Return to Pool

First I was a League Player

About 20 years ago, I got into my first pool league. It was in Winston-Salem NC and consisted of 3 person teams playing some form of 9 ball, with handicaps to make it fair. I don’t remember the name of the pool room but I recall it was a “private club” where I had to pay an annual fee in order to drink there.  (Ah, government!)

I can't really remember why I joined a pool league. I think I was in there having a beer and shooting by myself when the league operator walked up, introduced himself and invited me. Since I was new in town, it seemed like a good way to meet some new people.

The team that I was on was with 2 people, a guy and a girl, and none of us knew either of the others. By the end of the session, which lasted about 9 months, we were fairly decent friends and really good teammates.

Darren was a twenty-something musician who drank Natural Light beer and chain smoked Marlboro menthols. He was a decent player but he could choke under pressure so we always let him play his matches first.

Natalie was around thirty, attractive, with eyes that had seen too many sunrises (after staying up all night), too many boyfriends (she introduced us to a different one each week), and too many Michelob’s after her match, every week. She would play second and then start in on the post-game celebration, usually reaching the first Stage of Drunkenness (that’s Witty and Charming; for those of you who haven’t read any Dan Jenkins novels - Google 10 stages of drunkenness), pretty quickly.

I was mid-thirties, unattached, and returning to the game after not playing for close to twenty years.  Turned out I could still play a little, was pretty steady, occasionally very good, and loved to play with the match on the line. I batted cleanup and, because I was older, was elected captain. (Neither of the other two wanted to do it.)

By the last week of league, we had managed to get into 3^rd place and were playing the 2^nd place team. If we won by shut out, we’d leapfrog them into 2^nd and each of us would win $150 more in the payout. The good news was, we couldn’t do worse than 3^rd so we had nothing to lose. (I used this to calm my teammates down; poor Darren went through a pack of smokes just warming up.)

Darren got up in the first match and played their best player, getting the called 7 and 8 for his spot. In the race to six, he couldn’t seem to do anything wrong and won 6-1; seemed like he came to the table each time with a simple shot or combo on the winning ball and made every one of them.  He lit up two cigarettes in celebration.

Natalie stepped up and played a girl, even, in a tense battle which she won on the hill by making a table length bank on the 8 ball and got perfect shape on the nine.  When I asked her what was going through her head when she shot the 8, she said, “Just make the damn thing. I need a drink!”

The Zone

I stepped up to play their weakest player spotting 2 games on the wire and the wild 7 and 8. This is a tough spot to outrun but I was loose in the knowledge that we couldn’t lose position, so it was a chance to jump up.

As they were behind, the other team had the first break and my opponent was kind enough to snap in a winning ball, twice in a row putting me down 4-0 in the race to 6. All I could do was laugh as it was completely beyond my control. If the guy was going to go unconscious on me, all I could do was rack and watch.

Feeling cocky, he took a wild swing at the next break and the cue ball jumped off the table after contact giving me ball in hand for my opening shot. Good thing, as he’d made the 7 ball on a fluke kiss and I would have been down another game.

I picked up the cue ball and could immediately see the pattern for the runout. Not only could I see that, it was the only thing I could see as the rest of the world had, sort of, disappeared. I didn’t know it, but I’d just entered The Zone for the first time in my pool career.  I quickly ran out the rack and trailed 4-1.

My opponent racked and I broke, making 3 balls. I quickly ran out that rack to get to 4-2.  He racked again, I broke and the 9 went in to get to 4-3. He racked for a third time and I broke, made a ball, and had an easy 1-9 combo to get to 4-4.

I walked over and took a sip of my beer as he racked again. Darren was in the john and Natalie was drinking her second beer and chatting with her date so no one said anything to me.  I’m not even sure I saw them, to tell you the truth.

By this time because of the length of Natalie’s match, every other match had finished and people began to crowd around the table to watch; about 50 people in all. They were waiting for payouts, mainly, but pretty soon were all watching us play.  (I didn’t see them when it was happening. They all came up to tell me afterwards. Part of being in the zone, is you don’t see anything except what you’re doing.)

I stepped up to the next rack and made two balls. I worked my way through the rack fairly easily but got horrible position on the 7 for the pocket I’d planned but perfect shape for a table length combo on the 9. Normally, that’s a pretty low percentage shot for me. This time I didn’t even think about it, just shot it in to get to 5-4.

As my opponent racked, with me on the hill, all I could see 

was a 4x9 foot stretch of green cloth with pool balls on it. It was one of the most bizarre feelings I’ve ever had; almost as if I was floating above the table. An out of the body experience, downright spiritual in its feel.

The Zone ends

I broke the balls, making the 2 and 4 balls.  I quickly worked my way through the rack. After making the 7 ball, the cue was coming up table into perfect position for the 8 and 9 which were close together near the spot. It had almost stopped rolling when Darren jumped out of his seat, walked toward me and said, “Timeout.”

