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Culinary ShreddingThere are few who can combine the skills of riding the Poto and mushrooming simultaneously. I tried it, only momentarily, during Sunday's ride and nearly t-boned a tree. I have a hard enough time staying upright with the sole focus of attempting to stay upright, so I find the multi-skills approach admirable but out of reach.(Speaking of T-Bone, he was with us as well. He, though an excellent mtb'er, is a single-focused rider as well, whose aim is wisely keeping the bike treadside down.)Rodger, on the other hand, rides with his chef helmet on. He is a foodie. As a recently implicated partner in the Deli of a nationally renowned local food establishment beginning with the letter Z, his thoughts seldom stray from comestible delicacies. Somehow he has a third culinary eye that can, at nearly shredding mtb pace, still spot a Grifola Frondosa, also known as Maitake or Hen of the Woods, tucked into the gnarled base of a large oak tree. This is not a bright orange or phosphorescent yellow neon mushroom that screams out from the humus of the forest floor differentiating itself from all around it. This fungus basically camouflages itself, phantom-like, into the grayish root system. 
A special and rare Poto moment. That elusive rodgerus walkus slowus. I found I could keep up.
I found that most mushrooms have to poke their capped fannies into the trail's margin in order for me to see their fleeting forms as I zip past. Yet this particular polypore was on the opposite side of the tree from the direction in which we were flying (Rodger only flies, there is no moderation in his trail riding approach). All I saw was the spray of dirt from locked tires ahead on the new Tomac he was inaugurating. I looked for some grizzly in the trail, or a moose. This was a seriously clenched brake stop, sashaying bike and all. As is often the case when riding with Rodger, any relief is a gift from the heavens. I was willing, if it was a grizzly, to hug the fuzzy beast myself for the moment's respite from pain.
Rodger pointed back up the trail to a tree. A sizable oak. There are a lot of oaks on the Poto. I'd use the number zillion, give or take. This one was big, but of that zillion, many are big. He dismounted and ran up to the oak. I worried that perhaps he'd been bewitched and would soon declare his love for this particular barked wonder. T-bone and I glanced at each other and raised our eyebrows in unison in that "it's a Rodger thing," look. Rodger knelt down. A Druidic moment of worship in the offing, I feared. 
There it is, polypore of the gourmet table.
Then, up came a fungus cupped in his hands. "Hen of the Woods," he joyously declared. "These taste great!" After showing it off, he hid it farther behind the tree as if fearing a flock of biker pirates descending on this very spot to steal his treasure. "We'll come back and pick it up after the ride." This was the first loop of a Double Poto day. It meant that after the quad ripping ride was over we'd drive to a location as close as possible to this spot and hike a few miles into the forest. By the look on Rodger's face it was apparent that this little white hen was worth the effort, so I agreed.
Rodger and T-Bone reveling post-ride.
After the ride was over, we sang joyous songs of conquest in the Silver Lake parking lot, sustained ourselves with energy replenishing fluids and snacks, and finally drove to an undisclosed location where we hoofed it (limped it, really) back into the Poto and claimed our prize.
Grifola Frondosa. It's what's for dinner.
DIRT ROAD WASHTENAW is NOW AVAILABLE.
Go to dirtroadwashtenaw.com and click on Buy to purchase a copy for your very own.If you want to know where to wander in the county this fall, DRW will guide you along some of the most beautiful roads in southeast Michigan.We're also looking for feedback on the book and on your discoveries in the region, so please share your thoughts on the dirtroadwashtenaw.com blog (or here, if you'd like).
Self-Abuse Time
CX practice is underway Thursday evenings, 6pm at Leslie Park off Dhu Varren. We'll let you know if there is a change of venue.
Leslie's kind of hidden back there behind a subdivision off DhuVarren. Turn on Leslie Park Circle and keep following it back to the park.
We want good relationships with all our neighbors, so please drive safely and slowly through the residential area. Also, please be respectful of other users in the park. Crazy bikers are a bit intimidating.
We'll have barriers to leap over and informal course layouts for high intensity accelerations and anaerobic flagellation. It's a good opportunity to fine tune your skills. The season is upon us. Time to stumble over them barriers.
