 2 spares with me. Yippee!), or the joy of riding an actual tri bike. I also coughed up money for some Ultegra spd-sl’s instead of the spd’s I had on my old bike. I’m all grown up!

I forgot about the other bad thing that happened Saturday/Sunday (I rode again to test out my new women’s specific saddle. Allow me to get off topic and say the WSD bike design I’m not totally buying into, but I’ll be damned if my lady parts ever sit on a “unisex” saddle again). I bought a new pair of cycling gloves because my 4 year old pair is starting to wear through the palms. Unfortunately, the seat fiasco Saturday had me up on the handlebars more than I intended, and my palms were pretty numb. Bummer, huh? On Sunday, however, the problem escalated. My palms were again numb, but this time I couldn’t get full control of my pinkie finger on my left hand. I freaked because hey, that's what I named my blog. But, I figured it’d be better by Monday. Indeed, there was vast improvement there, though I couldn’t exactly swim since my fingers refused to stay together on my left hand. I assumed I’d continue to get better, but I haven’t. I’m starting to worry I’ve done permanent damage to my hand, which would obviously suck a lot. I’m heading out to swim right now and think I might have to put a rubber band around my fingers to keep them together. Does anyone know if that’s legal in a sanctioned race? I hope so or I’m S-C-R-E-W-D screwed. Hey, at least I’ll have a decent bike split, right?