Cycling and Other Pastimes

Tag: bike

  • Mallorca by Bike

    Mallorca had been on my cycling short list for a number of years. Everything I’d seen and read made it sound like a road bike paradise. Beautiful scenery, well-maintained roads and a perfect climate for much of the year. Would it live up to the hype? I was about to find out. As my flight dipped below the clouds I had my first glimpse of the Mediterranean just as the sun was about to set. A firey orange stripe on a deep blue sea.

    After landing and collecting my suitcase I went over to fetch my bike at the oversized luggage area. A few young guys were there waiting on their bikes as well. No golf clubs or skis came down the conveyor, just bike cases, but I was getting nervous as time ticked on and there was still no sign of mine. Before I left Denver I had put an AirTag in the case and, upon checking its location, my heart sank. The bike never made it onto my connecting flight and was still sitting at the airport in Munich.

    Argh. This was not what I wanted to deal with after 16 hours of travel. I’d figure it out the following morning. In the meantime, I got situated with the rental car and made my way up to Port Pollença, the town on the northeast end of the island where I’d be staying for the week, conveniently situated near some of the island’s best cycling routes.

    The next morning I awoke before dawn, feeling surprisingly well-rested and, good news, my bike was on its way. I had received an email from the airline letting me know it was due in on the next flight from Munich and would arrive mid-morning. Perfect. In the meantime, I had a couple hours to walk around and explore the little port town where I was staying.

    Port Pollença harbor

    First impressions: Port Pollença is charming. December is off-season and there were very few tourists. Most of the shops and restaurants were closed for the season and the town had a lovely air of abandonment. It all felt slightly shabby, like nothing had ever been new there. Salt from the Mediterranean has made everything a little bit rusty. The buildings need paint. The tiled roof on the restaurant across from my patio was covered in dirt and moss that looked as though it had been accumulating for centuries.

    I immediately fell in love with all of it. But one also got the feeling that, come spring and summer, these empty shops and eateries would be overrun with tourists. (Many of the Tour de France teams also come to Mallorca in early spring to start training for the season.) Now though, as I walked about in the early morning chill, the streets were quiet and empty, with just a few locals walking their dogs along the promenade and an occasional stray cat watching with suspicion.

    The opposite of bustle. My rented apartment on the second floor overlooked the promenade and the harbor beyond.

    The endearing shabbiness of Port Pollença is juxtaposed by cyclists periodically riding by on $10k bikes. I was dying to get out and ride myself and so, after a coffee and a scone with the locals at the café on the corner, I braced myself for the 45 minute drive back to the airport.

    My soundtrack for the drive (and for most of the week) was Alice Sara Ott playing Chopin. This was appropriate in part because Chopin had lived on Mallorca for a time and had composed most of his Preludes there in a small town called Valldemossa, which I would ride to in a few days’ time.

    There she is! Better late than never.

    The trip to the airport took up a good part of the day unfortunately, but I was happy to have retrieved the bike without incident. It takes me about an hour to reassemble it after travel and at first glance it seemed as though everything had survived the journey intact, but when I attached the handlebar I found the carbon fiber stem had developed a crack. Not good. Not safe. I could tighten it down to some extent with my torque wrench, but I had visions of it failing catostropically as I decended a steep cliffside turn and, although this would make for an interesting obituary, I decided it would be better to find a replacement. There was a Trek store on the island, but it was all the way back in Palma. I’d head over there again the next morning. But, in the meantime, I decided to take a very careful ride out to the lighthouse on the north end of the island and try very hard not to die.

    Almost intact : (

    View along the road to Cap de Formentor, the northernmost point on the island

    I wondered if I’d see goats, but I didn’t wonder for long. They are everywhere on Mallorca. This handsome family crossed in front of me 10 minutes into the ride.

    Beautiful roads, barely any cars and switchbacks galore

    The views on this ride were spectacular.

    In the distance, the lighthouse at Cap de Formentor

    The next morning I drove all the way back to Palma only to find that the Trek store did not have a handlebar and stem to fit my bike. What the heck Trek!

