Mallory was visiting friend and neighbour C’s cottage earlier this week and she got to go waterskiing. I’m totally thrilled. For a bunch of reasons not the least of which is it’s something I’ve never been able to do.
She got up on her first attempt and as you can see she was clearly enjoying herself. It’s just another happy reminder that my daughter is not me.
See I remember spending what felt like an entire afternoon in the lake at my cousins’ cottage being dragged behind a motor boat via ski rope, one failed attempt at time, with various familial onlookers offering increasingly less enthusiastic support as the afternoon wore on.
Eventually, pleased that the lake water hid tears, I abandoned the attempt.
I was probably around 12 or 13 and I’ve never tried since.
Thanks to C’s parents for feeding, boarding and entertaining Mallory for two days and for giving her such an empowering experience.
Judge me if you will. Matt Moore – a recent convert to bike commuting – has an item in the Citizen today about how cyclists need to stop being arrogant, stop being whiny victims, take a breath and be heroes. All at the same time apparently.
So Matt, let me tell you my story and see if you might have some sympathy. Seeing as you’re all for the middle ground in all this.
I brazenly broke the law. I rode through an intersection against a red light. As I led out, a big guy on a bigger cruiser-style motor bike leaned on his horn for what seemed like forever.
I suppose it’s a sort of badge of honour. But I’ve worn my rear tire down to the casing. I am used to leaving tires on my bike for years. But apparently if you really use them they don’t last that long.
See the little white hash marks in the middle? That’s the casing showing through the rubber.
My bike pusher tells me these – Mavic Yksion Pros – should be good for three thousand clicks. Whereas I’ve put more than 5,700km on this pair since they arrived in February. The tires wear at different rates, so the front one, which I look at most often, seems fine.
All in I have ridden more than 9,195km as of this post since Jan. 1, 2015. I’m closing in on my goal.
Sounds rather dramatic doesn’t it. I am of course talking about cycling. I have a new field-tested Functional Threshold Power level, to whit 275 watts. Among my several readers I imagine three sorts of reaction typified by the following phrases:
These matter a lot to me because they are most in contact with my body and where my body contacts the bike. And I keep hoping that the next pair I buy will make me feel like I’m floating on air.
You want the chamois between your ass and the saddle. Nowhere else. Not on your inner thighs. Not half way up your butt cheeks. I read that you are supposed to hang the shorts from a clothes hanger and see if the chamois pokes out the back. If it does it probably will on your body too. Which means it may not be well placed. The fabric – does it bunch up in your crotch? Can you pull down the front to pee easily? Do the straps dig into your shoulders?
The legs cuffs. Do they ride up? Do they hold their place by digging in? Do they pull at your leg hair? Should you have any. Can you feel seams? How do they feel? Like razors? That’s probably bad. Continue reading Bibshorts: MAMIL sausage→
Well that was quite a day. I rode the Granfondo Ottawa’s Suprfondo route today. At 240km, it was the longest I’ve ever ridden in a day. I still feel like I’m wearing my helmet and sunglasses. My heart rate is still at 67bpm (normal is 47). Yep. That was quite a ride.
I got to the start early and was waiting around for 8am to happen. I should have waited some more for the ‘B’ group of Suprfondo riders. The ‘A’ group was way too strong for me. But I wanted to get going. I figured the fast ones would leave me eating dust and I’d be on my own. But the ride marshals, of which there were several in our group, kept us together, organizing pelotons and putting the strongest riders at the front. I couldn’t help but notice that I was one of only two in the group that didn’t shave my legs. Points against me for sure. Continue reading Ottawa Granfondo: that was a ride→