Game? What game?

Luce's Lodge on a fat-bike kind of morning.

Here’s what I saw of the Super Bowl: Seven seconds left, the clock running, and Packers starting to celebrate. Game over.

There was still some pizza on the table, so I didn’t miss anything important by arriving home late Sunday afternoon. Besides, the “big game” seemed to reduce snowmachine traffic on the frozen Yentna and Susitna rivers, so the trail was firmer much faster than it had been during Saturday’s 25-mile ride to Luce’s Lodge on the Yentna, where we spent the night before riding back to Deshka Landing.

Rush hour on the Susitna River.

For my money, a sunny day riding with friends will always beat anything on TV, especially when there’s a clear view of Denali and a four-time Iditarod champion says, “Amazing!” when I pedal by him as he adjusts the load on the trailer behind his snowmachine. (I always knew Martin Buser was the nicest guy in the Iditarod.)

Luce’s was the site of a virtual fat-biker’s convention on Saturday night after our group of five riders encountered friends in a three-person group near the confluence of both rivers, then found four other local riders at the lodge. It was the last big weekend for training before the Susitna 100, and I was probably the only rider out there who wasn’t preparing for either that race or the White Mountains 100. I was the lone slob, training for nothing but fun.

Julie M. and Carl, with Denali on the horizon.

Like I told Queen Bee as we pedaled upriver, the only thing I do to prepare for a 100-mile winter ride is a 50-mile winter ride. That’s always enough to remind me I don’t want to do a 100-mile winter ride.

Speaking of fat bikes, this trip might have been the Pugsley’s swan song. New bike plans is in the works. If all goes well, I should soon be posting pics of a new fattie. Anybody want to buy a nice, sturdy Pugs?

Winter exposure

Photo from "BLM Alaska Frontiers"

Winter biking is getting some nice exposure in the winter issue of BLM Alaska Frontiers, a newsletter about public lands administered by the federal Bureau of Land Management.

A copy of the newsletter was passed along to me because of the cover story with the unfortunate headline, “Winter Biking—A Possibly Crazy Alaska Tradition.” I call the headline unfortunate because the story, written by BLM staffer Craig McCaa, makes the case that winter biking isn’t so crazy after all.

McCaa points out that winter biking in Alaska dates back to 1897, when participants in the Klondike Gold Rush had the idea of riding hard trails packed by dogs, horses and foot traffic. But even better, he writes about the White Mountains 100, a race that debuted last winter on BLM lands north of Fairbanks in the White Mountains Recreation Area.

Positive coverage of bicycling is always good, but it’s a rare treat when it appears in official government publications mailed to land managers. Those are the people we need on our side. Or, at the very least, we need them to see mountain biking and winter biking as popular and legitimate uses of public lands.

Eventually, they might stop thinking of us as crazy.

Ice claws

Julie on Portage Lake. (1.15.11)

I'm not ashamed to admit it. Ice scares me. It can be an amazing riding surface, and it sometimes carries winter bikers to stunning places, but that stuff creaks, pops and groans, all of which serve as reminders that it can break. And when that happens, especially in remote places, you can die.

The best you can hope for is a whole heap of hypothermic misery as you get out of your wet clothing and build a fire—but that’s only if you manage to get out of the water. So I set up a little one-man assembly line last weekend and started making ice claws for an upcoming trip on frozen rivers. I should have done this a long time ago.

These self-rescue devices may not be pretty, and they have some minor impalement potential during a dry-land crash, but they’re cheap and easy to make. And if you ever have to use them, they could be priceless.

If you ride on ice, check out these instructions and videos on making and using ice claws. The information is from the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources.

Minnesotans have a lot of experience with ice, given that the state has cold winters and bills itself as "The Land of 10,000 Lakes.”

That has prompted Alaskans to brag that we have 10,000 unnamed lakes. People here routinely travel over frozen lakes and rivers on skates, skis, bikes, snowmachines and in cars and trucks.

Which raises the question ... why doesn’t Alaska have an ice-safety website?

Renewal

Who says teenagers suck?

There’s just nothing like a string of fat bikes lighting up the woods on a Saturday night. We were overdue for a Frigid Bits event, so Carlos thought up a new course from a new starting point, and I dragged my ass out to join the fun. After weeks of simmering in the mid-winter doldrums of too much food, too much booze and too little riding, it was just what I needed.

Our social-ride route was so fun, I went back and repeated much of it on Sunday with my daughter, who has been sampling fat bikes borrowed from friends. Now she’s wanting a new bike. It looks like this could get a tad expensive, but who cares? Not every parent has a 16-year-old kid who wants to go ride with them.