I stopped chalking my cue and looked up, surprised to find that there was anyone else there.  Darren dropped his voice and said, “How are you going to play this?”

I looked at the table. All that was left were 2 stop shots, about as easy as it could ever be.  I took a deep breath because I was pissed that his interruption had completely taken me out of that wonderful place I’d been for the last thirty minutes or so. (It felt like 30 seconds.)

“I’ve just run 5 racks and have two stop shots to run out the set, and you want to know how I’m going to play this?” I whispered in a barely controlled fury. “I’m going to make them and then I’m going to kick your ass if you don’t sit the f**k down, right now.”

Darren went paler than usual, said, “Sorry” and went back to his seat to light up a smoke. (He, clearly, had never seen anyone in the state I'd been in and had no idea what he should do. Given the circumstances, I could just as easily have made the same mistake. I apologized to him later.)

I took a couple of deep breaths as I walked slowly around the table, chalking my cue, pretending that I did this sort of thing all the time. I looked at the angles of the 3 balls on the table, one white, one black, one white with a yellow stripe. My heart was nearly back to normal and I felt like I could shoot. I shot both shots with the same speed that I’d used to shoot all the other ones (except I had to think about it, this time) and split the pocket with both shots. The crowd applauded, really loudly. 

(I hadn’t realized everyone was watching yet. The noise really snapped me back to reality.) Several people clapped me on the back or high fived me.  I shook my opponents hand and he said,

“Man, I’ve never seen anything like that. Nice shooting!”

The league operator handed out the prize fund right after that and my teammates and I each got $450 for finishing 2^nd. Darren bought beers for the team. Natalie offered herself to me (I passed) and I was bitten by the competitive bug.

New Leagues

Fast forward about 15 years. I live in Richmond VA, now. I ran an 8 ball league for about six years, until last summer when the Side Pocket closed its doors for good. I made many friends, a few enemies, and established a reputation as a pretty good league operator.

My decision to take on a temporary committee role with our church took up a lot of my time for the past year so, I dropped out of the pool scene. I stopped by another pool room to get my cues worked on, played in the VA State 9 Ball tournament, and refereed it. But mostly, my pool time was spent playing on my table at home, whenever I could find a spare hour to practice.

A few weeks ago, I decided it was time to get back into playing. I sent an email to the operator of the BCA league at Diamonds, about twenty miles from my home, asking him when the next session started. He passed my name along to several team captains and I got a call the next day asking me to join a team for the summer session.  Last night was the first match and it felt great to be back.

Things I love about a pool room

No matter what part of the country you go into, there are some things that happen in every pool room. Without fail.

Swearing. (No one can swear like pool players. Trust me. My dad was a bricklayer.)

Players lying about how long it’s been since they played. (I haven’t picked up a cue in years…..you wanna play some cheap sets? I need the 7 ball.)

People that are glad to see you. (Hey, I haven’t seen you for a while. You playing any? Let’s play some cheap sets and catch up! Can I get the 7 ball? I haven’t been playing much…)

Couple that with beer, a lot of smokers, an occasional bar fight….damn, I do love a pool room!

Rack ‘em up!

Cap 2 Cap

As Richmond VA works to become a more bike friendly area, one of the coolest projects is a mixed use trail stretching the 55 miles from downtown Williamsburg – the original capital – to downtown Richmond – the current capital. This has been under construction for eight years and each of the past couple of years, there has been a fund raiser ride, called the Cap2Cap. (About 35 miles remains to be paved and all but one small section is currently under construction.)

www.virginiacapitaltrail.org

The ride has expanded to four different distances. There’s a full century, a half century, and a quarter century, along with a short fun ride.  Rides begin at both ends of the trail and, oddly, don’t follow the trail at all.  Instead, they wind in big loops over local roads.

Let’s do the Half…..

MB and I signed up to ride the half century beginning in Richmond and sent in our entry fees a few months before. We also ordered event jerseys (another fundraising effort) so we could look like teammates.  (Really, it was for the fundraising. We noticed that about 25% of the participants had the jerseys on, though, so it looked kind of cool!)

Packet pickup at a brewery??? 

Why, yes, I think I will!

The organizers arranged for Friday night packet pickups at a local craft brewery, Hardywood Brewing. They’ve been open for almost two years and are growing very quickly. (Along with biking, Richmond is also becoming a craft beer town.  Coincidence? I think not!) Of course, you could get your packets on ride day and skip going to the brewery but why would you?

Good food, good beer, good times!

MB and I met at my office and road down together. There was a huge crowd due to: a) packet pickup, b) food trucks in the parking lot, c) beer, d) live music being played, e) all of the above. We parked several blocks away and walked back to enjoy e) all of the above.  We concentrated on the beer.

After hanging out for an hour or so, we headed home.

