SIC TRANSIT CYCLES in LOWERTOWN

Two Guys on a Vintage Bike Mission
Two young entrepreneurs are breaking into the bike business here in Ann Arbor. Michael Firn and Joe Bollinger have immersed themselves in the world of used and vintage bikes, doing repairs and making acquisitions out of a commercial garage in the Lowertown area that was a car detailing business not long ago. This is a part-time venture for them so far. They both work other jobs to survive, Joe at Detroit Edison and Michael at Pacific Rim. But they're also open seven days a week, 11am to 4pm. These are busy guys on a mission.






















Why the name Sic Transit? It's part of a Latin phrase, sic transit gloria mundi, which roughly translated means "so passes the glory of the world," or "so the glory of the world shall fade." But these guys are arresting that phase of the quick passing of bikes from our past. They're keeping the glory of these selected bikes alive. Or another way to interpret the phrase is they allow the glory of these bikes to pass in front of us as they wheel down the street. There are other places in town where these old bikes are sold, but few of those bikes are revitalized to any semblance of their past glory.

The emphasis at Sic Transit is to revive that previous dignity by restoring high quality vintage and used bikes. They like their bikes to be steel, lugged, and double butted with aluminum wheels when possible. Bikes from the 60s, 70s and 80s are their main focus. They also do conversions to single speed and fixed gear. "These old bikes are great for that," said Michael. "They have the horizontal dropouts, unlike most modern bikes." They have a few fixie examples for sale in the shop. But most of their sales are with their wide range of geared bikes.

All of their bikes are given a thorough once-over, replacing old and worn parts with high quality new ones. Each completed bike looks crisp and ready for its new life. There's obvious pride in what goes out the door. Joe, the more mechanically focused of the two, says "this is a great way to enjoy a bike. I have it for a short time, then I pass it on."

When asked what they don't sell, they chimed, "chain store bikes" in unison. They said that unfortunately they're basically made to be thrown out after their short life.


Their selection is growing. Michael spends time acquiring and says he loves the hunt. So far they have a nice range of mid-level bikes, mostly from the 70s and 80s from my quick survey of their offerings. A 1975 Schwinn Paramount, an early 80s Goldensports Zebrakenno, a 1985 Panasonic DX 2000, a 1983 Peugeot PFN 10, a Schwinn Prologue, a Bianchi Trofeo, and even a late model Cannondale Cyclocross 800 snuck amongst the old timers. Most of the current bikes are in the $250 to $500 range.

Joe wants to spend some time with the old frames and bring them into the 21st century with up-to-date components. The best of both worlds. But for now they're building the business one step at a time, bringing the old classic bikes back to life. They want to be known as a good neighborhood bike shop selling quality stuff that is functional for everyday use and abuse.

If you're looking to sell, they buy old bikes. They also plan on selling parts for older bikes. There's no website up yet. Michael wants the website to look good before they venture off into cyberspace, but even their emphasis on old technology needs to be marketed with new technology. It's only a matter of time.
The shop is located at 1033 Broadway in a brown brick building that actually faces Pontiac Trail. Check them out. They're growing and learning as they go and they'd probably be glad to get some feedback on what people are interested in and just chat about the vintage bike world.

Sic Transit Cycles 1033 Broadway Ann Arbor, MI 48105 734.327.6900 Every Day, 11am-4pm

The Denial of Dangerous Drivers

Limitless Speed
A couple weeks ago I learned something that came as a big surprise. Unless otherwise posted, the legal speed limit on rural dirt roads in this state is 55 mph. Knowledge comes to us through interesting messengers sometimes.

I was standing at the edge of Liberty Road about a half-mile or so west of Zeeb shooting a photo of the sign at Devine Preserve, part of the Washtenaw County Parks system. Liberty at this point is a dirt road. Or, as designated by the state, a gravel road. It's a long straight east-west line of a road. I heard something in the distance and looked to my left. A car was headed my way with a large trail of dust billowing behind. I raised my camera and clicked the first photo. The car was rapidly approaching. I Iifted my camera for the next shot and then realized that the car was not slowing down. I took a step to the side of the road and turned to watch it blow by at an amazingly high rate of speed. There is nowhere else to stand or walk on dirt roads unless you want to be in the layer of brush and poison ivy.