I’ve been considering a new ride myself, so I’m sniffing around the shops checking out frames and rims. My Surly’s a damn fun bike, but a first-generation Pugsley is starting feel a bit dated, given the fat-bike refinements we’ve been seeing over the past two or three years.

Still, I’ve always been kind of proud to ride the original purple. When the time comes, I'll hate to see it go.

Bikes under stars

The akspokes forum is gasping for air like a stubborn old geezer after the plug is pulled, and it could go dark at any time, so help spread the word that there will be a Frigid Bits event this Saturday at 7 p.m. It will start and end at the Hillside Trailhead Parking lot. For those of you who have never paid attention to the name—and that seems to be 98 percent of local riders—that's the parking lot on Abbott Road at the entrance to Hilltop Ski Area. (Outside the gate.)

This will be a burn barrel-free event, because of the high-visibility nature of the start/finish area, so dress warmly if you plant to hang around after the ride. For full course details, refer to the Alaska forum at mtbr.com.

In other news, I'd like to thank Gwadzilla for turning me on to a couple of new bike-related sites recently, including Rides a Bike, the source of today's photo of El Brendel. Rides a Bike claims to be "the definitive online source for charming photos of old-school movie stars on bikes." And since I don't know of another site specializing in such an uncommon subject, who am I to argue?

For more pictures of people on bikes—people far more attractive than El Brendel—check out Chicks and Bikes and BikeSmut.com.

Just don't blame me for any fetishes that result from such an action.

Portage gets prime

Hannah at Portage Glacier (1.15.11)

I’m generally of the opinion that when life hands you lemons, you should throw them at the bastards who are pissing you off. Screw that lemonade crap. Mother Nature hands you non-lethal projectiles, it's your freakin' duty to use them.

But when winter melts the snow and hands you ice, there’s no one blameworthy to throw it at, so you just have to ride on it. That’s what I did with some friends and my daughter last weekend after I heard—for the first time in several years—that riding conditions were prime on Portage Lake. Riding to a glacier isn’t an everyday opportunity, even in Alaska, so you have to take advantage of it.

A scenic lake ride is a nice reminder that there is beauty to be found even in the darkest, ugliest moments of winter. Plus, it keeps a guy from drinking too much tequila and shooting the trash cans full of holes while waiting for snow to fall.

Take some thick ice and some thick fleece, and mix them with some thick-headed mountain bikers determined to ride 12 months a year, and you can cook up some pretty special rides.

This is the season of big-screen TVs blaring the sounds of roaring crowds and colliding football players every weekend. You can have them.

The booming and cracking of ice is way more interesting.

Especially when you’re standing on it.

Banning Bikes

“Dad,” my son said wistfully as he stared out the car window, “we used to ride all over this town.” His voice had the nostalgic tone of an old man, but he was only six or seven years old.

Now he's nearly 22, and the memory of his childhood reminiscing that day still makes me smile

We had moved to Santa Fe, N.M., just before his third birthday. I worked nights on the copy desk at a newspaper, and one of our favorite things to do together most weekdays was to cruise through town on my mountain bike as he rode in a child's seat on the back. Sometimes, we’d stop and share a Coke. Or we’d ride to the Plaza and play in the grass.

Those are of some of my favorite memories as a dad. Later, I racked up more memories riding in Alaska while towing my daughter on her trail-a-bike. I still smile when I remember the sound of her gleefully yelling, “Go faster!” as we rolled down hills on the Coastal Trail. And I’ll never forget the day she realized her own strength and told me to stop pedaling, then proceeded to put the hammer down and propel us both past her unsuspecting (and coasting) big brother.

The look on his face when he saw that his much younger sister was pushing his much heavier dad into the lead sent Hannah into a priceless fit of laughter.

As far as I’m concerned, those are the kinds of moments that politicians are talking about when they spew platitudes about “family values.” It would be nice if more of them understood the term.

We all know politicians are the masters of producing bad ideas but, occasionally, one of them manages to outdo himself.

Rep. Mitch Greenlick, a Democrat, recently introduced House Bill 2228 in the Oregon Legislature, a proposal that, according to the bill’s summary, “Prohibits person from carrying child under six years of age on bicycle or in bicycle trailer. Punishes by maximum fine of $90.”

I cannot begin to fathom the motivation behind such an absurd idea. In a country where obesity is reaching epidemic proportions, and stressed, overworked parents often spend only minutes per day interacting with their children, this guy believes Oregon’s children would be better off not going for bike rides with their parents?