Off to ride

It always seems counterproductive to me to load up your bike and drive somewhere to take a ride.  But when the starting point is about 25 miles away, you need to do that.  So, we loaded up.

As I walked to our shed for the bike rack and bikes, it started to rain. Hard.  Really hard. My first thought was, “This is going to suck.” But by the time I’d gotten the rack out and started to attach it to the car, the rain had nearly stopped although it was still pretty overcast. The weather forecast wasn’t promising.

I went back inside and told MB that we might be in for a wet ride but it appeared to bother me more than her. (Yeah, I’m a wuss.)

We loaded up the bikes and the gear and headed to the starting point, a place called Rockett’s Landing. It’s an historic site right next to the James River that has made a remarkable comeback in the past 15 years as it went from abandoned, former manufacturing blight to a funky neighborhood with apartments and condos that have been created from old warehouses, coupled with some very old and historic homes.  It’s got a very cool vibe!

Just a small section of Rocketts Landing

By the time we found a parking spot, the clouds had broken up and the sun made an appearance. It suddenly looked like it might be a decent day! 

We rolled down near the starting area with about fifteen minutes to kill before the official start. I positioned us just behind a police car that I figured was going to be leading the pack for the first couple of miles; about 400 other cyclists were queued up about 100 meters further down under a start/finish tower. There was a large clock showing elapsed time from when the century riders had gone off an hour before.

All dressed up with 50 miles to go!

I get nervous in huge starts like that. There are a huge number of riders, in close formation, who rarely ride in groups. (Like me.) I get hinky because that’s a great place for a big pile up and I didn’t want to be the guy who needed to be “cleaned up on aisle 3!” That’s why I moved us up into a potentially safer spot.

Hizzoner the mayor was on hand and counted down the last ten seconds till the start. As I suspected, the police car began to pull out and we tucked in behind it completely out of the crowd during that first crazy few minutes.  The cop turned right, out onto the start of the route and we rolled on with MB setting the pace as we had agreed.

Rolling along

The first few miles had some rolling hills and the early adrenaline allowed us to hold a pretty good pace.  Other riders began to pass us within a half mile of the start but by then there was plenty of room for everyone.

I had never ridden on this, the eastern, side of town before. It turned out to be a delightful course with few hills, decent quality pavement, room to ride, and idyllic scenery.  Lots of old farm houses, some occasional new development / suburbia and reasonable traffic. I would venture to say that there were fewer cars than I usually encounter on the other side of town but it’s probably a toss up.

Around the 14 mile mark, we came upon the first SAG station. It was in a state park (whose name escapes me now) with decent rest rooms as well as the porta potties we all know and love.  Snacks were plentiful and we took advantage of these along with water refills.  All in, we were stopped for about fifteen minutes.  After a quick stretch, we headed off again.

Urban Bike Club

We were only a few minutes down the road when we were passed by a group of about 10 riders, all in their teens and kitted out in the uniform of the Richmond Cycling Corps.

www.richmondcyclingcorps.org

I had read various articles about this group over the years. They use cycling as a platform for changing the lives of youth that live in housing projects in the Richmond area.  They’re headed up by a couple of very impressive guys, both really good cyclists with a heart.

This group of kids were all grinning and pedaling along, clearly enjoying the day’s ride. They also had their own camera person, a videographer who was riding on the back of a scooter recording the ride.  It was very cool!

Another mile or so up the road, we were passed by two more riders in the same outfits. One was a young team member. The other I recognized as one of the directors of the program. He had a hand on the little guy’s back and was helping him charge back up to join the rest of the team, evidently recovering from a mechanical of some kind.

Another Rest Stop

Around mile 28 we hit the second SAG stop, set up in the parking lot of a country convenience store.  There was clearly a big crowd on this ride as there were several hundred riders hanging around, catching a break. I was actually worried about getting snacks but we managed to grab a few cookies and refill our bottles before taking off again.

High Speed Limits, Limited Shoulders

The next section of the ride started along a two lane road that was fairly wide with a decent shoulder of about two feet.  The speed limit, almost immediately went from 45 to 55 mph, making me a little nervous.

In western Hanover, where I live and ride, this type of condition can be a little dicey.  If it’s a workday, drivers can get a little antsy about getting to work or wherever and may take more chances than a cyclist would like to see.  Since it was a weekend, I was less concerned but wary just the same.

We had traveled about half of the 7 miles that we were on this road when I saw a tractor trailer approaching from behind at a high rate of speed. I alerted MB to it and she hugged the edge of the road, along with the other five or six riders in our proximity. As the truck approached, it swung several feet over into the oncoming lane, passed all of us at once, and whipped back onto the correct side of the double yellow line missing the rider in front by about 10 feet or so (I expect it seemed much closer!) while avoiding a head on collision with a pickup truck by about 3 feet. 

The driver of the pickup truck blew his horn and gave a one finger salute to the tractor trailer driver who continued down the road.

