Squirrels and hellhounds and mummies...

...oh my!

That's just my way of leading into saying that my first Dawn Patrol with a couple of my MS 150 teammates was good for a laugh or two. More, actually, but most of those were the result of offbeat conversations I had with the woman I've come to (and will henceforth) refer to as "Squirrel Bait". In other words, ya hadda be there.

To those of you thinking, "Aw for the love of Mike, not another cycling post", all I can say is that it's either a) this, b) yet another tired rant about Dallas drivers, or c) some rather dodgy commentary on Dancing With The Stars and Heather Mills' leg.

So there I was at 7:00 yesterday morning, sitting in my car, in the dark, next to a practice soccer field. I was waiting for St. Bob and Squirrel Bait to arrive so that I could join them for their weekly Dawn Patrol. Around 7:30, they rolled into the parking lot, and we made our final preparations.

As we headed down the White Rock Trail toward the lake, the sun had officially risen seven minutes earlier, but we only saw what filtered through a layer of thick, gray clouds. As we rolled down the trail, choking on a thick miasma of gnats, SB and I wondered what Bob had eaten for breakfast. St. Bob, who always claims to ride at a steady 13-14 mph, was 20 yards ahead, thundering down the trail at 17 mph!

How Squirrel Bait got her name

In previous conversations, Squirrel Bait had made comments about ninja squirrels leaping out of the underbrush. Hurling themselves at her wheels. Attempting to commit sudoku* in her spokes and launch her over the handlebars. I always smiled and nodded, but secretly thought she might be overstating a bit. After all, what cyclist hasn't had to dodge a squirrel or three? Well, I've never seen anything like it. Over the course of 3½ hours and 50 miles, I must have seen over a dozen squirrels make attack runs on poor SB. It didn't matter whether she was up front, in the middle, or sucking wheel at the back. The squirrels made a beeline for her every time.

Personal fitness and the undead

We saw and evaded enough joggers to populate the Boston marathon. Anyone who has ever ridden a bike around the roads and multi-use paths in and around White Rock Lake knows that les boyz de coureur de cycliste** are an irritant, but at least they are conscious of the other traffic. The roving packs of joggers are worse, because they stick their noses in the air, spread out across two-thirds of the breadth of the path, and simply assume that everyone else will get out of their way. [directive: abort rant - CONFIRMED]

After the first hour or so, the larger mobs of joggers had finished, and Squirrel Bait and I started observing the smaller groups we passed. One guy in particular caught our attention at the same time: keeping pace with a group of much younger runners, this guy looked like a Slim Jim with sticks for arms and legs. His gait was stiff and awkward, his mouth gaped, and his eyes were wide and staring. He fit perfectly my mental image of the lead character in the not-soon-to-be-released Sean of the Dead II: Let's Get Physical.

But note that I said "keeping pace." I should be so lucky as to still be out there getting it done, when I'm that old and dessicated.

Devil dogs

Just as we came off a crowded "multi-use" bridge, we rounded a bend in the path and came face to face with a pair of large, orange-furred, dogs being led on leads by an older gentleman. Short leads, fortunately. These critters didn't utter a discouraging word and didn't make any false moves as we rode by. But with their odd coloring and their matching orange eyes, they were... unnerving. My first thought was that this was what Cerberus must've looked like (except without the extra heads).

I went Googling to see if I could round up a picture to share. My initial attempt came up with this, which obviously isn't any kind of dog but is still pretty cool (I think Gwynne will appreciate it). After a bit more digging, I found what I was looking for: my hellhounds were French Mastiffs. The third picture down does a good job of summing up my impressions as I passed.

In closing

We had a really nice ride and had an added cause for celebration, because it was Squirrel Bait's first 50-mile ride. I also rode on Saturday and ended the weekend with just shy of 100 miles under my belt. At this rate, and if I keep my pace down, I should be ready by the time the MS 150 ride rolls around in May.


* That's, ah say, that's a joke, son.
** Pseudo French for "the cyclist racer boys"—those overblown lycra-wrapped egos who seem to think that the stroller-strewn paths around the lake are their own personal time trial course.