What the hell?

Active kids are shaped from an early age. One of the best things a parents can do for children is to teach them to go outside and play. Kick balls. Sled down hills. Ride bicycles. It teaches them about healthy lifestyles, and helps them become happier adults.

Who knows? It might even help keep them from becoming politicians.

This Makes Me a Little Surly

(Click image for larger view.)

KTUU, the most popular television news channel in Anchorage, ran a story this week on how Alaska is becoming “the winter cycling capital of the world.” Becoming? Hell, most of us thought it already was the winter cycling capital of the world.

It wasn’t a bad little piece, as TV news features go, though I’m always a little disappointed when such stories prominently feature bikes made by Outside companies and ignore the fact that fat bikes were pioneered here by guys like Mike Gronewald and John Evingson, and are being advanced today by shops like Speedway and Chain Reaction, both of which are building and marketing their own brands.

Instead of focusing on the local guys, Channel 2’s story highlighted Salsa's new Mukluk, which is named—not coincidentally—after the traditional skin-and-fur winter boot worn by Alaska's Eskimos. It’s a fine bike, from what I hear. And Salsa will be happy to mail you a catalog if you’d like to check it out. As long you reside in the Lower 48, that is.

If you happen to live in the “winter cycling capital of the world” and would like to get a current catalog, you’re just shit outta Mukluk.

Curtains for akspokes.com

After a short, two-year lifespan, word came this week that the akspokes.com bike forum is shutting down this month. It has been an active forum with more than 1,200 members, so it’s sad to see it go. Efforts to save it, however, aren’t showing much promise.

Plans are being made to establish a new forum if akspokes can’t be saved. So, if you’re a forum member who has been directed here for updates, stay tuned. As soon as information is available on the final fate of akspokes, or the address of a new forum, I’ll post it here to make sure it’s available after the existing forum goes dark.

Anchorage has a small but devoted cycling community, and an online forum is a great tool for staying in touch. With any luck, we’ll still have one in February, regardless of which server it resides on, or what its name is.

Iced up

Vacation took a heavy toll on me. I’ve been back nearly a week but still haven’t gotten back to a routine. Sloppy diet, too much alcohol, yadda, yadda, yadda. My energy level has plummeted. It’s time to suck it up and get back in the game. More riding, less hedonism.

Still, I’ve managed to get out for a couple of mellow rides since returning from Hawaii. Sarah, a college student from Missouri who watched our house while we were gone, had never pedaled a fat bike, or ridden studs on ice. So over the past few days, we made sure she did both. After all, what’s the point of visiting Alaska in the dead of winter unless you get to sample some riding on snow and ice?

The coastal flats in South Anchorage are frozen solid and free of snow, so locals should stud up and get out there while it’s good. Decent ice riding on the coast is always a temporary thing. It would be a shame to waste it.

Tryin' to Reason With the Shitty Season

I’m back, bitches. And less than thrilled about it.

I don’t mind the occasional bike-free vacation. Really, I don’t. But for shit’s sake, it ought to be illegal for riding conditions to go tits-up right before a bike junkie gets home after 12 days without turning a pedal.

While I was eating and drinking my way across Maui—and hobbling around after my encounter with a nasty kiawe thorn—Anchorage was hit with warm chinook winds that devoured our snow and left everything covered in glare ice.

I had to break out the studded commuter bike to get to work this morning. And if you think the first day of work after a vacation sucks, try starting it by dragging your mai tai-fattened ass to the office on a singlespeed you haven’t touched for two months. Not a cheery way to start a dark morning.

Yeah, I’m burning up a little on re-entry. I think it’s a good sign, though, that I checked out a Maui webcam only once while waiting for the sun to rise over the Chugach Range about 11 o’clock this morning.

Now I’m just hoping the sun will disappear for a day or so. We need snow. And I need some Pugsley time before my gut gets any bigger.

A Good Year

Happy Holidays

Happy Whatever the Hell You're Into,
and may the imaginary friend
of your choice bestow blessings
or a lot of free shit upon you.

The blog will be taking a holiday hiatus
for the next week or so because, let's face it,
we all have better things to do, don't we?

There may or may not be any new posts
between now and New Year's Eve.
Check back about then, though,
for my end-of-the-year slideshow.

Bright spot in the darkness

Every winter, people call me crazy for riding to work. Every winter, I tell them it’s easier than it looks. I try to dispel the myth that winter cyclists are nuts.