We learned later that two Cap2Cap riders had been struck in a hit and run by a tractor trailer, somewhere behind us, on the same stretch of road at about the same time of day. I don’t know if it was the same driver or not and none of us got an ID on the truck. The two riders had to be Medivacced to the hospital with severe injuries. One was released a couple of days later but the other is still in the hospital, having lost a leg to amputation and with severe organ and tissue damage.

(As of today, VA State Police have identified the driver but there has been no announcement of charges or results of the investigation.)

I was glad when we finally made a left turn onto far less frightening pavement.

There was one other accident that passed about 5 miles from the end. This one didn’t have a motor vehicle involved, but a cyclist who appeared to have a pretty bad leg and head injury. She was being attended to by EMTs as we rolled past.

Last Stop

The last SAG stop was at another convenience store where we managed another quick snack, some cookies and fruit, and bottle refills.  While we were heading to our bikes, a local patron (who looked like an extra from Deliverance, frankly) admired our bikes and mentioned that he’d heard that people paid “a thousand dollars for some of them.”  I told him some folks would think that was a cheap bike.

"Y'all look good in them tight pants!"

He responded with, “I think I’ll just drive!” Then he laughed through his missing teeth and wandered off to his pickup truck.  Yessireebob!  (You have to wonder what it looks like when several hundred people, mostly middle aged, suddenly show up in a place like this and we’re all wearing brightly colored Spandex.  It’s got to be pretty weird!)

Kick it in, second wind

With about twelve miles or so to go, we headed off again. Long rides, for me anyway, always seem really long when I know that I’m within striking distance.  Those last five to ten miles seem to take forever.  This one was no exception.

The good news was that it was, except for one small climb at the end, nearly flat.  The bad news was that it turned into the wind the last five miles.  You know the old saying, “Hills make you stronger, the wind just makes you mad.”  It’s true.

MB and I switched off and on, taking the lead for several miles. A woman joined us in that for another couple of miles as we rode past the airport.  Then we rode downhill into this park like area that neither of us had seen before. It was glorious!

We turned onto another road, under a railway trestle, and then up a hill. I knew that we were close to the finish.  After slowly grinding out way up the hill, we spotted signs that looked familiar and we charged down a slight hill and turned back into the Rockett’s Landing area.  Another turn and we crossed the finish line in less than four hours.

It was time for BBQ, cold beer, and some bluegrass music by a local band before loading up the bikes and heading home. With that, MB completed her first half-century ride.  And is still talking to me!

Next up for me, the Tour de Cure century ride!  (Wherein, the old guy finally learns how to properly climb the Blue Ridge Mountains and lives to tell the tale.)

Happy with a beer and BBQ.

More Rides with my Bride

But first a word about a charity ride!

It’s only 4 weeks away and I’m in training for it! I’m talking about the Tour de Cure of the National Capital Area, taking place June 2^nd.  I’m planning to ride the century course, which starts in Reston Town Center and winds its way out into the Blue Ridge Mountains for about 45 miles of beautiful views (and nasty climbs as I discovered last year) before returning to Reston via the W&OD trail, a total ride of 108 miles with 6,800 feet of climbs.

My goal is to raise $1500 for the cure, same as last year. If you’d be willing to donate as little as $5, click the link below and make a donation by credit card.  Chances are, someone you know has diabetes – some may not even know it – and we can make a difference.  Come on, you can do it! One less latte won’t kill you.

http://main.diabetes.org/goto/BrianKeller

MB has game!

As I’ve mentioned before, MB expressed an interest in joining in the Cap2Cap ride here in Richmond. We’re planning to ride the 50 mile loop on May 18^th.

The Cap2Cap trail is a bike trail that is currently under construction between Richmond, the current capital of the state, and Williamsburg, the first capital of the state.  It has been underway for some time and is close to completion with final parts scheduled to finish next year.  Right now, parts of the 50+ mile trip travel over state maintained roadways that are lacking in cycling amenities; little to no shoulder. This ride is an annual fundraiser to help foot the bill for building a paved cycling roadway.

Building up the miles

Over the past couple of years, I’ve gotten to the point where I can ride 50 miles at a time with little strain.  MB has great cardio conditioning but not a lot of saddle time; like most people, sitting on a bike for hours at a time is hard on the tuchis for her. To prep for the 50 miles, we’ve undertaken a couple of training rides.

Kirk Williams Wheel Out

We started a few weeks ago with a 25 miler up in Ashland, a short distance from home. This ride was another fundraiser to benefit a young man named Kirk Williams who was rendered a paraplegic about 4 years ago in a mountain biking accident. I signed us up for it as I saw it as a great stepping stone and a way to help out a cause.