Update 1JASON LUMMISAs many of you know by now, Jason was struck by a hit and run driver this past week while riding home from work and left lying by the side of the road with massive injuries . It was a despicable and unconscionable act, but let's hope the person who did this is currently in fear of apprehension every breathing moment. I do hope they catch the creep.Most of all, I hope Jason heals quickly.In the mean time, Jason's family has to deal with the high cost of medical care. A fund has been set up at Lake Trust Credit Union in Brighton to help them with this. If it's within your means, please help with a donation.Send a check made out to Jason Lummis to:Lake Trust Credit Union8661 Grand River AvenueBrighton, MI 48116
Update 2DIRTY CRITTY BRUNCH RACE (DCBR)Ironically, Jason is a major presence at this race each year. His leg cranking will be missed by everyone who likes a good spirited race.In the meantime the race will go on. It's always one of the highlights of the year. It's put on by Ben and Wendy Caldwell, who really know how to make the most of their dirt road neighborhood. Plus, it's free--and there are prizes! Lots of them.It's also a pot luck and as much a social event as a bike race. After the racing's done, there's plenty of good food and beverages. Bring a dish to pass.Also, bring a non-perishable donation for Food Gatherers.September 6 (Labor Day) · 9:00am - 3:00pm at the Caldwell Estate.
Update 3DIRT ROAD WASHTENAWBiking the Back RoadsThe book is currently getting bound and it's due out in a week or two. Look for it at your favorite bike shop/book store/outdoor outfitter, or email me and I'll sell you a copy."It ain't dirt cheap, but it's darned good."-unattributed quoteFor more information go to dirtroadwashtenaw.com.
Opera Sacrum
My lower back has found its voice. It has become a basso profundo bellowing from the lumbar to the farthest corners of the auditorium. Or woods in this case. I don't usually have back issues. It sits behind there, in a manner of speaking, quite out of mind most of the time. It does its job well, keeping me from flopping over like an unattended puppet. 80 miles into a mountain bike race, however, and it begins to hum its own expressive tune. Up a steep climb and it runs a few scales, an arpeggio or two. Then, when it finally breaks out in song, it's not to be ignored. Having never ridden 100 miles on a mountain bike casually, much less in a race, I'd wondered what would come to the forefront of my issues. My fears had been elsewhere. Dearth of fluids, cramping, bonking due to lack of food, hands clamping to the bars like a pair of lobster claws, total brain fade, wandering aimlessly off course. All were likely candidates. Then, there it was. La, la, la, la. Food, this time, was not the issue. Leaning over was. It's hard not to lean over when you're riding a bike. I didn't see a lot of recumbents in this race, so most of us were in the same place on this.
But that back thing didn't happen until later. There are other things to talk about first.E, D & Beam Aerie
I got a kick out of hearing that there were those who took handups the whole race. Not me, man. I stopped every half lap and ate like it was my last meal. Ever. Nor did I just wait for the rest stops. I had pockets loaded with granola bars and electrolyte gels that I consumed voraciously in the deepest recesses of that course. On top of that, I had a Camelback loaded with water and one water bottle full of Heed in the cage. This race was to be completed with a gourmand's ethic. If there were berry bushes along the route I would have gladly stopped to pick and eat.
These Ain't Real Racers...These is Sears Racers
Mountain bikers don't have the race attitude down yet. They spend far too much time being friendly. They thanked me if I let them pass, or they moved aside willingly if I was behind. They even asked if I wanted to pass, wondering if they were going too slow for me? They chatted happily during the "race," and offered help to anyone broken down along the way. They'll catch on eventually and start shoving other competitors off into the forest primeval, but for now they're an awfully good band to share the trail with.