Communication
I was immediately pelted by a barrage of small stones. I stared at the car with a combination of frustration and disbelief as it receded toward Zeeb. I then did something that I don't do much. I moved to the middle of the road, lifted my right arm and erected the middle finger on my hand. I saw no other way to signal my discontent with such a foolish, rude and dangerous act.

I never raise my middle finger. As a cyclist there are all kinds of indignities that are suffered in silence, though I do mutter here and there. They happen at least once on most rides. I'm not used to the rudeness or ignorance of drivers, but neither am I in favor of lowering myself to their level of immature behavior. But in this case I felt I needed to let this driver know that what he did was both dangerous and ridiculously stupid.

Even at that rapidly receding distance his discerning eye noticed my small upraised middle finger. His brake lights came on immediately and he locked the brakes of his car in order to stop, spraying more gravel. He turned the car around in the middle of the road and returning at a high rate of speed he came back to where I stood, which was now in the middle of the road. I was curious to see what kind of person this was and what his rationale was for his actions.

He looked to be in his mid to late thirties, puffy faced. His jaw was firm and he was screaming at me even before he brought his car to a complete halt. "How dare you give me the middle finger!" he shouted.

"You were going awfully fast," I said. "You sprayed me with gravel."

"It's a 55 mile per hour speed limit," he retorted. "That's the speed limit. I have every right."

"It's just inconsiderate," I replied. I can't say I felt calm, but I kept my tone even and unemotional, though I felt my heart thumping at a high rate of speed. It was hard not to match his level of furious anger, but I realized that the best I could do was let him know my position. I didn't know if he was drunk or high or what, but he didn't seem so. He just seemed angry. He was probably angry about a lot of things other than my middle finger, but that certainly gave him something to focus his energy on.

Irr-rationale
He began to exaggerate his argument in order to win his point. "You were standing in the middle of the road. What do you expect when there's traffic going by?" I wasn't standing in the middle of the road when he passed. I was now, but at that time I had enough sense to move as close to the edge as I could so as not to be run over or get pelted too intensely by flying gravel.

We were not more than three feet apart and I thought it rather interesting that I could actually confront someone who'd performed a foolish act on the road. While biking I've been yelled at, pushed off the road by the deliberate movement of 3000 pounds of metal, blown by at excessive rates of speed within inches of my handlebars, had people scream in my ear while they lean out their car window, and had objects thrown at me, not because I did something to instigate such acts, but simply because I was in the same road as they were in. A guy once pulled his pickup out of a subdivision onto Huron River Drive where I was riding and proceeded to use his front bumper to edge me off the road and not just into the shoulder, but into the adjoining brush. We watched each other the whole time as if I were a sheep he was carefully herding. It was all very slow and deliberate. But when he was done, he didn't stop to talk about it. In every case, none of them stopped to discuss the situation.

So when this guy decided to come talk to me, I was kind of honored and a little taken aback. Granted, I wasn't on a bike, but I was the body in the road and he had the indisputable advantage with all 3000 pounds of encompassing vehicle at his disposal. One funny thought crossed my mind as we were talking, though I wasn't there to argue with him or rile him up any more, so I didn't bring it up at the time. I wondered that he'd been in such a hurry, yet he was wasting a lot of time justifying his actions to me as we spoke there in the road together. If he had been driving at a safe reasonable speed, he'd probably be a good part of the way to where he was going by that point.

Of course, he was going to prove to me he had every right to do what he did. And at one level, he was right. The foolish law gave him the legal right to travel at 55 on a gravel road.