But the reputation may have certain benefits. Recently, as temperatures and our allotment of daylight both fell, I’ve sensed a change in my gasoline-addicted commuting brethren.

I’ve always found most Anchorage motorists to be fairly considerate of bicyclists, but they’re never more generous than on frigid, dark mornings in the depths of winter. About two weeks ago, I started noticing more drivers yielding the right of way. Those behind me will often slow down and wait for me to ride away before they make right turns. As I cross the roads feeding into a large roundabout near my house, drivers are stopping to let me cross in front of them while the motorists behind them wait.

Maybe it’s out of pity because they think I can’t afford a car. Maybe it’s out of fear that I might slip on ice and go under their wheels. Hell, in some cases it could even be a little bit of respect because they see someone refuses to be stopped by a little cold weather.

Bike commuters don’t get many perks in this motorized world. So when a new one comes along—however temporary it may be—it doesn’t really matter whether it comes from pity, fear, or respect. I’ll just enjoy it while it lasts.

Minus 10

Tonight, I'll just let the images
speak for themselves.

End of the Dream

My review of Bicycle Dreams was featured on the movie’s Facebook page yesterday, bringing a bunch of new visitors to Bicycles & Icicles. If you missed my review, here’s the summary: See this movie about the Race Across America.

Sadly, that great movie popped back into my life last week when I read about the death of Jure Robic, the Slovenian soldier and five-time RAAM winner who was prominently featured in Stephen Auerbach’s documentary. One of the more memorable scenes involved Robic arguing with his crew as they tried to talk him back onto his bike when he wanted to quit. In the depths of extreme sleep deprivation, he had lost his ability to conjure a mental image of his wife and child, and he suspected his crew of leading him in circles, because he hadn’t seen another RAAM racer in days. (He was leading, so there was no one to see.)

The RAAM requires obsession, and Robic had it. Like other winners, he racked up tens of thousands of miles per year. And at the age of 45, he was barely eking out a living. After aging out of the Slovenian Army’s sports unit, he struggled to cover living expenses, race fees and travel costs. According to Outside magazine, Robic trained for this year’s RAAM despite not knowing until five weeks before the race if he’d have enough money to compete.

Robic was hit by a car in September while descending a mountain road near his home in Slovenia. By all accounts, he was—off the bike, anyway—a genuinely kind human being. His death is tragic.

But I can’t comprehend what makes a person set aside so many other parts of life to excel at a nearly invisible sport that costs more than it pays. Some people would attribute it to a drive to be the best at something. I question whether it’s worth it.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m too hooked on one sport, hobby, or whatever you want to call a bicycling addiction. Like most of us, however, I have other interests, however secondary they may be. I have a pretty normal life.

I could never be the athlete Robic was. And I’m happy about that.

Winter fat

Five hours, 37 minutes.

That’s how much daylight we had today. It was one minute, 53 seconds less than yesterday. And it was more than we’ll have tomorrow.

This is the hardest time of year for many people in Alaska. Shadows are long at mid-day and, if you have a day job, your morning and afternoon commutes are both done in darkness.

Everyone has a different way of coping with the lack of sun. Some sit in front of SAD lights; some turn to the warm glow of a bottle; the lucky ones buy plane tickets to the tropics; others cook themselves in tanning salons until they look like overgrown Oompa Loompas.

Fortunately, I’ve never been all that adversely affected by the lack of light. I rather enjoy it, as a matter of fact. It makes those long days in March that much sweeter. And pedaling through a forest illuminated only by battery-powered LEDs is fun as hell. A night of riding always helps me carry some sanity through the next day.

Some people think the dim light of winter is depressing. I think it’s photogenic. Strangely enough, I’m considered pretty cynical on many matters, but I’m an optimist when it comes to winter. I skip the SAD lights and tanning salons. A bunch of friends on fat bikes is the best antidepressant I've found so far.

But, just to be on the safe side, I have some of those tickets to the tropics.

I’m not crazy.

Margaritaville

Don't try this at home, kids. (Photo by Tony A.)

There always seems to be that two- or three-second decision period as I approach an obstacle. Can I make it? What's the penalty if I blow it? Too often, I've found myself being overly cautious and missing my chance to pull off the move.

Too bad I didn't do that Sunday afternoon while riding on the coastal flats in South Anchorage. I knew there was a chance the tidal cut wasn't yet frozen, but temps have been pretty cold lately and, besides, I knew it wasn't very wide, and probably not very deep. And I knew that if things did go bad, I wasn't too far from home. So I went for it.