Now playing: Dennis James, Cristal: Glass Music Through The Ages

Still cranking along

Anne's comment to another post, this morning, reminded me that I haven't darkened the doorway of this blog recently. Much of what's been keeping me away remains the same. However, part of it is the fact I've been publishing the only remotely postworthy material on the team blog I put together for my MS 150 teammates to share with our sponsors, and I just didn't think to repost the ride recaps here.

In brief (or in briefs, if that's the mental image you prefer), I had a couple really good training rides on back-to-back days, this past weekend. Both were roughly the same distance and pace, over similar routes, but with different groups. I more or less successfully reined in my inner Zoom-Zoom to keep my heart rate in the moderate zone, which meant that of the 2600-odd calories I burned, over 700 were straight from fat stores. From where I sit—which is to say "on the bike, laid back"—that's a good thing. Less weight to haul around; more Zoom-Zoom.

Work is still keeping me hopping. This has caused a few sleepless nights and, sometimes, longer hours, but considering that several more of my coworkers were laid off last week, in the wake of my company's recent acquisition, busy is better.

On the down side, my well of creativity (such as it is) drains straight into the computer code.

I did post up a YouTube video I found amusing but ended up taking it down. Like the joke about the robot bartender, the video was just too liable to spark political debate that I just don't have the time and energy to pursue.

But never fear: I'm still around, and I try to check in on you guys every couple days and post comments.

'Nuff said

Kicked off

That's the status of the 2007 Dallas Sam's Club MS 150, as of this past Saturday. That's when a parking lot full of the Dallas/Fort Worth area MS 150 riders gathered for a training ride, a barbecue lunch, and some speechifying—the last being more or less optional, if one managed to plan things so that he was still out on the course when it took place. And I did.

What a gorgeous day we had for it, too. Sunny, temperatures ranging across the 70s, and little to no wind. The event was held at Texas Motor Speedway, where we'll end up at the end of the first day of riding on May 5, and the course was a five-mile loop of road that surrounds the speedway. The organizers had arranged for police to be stationed at each of the intersections where those of us who abide by such things as stop signs would have felt obliged to do so. About half the loop was flat, a quarter was a long, gradual climb, and the rest was a slight downhill.

Boring, you say? Maybe. From where I sat (reclined on the seat of my Bacchetta), it was an opportunity to crank out 45 miles at a nice, easy fat-burning pace—not that I took advantage of the opportunity. In the end, the Go Fast part of my brain took over, and I logged a personal best rolling average of 18.5 mph.

At 30 miles, Cliff (one of my MS 150 teammates) and I noticed that many of the riders had called it a day, so fearing that we might miss out on lunch, we agreed to do 10 more miles and call it a day. Still, considering that it was the season's first ride of any decent length, I'd say 40 miles at 18.5 was a success.

Mazda sent me a "Zoom-Zoom" sticker a while back. I'm thinking of putting it on my bike.

Busy, busy, busy

Lots going on, some of it noteworthy, not much of it particularly entertaining. Still, the company I work for completed its "merger" with the much smaller company that bought us out, and I won't be one of the small number who became redundant. More good news: since the new, combined company is privately held, my outstanding stock options were paid out at a price sufficient to replace much of what I spent on the new car.

Coding, coding, debugging, and more coding. No blogging, but you knew that.

The weather shows signs of finally warming to temperatures that this weenie can ride in, and I've been taking advantage. I have yet to catch a weekend when the temperature hasn't dropped back to winter levels, but it's starting to stay light longer and I've been able to get out for an hour each of the past two nights after work. I take my full-suspension Humvee of a mountain bike because it's more nimble in the neighborhoods, and because its weight and higher rolling resistance give me a harder workout than the 'bent would in the available time.

This evening, as I was finishing up, I rode to the neighborhood Sonic for a toaster bacon cheeseburger. Yes, I probably more than replaced any fat I burned during the ride, but whatever. It was delicious. So, I was sitting at one of the tables, watching the traffic and having my dinner, when a co-ed pack of skate rats rolled up and loudly worked out what they were going to order. A couple of them kept eyeballing me in my lycra clown suit, and as I was getting ready to take off one kid finally decided I was ripe for some cool points with his buds.

"What a huge dork," he announced. He turned to his buds for approval and was rewarded with jeers and laughter.

"Yeah," I said. "These shorts don't leave much to the imagination."

More hoots and laughter. I like to think I scored with that one, but who knows.