The Law
However, there was a part of that law that I think he missed. Here's how it goes:

Michigan Vehicle Code sets the statewide maximum speed limit on all unposted highways at 55 mph. Gravel roads are included in this. Gravel roads are currently excluded from the process of lowering posted speeds through a Traffic Control Order due to the changing conditions of these roads. The Basic Speed Law, MCL 257.627, adequately covers these changing conditions by requiring drivers to "drive at a careful and prudent speed not greater than nor less than is reasonable and proper, having due regard to the traffic,surface, and width of the highway and of any other condition then existing." (italics mine)

--http://www.michigan.gov/msp/0,1607,7-123-1586_27094-73839--,00.html
Michigan State Police: Traffic Laws FAQs

The part I emphasize is the part he missed. The "careful and prudent speed " part. It apparently didn't adequately cover these changing conditions for him. I really do hope that someday, before someone gets seriously hurt by this knucklehead and knuckleheads like him, that he feels some shame for his actions. He didn't feel it that day from what I could tell, but by the time he left he wasn't yelling and he knew that he'd passed a flesh and bone human being who respects his right to travel carefully on our roads, but who isn't impressed when he acts so irresponsibly.

Honey is Sticky Stuff
His final words were helpful, but not in the way he intended. "How come so many people give me the finger when I'm driving the speed limit?" he asked quizzically. "It happens all the time." The comment dripped with irony. He'd dipped his hand into the beehive of self denial. There was a long pause. I sighed. He really did look puzzled. If he was that ignorant, it was going to take a lot of work to get those angry bees of revelation flying around his head to have any effect on his thick skull. Meanwhile, he licked the witless honey off his fingers, turned the car around and hurried down the road in a cloud of dust.

Dave Askins ... Ann Arbor's Workman Biker

Centrifugal Force
Dave Askins rigged up the teeter-totter to a set of pedals, cranks, and gears. You go up and down for a while and everything's normal. It's a normal teeter-totter life. Then he says clip in and the shoes he gave you to wear all of a sudden make sense, but the sensation is no longer teeter-tottering. It's spinning and you're helping to make it happen. That's why everything's fine for a while. You're doing it.

It's not like a passive adventure ride at Cedar Point where someone else pulls the levers and makes it happen and you just get sick to your stomach. You pedal harder. Dave's talking the whole time about ways to bring biking into everyday life where it becomes more normal than putting your foot on a gas pedal. More normal than hiding from the air we breathe within the sealed envelope of metal and glass.

And the ride gets faster. You're in the middle of the street and cars go around you as you spin with wild teetering arcs, up and down and sideways. But the cars don't mind and you don't mind and eventually you're one focused centrifuge separating out cars from people walking by, kids selling lemonade, kids running around, cyclists waving as they pass, solo banjo players on the street, life in the city where all these various worlds coexist, and then there's Dave separated out as well.

He's riding up the street on his bike with his Bikes at Work bike trailer, hauling books for Books by Chance or teas for Arbor Teas. When he's not teetering or working on the Ann Arbor Chronicle, he's hauling a load.

If you're around downtown during the day, especially in the Old West Side area, you've seen Dave. He's a distinct character on the street, not just because he has a beard that reaches toward his chest, though that is a distinct feature. And not just because he's friendly and talkative. Neighborhood kids run up to him and he likes to tease them a bit or chat for a few minutes. There are a lot of "hi Dave's" as he makes his rounds. "I'm not even sure who each person is who waves," he says. "They're out of context on the street. I know I've met them somewhere, but I'm not always sure where." But Dave's ubiquitous presence breeds familiarity. "I like being out on the bike. It's closer to the community in a physical sense."

Mostly, you can't miss him because of that bike and trailer combination loaded down with whatever he's hauling at that moment. It looks daunting. You feel his pain, but you're glad that it's not your pain. For some, just getting their legs over the saddle of a bike is challenge enough, much less hauling a couple hundred pounds of books up and down the hills of this town. Every move has to be calculated in advance. It's a Fruehauf of a bike load.

Then there are the days he hauls his teeter-totter down the road. With teeter in tow, lights change to red before the tail end has a chance to clear the intersection. It's like watching a fire truck pass with the ladder fully extended out the back.

