Ronde #1 Resides in the Rearview

The first Ronde Van Palouse went off yesterday. It was significant because it added another dimension to the local road racing scene: The Spring Classic. And things went well.

I'm kinda proud of our little bike club that could. The OTM article this month talked about how this was the first race we've put on, but that info got crossed up somewhere, because we've done a number of races over the past few years and I think we're on that steep part of the learning curve where we're getting quite a bit better with every one we do. And we're fired up and we bust ass, so that helps, too.

Putting on a race the right way takes a surprising amount of effort. And you can't just go out and decide to do it right one time. It takes commitment combined with repetition. The good organizers make it look easy, but it's not - they've been working at it a while.

In our case, we're lucky to have Mike Sirott as the driving force, and Alan Jacob as the first lieutenant. The energy between those two guys could light up some small towns, but fortunately for us, they've focused it on making races happen. And then there's Sarah Wilson, who has her official's hat in one hand and her registrar's in the other. Tim Lentz puts in a bazillion hours behind the scenes to give us the kind of web presence we need to be legit in this day and age. And I could never name them all, but there's a whole bunch of other people that come together prior to and on race day to make all this happen.

Registration area, just after the frenzy . . .


Alan's training session for the corner workers - flaggers, who stop traffic, and marshals, who point riders in the right direction.


Mike and Alex Renner from Baddlands, instructing the Men 4-5/Masters prior to start. Alex served as Chief Referee and with his immense experience, made sure things went down without a hitch. We're also grateful to Baddlands for loaning us a bunch of their equipmnet.


My peon job? Course setup. But that sounds so bland. So I like to think of myself as the "Sign Guy". Way pzazzier. And that's Mister Sign Guy, to you.

I do take it all crazy serious, though. As the old saying goes, "If you can't be an athlete, be an athletic supporter".



Since this was a new course that also involved veering off the beaten path, we were concerned about making sure everyone veered. Not to take anything away from our excellent marshals, but extra signage was definitely in order. I went into labor and gave birth. I was a proud papa.


They looked super-sweet in my garage, but when they got on the course, they immediately started falling apart. As I was driving the posts into the ground, the vibration was causing the heads of the sheet metal screws to pull through the pressboard that I made the signs out of. Krap. I had to go all McGyver and use paper clips (honest) to hold a couple together. Dumbass Sign Guy. Mister Dumbass Sign Guy, to you.


Oh, by the way. Some racers also showed up. 65, to be exact.

These next 3 pictures were taken during neutral roll-out (start of the race). That's about the last anyone saw of a pack. The constant rollers and wind blew the packs apart incredibly fast. Here's the Men 1-2-3 . . .


Men 4-5 and Masters . . .


Women 4 . . .


Mens 1-2 leaders (as of lap 2) negotiate the intersection at Bradshaw and Darknell. Sometime during the course of the day, a pack of riders came by so fast that they blew the stop sign over. I am not kidding.


Alan's fab awards, which perfectly captured the flavor and geography of the event . . .


Podium action . . .


It was a super-tough race and from the outside looking in, I wondered if anyone was having any fun. The post-race buzz was a resounding yes, which is extremely satisfying. Results are here. I'm already looking forward to an even better race next year.

Rackufacture: Run-Ur-Dog Utility Porteur

This rack is pretty much done. It's painted with primer cause it will probly never be totally done, plus I want it ugly. It holds all our fave toys and we already use it every damn day. It totally kills. It's designed so that all the dog stuff can be quickly and easily removed, leaving a flat deck that a pizza can be strapped to. I'd like to write all about it, but there just isn't time and rather than never get around to posting, I decided to just dump the pics, in no particular order. I think you get the general idea, plus you don't have to listen to me go on and on.

Race, Race, RACE! (race, race.) race

Road racing season is no longer just around the corner, it's here, man. All across the country, various clubs are taking their turns at hosting races, and that's why/how the sport lives at the amateur and recreational levels.