    Given the circumstances, I decided I’d rent a bike for the rest of the week. There looked to be a decent shop a couple blocks from my apartment and the owner said he could have a nice Specialized Tarmac ready for me in a couple hours. Perfect. This was a fancy new racing bike that would be fun to ride and some consolation for having shipped a disabled bike halfway across the world.

    I had to laugh, though, when I walked into the shop and saw what they had ready for me. “It’s pink!” I said. “No, no, it’s champagne!” “Champagne is a beverage. That bike is pink.” But it would have to do.

    The nice guys at Bike Island Mallorca, tweaking my ride. Thank you gentlemen. You saved my vacation.

    But it’s definitely pink.

    By the time the bike was ready it was early afternoon. The sun was out and I had enough time for a tour around the bay. This would take me through Alcudia, the town just to the south, and out along a peninsula to an old military base. It was a beautiful day and the pink bike was fast, comfy and a good climber. All was finally right with the world.

    Little Egret

    Biking down one of the many narrow lanes on the island

    The view back towards Port Pollença after riding up a winding ascent

    Headed back to town with evening approaching

    The next day’s ride would start in the tiny village of Selva and take me over the mountains to the even tinier village of Sa Calobra on the northern coast. This would be a workout, with over 4000 feet of climbing, but was supposed to be one of the most beautiful rides on the island.

    On my way to Selva I got stuck behind this truck with three guys dressed up in strange outfits driving through the village of Campanet and waving to passersby. I was not exactly sure what was going on. The three wise men? Is it really wise to drive around standing up in the back of a flatbed truck? I remember Santa coming through my neighborhood on a fire engine when I was a kid, but this was 8 in the morning, a week before Christmas. It will remain a Mallorca mystery.

    Olive groves were around every corner on this part of the island, also almond and orange groves. Many of the orchards looked like they had been there for centuries. This gnarled tree could surely tell some stories.

    No ride was complete without goats. This guy gave me the stink eye as I stopped to take his picture, but he did let me pass unmolested.

    Rugged terrain on the north side of the island. My destination is on the other side of the far ridge.

    Looking down at the curvy 10 mile descent leading to Sa Calobra

    Once I got to the village I had a nice espresso and slice of apple cake in the one open café. Two cyclists sitting out on the patio were the only other patrons.

    The weather was a bit sketch on the ride back. But I only got rained on for five minutes or so. Humping it up over the mountain was no joke, but what a great day out.

    Lots of sheep on the island as well. Most were penned in, but this family just seemed to be wandering about in the middle of nowhere.

    S’Empeltada

    The next day’s ride would take me through several other towns on the northwest side of the island. Starting in Sóller, I’d ride to Déia and then on to Valldemossa and back, passing through a number of smaller villages on the way.

    La casa de Robert Graves, English poet and author who lived in Déia most of his life. Déia has been a haven for writers, artists and celebrities for decades including D.H. Lawrence, Gertrude Stein, Keith Richards, Jimi Hendrix, the Beatles, Timothy Leary and others. Apparently Tom Hanks, Michael Douglas and Andrew Lloyd Webber also have places there, though I saw no one famous when I rode through.

    There’s a thing with green shutters on Mallorca.

    Narrow lanes of Déia

    Narrow cars for narrow lanes

    The strange artwork of William Waldren

    Elms along the road to Valldemossa where Chopin stayed with George Sand in the 1800’s. I never knew George Sand was a pen name. He was a woman!

    Above are the 365 Calvari steps that lead up to a chapel from the town square in Pollença. One step for each day of the year. Below are various pictures from rides on other parts of the island.

    Stopped at a winery somewhere out in the country but no one was around.

    No one except the sheep in the vineyard. For miles all I could hear was an occasional sheep bell in the distance.

    Another country lane all to myself

    Biked through the town of Buger. Not sure if this is pronounced “bugger” or “booger”. Either way, it’s a bit embarrassing.

    Another deserted little village. Everyone must have been buggering off when I passed through.

    Strange sculptures by the sea in Can Picafort

    Another country lane on another ride. Peaceful, quiet, lovely.

    After riding around for much of the week I returned the bike on Thursday evening, opting for a hike on Friday, my last full day on Mallorca. I found a trailhead that I could walk to, leading out of Port Pollença and up through a canyon to Cala Bóquer, a cove on the north coast. The forecast was calling for rain, but I was hoping my luck would hold out a little longer.