Hauling Stuff
The trailer, made by Bikes At Work, is an aluminum marvel of functional engineering. It has holes and knobs for all kinds of tie down options. It has a pivoting swingarm that attaches firmly to a strong part of the bike frame. It has cute aluminum fenders. It looks like it was engineered by an engineer. It's not to be messed with. It is big and robust compared to those kid hauling bike trailers wandering the byways.

Crossing a street is a physics problem. Add it up: a few hundred pounds, plus an overall length of close to twelve feet, then take into account the percent of road slope up or down, and finally the speed at which a car approaches on the cross street. Get any of those wrong and there could be a lot of books strewn all over the street and one not very happy guy with a long beard.

3000 lbs vs. 23 lbs
Dave's been hit by cars before as a solo rider without having any trailer to deal with. It's the dread of any commuter. In the first incident he was crossing the I-94 overpass on State Street. "The rear end of the bike lifted right up," Dave said. "I had no idea what was going on." (Hmmm. Teeter totters do that. Seed of an idea perhaps?) The front end of a car met the rear end of his bike and he lost the match. His bike was trash, but he came out okay, if a bit stunned.

The second time he was zipping along Maple near the M-14 interchange. He had the right-of-way and made eye contact with the driver of the car sitting at the stop sign. Apparently eye contact wasn't enough. She pulled out and he T-boned her. Hint for Dave: stay away from freeway interchanges.

Communication
These experiences have led to a sage wariness about what a couple thousand pounds of moving metal can do to a gangly twenty pounds of bike and the trauma imposed on its rider. He's confident out there with his heavily laden trailer, but he doesn't take any foolish chances. It's all about clear signals to those around him and gauging where he is at any given moment. It's not as much about strict rules of the road as it is about safety, courtesy and communication. He doesn't always come to a complete stop at stop signs, but that doesn't mean he blows through them either. And he never tries to beat a car. But he also knows that if it came down to it and a police officer gave him a ticket for not stopping, he'd accept the consequences and pay the ticket.

Seizing Diem
He rides a beautiful titanium Airborne Carpe Diem that seizes the moment with extra G forces. The wheels were locally built up to withstand the heavy load and year round abuse that his routes dish out.

What caught him by surprise recently was his front fork. He left his house one afternoon, trailer in tow. At the end of the street the front of the bike felt a bit spongy. As he applied the brakes, the sponge snapped. Both sides of the fork sheared right off. All those loads, day after day, week after week, year round had created metal fatigue on the aluminum fork and it finally had enough. Fortunately, that surprise happened at a very slow speed just as he was leaving for a job. He doesn't like to think about the possibilities if he'd been traveling faster.

Dave doesn't own a car. He's a Zip car guy if he needs one, which he usually doesn't. In fact, he has yet to make use of the Zip system. In this case, he needed to fix the bike pronto and the Zip car takes advance notice. The bike is part of his livelihood and he couldn't wait. So he schlepped by foot up to Great Lakes Cycling on Stadium with the bike over his shoulder and the fork pieces in his hands. They found him a nice new steel fork. (Who ever heard of an aluminum fork, anyway?) If it happens again, it's hoped that this new one will bend rather than snap. If you've watched him bounding downhill with trailer fully loaded, you'll realize just what kind of assurance that brings.

Yes, Ann Arbor is Like the Rest of the World
Ann Arbor is not flat. There's always a hill or two or three somewhere between where you are and where you're going. Ride down Liberty headed east. Cross the railroad tracks at First Street. Look up. There's a wicked spike of a hill leading up to Ashley. This short climb hurts when you're riding a bike solo. I recently watched a middle-aged non-athletic couple ride their bikes up this hill. It was painful to watch as they zig-zagged their way crank by crank up the slope.

Imagine hauling that trailer with those few hundred pounds of books. Imagine getting the red light at each intersection. Even as you wait at Ashley alongside the Fleetwood, there's still a bit of hill to finish as the light turns green and you go from a dead stop to cross the street, and even then it's still an uphill slope to Main. Gentle, but uphill.

Or...the other option is to take the books west, up the long, long uphill trek to the post office on Stadium. There's no way out without an up.