We showed up at a large horse farm that volunteered its facility as a starting point, about a half hour prior to the scheduled start.  As we were queuing up with the other riders, I noticed a woman on a bike I’d never seen before. It was called an Elliptigo and was garnering a lot of attention from the gathered cyclists.  Instead of a typical pedaling motion, the rider is standing upright and moves their feet in a way that is reminiscent of an elliptical machine while holding more traditional handle bars.

An Elliptigo near the Golden Gate Bridge

I asked her how long it would take her to ride the 25 mile course and she said, “I have no idea, I’ve never gone that far before.”  MB said she was in the same boat.

And, they’re off!

At the appointed time, we saddled up and moved out the long, gravel driveway to the main road. MB had our cue sheet and was following me as we settled into a pace we’d agreed to before.  We found ourselves riding in a group of about a dozen or so riders.

After a couple of miles, MB asked if we could pass everybody. I said sure, and we swung out and passed the front of the pack and dropped everyone in no time at all.  By the time we got to the first turn at mile 3, we had put about 400 meters between us.  I settled into my cadence and we pedaled through Ashland on the back streets.

A quick lesson in the Granny Gear

About 8 miles into the ride, the trail took us down a long sloping left hander; MB pointed out a house belonging to friends of our youngest daughter.  It was then I realized that we had a pretty healthy climb coming up. 

The road turned upward and I continued to shift down to keep my cadence at a comfortable pace.  I could see MB in my mirror getting smaller as her pedals slowed down.  Finally, about half way up the hill she dismounted and began to walk.  I continued to the top of the hill and pulled off to the shoulder of the road to wait.

As soon as I pulled over, I saw Elliptigo Girl striding smoothly up the hill just passing MB on foot.  She continued steadily up the hill in her lowest gear and, as she passed me, I gave her a thumbs up of support. 

She gasped out, “I wish this damn thing didn’t weigh 65 pounds!” But she was still smiling as she said it.

When MB got to the top, she was apologizing for having to walk. I pointed out that there is no shame in that; I had to do it myself at the Tour de Cure last year. Sometimes you just have to get off.  

As we moved on down the road, she asked me about how to better use her gearing. I knew that she had been using the middle chain ring as I’d seen her in it. Turns out, she’d not yet dropped to the smallest ring.  Once I pointed this out and gave her my strategy for hills (I work to keep my cadence in the same vicinity of normal which is about 80 rpms for me but usually drops to 60, or so, on hills. Once I’ve worked through all the gears I just tough it out, occasionally standing up to change riding positions) she thanked me and immediately utilized it on the next climb which was even steeper. This resulted in a no-walk ascent and she pointed out it was a lot easier.

At the halfway point, we took a break for a quick snack and a few moments out of the saddle. As we rested, Elliptigo Girl strode past, turned and disappeared up the road. We didn’t see her again until we got back to the farm’s finish area. Evidently, 25 miles is not that tough a ride on one of those if you’re in really good shape.

To the finish

The rest of the ride was uneventful and, blessedly, flat. We were able to keep a pace above 13 mph for nearly all of it despite an occasional headwind.  MB was pleased and ready to try a longer ride soon.

Back at the farm, we grabbed some lunch (local barbeque, yum!) and listened to a local band while we ate and sat in the sunshine, enjoying the day.  How great to enjoy a ride with your best friend!

Final Tune Up

The following weekend, MB wanted to try a longer ride. I had explained to her that I’d read somewhere that, if a cyclist can ride 60% of a particular distance without blowing up, they should be able to ride the full distance desired. Since our plan is to ride a 50 miler, she wanted to crank out 30 miles.

I suggested that we could ride one of the RABA (Richmond Area Bike Association) courses that I’d taken a few months back in a group ride.  It begins about a 10 minute drive from our house, takes place over fairly untraveled roads, and has terrain that is pretty similar to the 50 mile course. I showed her the cue sheet and, since she is very familiar with our local roads, she knew exactly where the ride took us.

Personally, I detest driving to go on a ride; I feel it defeats the entire purpose of riding a bicycle.  That said, if I didn’t do it, at least once in a while, I’d almost never go on a group ride.  So, sometimes you suck it up and do it.

We set out Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch.  After parking in the local library lot, we mounted up and headed out to the road with me in the lead. 

The first couple miles of this course are mostly downhill, a very gentle descent.  This got our pace off to a pretty fast start as a result. After the road leveled off, I put MB in front to set a pace that she was comfortable riding as this was her training ride.  (I had my own training ride that morning when I got in a 30 miler with a buddy with whom I hadn’t ridden in 6 months. I had been cranking it in the morning so this was a recovery ride for me.)

MB kept up a really nice pace of between 12 and 13 mph for most of the ride. The day wasn’t gorgeous, overcast, a little chilly, and an occasional wind gust, but the scenery on this loop is wonderful.  Lots of picturesque, rural homes, some farms of varying sizes and crops, and the occasional historic signpost punctuated the afternoon.