    The trail over to Cala Bóquer was a goat paradise. Billy here blended very well into the surroundings.

    The kids were adorable.

    And playful

    Goat-shaped shadows

    Wild rosemary grew everywhere. It had rained the night before and the whole valley smelled of it.

    Stone walls were ubiquitous, many dating back to Roman times. I also learned that the Greeks originally called the Balearic Islands Gymnasie, which meant “naked”. Apparently the original inhabitants did not fuss much with clothing.

    The rocky beach at Cala Bóquer

    My final morning on Mallorca started early. It would be a long day of travel back to Denver. I said goodbye to Port Pollença harbor and packed up the rental car as the sun rose into an overcast sky. It had been such a wonderful week of riding, I didn’t want to leave. There were so many other roads and villages yet to explore. Perhaps I’ll be back again Mallorca. Until then, adiós.

    The end.

  • Cherry Creek Time Trial #1

    I’d been planning and training for the Karen Hornbostel Memorial Time Trials since early this winter. Back in December I’d finally put my old Schwinn Homegrown hardtail into retirement and at long last switched my indoor training bike to the VanDessel Hellafaster, a legitimate drop bar racing frame that had been hanging in the garage for far too long, awaiting a purpose. I purchased some time trial bars and a Fizik TT saddle so I could practice pedaling in an aero position while indoors because, previous to this year, I hadn’t had any experience riding all low and stretched out like that. So glad I spent some time training this way because I’ve really come to appreciate just how much faster you actually can go when you are tucked and out of the wind.

    Hellafaster indoor trainer

    There were a few stretches of warm weather where I could ride outside and practice down in the park, but it had been a long winter and, between work and a bout of the flu, I hadn’t exactly stuck to my ambitious training plan. I had, however, just completed a rigorous three day gravel adventure in the desert the week before (see prior Grand Staircase post) and felt good about my general condition and stamina. Not that any of that really mattered. I signed up for this seven-week race series just for fun and to see how well I would do compared to the rest of the field. Of course, it’s a race, so there’s always a little pressure. My main goal for this first trial was to NOT GET PASSED. Other than that, I figured my time would be a baseline that I could try to improve on over the course of the remaining six races. (Five really, since I’ll be out of town for one of them.)

    My number for the season. I had to sign up for a USA Cycling Membership to take part in this series of races.

    My designated start time is 6:11 p.m. so on race day I brought my bike and my kit to work and was able to change afterwards and head right to the park. I also took some time during the day to wrap the somewhat slippery TT extension bars with bar tape which made such a big difference in feel and grip. It immediately made me much more comfortable and secure on the bike.

    My ride

    I made it to the park in plenty of time for a nice leisurely warm up in the late afternoon sun. We couldn’t have asked for better conditions. It was in the mid-70’s with light winds and blue skies – a perfect race day. The Smoky Hill parking lot was packed with vehicles and bikes. Riders in skinsuits and aero helmets were warming up their legs, cruising up and down the lot like sharks, coasting effortlessly at slow speed, their power in reserve for now. Some riders had rollers set up beside their vehicles so they could warm up right there, just like the Tour de France teams do. Other than watching the TDF I had never seen so many beautiful bikes in one place before. Not surprisingly, all these men and women looked super fit as well. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who had been doing some winter training. It made me very curious how I’d fare in such an elite looking crowd.

    After fiddling with my race number and getting it stuck to my jersey, I got on the bike and started warming up a bit myself. I rode down and talked to the old guys running the registration tent, thanked them for all the work they’d done with this race series. Their club is called the Cobras. They’re all volunteers and they really have their act together. This event is very well-organized.

    After chatting with the Cobras for a bit I still had plenty of time so next I rode over to the starting line to see how that all worked. There were a few volunteers there under a canopy keeping things moving, keeping the cyclists organized. A digital clock right by the starting line showed the exact time and one of the volunteers gave a count down to the rider while the other volunteer held the seat of the bike so the rider could get clipped in and ready to launch at time zero. The starting line was actually on a hundred yard incline so I was curious what gear everyone was starting out in. It was looking like they all had to grind pretty hard to get up to speed on that first hill. This was how I had planned to start too, so it was reassuring to see some of these more experienced racers taking this approach.