Dave does this year round. It's not like he takes the winters off. I've seen him out there hauling away in some of the most gruesome weather possible, even through deep snow. Why? "It's accessible economically and it's energy efficient," says Dave in a simple matter-of-fact way. "It's not that bad once you get out in it. It just looks bad while you're standing inside."

Embedded Energy
In fact, while many of us are still trying to figure out how to get our cars to be more efficient, Dave, without any car, is concerned about his small impact on the world. He thinks about the "embedded energy" in the aluminum and titanium of his bike and trailer system--the energy it takes to make them, use them, then to discard them. That's one reason he ended up using the trailer to haul the books and the tea. He'd originally purchased it to tote groceries and for personal errands. But he wanted to use it for more than that alone. Then one day in the early winter of 2007 he bumped into John Weise of Books by Chance. After a short discussion and a trial run, he was in the delivery business. The next fall he added Arbor Tea. He does UPS and USPS runs for both.

Dave's had other bike lives. From ages ten to sixteen, he used a bike to deliver papers in his hometown of Columbus, Indiana. He once rode from Columbus to St. Louis, Missouri where he went to college. The most memorable trek was a ride from Germany to Portugal in a post-fellowship exploration of Europe. He and a friend traveled light, camped and stayed in hostels. Later he even did a little criterium racing, but realized that it wasn't for him--too much about strategy and not enough about recreation.

But what is Dave's idea of an ideal ride? A very long one. Without having to haul anything, just him and the bike. Head out light and just pedal. Let someone else tote the load.

I don't know. I'm having a hard time seeing Dave without that trailer, but I'm sure anything's possible.

Okay, go ahead and roll your eyes about the excentrifugal teeter-totter. But Dave already dries the family clothes in a spin cycle powered by the spin of his legs. He built it up a while back and when it was done and it worked, he came up to me as excited as a little boy. He'd removed himself from the power grid when it came to drying the outfits that get him through the seasons. Do you really think the centrifugal teeter-totter idea is wacky? Remember, this is Dave. He's already convinced mayors and other supposedly respectable folk to teeter along with him in his "Homeless" alter ego as he asks them about current issues. Do you think the multi-modal teeter is far behind?

Watch for it. Dave's always pondering something.

Kensington Road Race '09

I don't think Scott Gifford has directed enough bike races. I stood at the top of the Maple Beach hill talking to Alex Keomany and Libby and Jacq Roberge, as Scott walked up all casual and relaxed. Maybe he'd just eaten too many of the overripe bananas lying around the registration area. Something was making him look liked he'd just drifted out of a pranayama meditation retreat. He was mellow. Maybe he hasn't had enough experience to realize just how hard race directing is. Let's hope he does a few more. He'll catch on.

I'm not a good spectator. I felt more keyed up than Scott as I stood there watching racers pedal wearily up and over the hill. Sure, there are social aspects of spectating that are nice, but given a choice I'd much rather be out there crackling a calf muscle or two. I get fidgety standing by the side of the road.

I've ridden Kensington a number of times. I'd like to say it suits me because I like hills, but there's this long stretch out to Martindale Beach that favors power riders, so the hills become more or less neutralized. But hey, it's southeast Michigan. This is about as good as it gets.

The Cat 1/2's had a fascinating moment as they reached Martindale Beach on their first lap. Someone forgot to lift the gate that leads into the turnaround. It brought them all to a standstill for a few minutes until that was sorted out. As a cyclocrosser, I happen to like obstacles, but many road racers expect the road to just lay out before them like a crossword puzzle with answers that are far too easy. They're a pampered lot. It must have something to do with sitting in someone else's draft too often.

If you ever want some peace and quiet during the race, go to the registration area once the racing is all underway. It was silent except for a couple of Wizard of Oz types behind some tent flaps at Command Central documenting the results as they were flown in by pigeon from the finish line. Things pick up again as the curious gather to see how everyone did.

But the most somber area of all was down at Maple Beach. It looked like a wake as a high school crew meet was scuttled by the cool, windy, rainy weather. Boy were they a downcast looking lot. Maybe they need to consider a new sport. Bike racing, perhaps? Better than sitting all morning with your butt on an overturned shell.