Just past the halfway point, we pulled off on a side road for a break and a snack.  After about 10 minutes, we continued on, turning back onto the second to last leg of, what looks like, a large rectangle on the map.  This 5 mile stretch was heading into a pretty gusty wind and it got painful at times.  I was proud of how MB was able to push on through it, holding her pace.

We made the last turn and started up the 3 miles of climb to the finish. Where the start was mostly downhill, the finish is mostly up and that makes this loop somewhat of a challenge for newish riders.  MB charged up it convincingly, continuing to hold a solid pace. I was very impressed with her stamina and heart, right then. The first time I went on this ride, there were a couple of regular club riders that just barely chugged up this last section.  When I told her that, I think she was surprised.

When we returned to the parking lot, I made a beeline to the porta pottie near the baseball field having clearly over-hydrated.  When I returned to the car, MB mentioned that when we do the Cap2Cap she needs to remember to get entirely off the bike instead of straddling when taking a break.  Evidently, she had some issues swinging her leg over the bike after being in the saddle for so long.  (I know the feeling.)

I’ll remind her of that this weekend!

Riding with My Bride

Ok, I realize I haven’t posted in a month!  It’s not like I’ve been slacking off; work has been busy, I’m on a church committee that’s taken up a lot of my time (searching for a new minister) and I’ve been working to raise funds for my first charity ride of the year, the National Capital Tour de Cure for Diabetes.

I’m working hard to raise $1500 and ride 108 miles to raise awareness for diabetes. Do you know someone that has it? Maybe you have it yourself. It’s a silent killer in the US and more people are being diagnosed with diabetes every year. Help me reach my goal and help to find a cure! As little as $5 can be donated through this website with a credit card and I’d really appreciate your help.  Come on, I’d do it for you!

 http://main.diabetes.org/goto/BrianKeller

Scattered thoughts

Old man winter is taking bloody forever to move on, here in Central Virginia.  We’re a week past the first day of Spring and the night time temperatures are still either side of freezing and I have to scrape frost off the windshield before heading to work. It seems unusual to me; my birthday is the day before the first day of Spring and I know I’m usually in short sleeves around this time of year, at least occasionally.

MB and I decided to watch the late news the other night and the local weather guy came on to tell us that, “The high for the day was 37 degrees which is 22 degrees below the normal for this year.”  Aha! No wonder it doesn’t feel right, it’s not nearly as warm as it usually is. He then went on to say that, based on the long range computer models, the temperatures would remain about a “month behind” where they should be on the spring warm up, at least for the next four to six weeks.  So, it feels like February right now, and it’s going to feel like March next month although it’s really April.  Great! 

I was hoping to start bike commuting a couple of days a week this month but I’m going to wait till the low is in the forties. I realize I’m a fair weather biker.  Please don’t hate.

Some people complain about the weather, others just observe it, some work in it but no one does anything about it. (Although depending upon who you believe, humankind has been doing something about it for about 100 years – mostly causing it to change for the worse.)

My dad was a bricklayer, and for him the weather was mostly about getting a paycheck.  When the temperature gets too low, it becomes difficult to make mortar which is used to lay brick. If it freezes, you get weak joints and houses fall apart.  If it’s raining, the mortar becomes too wet and you get weak joints and houses fall apart. But for the worker, the bad weather means “I don’t work so I don’t get paid.” I would have made a lousy bricklayer; I hate other things having an impact on whether or not I get to work.

At least, I’m working….

On the bright side, the last two weekends have had at least one day where the temperature snuck up to 50 degrees or so. That’s warm enough for me to ride and I even talked MB into joining me for both rides.

While having been very happily married for the last 12 years, MB and I have not really had any hobbies to share. I’m completely open to it, in fact I’d welcome it! We’ve talked about playing golf together from time to time but she says that she’d be intimidated playing with me because I’m so much better. I keep trying to explain to her that golf is the hardest game in the world, that it humbles everyone who plays it, and that you have to really work just to suck at it.  Perhaps after we retire when my game is completely gone…….

Admittedly, I have a secondary motivation for getting MB into cycling – more gear. Nearly every cyclist that catches the bug becomes addicted to the gear.  Clothing, gadgets, energy gels, and magazines are all on the shopping list. Bike shops understand this and send emails daily, touting the latest deals.

Constant temptation

And bikes are the worst. I recently read that the number of bikes any of us need is expressed in an equation B=n-1, where B is the number of bikes we need (want) while n is the current number currently owned. The corollary to this equation is B=SO-1, where B is the number of bikes we need (want) and SO is the number of bikes at which our Significant Other will leave us.  These same equations transfer over to most other addictions – classic cars, guns, pool cues, tennis rackets. I think the B integer is inversely proportional to the price tag of the addiction, too. As the price rises, the quantity decreases.