    I rode around a while longer, ate a fig bar, drank the rest of my salty drink and then rode back up to get in the queue at 6, 11 minutes before my start time. It was a blast to watch the folks in front of me starting every 30 seconds, tearing up the hill and around the first bend in the road. When my time came I rolled up to the line, one of the gentlemen stabilized my bike and I got clipped in and ready. I got a 10 count and stood up in the pedals for the last 3, 2, 1, GO! And I was off.

    Waiting to go!

    I stayed out of the saddle for the first hill and then got into a tuck and stayed there for the duration of the ride. This is where practice paid off. The course itself is 9.7 miles long and so it’s not possible to sprint the entire time. Not for me anyway. It’s more a matter of riding as hard as possible but still pacing to finish strong with every last bit of energy. You know that feeling when you have pushed so hard that you feel like you’re on the edge of nausea? That’s what I was shooting for when I came across the finish line. Fortunately for me, I live right by the park and ride these roads all the time. Every climb and turn, every bump and crack on the road is part of an inner map in my brain. I think I could almost ride this course with my eyes closed and this really helped with pacing.

    I didn’t have my eyes closed of course, but the race itself was a blur. I was focused on the road 10 feet in front of me, on my breathing, on keeping tucked and comfortable, on my cadence and keeping a smooth pedal stroke, on shifting right at the right times as the hills and mild wind affected my speed. Most of all I was focused on PASSING THE GUY IN FRONT OF ME. It is such a good motivator when I have someone to chase. Of course, I was also concerned about getting passed, as I had seen some young guys in the start queue behind me that looked like they could smoke me if I wasn’t careful.

    I reached the turnaround and felt good. As I did a 180 turn and headed back east I passed the young guys coming the other way and was reassured that I still had a good gap on them. It would be very hard to catch me unless I really tanked in the last few miles. On the other hand I didn’t seem to be closing the gap with the guy in front of me. I brought focus back to myself and tried to increase my speed. My bike felt good, felt fast. I flew through this flat, straight part of the course and approached the ascent on the northeast side of the park knowing it would be a grind, but I fought through it and kept good speed up and into the intersection, getting a wave-through by the cop who was helping direct cars and bikes. Now, a little straightaway before a fast descent. This is where the aero frame and wheels on the Cannondale really shine. I shifted to top gear and tried to max out my cadence with about a mile to go. Before I knew it I was at the roundabout by the lake and then approaching the final climb before the finish. Lo and behold I had gained time on the cyclist in front of me. The gap closed even more as he started up that last hill and I knew I had him. I think I heard him groan when I passed him. Sorry dude. I rounded the final corner and was up and out of the saddle, cranking as hard as I could over the finish line. Woohoo! I was sucking wind and slightly nauseous, but very happy.

    It was a short coast downhill back to the truck where I unceremoniously put the bike on the rack and got ready to head home. I realized that, in the excitement of the start, I had forgotten to reset my bike computer so I had no idea what my actual time was. The finish line ref would post times on the Cobra website at some point but, in the meantime, I was happy that I gave it my all. That was enough for the time being.

    When times were posted the following day I saw I had ridden the course in 26:17.7. This was minutes faster than any of my practice runs earlier in the spring. I had also set not one, not two or three but a total of four Personal Best times on various segments of the course. Given how often I ride those roads I was kind of shocked at that, but I think this is where staying in that tucked aero position makes such a difference.

    So, there you have it, my first time trial race. I feel like I set a good baseline for myself and hopefully I can get my time under 25 minutes by the end of the series. I just bought a fancy aerodynamic front tire for the bike and that alone should save me a couple seconds! The rest will have to come from grit and determination.

    Can’t buy that.

  • Almost Time for Time Trials!

    After several years of wishing I had the availability to race in the Karen Hornbostel Memorial Time Trial at Cherry Creek State Park, this year I had the epiphany that I’M THE ONE WHO BUILDS THE TEACHING SCHEDULE EACH TERM! Duh. With this in mind I ran my classes a little earlier in the day so I can get over to the park in time to take part in the race. Very exciting.

    Of course, it’s never that simple, right?

