Feeling Kinda' Belgian

Back when there was more cycling on TV, I used to enjoy watching the spring classics in Belgium: the Fleche Wallone, Het Volk, Gent-Wevelgem. Cold, wet, windy. The place for hard men, not me. But, every spring, I like to think of myself as Roger de Vlaeminck, battling the elements. Cotton cap under my helmet; long-fingered gloves; rain jacket; shoe covers. Skunk stripe down the back from muddy water spray. Today was one of those days down by the Spokane River. Not a lot of cyclists; more people walking their dogs (or in the case of a big, black Newfoundland, walking his owner).

The path was strewn with old tree trash - pine needles, leaves, small branches - all turned red from the recently-melted snow pack. A few geese were flying over the river, which was swollen and running fast, boiling around bridge pillars. Must have opened the Post Falls dam yesterday.

I was really eager/anxious to see how my new electronic shifting system would behave in the rain. The quick answer, flawlessly.

Back in July, a dog plowed into me on a ride, giving me a concussion, two broken ribs, and a displaced right thumb. The concussion and ribs have healed; the thumb never did. Problem was, down-shifting on my rear cassette using my right thumb was more than a bit painful.

Campy Chorus 9 Shifters

When I ordered my Davidson titanium bike frame (my lifetime bike, I told myself) in 1995, I had it equipped with Campagnolo running gear. Beautiful polished alloy components, shapely, shining. So Italian. The only real alternative then was Shimano, a Japanese company that also made fishing gear. Easy choice - Italian cycling heritage vs. an impressive bait-fishing heritage. And, I loved the Campagnolo group. Crisp, clean, multiple gear shifts. Logical finger and thumb levers. Of course, it was sometimes hard to adjust the front derailleur trim, but it was Campy.

After taking two months off for my ribs to heal, I got out for a few rides last fall, but the right thumb was just too sore. What to do? I hit my local bike shops with the idea of buying a new bike. Carbon. Light. Fast. Shimano thumbless shifting. I fell in love with the Cervelo R3 and thought seriously about buying one with Shimano's Ultegra Di2 electronic shifting - until I was reminded that I'd bought the Davidson as my lifetime bike.

Polished Campy Rear Derailleur

After some conversations with Bob Freeman at Elliot Bay Bicycles in Seattle (also home to Davidson Bicycles, I decided to send the frame back to see if Bill Davidson could convert my old titanium frame to use Shimano Di2 with internal routing. He could. Drilling here, removing derailleur cable guides there, shaping holes to accept electronic cable grommets, refinishing the modifications, putting on new decals. Took two months, but it was worth the wait.

First off, Bill does great work. the bike looks new, with no trace of the removed cable guides remaining. The electronic cable guides and grommets fit snugly into the frame; no chance of rain leakage. The derailleurs and electronic brain were set up perfectly. Shifting is quicker and quieter than my old Campy group (the shifting paddle setup is different than Campagnolo, but three weeks on the indoor trainer while the snow and ice melted, gave me time to adjust). Light tap, shift one gear. Light hold, shift two gears. Longer hold, sweep all the way up or down the cassette. No adjustments needed; the front derailleur pivots slightly to avoid chain rub even in severe cross-gear configurations. I have small hands, and the ability to reduce brake reach with just a few turns of an Allen bolt was wonderful, and the brakes are just as responsive as Campy's.

Shimano Di2 Shifters

One drawback. Aesthetics. Campagnolo parts look like industrial jewelry. Shimano parts look - well - industrial. Chunky, broad shoulders, grey finish. But they work, and they work well.

I had a few minutes to admire them after my ride as I hosed off the road grime, finishing just before a sudden downpour, accompanied by hail. The bike's drip-drying in the garage; my jerseys and shorts are hung from a drying rack in the mud/laundry room. Ribs are slow-baking in the oven (yeah, I know, should be fries with mayonnaise and a bottle of Stella). Looking forward to dinner - and another ride tomorrow.