And that sucker was a super-thick, saltwater margarita.

All I could do as my bike went down was reach and scramble for the other side, which is a bit difficult when you put your foot down and it sinks to up to your knee with no sign of touching bottom. I scooted gracelessly out the other side, and my stranded Pugsley gave everyone in the group a good laugh while Tony snapped this photo.

Times like this are why we buy good gear. My Neos overboots kept my feet dry, and I gained a little more respect for my already beloved BB7 brakes from Avid. My front wheel came out of the slop covered in ice, with the front brake encased in the stuff—and it worked just fine all the way home. That's some good stuff.

But I'll take my next margarita on the rocks, not blended.

A License to Have Fun

In response to pressure from cyclists who want access to Middle Fork Trail, Chugach State Park is issuing special-use permits this winter, allowing riders of fat bikes to use some areas traditionally closed to bikes.

Some people are excited about this, and others are offended by the idea that bike riders need a permit to use a public, snow-covered trail where they will have zero permanent impact. Some feel that the fat-tire stipulation is discriminatory. I understand their frustration, but I’m taking the position that this is progress.

For years, park maps have identified Middle Fork as a “No Bicycles” trail. And with good reason. During summer, it’s a hellish quagmire that’s unsuitable for anything but mosquitoes. I know this firsthand, because I accidentally ended up there one evening seven or eight years ago during a solo ride on a weeknight. At one point, I sank up to the middle of my quads in thick, gooey mud. I could see myself being stuck there for hours as insects drained me of blood. By the time I escaped, I was limping, hungry and caked in slimy filth. I got home hours later than planned.

But Alaska trails change in winter. They freeze hard and get buried under snow. Middle Fork is a multi-use route and there’s no reason to ban snow bikes from it, other than tradition. But with no accommodation for bikes in the park’s old master plan, land managers are at least taking steps to ease bikes into acceptance, despite the whining of other trail users who don’t want to share.

Some day, hopefully, there will be no need for permit to ride trails in Chugach State Park. But for now, a free permit allows fat-bikers to use trails they otherwise couldn’t, and the permit system allows managers to gauge how many cyclists want such access.

I say vote with your feet, Anchorage riders. Scoot on down to the Potter headquarters of CSP and pick up a permit, then go ride Middle Fork on a fat bike this winter. Comply with the rules. Show park managers that they can have a better experience dealing with mountain bikers than they have with all the bike-hating whiners.

It’s a minor inconvenience to get a permit. And yeah, being told you need a permit to ride your bike sucks. But being told you can’t ride your bike sucks a lot more.

Burn Barrel Boogie

Rum and cooked animals and bullshit by the ton,
That party lasted way too long and I had too much fun.
—Jimmy Buffett, "Bank of Bad Habits"

Double moons over the burn barrel.
(Names withheld to protect the not-even-remotely-innocent.)

Long holiday weekends are never long enough.
Thanks to the Frigid Bits crowd for giving me
a healthy dose of sanity-restoring entertainment.

"Say hello to my little friend."
Kat rides Blue Dot.

Let's see how long it lasts.
Because returning to reality
is going to suck.

Let the holiday music begin

A column of fat bikes rolled through the woods

on Thanksgiving Day
as big flakes fell from the sky
and wet snow covered the ground.

Wet rotors howled and squealed
like the flutes and clarinets
in a seventh-grade band
on the first day of school.

Even ugly music
can be a wonderful sound.

"Special" Olympics

I would have helped Heather in this situation
on Blue Dot last Saturday. Really.
But Julie's words echoed in my head,
and I was afraid I might get punched.
Besides, I had pictures to take.

That ice looks fairly thick,
and the water isn't deep this time of year.

I knew she'd recover gracefully. It was
like watching a fine gymnast nail the dismount.

Now it's up to you, the judges,
to score her performance.
Does she deserve a spot on the medal stand
for her routine on the uneven parallel bars
of the Blue Dot bridge?

I'd say it was a 9.4.

Winter's Waiting Room

Winter was off to such a nice start.

The fat biking was sweet for days until last weekend’s warm weather hit. Next thing I knew, the trails were turning to slush, and my route to work went from packed snow to ice that forced me to park the Pugsley and break out the studs.

The whole mess makes me envy Daniel, who sent today’s Fabulous Finger Photo from Joe’s Ridge in Fruita. If I’ve gotta have my stomach come up in my throat during a scary moment, I’d rather have it happen on Joe’s than on a wicked-slick patch of hard-as-concrete glare ice during my morning commute.