I also recognize that MB is immune to all this stuff.  She is truly a rock when it comes to handling finances and sticking to a budget. Don’t misunderstand, it’s not that she won’t spend money and won’t let me. She just won't allow us to spend it needlessly.  Dammit.

So any way, we took some rides…….

Back in the day, MB was a bicycle commuter up in Northern VA/DC. She used to commute to her job in downtown Washington from Arlington, and back, nearly every day.

DC - Where decisions are made with no thought given to consequences

Cyclists didn’t get a whole lot of slack back then, particularly from taxi drivers. She was taught to carry her bike lock in her left hand while riding so that if she was squeezed by a driver, she had something to rap on their car and get their attention. (Cars were made of pretty stout sheet metal back then; if you tried that same trick today, you might shatter somebody’s quarter panel.  How cool! Note to self: buy a lock when the next bike shop email comes out!)

The first ride we did together was on the roads near our house.  We live out in a rural suburb with lots of two lane blacktop and there are lots of cyclists out here. As a result, drivers are pretty aware and give a wide berth most of the time. I wanted to make sure she got her legs under her more than anything, before we tackled bigger rides.

We ended up riding about 10 miles or so, on a wider road nearby; it has really generous shoulder and since the road is only a few years old, the pavement is excellent.  MB got to practice her pedal stroke, try to ride in a pace line, albeit a small one, and generally get comfortable with the gearing systems of today by riding my Trek hybrid.  It was great fun and a wonderful start.

The second ride was in a completely different spot.  MB works for one of the largest employers in the state and their HQ is situated in an office park called West Creek that has a really nice road system with wide lanes, shoulders, and great vistas.  RABA, the Richmond Area Bike Club to which I belong, has a group ride in the area every week with something for everyone. MB suggested we ride those roads the Sunday following our first ride.

Now, I hate to drive my bike someplace in order to take a ride.  Seems counter to the entire cycling thing to me, somehow. But the ride over there and back would be longer than the first ride we took so I agreed. We loaded up the bikes and drove over to West Creek, offloading in one of the parking lots of her company.  MB took the lead as we pedaled onto the road since I had no idea where anything led.

We’d traveled just over a kilometer when one of the security guys pulled us over, asking for ID. We’d left everything in the car, of course, including MB’s company badge. After offering to return to the car to show him, he just asked for the make and model of the car along with the plate number to check on us and then sent us on our way. The only downside to the exchange was that I’d failed to downshift before stopping and this lead to a rather sketchy start but I quickly recovered.

We settled into a nice smooth pace as we rode back and forth along the one section of road, along with a large number of other cyclists. Our ride totaled just over 13 miles and we completed that in an hour. I’m pretty impressed with MB’s ability to hold a decent pace on that hybrid. We’re planning to do a couple of group rides in the next 6 weeks or so, including one of 50 miles, and I’m confident that she’ll be ready to get after them!

Now, if I could just get her thinking about new bikes………

Heart

I got to thinking about this word on Valentine’s Day. It means different things to different people, of course, but to those of us who are competitors it has a particular meaning.  Whether you’re a runner, a golfer, a cyclist, a pool player, even a competitive Scrabble player, having heart has a particular meaning. I want to talk about that but first, I have a request.

Tour de Cure

For people with Diabetes, having heart means keeping a focus on your diet, on your meds, and on your lifestyle not because it’s the right thing to do but because failing to do so will lead to your death. It’s that simple. Diabetes kills people. It kills some of them even if they do all those things properly. That’s why I’m going to ride again this year in the Tour de Cure of the National Capital Area, on June 2^nd this year.

I’m planning to ride in the century ride, just like last year, and travel over 100 miles in one day on my bike to raise money and awareness for this horrible disease. Last year, a lot of you donated money and together we raised $1500 toward the total of $800,000 raised in this one event.  This year, the larger goal is $1,000,000 and I’m hoping to get to $1800, with your help.

No donation is too small. In fact, if everyone that reads this blog donated only $5 I’d be almost halfway to my goal. (I know I can’t believe that many people read this blog but have you seen Facebook lately?) Here’s a link to my donation page for the TdC.

http://tour.diabetes.org/site/TR?px=7310819&pg=personal&fr_id=8619

Thanks! I'm riding for you!

Heart is a noun that should be a verb

Think about it.  This thing works so diligently in the human body that it should be a verb. The average person’s heart beats over 100,000 times a day, almost 40 million times a year, over 3 billion times in the average lifetime.  Damn.

To have heart, then, means that you’re always there. Hanging around until your best effort is needed and then you give it for as long as it’s needed or as long as you can give it.

Two wheeled heart

I was out on a ride some weeks ago, riding by myself and feeling pretty good although I was beginning to run out of gas.  I’d been out for a little over two hours and had ridden 33 miles, or so, with about 5 more miles left to make it home.

