Cheeseburger in Paradise

I was talking with a neighbor Sunday morning when we agreed that—in terms of sunny days—the Summer of 2009 has already surpassed the Non-summer of 2008.

That we decided this on May 10 is a good indicator of how much last year sucked. We can only hope the recent trend bodes well for the next four months.

Thanks to Saturday’s 82-mile ride from Anchorage to Hope, I already have as much of a biker’s tan as I ever got last summer. There’s nothing as sweet as a blue-sky Saturday spent riding. Cruising along Turnagain Arm with water on our right and mountains on the left. Snow-covered peaks all around, and four riders pacing through headwinds and then enjoying the quiet hum of rubber on pavement in the downwind stretches. And, of course, there was the grind of climbing to the snow on Turnagain Pass.

When Oscar the Grouch saw my mention of the ride on Facebook, he harassed me with the derisive, one-word response of, “Roadie.” I told him I could live with that.

I spent an evening last week getting my Epic ready for the trails. But until they dry out, I’ll be savoring every mile (and all the miles per hour) on the road rocket.

And I wouldn't mind riding back for another cheeseburger at Tito's in Hope.

Roll out the skinny tires

The road bikes are finally hitting the pavement. They were all over town this weekend. The last time mine touched the ground was when I rode it across my brother’s driveway in Kansas City after a week of riding last October. I took it off the trainer Friday night and then spent the weekend reminding myself how fat I got this winter.

After a 27-miler with Ken and Heather on Saturday, I did a solo ride up Potter Valley Road on Sunday. And I didn’t let myself time the climb. Some things are best left unknown this early in the season.

The great thing about cycling is that progress comes quickly. A few more rides and I might start feeling good again.

Oh, hell, who am I kidding? The best thing about cycling is that it’s fun even when you suck.

I was about a quarter of the way up Potter Valley when I allowed myself to think, “Hey, this doesn’t hurt that bad.” Then a guy on a Cervelo cruised up beside me, said, “How ya doin?” and left me eating dust as he shot up the hill.

I reeled him in and beat him to the top, of course. (Good thing he stopped to chat with his friends at the halfway point.)

It was a beautiful ride: The sun was shining, the air was a warm 50 degrees, my heart didn’t explode out of my chest, and I got the first hill climb of the season out of the way.

They all get easier from here ... right?

Snobs

My wife and I were living in an apartment years ago when a new couple moved in next door. After a few days, she noticed a mountain bike hanging on the upstairs balcony and mentioned it to me. She thought maybe the new guy could become one of my riding partners.

“Nah,” I told her. “I saw that bike.”

After she threw me one of those looks that said “nice attitude, jackass,” I explained that it was obvious the guy wasn’t serious about mountain biking, and I had no interest in spending an afternoon waiting for him to carry broken parts back to a trailhead

Yes, boys and girls, even I—a caring, sensitive and supportive guy—have been accused of being a bike snob.

As hard as it may be to believe, I could be a little guilty of the charge. But even I have limits.

One of my co-workers is shopping for her first new road bike, and has asked several times for my opinion on various models and brands. As I always do in such situations, I’ve encouraged her to buy as much bike as she can afford, and to feel confident that she’ll get a solid machine if she buys from a good shop and sticks with mainstream manufacturers such as Specialized, Trek, Giant, Orbea, etc.

But she has another friend who is telling her that he would never ride such inferior bicycles, and that she should double her bike-buying budget to $5,000 or more so she can buy some blinged-out boutique brand.

Now that’s a snob.

For most people fairly new to cycling, simply spending two or three grand on a bike is intimidating enough. The last thing they need is some arrogant dude with too much disposable income trying to impose his egomaniacal hang-ups on them.

If you can afford to spend big bucks on a top-end bike, good for you. Hell, if I were rich, I’d have a garage full state-of-the-art machines. But keep in mind, most of us live in the real world, where $2,400 will buy my co-worker a beautiful road bike that is mind-blowingly fun to ride.

I say shut up and let her enjoy it.

Sharin' the trail

Although I always enjoy seeing them, I don't usually bother to stop and view our local moose, much less photograph them. Typically, I just take a second to appreciate seeing wildlife as I keep moving. But these young twins caught my attention during a ride Monday afternoon.

For one thing, I don't usually see four moose at the same time, but these twins were right beside the Coastal Trail, and their mom was only a few yards away. Another mature moose was about 50 yards away on the other side of the trail. I have visitors in town and, like most tourists, they want to see moose. So I stopped to snap a few pics for them, and left when the twins crossed the paved trail and the cow started glaring at me.

I framed the shots through the main triangle of my road bike because A) I thought doing so would make a nice composition and provide some indication of how close the moose were, and B) it was a chance to get my bike in the shot, and I'm sort of a geek when it comes to shit like that.

My sister-in-law looked at these shots and thought I was crazy enough to try hiding behind my bike. I told her that if there were any hiding to be done, I would have hidden my bike behind me, to shield it with my body in the event of a charge.

That thing wasn't cheap, you know.

How crazy does she think I am?

Damn, I'm havin' fun

For the first time in the 10 years I've lived in Alaska, I'm not feeling impatient for the trails to dry out. Oh, I'm eager to break out my Epic and hit some singletrack, but I know that day is coming, and I'm having enough fun that I don't mind waiting.

Mountain bikers have been complaining on the local Internet forum that they need dirt, and that they're tired of riding pavement. Some of them are asking for tips on where to find a dry trail.

Here's a tip: This is Alaska and it's early May. There isn't a dry trail. Be patient.

Dr. Tim prescribes a dose of road bike. Take liberally as needed. Symptoms of impatience should subside within 24 hours. Side effects may include increased weariness, premature seasonal fitness and excessive smiling.

Call me a damned roadie if ya want. I just like to think I'm a bicyclist. Any bike that fits the season is good. A month from now, I'll be grinning from ear to ear as I enjoy the plush feel of a full-suspension mountain bike. But for now, I'm happy to savor the speed of skinny tires and freakishly light frame.

Holy crap, this thing is fun.

New stuff

Welcome to Bicycles & Icicles, where you will never have to read a damned thing about Don Imus. Because this is a blog about bicycles, and we just don't care about sour old crackpots with eyebrows as long as Howard Hughes' fingernails.

Around here, it's all bikes, all the time. I don't bore you with complaints about my aches and pains, the check I had to write to the IRS, or my extramarital crush on Marisa Tomei.

Hmm. Come to think of it, I could start a separate blog on that last one. It might have a good run until the cease-and-desist orders start showing up.

But I digress.

Anyway, as I was saying, I don't bore you with details of my personal life or other non-bike stuff. Nosiree. I bore you exclusively with my bike-related rants. And I haven't even had time to do that for several days, because I've been busy getting used to my new skinny bike and re-learning about life on the road instead of the trail.

Returning to the road after 18 years of mountain biking is full of little surprises—like the fact that I'm stopping less often to take pictures, or that it's harder to find a place to take a leak. On the trail, you can just step a few feet into the trees. On the road, all the good trees seem to be in someone's yard. That could get awkward.

And I'm learning to use this newfangled contraption called a GPS-enabled bike computer. I've always been happy with a basic, 25-dollar bike computer, but this Garmin Edge 205 showed up at Christmas and offered to do all sorts of things I never knew I wanted or needed. Elevation, calories, speeds, training routes. Although it appeals to my inner geek, most of this crap is lost on me.

In my hands, this is just a fancy little device that tells me how fast I'm going and how far I've ridden, and then, when I get home, shows me the whole ride by drawing a red line on a Googe Earth map.

That doesn't make me any fitter or faster, but it looks pretty cool.