Part of the problem was the beauty of the place. It was almost a shame to waste by going too fast. That's my excuse at any rate. This is some of the most gorgeous single track as you'll find anywhere. I'm a Michiganophile anyway (not sure if that's legal, but I refuse to go through a 12 step program to cure me of this passion), but the surroundings here are ravishing enough to entice you to slow down and savor it all. I had a particularly long and pleasant conversation with Mike from the Racing Greyhounds on a singlespeed. I think it was Mike Woods, if I'm guessing correctly from his placing in the results and if it isn't the same guy, we were in the woods the whole time so it's close enough. We talked bike racing and beer and other crucial world shattering topics. He's done all kinds of crazy endurance races and rides and he must have made all kinds of friends along the way with his good nature. It's moments like this that help me realize why this kind of thing is so much fun. His legs were cranking well and he eventually rode away after the food stop on the second loop, but I gladly sent him off with good voodoo. I rode much of the race with Ron, an Ann Arborite, who's only other race claim to fame was one Iceman. He and I came across one another somewhere about the middle of the first loop and there he was lap after lap alongside me. He was looking for some tips, probably thinking that my boundless experience in 100 mile bike races would provide him with the winning edge. Sure, I've done long races of various kinds in the past, with mixed and sometimes dubious results. My strategy, as noted above, was to eat and drink the equivalent of a grocery store's worth of food in nine plus hours. I've bonked twice before in long races and it wasn't going to happen this time for sure. That's the only counsel I could offer, but he hung around anyway, though it became apparent to me somewhere in the midst of the second loop that he was strong enough to venture forth on his own without my weary assistance. On top of it all, I'd bashed my head hard on the new Yakima bike rack at least five times in the past couple of days. I'd just installed it on the top of my Prius and the cross bars are strategically positioned over the doors. I slammed my forehead enough to change the already questionable level of my IQ. It's disputable under ideal circumstances to ask me for advice, after a number of head plows it was not a good plan. But Ron didn't know that. He trusted me. Poor guy.I think, Ron, that you have this stuff figured out far better than I do. If we meet in the future, bear in mind that I'm still working on stumbling over myself. You on the other hand graduated. Go for it. I also came upon Ryan from Two Wheel Tango. I didn't know it was Ryan until he introduced himself because he was wearing an Indiana U jersey of all things. And a helmet. I've never seen him in a helmet. All I heard was a voice that said, as I was passing by, "I work there." It didn't register for a minute, especially since I thought this guy was from Indiana, but then I realized he was talking to me with my Two Wheel jersey on and he was referring to that. We, too, had a great chat. Then we came upon a small pack of riders and got all spread apart on the single track and that was the last I saw him.
My Need to Work with Ben on Some Issues
My biggest concern is Ben Caldwell. We started together, but it didn't take long for that to change. I learned at the finish that he was stupid enough to ride nearly the whole thing taking hand ups. He, unlike me with my infinite wisdom, didn't stop to socialize in the start area or the midway stop during each loop. He just kept chugging away, loop after loop. With this ridiculous strategy he somehow managed to stumble over the finish line in a little over 8 hours. I'll have to work with him on this. There was a time I could beat Ben. Some things should never change. I liked beating him. I'm not sure if I like my new role. Then again, he did let me use his race tent as a place to park my copious quantities of food and drink. I'll give him a break on that. And he is one of the nicest guys out there. He deserves a few points for that. Plus, there was the chance to meet and chat with Jen and Matt, his friends and fellow tent housers whose chairs came in awfully handy after 100 miles. I never thought to bring a chair. It's one of those things you think a lot about after peeling your body off the bike when all is over. Sitting is a good plan at this point. My only other concern is that Robert Herriman is now in the 50+ category. I've met him. I don't think he's anywhere near 50. He doesn't look or race like any old 50 year old guy. Somebody check his driver's license, huh. The guy's got a scam going and now that he's joined my category I want to put an end to it right here and now. Logistical Nightmare (Without Sleep?)
I learned that the hardest part of these long endurance races is the logistics. I arrived on Friday evening at 7pm to pick up my race packet, then had to figure out a place to camp, then make and scarf down dinner. A short 12 hours later we were rolling down the road at the beginning of a long day on the trail. It felt like one big swirl in the interim. Plus, I was serenaded all night by some musical species of frog that sounded like bass players in an echo chamber. THWUM, thwum, thwum, all night long. We have late night noise laws here in Ann Arbor. It's time to make it a statewide thing. Those who put this race together did an amazing job. The course was so well marked even I didn't get lost. That in itself deserves an award. The organization was top notch, with very little left to figure out. Can I just put in a request for the vegans and vegetarians among us. I imagine we're a minority in this group, but we do need protein at the end of the race. Beans. That's all I ask. They're very musical, too. A bowl of those and I'm ready to do battle with my operatic back and those thwumming frogs. Great race. Great ride. Great job everybody. If you want to know the results of the race, go here: www.raceservices.com/10/lj100/061910_all.txt
Sorry there are no race pics here. I was either too panicked (beginning), too busy racing (middle), or too exhausted (end) to lift a camera.