I was pedaling steadily up a false flat (the road appears to be flat but actually has a slight incline) trying to hold my pace when I saw them approaching in my rearview mirror. A group of three riders, in a tight pace line, was gaining on me and doing it quickly. I watched their image grow in my mirror as I continued to plod along. My cadence increased slightly, much like your foot comes off the gas pedal of your car when you see a cop on the road; you aren’t really thinking about doing it, it’s just a reflex.  As a result, I was close to 17 mph when they came alongside.

They were younger guys (at this point, most everyone is) and they were in really good shape; well defined calf muscles are a dead giveaway for serious cyclists.  And they weren’t even breathing hard, greeting me with full sentences and no gasping as they rolled past me.  I puffed out a response, pretending not to be working too hard. (Cyclists that are working in a pace line, I'm told, use about 40% less energy for the same speed. That's why you see them doing it!)

They were about twenty yards past me when my brain said to me, “Really? You’re just going to let those guys just drop you like a bad habit?” A little groan escaped my lips as I stood up and accelerated toward the last rider, intent on catching the wheel and riding along with them. 

It took me about 100 meters to catch the last rider and when I slid in behind him, I was doing just over 20 mph. I settled into a bigger gear, held my position and worked on recovering from the burst, trying desperately not to sound like I was going to pass out. The guy in front, looked back at me in surprise.

“You don’t mind if I wheel suck, do you?” I croaked.

He grinned and said, “You just have to keep up.”

From my point of view

Fair enough, that’s all I wanted. My legs were already starting to come back to me, thanks to the slipstream effect, and this was starting to feel pretty good even though we were now going up an actual hill.

In seemingly no time at all, we reached the crest and the front rider came up out of the drops and onto the hoods. Everyone else followed suit as we rolled down a slight decline.  The three in front chatted for a second, grabbed a quick drink as I did the same, and then began the next push.  I stuck to the back wheel of the last guy in line and kept my cadence at a comfortable level. My computer seemed surprised that we were going 25 mph on a flat; it’s not used to that kind of performance.

Hah! You wish, pal!

I spent the next four miles rather enjoying the feeling of flying along, just above the pavement. I was pedaling near my maximum effort but the reward was bigger than I’d ever felt before. As a result, I just kept pedaling, watching the line to ensure I didn’t do anything stupid, occasionally looking at the powerful efforts of the guy at the front and just marveling that he could do it, and that I could keep up.  I felt great!

With only a half mile to get home, I realized that I was going to need to peel off from the group and turn down the road where my house is located.  As we came up to it, I yelled, “Thanks for the pull, guys!”  All three of them looked over in unison, appearing totally surprised that I’d kept up.  I waved.

Fortunately, it’s downhill for the last quarter mile to my house.

Heart on the Table

A couple of years ago, at the Virginia State 9 Ball Championships, I saw an example of heart.  Of a completely different sort.

Jordan is a player of some repute in the Richmond area. He’s been playing at a high level for at least the last 15 years or so. He’s a big guy with a sledge hammer break, excellent shot making skills, and plays very tidy safeties.  He’s been known to play for some healthy cheese, too. (For all non-pool players, that means he likes to gamble.)

In this particular tournament, Jordan won his first three matches on the winners’ side before getting knocked to the one loss bracket.  From there, I watched him as he won four matches in a row to reach the semi-finals of the tournament. Plenty of players do that but how he managed those four wins was what made it so special.

In each of the race to 9 matches, Jordan’s opponent made it to the hill (8 games going to 9) first. In the first one, he was down 8-3 before winning 6 games in a row to win the match. He was down 8-5 in the second match and did the same thing. It got easier the third match as he was only behind 8-7 before winning the last 2 games. In the fourth, it got harder again as he was down 8-6 and still managed a win. At no time during these matches did Jordan appear to be any differently focused or driven; he simply kept pushing forward, giving each shot his full attention and nothing more or less.

No one that I spoke with could remember this sort of thing happening in the tournament before and we also haven’t seen it since.

In the semi-final match, Jordan was down 8-6 and won the next 2 games to make it hill-hill again. Some of the sweators were trying to get people to bet against him to do it again and they were having a hard time getting action, too. But Jordan had gone to the well once too often and lost when he broke dry and his opponent ran out for the match.  Just the same, it was an example of tremendous heart from a competitor refusing to give in until the last ball dropped. His performance that day is still talked about during the annual State Championships.

Final words

I have few heroes but one who comes close is Theodore Roosevelt. TR was many things including a snob, an intellectual, a rancher, a hunter and naturalist, a warrior, a father, an asthmatic, a raconteur, and a loving husband. He was also a man of letters, writing over 50,000 of them, along with several dozen books, during his lifetime. I don't believe he was a cyclist but I know he did play pool. 

Theodore Roosevelt
26th US President

This passage from one of his speeches is, in my opinion, one of the all-time great descriptions of heart.

The Man in the Arena

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat. 

I’ll leave it there.