Besides, a ride at the Bookcliffs ends at a cold beer. A morning commute just ends at work.

Oh, well. Winter will return. And snow will renew the trails (I hope) even if there isn’t any in the forecast for the next week. It’s fat-bike season, dammit.

By the way, there are still “No Waxing Required” frame stickers available, so if you’re a winter rider who feels like blowing a raspberry at Anchorage’s bike-hating ski snobs, hit me up for a freebie when you see me around town.

Then you can proudly let your freak flag fly.

Don't piss her off

Blue Dot, Summer 2008

I don't understand why my pictures from Blue Dot always cause my friend Jeff over at Bike Carson to question my sense of chivalry. When I first posted this picture of Maura and Heather crossing the treacherous Blue Dot bridge over Campbell Creek a couple of years ago, he posted a comment that suggested I might consider a good photo to be of more importance than my friends' safety.

Blue Dot, Yesterday Afternoon

And after I Facebooked this new picture of Julie crossing the same bridge on Saturday, he posted a similar comment under it. But Jeff lives in Nevada, so there's something he doesn't know about the people I ride with.

To be fair, Heather routinely gives me shit about things like shooting pictures when I could be offering her a hand. But the truth is, she just looks for any excuse to give me shit. So when she started in again Saturday night, and I was laughing about similar comments left on my blog, Julie chimed in with the following observation:

"These people don't realize that you ride with women who would hit you if you offered us help."

Keep that in mind the next time you see me use a photo in which a woman looks like she might need assistance.

I don't ride with wimpy chicks.

Show me the money

Sometimes, bike news comes along and gives me hope. I try to not let it go to my head, because the next story I read will likely be about some drunk, text-messaging dumbass in a monster truck who ran over a cyclist and didn't get charged with anything.

But I occasionally like to savor glimmers of optimism, if only for a few moments. The folks at Paramount Cycles yesterday posted a Facebook link to this story at the Huffington Post about the increasing number of people taking vacations on bikes. More people are taking trips for events like RAGBRAI, or spending their free time (and money) on commercial tours.

Best of all, cities and states are starting to recognize the economic impact of cycling. That leads to more investment to lure bike riders and provide for their needs. The state of Wisconsin reports that out-of-state visitors traveling there to ride bikes generated half a billion dollars in economic activity.

And that's Wisconsin.

It's enough to make a person think that maybe—just maybe—a day will come when we'll be seen not as Lycra-wearing goofballs, but as the economic force we actually are. You don't think we're an economic force? Look at all the bike-rack-equipped cars in the parking lots of hotels, stores and restaurants in places like Moab, Crested Butte and Fruita, or any other well-known bike destination. Ask a member of the chamber of commerce in one of those towns what he thinks of bike riders, he'll probably say one thing: Cha-ching!

Speaking of traveling bike riders, today's Fabulous Finger Photo comes from my friend Debbie, who recently took her snow bike and rode off into the sunset on a beach down south. I guess this was her way of saying goodbye.

Sort of reminds me of the departing gesture of a girlfriend I once knew.

Mr. Johnson's The Man

In a crowd of mountain bikers, everyone has an opinion about everything related to bikes. The guy I always listen to is Mr. Johnson.

Let’s say you’re choosing a new bike, and you’re wondering if it’s too large. Mr. Johnson won’t steer you wrong. If he says you want more top-tube clearance, he knows what he’s talking about. Get a smaller frame.

Or maybe Mr. Johnson tells you that your saddle needs to be adjusted. Maybe the nose is too high. Again, Mr. Johnson is always right. And he’s a sensitive guy. You don’t want to hurt Mr. Johnson, so make him happy and adjust that flippin’ saddle. You’ll be glad you did it, and so will Mr. Johnson.

So when Mr. Johnson told me the other day that it was time to shorten the steerer tube on my Pugsley’s fork, I trusted him. I know his only bike-related interest is enjoying many more happy rides together, and he’s trying to take care of me.

I cut the steerer a bit back when I first built the Pugs, but I left it fairly long to allow later adjustments. Then, procrastination set in. But when I was pulling myself off the ground after a minor crash the other day, Mr. Johnson said, “Dude, seriously! Chop that shit already!”

I thought about it, and decided that a few minutes of work in the garage was the least I could do for a guy like Mr. Johnson. Because—and I’m not at all embarrassed to say this—I love Mr. Johnson.

The next time he sees that steerer tube, I really hope Mr. Johnson will feel good about the changes I've made.