Shimano Brakes, and Port for Electronic Cable in Downtube

Shimano's Electronic Brain

Ultegra Di2 Rear Derailleur

 

Re-learning to Ride

The old saying goes, you never forget how to ride a bike. Not entirely true. With March bringing the most rain for the month in recorded history, and with the earlier winter being nearly as wet, I'd only been out for one ride this calendar year. That's a far cry from the cold, dry, sunny winters I'd been used to in Laramie.

Yesterday was partly sunny for a change (at least when I started my ride), but cold at 37 degrees, and breezy. I was riding with a new training partner to whom I'd been introduced by someone I met at last week's Tour de Cure reception in Spokane. We rode 35-miles round trip from Spokane Bridge on the state line to downtown Coeur d'Alene. In accordance with my diabetes exercise plan, I turned down the basal rate on my insulin pump to 50 percent, and ate about 20 grams of carbohydrates every 30 minutes, supplemented by half-strength Gatorade. My blood glucose level was fine at the end of my ride, and I was surprised how good my legs felt so early in the season. But I was disconcerted by my bike handling - until I remembered it was like that at the beginning of every new season.

Riding a bike is easy. You get on, you pedal. Gyroscopic forces keep you upright. But a big part of efficient, safe cycling is muscle memory, and this winter my muscles again forgot the easy spin of the pedals that keep the bike moving in a straight line; the small, gradual leans that handle the curves smoothly; the tiny counter-pressures that keep you from lurching out of control when turning to talk with a training partner or looking behind. During most of the ride, it seemed as if my muscles had developed Alzheimer's during the winter. I'm going to have to get in more miles and smooth out my riding style, rebuilding my muscle memory before riding the May 20 Tour de Cure, which already has registered nearly 100 riders. The last thing I want to do is bring down half the peloton.

Tour de Cure

This has been a tough winter for cycling. Rain, snow, slush, and yesterday more snow. That's the way it's been here in northern Idaho the past couple of winters. Just a day on the bike now and then - with enough layers and winter gear to still feel my fingers and toes by the end of the ride. My motivation is, to put it mildly, low.

But a couple of weeks ago, while visiting my diabetes counselor, I saw a poster for the Tour de Cure, scheduled for May 20. According to the American Diabetes Association, more than 50,000 riders will be on their bikes to raise money and awareness for research toward a cure for diabetes. Now I had my motivation.

I became a Type 1 diabetic in summer 2010 after two years of trying to figure out what was going wrong with my pancreas. A pancreatic pseudocyst in 2008 that burst while being drained (followed by sepsis); a diagnosis of organized pancreatic necrosis from Virginia Mason Clinic in Seattle, accompanied by three drains and stents; and finally a full Whipple procedure in July 2010 after a series of blackouts from severe anemia and blood loss. Every now and then I run into someone who knows what a Whipple is, and congratulates me on being alive. During 8 hours on the operating table, my surgeon, Ed Detar, removed my spleen, pancreas and 2/3 of my stomach, and rerouted various vital organs. Instant diabetic. Fortunately, my years of cycling had given my heart and lungs the strength to survive the surgery, though Dr. Detar said he nearly lost me four times during the procedure.

I got back to cycling as soon as I could, riding the Centennial Trail east to Coeur d'Alene, Idaho and west toward Spokane, Washington, and hitting the winding, undulating back roads behind Liberty Lake, Washington. Though with a break to have a couple of bile duct stents removed to treat jaundice and early sepsis from bacterial backup into my blood system.

So, I now have a goal - the Tour de Cure. Part of the deal is helping to raise funds in support of the ADA. I've never liked asking people for money, but now I'm invested in diabetes. I posted information about the TdC on my Facebook page and e-mailed some folk in my contact list. To my surprise and delight, more than $850 has been contributed by my friends from New Jersey, Wyoming, Idaho, and Washington. Thanks, guys. As soon as this current snowfall clears, I'll be on the road training for the 2012 Spokane Tour de Cure.