    This time trial series runs seven weeks in the spring, on Wednesday evenings. It’s an official USA Cycling event and part of the Rocky Mountain Road Cup calendar. As such I needed to register as a USA Cycling member. I’m happy to support this organization, but the fee seemed a bit steep. Still, I couldn’t help but feel kind of proud to have my very own USA Cycling Licence number.

    After that there was the bike. I had spent some time this fall building up the Cannondale SystemSix frame with an Ultegra groupset and had been riding it quite a bit until the weather got wintery. I love the deep dish wheels on this bike. It cuts through the air really well and just feels fast. Here’s a shot of her down in Cherry Creek State Park, my default ride if I’m just headed out from the house for an hour or so:

    The bike would have been fine to ride as-is in the KHMTT series but, I really wanted to modify things a bit so I could get into a more aero position for the races. I’ll be honest, I think the handlebars on the SystemSix are not even rated for clamp-on extensions but I found these bars made by ENVE that seemed like they might work and I took a chance and bought them on backorder. And so two months later they finally arrived and I spent the morning today fiddling with them and getting them set up on the bike. They were not a perfect fit to the KNOT handlebar on the SystemSix but I used some foam tape on the top side of the mounts and cut up an innertube to sit in between the mount and the bar on the bottom side. When I torqued things up it seemed very solid so hopefully the whole thing doesn’t explode when I take it out for a ride.

    Since this bike has the Ultegra Di2 wireless group I also found some remote shifter buttons that installed nicely on the ends of the bars. Slick!

    Still need to wrap them with bar tape and probably make some adjustments after I ride the bike a while. That will have to wait for now though. The high is supposed to be 10 degrees tomorrow. Ugh. C’mon spring!

  • New Track Pump

    I’ll admit I’ve spent way too much time reading reviews of bike tires. I have experimented ad infinitum with tubeless tire pressures in relation to various width tires and various road surfaces and I know a couple pounds of pressure one way or the other can make a big difference in the feel and handling of a tire that is all of an inch wide. The reality is, tires are the most important part of the bike, not only from a safety standpoint–you have two small patches of rubber in contact with the road when you’re flying down that mountain at 40+ miles per hour after all–but from a performance, handling and comfort standpoint as well. If you are tuned into your bike to the point where it feels like an extension of your body then being mindful about tire pressure is just part of the zen.

    And so, last week I finally got fed up with the seven year old Bontrager track pump I’ve been using. It had been leaking air for months and, though I had spent some time and effort trying to troubleshoot it, nothing fixed the issue.

    It was putting a kink in my zen.

    The Bontrager and I had seven good years together, yes. But it was an expensive pump and I really felt like it should have been designed to be repaired. Now it will wind up as one more piece of junk on our giant 21st century American garbage heap. It’s not even about the money, it’s about the fact that the decision-makers at some corporation decided it was ok to design something where a single point of failure (in this case probably a $0.10 gasket that is not replacable) will render the entire thing useless.

    Those guys just piss me off.

    All this to describe what led up to the purchase of what will no doubt be the last track pump I will ever buy.

    Behold the Silca SuperPista Ultimate in all her glory:

    This is now, hands-down, the nicest tool in my shop. I won’t go into every detail, but it’s obvious that a lot of thought and care was put into the design of this pump. The base is heavy cast zinc, the hose is braided stainless steel, the handle is turned purpleheart wood, the rest is machined aluminum with a steel chuck. No plastic! The guage is factory calibrated to 1% accuracy and every non-wear part is covered by a 25-year warranty. Also, just in case you were wondering, yes, it is completely rebuildable. But, honestly, I can’t imagine any part of this pump ever failing. It’s built like a tank.

    Plus, the thing is freaking gorgeous.

    Maybe this is a bit decadent. Do I need a pump this nice? Clearly no. But it is something I use almost every day and now, instead of a leaky piece of junk that made me frustrated at the start of each ride, I can actually enjoy the few minutes it takes to pump up the tires because I’m using a well-designed tool that wasn’t built to be thrown in the trash in a few years. In fact, I’m sure the Silca pump will outlive me.

    Now I just need to figure out who will inherit her when I take that last big bike ride in the sky.