Digital Divas

Holy friggin' flip-offs, boys and girls, business is booming in the Fabulous Finger Gallery! With three great new photos in my inbox, I figured it's time for an All-finger Day here at Bicycles & Icicles. Before we begin, let's pause for a moment of silence in recognition of the woman who helped start it all nearly three years ago ... my good friend Heather.

Heather's so proud of her role in this fine use of the Internet that I think she lists it on her resume, as well she should. And with that formality behind us, let's get to the goodies:

Today's first shot comes from Miner's Rock in Lake Leatherwood, Arkansas, courtesy of my brother Matt and his Midwestern crew during their recent trip into the Ozarks. Their rides included places like Slaughter Pen Hollow. In other words, you might not want to ask too many questions.

And next we have the first of two pics from the White Rim Trail. This one's courtesy of Mountain Bike Anchorage author Rose Austin, who recently completed her usual fall tour of great riding destinations in the Southwest. Welcome back to the land of ice, Rose.

And last today—but far from least—we have the pleasure of a whole bevy of mountain-biking babes lettin' the birds fly during their White Rim ride. It's Anchorage's own Dirt Divas on tour. Divas, a desert sunset and Fat Tire ale ... damn good combination, if you ask me.

Well, it's a start

Jules cruises down icy Rover's Run on Sunday
while wearing a jacket she thoughtfully
coordinated with the colors on my new blog format.

Get the fat bikes out. It took until November 1, but there’s finally some snow on the ground. It’s wet crud mixed with rain but it’s here, it’s white and it’s covering the icy ruts and tire tracks that made Rover’s so dicey on Sunday.

The first snowfall of the season always snarls the morning car commute, but I’m lucky enough to be on vacation this week, so I slept late, ate a big breakfast and hit the Hillside on my Pugsley today. I got so many first tracks that I had trouble finding the trail a few times, and ended up taking wrong turns and riding sections I hadn’t expected—and that was part of the fun.

The sun even came out, but that’s not necessarily a good thing this early in the season. With temps in the mid-30s, it didn’t take long for the “rain shower” to start as snowmelt dripped off trees.

With more snow in the forecast, let’s hope the temperatures drop and help the trails set up.

Let the fat tires roll.

Cross-dressing scavengers

Fabulous Fingers from the costume finalists.

When you’re walking out of a gay bar to get back on your bike, and a large lesbian laughs and says, “You’ve got balls!” you know you’re having a hell of a Saturday night.

It’s also a sign that another Frigid Bits season is under way, and this year kicked off with the usual Halloween scavenger-hunt ride. Not that there’s anything “usual” about it, especially when the costume theme is drag, and you get sent to Mad Myrna’s for a drink. I was glad to leave after one round, because I was starting to notice some impressive cleavage and I wasn’t sure all of it was on women.

Speaking of partial nudity, there was less of it around the post-ride fire this year, but not by a long shot. The guy who flashed the most skin with a corset and fishnet stockings scored the grand prize of a set of mountain bike wheels. And it was well-deserved, considering the temperature was below freezing.

Best of all, the soon-to-be-famous Frigid Bits Burn Barrel was glowing hot, and the post-ride beer was good and cold. It’s always good to see the winter biking crowd reunited around the shrine.

Keep the firewood ready, and let winter begin.

Just in time

Fat bikes and ice. Powerline Valley.

Sometimes, a good day comes along just when you need it. After a long spell of taking it easy while some stitches healed, I finally hit some dirt with friends. A fun ride, sunshine, and a tasty meal with cold beer at Midnight Sun afterward.

The memory just might be enough to keep me sane during the next few days of airports and conference rooms.

It's always good to remember there's a bike waiting at the end. Because I just wanna ride my bike and not be hassled by The Man.

Freakin' you baby

OK, maybe zip ties and duct tape aren't necessarily the best way to permanently attach accessories to a bicycle, but they usually work pretty damn well. Especially if you take the preventive measure of periodically replacing the zip ties before they become brittle from dry rot.

I don't always do that.

That's why I felt a little resistance and heard a buzzing sound coming from my rear wheel about a block and a half from my house this morning. My old Stumpjumper lacks fender mounts, so mine is, well ... let's just say "creatively" attached to the frame. A zip tie had gone tits-up on me, and I wasn't carrying a spare, so it was time to turn around and head back to the garage.

Times like this are when I love being the only person who services my bikes. There's nothing like building and caring for your own machine, because it means you know all its eccentricities and the funky shit you did to set it up. Well, that's if you did any funky shit to set it up. I don't cut corners on the road bike that does high-speed descents, or the mountain bike that carries me into the middle of nowhere, but my commuter is another matter.

