1st Step Toward Tour de Cure Century Ride

After I finished my 50-mile ride in the 2014 American Diabetes Association Tour de Cure, I pledged to ride 100 miles in 2015. My first "century." Pretty ambitious, since I'd never ridden more than 60 miles at a time. But, having sorted out some issues with my equipment (shorts, saddle, pedals and cleats, chamois cream), I think I've got the little things down. Lance Armstrong was right - it's not about the bike, it's about all the other stuff.

The day dawned beautiful here in the Inland Northwest, so I hopped on the bike and went off for a ride. Didn't know how far I was going to ride, but on the way to Coeur d'Alene, I thought this might be a good day to do a birthday ride, something I hadn't done since I was 55. It's a pretty common tradition to ride one's age on or around his birthday. I won't be 64 until the 15th of the month, but this just seemed to be a good day to give it a shot. Riding my age gets me closer to my "century" goal for next year's Tour de Cure.

The computer doesn't lie

In downtown CDA, I rode up to another cyclist, a guy a few years older than I, and we rode together up to Higgens Point and back to Sherman, where he peeled off and I rode out along Fernan Lake for a few miles. A quick stop on the way back at Vertical Earth to pick up some additional energy bars and to reapply some chamois cream. The wind came up, and I rode the rest of way home, getting a bit weary as I neared the 60-mile mark, stopping at a c-store for some more Gatorade. Finally, back at my car at the State Line rest stop. 64.4 miles.

After the ride - tired but satisfied

It was hard, but satisfying. And, if I'm going to ride a "century" at next year's Tour de Cure, it will take a lot of hours on the trainer this winter and a long spring. But I'm motivated. And, I'd really appreciate your support of my Tour ride. If you'd like to help in the fight against diabetes, go to my Tour de Cure link and make your tax deductible donation.

Thanks, and see you down the road.

True North

As a cyclist, I'd heard for years about the ride from Land's End, the southernmost point of Great Britain, to John O'Groats, the northernmost point. I took that as gospel - the longest ride on the mainland of the United Kingdom. Only one problem. John O'Groats is not the northernmost point; Dunnet Head is. So, off we went, from Inverness to Dunnet Head on the North Sea.

Paul's Hill Wind Farm, Moray

Set for Cialis ad or...

Water troughs for Highland cattle

Ruined cottage on the roadside...

...but given the windows, probably not a crofter's cottage

Karen at Dunnet Head marker

Dunnet Head Lighthouse

The North Sea, from Dunnet Head

John O'Groats. Note that it's 874 miles to Land's End

John O'Groats, above the bay

Ferry from John O'Groats to Orkney

Two English cyclists celebrating after riding from Land's End in 12 days

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.

Gathering for a Diabetes Cure

Last night I went to a reception for the Spokane-area American Diabetes Association "Tour de Cure," the aim of which is to raise money for diabetes research and awareness of diabetes awareness, prevention, and management.

As a Type 1 diabetic for the past two years, I decided to ride in this inaugural Spokane tour. The constant rain we've been experiencing this winter and spring (the front yard is currently flooded from the high, fast-running Cable Creek) have kept me from training much, but last night's reception has renewed my motivation.

According to tour organizer Todd Duncan, nearly 100 individuals and 23 teams have registered for the May 20 tour. He's hoping for as many as 500 by the time the tour begins.

About 30 people attended last night's reception. Many were organizers, but there were some riders, one of whom was Dave Holden, a University of Washington student from Spokane who rode domestically for the Team Type 1 professional squad. A Type 1 diabetic for the past two years, Holden spoke about how diabetes didn't hold him back from training and racing as a pro. Holden's a lot younger, leaner, and stronger than I am, but we both gave metered our blood glucose and took the appropriate glucose before dinner.

Dave will be among the more than 100 cyclists riding the tour on May 20. I'm sure he'll be both kicking butt and dispensing encouragement to the rest of us "Red Riders," diabetics who use cycling to stay fit and beat back diabetes.

Some of us will never recover from diabetes - until or unless biotechnologists create the first transplantable pancreas. But others will eventually benefit from the diabetes research funded by the Tour de Cure, and I'm riding for them. I hope you'll join us, wherever you live.

Death by Leash

The snow has melted. The plow blade is off the ATV and the bike is back on the road. Weather forecasters predicted a high of 51, so I rummaged through my cycling closet, trying to figure out what would keep me warm, but not hot. An old Pearl Izumi fleece-lined long-sleeve jersey; bib shorts and leg warmers; long-fingered Giordana gloves; and a liner in my Giro helmet. Spot on for a ride west on the Centennial Trail toward Spokane.

The Spokane River was running high, and the geese were flying back north over the rapids. The trail was crowded at mid-day, with cyclists, young skateboarders, and people walking their dogs. Or, in some cases, dogs walking their people. Most folk were pretty aware of their surroundings, maintaining proper trail etiquette. Cyclists and skateboarders on the right (with traffic), and walkers facing traffic. So far, so good, until I passed Mirabeau Park and saw, about 100 yards ahead, a man and woman on the right of the trail. I cruised toward them at about 16 mph, and was prepared to give them a heads-up holler, "On your left," when just 20 yards from them, I saw the leash, stretching across the trail to an Australian shepherd on the extreme left-hand side of the trail. I hit the brakes, shifting my weight to the back of the saddle so I wouldn't go over the handlebars. After giving the couple a piece of my mind, they apologized and I geared up again. The dog didn't seem phased at all.

I turned around at Farr and headed back toward Stateline Rd. and the Idaho border. This was my second time out this year after way too much rain and slush, and my legs started to tire some after climbing the sprinter's hill at Barker. Paralleling I-90, I was passed by a younger guy riding a Specialized carbon bike. I caught his rear wheel for a while, but fell back until we approached the final sprinter's hill with a sharp left hand bend. He stayed right, so I jumped out of the saddle, hands on the drops, and passed him on the inside of the bend. It felt great until I blew up about 100 yards farther on and he passed me for good. I met him at the parking lot. He was a 20-something year-old German. Not Jan Ullrich, but in pretty good shape.

My blood sugar was 122 at the start of the ride, and 109 at the end. Two Chocolate #9 gels and a Honey Stinger bar did the job. Off to Taco Bell for a Burrito Supreme. Man can not live on cycling food alone.

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.