Contrast all that to the finish line. That's where Joe Lekovish was, microphone in hand. Joe doesn't allow for quiet. He keeps his eye out for safe passage and patters on to the racers about their lap count. He didn't act like he'd eaten too many bananas. No meditation retreat for him. But he's directed countless bike races. He knows how hard it is. Getting wound up is not a once in a while thing during a bike race. It is the bike race. "C'mon guys, harder, harder. One more lap! Pedal Harder! One more lap." If it were up to Joe, there's always one more lap.

More doctored up photos of the race can be found at: picasaweb.google.com/Pulcipher/KensingtonRoadRace09#

Lucas Wall's Cycling Skills Blog

I admit, sometimes there are interesting things in this world that I miss even though most of the rest of society is well aware of them. Well, even I stumble on to these interesting things now and then. And that's how I found Lucas Wall's blog, cyclingskills.blogspot.com.

It's been around since July of '08 from what I can tell. It would have been more helpful if it would have been around when I started racing on the road and riding in groups that like to crush legs. I needed this kind of helpful info. Instead, I worked hard at doing stupid things in order to give others someone to express their creative outrage toward.

Understand, unlike Things Bike, Cycling Skills is a sensible blog. You'll actually learn something there. It has one article after another that is well written. It clearly explains topics of interest to bike racers, particularly new bike racers getting into the scene: how to hand up a water bottle, the purpose of group rides (all this time I thought it was to hurt others while proving you dominate), how to perform a good lead out, where to place your race numbers, and so on. To many of us, these things are either learned after years of fumbling, or never learned at all, though we do pretend we know them ("Yeah, lead outs, man. Like, you know, you get out in front and like you lead...you know...like...out.")

Don't miss the very funny YouTube video of the guy who needed to learn bike handling skills before attempting the victory "V," (August 31, 2008).

Go there. There's a place for stupid, but a bike race isn't that place.

Cone Azalia '09

I had one of my easier years at Cone. Not sure what made it any better, but I felt real good, my seat was comfortable, and I didn't have any flats.

I did have to learn a few things that were different from last year. The two-way radio for instance. I was handed one like I knew what to do with it. It had buttons all over the place. Ben Caldwell and I worked it out to a degree, but there were still two small buttons that remained a mystery to me the whole day. I also had a choice of band 1 or band 2. I chose 1, though a whole world might have been chatting away on band 2. Who knows. I do know that sometimes people would hear my reports and sometimes not.

At the beginning someone was talking to Robert. My name is Robert. "Everything okay, Robert." "Yup," I said, "okay." "We're going to send a couple of contacts through, Robert, are you ready?" I was sitting out on the road in my chair. I had no clue what they were talking about. "Could you repeat that?" They did. "I don't know what that means," I said, feeling foolish, like I should know these things. Long pause. "Robert Linden, do you hear me?" Oh. My first name is Robert, but my last name is not Linden. I cleared that up and settled back into my chair. I still don't know who that person was who was talking.

Oh! I think I know why it was better for me this year. I got to sit by the side of the road as a course marshal, rather than pedal through gravel and grit for a couple of hours. I'll bet that's it.

I'd call down to someone--Paul Alman I think because he answered now and then--and let them know who was passing by a kilometer before the finish. It's quite a nice job. It had long moments of quiet when I could look out over the fields on each side of me and enjoy the serene beauty of the place. The blue sky was fantastic. And I didn't have to pay for anything.

A woman, whose name I never found out, was half way between myself and the finish line doing the same thing I was, because I'd call out things like "Cat. 6 just passed, Cat. 6 whole pack." I'd invent new categories and less than a minute later she'd uninvent them. But hey, the Cat. 4 were the 500 numbers and the Cat. 5 were the 600s. Easy screw up, especially with a brain like mine.

