In year’s past, because my training methods have been dictated by the weather, I have claimed that I am trained by God. And that’s completely accurate—providence decides how I will move about in spandex. But this year, due to the fact that my Power Tap wheel tried to gnaw its way to freedom through my rear drop out, I am no longer using any sort of wattage measuring device to aid me in my training. This means that I am left to train using the terrain that’s available locally here in the New Jersey Northlands. I search out hills with which to punish myself, often riding these hills repeatedly, in order to wring any sort of joy out of my ascent of these inclines. I can also use my Strava data to decipher the time it takes to climb each hill, and can decide how many climbs I should be doing. This is, of course, not an obsessively optimized way to do this, but it’s the best I can do at this moment, as any disposable income that could be spent on wattage measuring equipment is tied up in gymnastics lessons and pumpkin-flavored beers. (Don’t judge me!)

But besides becoming a "hill hunter", this shift in training means that I’ve added another coach to my roster. I am pleased to announce that I am co-coached by none other than Mother Nature. Of course, God will always be the Ferrari to Mother Nature’s Carmichael in my training structure, but I’m pleased to announce her addition the team schmalz nevertheless.

In other news, all my equipment is turning to rolling garbage. My DMT shoes are sadly on their last pedal strokes. I would like to take a moment to thank them for their years of service, and wish them all the best in their future endeavors. This means, of course, after my pumpkin beer investments pay off that I will be purchasing some new shoes. I have slightly wider feet than most (a trait that the schmalz family evolved in order to avoid being blown over in tornadoes), and that means that certain shoes brands are out. For the most part, French and Italian shoes companies build shoes for the dainty-footed Cinderella crowd, and this forces me to search out other footwear purveyors, those who can accommodate a platypus-footed person as myself. I have found my Lake winter shoes to be girth-y enough to hold my expansive feet, so I will probably get those melty shoes of theirs that you pop in the oven. Because their custom fit should work well with my feet and also because I really like baking footwear in my oven.

In bike riding news, the crisp fall weather has made my spandex sojourns a delight as of late. I have been riding by myself and found the time quite enjoyable as I take in the autumn colors and dream about baking my flip flops.

This week, I’m not listing each ride, as I am lazy. I am highlighting one ride though, as it makes a funny Strava graph.

Saturday, October 12, 2012

As a father of two grade school aged girls, my weekends do not belong entirely to me. That’s not true actually, I can claim the hours before 8 am as my own, but I often let those opportunities pass because I am unconscious. This is not a complaint mind you, I am only stating the way things are. This is what dad’s are meant to do. We deliver our progeny to their appointments and appreciate any moments we can find with them, because in a short time, they will no longer be asking us to "watch this" anymore.

Today was my neighbor’s day for the gymnastics carpool, and with a free hour or so, I did what any pretend bike racer would do. I went to my local hill and ascended it five times in a row. You can see the splendid monotony of the elevation profile of the ride’s Strava entry. I must admit to enjoying the aesthetics of the uniformity of the profile. When I look at it, I see five garden gnomes hiding under a blanket, feel free to share you impression with us all in the comments section below.

With my five trudges completed, I returned home, as there were many tasks to complete and my daughters had many more things to show me.