Do you scowl when a raceresque biker flies by you? (I do. It ticks me off.) Conversely, do you look condescendingly down upon some lowly duffer taking it easy out on the road? (They slow me down. Grrr.) Are mountain bikers a different breed all together: prehistoric, hairy, mud chewing, knobbly legged, evolution stunted, suspension animators? (Straight answer: Yes.)This is not a Digression.
It's an Unrelated Topic that Will Pretend to Weave Back Into the Narrative.
This has nothing to do with anything about bikes, but evolutionarily speaking, why do we always talk about prehistoric humans as cave dwellers? How many caves are there in the world? How many places do you hang around with caves nearby? When you think of Africa, where we supposedly began as a species, does cave immediately come to mind? I know, it's a large continent, but my thoughts go to savannah, rainforest, or parched desert. Caves don't register. I think we should get off this cave stereotype.
Then there's always the cartoon of the caveman with the stone wheel, like after a few years, a tweak here and there, they found themselves in Italy and--prestoevovrrrroom--Lamborghini time.
Still Weaving
Even in the Flintstones Fred and/or the cops were on hand carved stone rolling motorcycles. These weren't motorcycles. They weren't even bikes. They were those Strider balance pre-bikes that little kids get without pedals. With stone wheels? Give me a break. I have a hard enough time climbing hills with my Bontrager super lites clamped to a carbon frame. Try it, I dare you, with a set of chunky granite treads.
What kind of images are these that we put into young impressionable minds? They'll carry these chimeras long into adulthood? I'm well beyond a few adolescences myself and only now am I finally catching on. (I know, I'm not a good example, but I'm all I have.) Caves were few. Rolling stones were not ridden by the early constabulary. Don't try to con me with these false iconic cliches anymore. Please. I'm on to you.
Two Cranks, All One
Carrying this ability to categorize others back to our present bike world, who are we as a group? Because we, as bikers, are a group, no matter how tenuously tethered. We go out on mechanisms that roll and make our bodies do the work in order to propel forward. Some of us propel faster than others. Some of us propel fast on flat areas, but when it comes to uphill grades, that propulsion drops off dramatically. Some of us do just the opposite. Some of us propel fast enough to get others behind to grumble. Sometimes the grumblers drift off alone, resigned to their fate or scowling the rest of the way home. Some of us ride to work every day, rain, shine and snow. Some of us only ride on the happy pleasant days.
No Stone Wheels Here
How do you ride? With a group? On your own? Why? To save the planet? To stay in shape? To beat people? Is riding a social event for you, or is it your solitary relief from the hounding hoard? Whatever your reasons, do you see other bikers as part of your larger community or as aliens wearing costumes different from your own? I've heard one group of biker dis another for the style of attire they wear. Baggies dis lycras. Lycras dis pant rollers. Sponsored riders dis plain old plain olds. Step back. Coast for a minute (unless you're on one of those annoying fixies) (I have a couple of annoying fixies). (Love 'em.).
(You Really Think You've Woven This Together?)
Take this thought with you wherever you ride: Caves were the primary dwellings of our ancestors.
From that thought, go here: Stone wheels cruise well.
Next, here: Bikers are a menace to society.
There are a lot of myths out there about us. We all run red lights. We all obstruct traffic. We all destroy the environment on those narrow trails. In a lot of minds, we all get categorized into the same lump. Whether we like it or not, we're dependent on each other. The act of one reflects on all of us. We need to recognize that we're interrelated and find a way to come together. We can't all ride together, but we can show respect to those around us, explain why we're relevant in this combustible world, and help one another out in whatever way works for us. We can also wave to each other. Smile. What the heck. It's a small act, but it's a uniter.
If you want to mull among other bikers of all ilks, go to here this Friday:
Bike Fest Ann Arbor
Organized by the Washtenaw Biking and Walking Coalition as part of the Green Fair
When: Friday, June 11th 2010 from 6-9pm
Where: Downtown Ann Arbor
Info: wbwc.org
It's a fun event that will bring us together for three hours, and maybe that spirit will carry on through the rest of the year.
Finish here: We are all in this together.
All images except Fred are from last year's Bike Fest Ann Arbor.
Culinary Shredding
A special and rare Poto moment. That elusive rodgerus walkus slowus. I found I could keep up.
There it is, polypore of the gourmet table.
Rodger and T-Bone reveling post-ride.