In those quiet moments, I sat there in my folding chair and thought about the breeze, which was easy to do and something hard to screw up. I knew that when the racers started, around 10AM or so, the breeze was light and coming from the south. By 11:20 it was light and coming from the southwest. By noon it was picking up a bit and it had shifted to the west. By 12:02 the wind quieted considerably. By 12:04 it stiffened up again. I know because I was standing up and my chair fell over. By 12:15 it was calm again. It was all very soothing. I'm not sure if the racers could say the same.

I also had time to take photos. I'd taken a bunch in an experiment before the race as the riders warmed up. I squatted in a ditch and shot tons of shots. I did so without automatic focus. Good idea in theory, but many of my photos were fuzzy. Sorry. Some of those that did work are shown.

But while the race was on and no one was passing by I took field photos and tree photos and cloud photos. It was such a beautiful setting. It may have been tough to grasp as a racer. There are other things to concern yourselves with.

I enjoyed listening to the groups as they passed. For the most part they were pretty civil. That is, until the 45+ group passed. My group, usually. They were really going at it. Some guy wasn't pulling through correctly or something. It was a big snit going on. They were pretty heated up out there. I do hope that was the only time in the race they had that kind of altercation. Kind of takes the fun out of things.

It was also interesting watching the disintegration of the groups on each lap. The first group in which I really noticed a change was the 45 plussers. It took only a lap or two and four guys were off the front and past the Cat 3's. Exciting stuff.

In the 1/2 race, the whole thing split into three groups pretty quickly, with about seven or eight riders in the first pack, a few more in the second, and about double that in the third. The Women's Cat 1/2/3 race was a real struggle of wills as well. Four were off and away somewhere during the second lap. They came by me cranking their hearts out. Not sure what the story was there, but it made for a good race. For the most part, Mens Cat 3 and Cat 4 stayed together, except for the strays dropped off the back. Cat 5 was a major free-for-all, as usual.

The stray riders were interesting. Some were kind of dejected looking, some shrugged, some covered their numbers like they were caught coming out of a joint they weren't proud of being seen in. It's a long lonely race if you flat or get dropped.

I hear Tony Bruley was off on a flyer in front of the 35+ group and got stopped by the train. Bummer. I also hear that the group tried to soft pedal and let Tony get away again after they caught him and the train passed, but someone else latched on to him and they weren't about to let two of them ride away. Tough luck twice, Tony. Cone is a cruel race. Very Paris-Roubaixish in that way. I'm also told that Tony took it all pretty well.

At one point Paul called down to ask me to keep him informed about the riders coming in. I'd been shoving in the talk button and telling them all kinds of things, but apparently they weren't hearing a word. That concerned me. I did wonder here and there if my walkie-talkie (#6) was transmitting. Other times they seemed to get things just fine. As the first of the Cat 1/2's passed me on the last lap headed toward the finish I was yelling into my set, "Cat 1/2s, about seven of them coming at you, Cat 1/2s!" Silence. "Anybody read me?" Silence. I repeated my news with new news, "more coming in!" I never did find out if they got my call. Hope they figured things out.

Lukas Wall, Jon Royal, Paul Alman, Robert Linden, and everyone else (volunteers) who put their effort into making this race work did a great job. If you're ever curious what it takes to pull one of these races together, check out Lucas's list of volunteers at www.aavc.org/cone/index.php?itemid=31#more. It's like looking at the credits after a Star Wars epic. It takes a lot of people's efforts for a lot of other people to enjoy ripping their legs apart in a pedaling frenzy.

It was a very fun race to be involved with. And you racer people did an okay job yourselves. Without you, we're just standing by the road with blank looks on our faces. Okay, some of us even do that with you there, but that's all right. Somehow a race took place and it was a good one.

Hangs Around Street Posts Late at Night

Take the glasses off, slap on a jersey and a helmet and you'll know who this guy is. He hangs around the hospital night and day. Sometimes he shows up at races.

First person who sends me the name of the mystery banner man, along with a Garmin Edge 705 GPS w/Heart Rate/Cadence/Data Card & Street Maps, and a short bio of him/herself gets their own special posting on ThingsBike.

Promise.

(What the heck is he looking at so intently?)