The old Stumpy used to see some action. It's been on singletrack in multiple states from New Mexico to Alaska, but its current form is pure function. It's urban, ugly and utilitarian. I think it's fun to have at least one bike I don't have to be picky about. I can keep repairs quick and cheap, and still end up with a pretty reliable bike. And a simple one.

This morning, I rode back to the garage carefully to avoid destroying anything, then did some quick surgery with a zip tie, crescent wrench and wire cutters, and was rolling out the door about two minutes later. I couldn't have done that if someone else had rigged up my fenders, because I wouldn't have immediately understood where the fender mount had to be positioned, or why the fender was out of alignment after the new zip tie was installed, and how I could adjust the alignment with a wrench in just a few seconds.

That bike's a goofy lookin' freak, but it's my goofy lookin' freak.

Famous Fingers

Leave it to Janice to soften my pain of being stuck in Anchorage during freeze-up. Instead of flying south to ride in the desert like I did last October, I've been sitting at home with a mouthful of stitches and waiting for the first snowflakes of the year while friends jet off to Arizona, Colorado and Utah for some prime autumn riding.

But then Janice bags a damn fine addition to the Finger Gallery while riding with Selene Yeager—Bicycling magazine's "Fit Chick" columnist—during a coaching conference in Colorado Springs. Damn strong work, Queen Bee. And thanks to Selene for the celebrity flip-off.

I also want to offer big congratulations to Anchorage's hometown girl Petra Davis, a freshman racing for Montana State University-Bozeman, who placed seventh in today's Division 2 cross country event at the Collegiate Mountain Bike National Championships in Truckee, Calif.

It's nice to see her carry her streak of badassery into her college racing career. Nice job, Petra.

Lost bet

When I scheduled oral surgery for last Wednesday, I was betting on two things this weekend: 1) cold, and 2) rain falling sideways. It's early October, for shit's sake. It seemed like a decent gamble. I lost.

So while sun filled a brilliant blue sky on a perfect autumn weekend, I tramped around my house with a mouthful of stitches, eating soft food, watching movies and scanning Facebook for pictures of all the fun other people were having. I can't really complain, I guess. Everybody's got to miss a great weekend now and then. I'll make up for it later.

In the mean time, I got two new Fabulous Finger Fotos this weekend:

The first is from from my roadie friend, Angela.
She gets points for the hands-free, double-finger approach.

The second is from the Bike Monkee, who had fun
trashing himself up in the high country
while I was riding the recliner.
(I also see he's rockin' a sweet new
carbon handlebar that I don't recognize.)

Here's to hoping the trails are frozen and firm next weekend, when the doctor's "don't break a sweat" orders will be expired.

Nothin' but a Hound, dawg

I’ve been bike shopping online for the past few days. Correction: I’ve been bike ogling online for the past few days, because that’s the closest thing to shopping I can afford right now.

Since a trip to New Zealand two years ago, I’ve been trying to figure how avoid being stuck without a bike on nonbiking vacations with my family, or short work-related trips. Everybody wins when I get to ride because, after a few days without pedaling, I get a tad difficult to live with. But hauling a big-ass bike crate isn’t always practical—especially when riding days will be rare, or cargo space is limited in a rental car.

Friends have encouraged me to preserve my dignity and manhood by getting a real bike with S&S couplers; something like a Surly Travelers Check. Folders, they say, are just too nerdy, and don’t handle as well as full-size bikes. I would agree, if not for the wonderful attraction of something that folds into a really small package.

I love the idea of a bike that will fit into a car trunk with a couple of suitcases, or be carried through a hotel lobby without attracting unwanted attention from The Man.

And therein lies my attraction to the Smooth Hound from Dahon. It's portable as hell, yet it actually has a frame that looks like a real bike, instead of just a single tube leading to the headset. It has a mustache bar and a Brooks saddle. In other words, it’s a geek bike with some style.

It’s no replacement for a full-on road or mountain bike, but when faced with the option of an evening of hotel-room cable TV, or a two-hour cruise through a strange city, I’d prefer to try being a bike geek with a little style.

In a New York State of mind

How could anyone have expected the words "New York" and "middle fingers" to appear in the same sentence? OK, pretty much everybody expected that.

But thanks, anyway, to the Saratoga Mountain Bike Association for today's addition to the Fabulous Finger Gallery, and a fine display of universal sign language from upstate New York.

SMBA kicks ass.