When it's your clubs turn, it's game-on. There's a bunch of pre-planning, but then gobs of people step up and synergize to cover all the details and duties in the week leading up to and on race day.

Last week it was their turn and by all accounts, they nailed it. This week it's ours, and I hope we do as well. Even though it's a new course, or maybe because of it, we're pouring over the details, so I think we'll do just fine.

First priority for any race is keeping everyone safe and a close second is making it fun as hell.

Hope to cya out there.

Watching Paint Dry

The latest rack's at a certain sticky stage and there's not much I could do tonight.



Boredom and paint fumes kicked in and I decided to pimp my ride.



I also decided that since this is our main park bike and since I now understand park rules and regs, that I would prepare for the next inevitable confrontation with Marksalot. So next time he shines his dumbass flashlight in my face and tells me that that the park closes at eleven, I'll just tell him to talk to the bike.



No matter which side I happen to be standing on.

R&D Testing

Brandy and I have slowly been working on a rack design that meets our unique needs. In the entire history of the world, the bond between dog and man has never been stronger.

To say that preliminary test results have exceeded our expectations would be a gross understatement. We're a ways from having it dialed in, but I think we're both already on an entirely new plane of consciousness. When we integrate a holster for the ball chucker, I'm pretty sure we'll both go zen.

Limited Edition

A little over 48 hours ago, I posted a blog about some nasty bears. It elicited strong emotion from my readers, which says a bunch about my readers.

The ensuing whirlwind of commercial activity ultimately led to an exchange of cash and merchandise on my front porch. There was only one person involved in the exchange, and he dashed up the steps, grabbed a ceramic-filled baggie hidden in the corner, stashed an envelope, and fled. In my mind, I imagine that he was wearing black socks in an effort to conceal himself.



Putting this kind of deal together would appear to be my best effort at turning the south hill into south hill-yard. Not my proudest moment.

But anyway, I think he liked the mug because he emailed me that "It will join the ranks of 'heavy rotation'." I'm not sure what that exactly means, but I'm pretty sure it's good. As for the envelope . . .

First thing out was a george. Agreed-upon deal, mug for a buck:



But wait, there was bonus material. It took me about 2 seconds to figure out where this was going to get stuck:



And then it got better than better. Are you kidding me? A limited edition first fiasco spoke card. And while this is way cool, it's the note attached to the card that I really value because it puts everything into perspective . . .



Some dude moves to spo and starts a monthly bike congregation centered around the full moon. He prints and laminates spoke cards. The first ride is in the middle of summer and no one shows up. He rides alone. Undeterred, he keeps at it. The thing slowly grows. A mere 2-1/2 years later, the biggest challenge is finding a place that can hold everyone. The fiasco is now an institution.

And this is a relic from that first ride. Holy hell, that so totally kills.

That envelope was personal as hell. Thanks, Jeff, you rule.

Growing Up

I've been cleaning out my basement, based on the fact that I received some federal stimulus funds, based on the fact that it's a shovel-ready full-on disaster area. In the process, I ran across a too-familiar mug. I don't know where we got it, but it was in our kitchen cabinet for a number of years and has caused us great em-bear-assment at more than one family gathering, when it inadvertently came out of the cupboard, got filled with coffee and was parked on the dining room table in front of young, inquisitive eyes.




They do seem like happy bears, though.

Anyway, sometime over the last few years, it's been relegated to pen-holder duty in the basement, and now I've decided it's time for it to be gone for good.

So what's soft bear porn doing on a bike blog?

Well, I've never had anyone come out and say it, but I sometimes get the distinct impression that certain people wonder when I will start acting my age and move past this crazy bike phase.

If growing up means ditching the humping bear mug, I'm good with that. But if it involves moving past bikes, well, I'd just as soon stay immature. (I know that many of you are probably thinking that I couldn't grow up if I tried. Whatever, bite me.)