Sheldon Brown is dead; he passed away today following a massive heart attack. The cycling world—particularly the bicycle mechanic world—has suffered a huge loss.

Sheldon Brown’s cycling/technical pages are loaded with excellent information, and I refer to it (and other people to it) often.

Bummer.

Thanks to Bike Hugger, I’ve been tipped off to a new cruiser-ish bike from Masi called the Speciale Soulville. It’s a classic-lined everyday bike with a Shimano Nexis seven-speed internal hub, just like the Bianchi Milano I bought for Brenda. But unlike the Milano, this bad boy sports steel construction, cork hand grips, some very cool looking fenders, and Faliero Masi’s John Hancock right on the top tube. Imagine cruising in style around town on a Masi!

This is definitely one sweet bike. More pics and details here, in Masi Guy’s Announcement.

Vino cracks, loses a half hour in the hills; his Tour is over. Next day, Vino takes a stage win in convincing fashion, thrills the fans.

Hmmm…

Son of a bitch, Vinokourov tested positive. The fuckin’ idiot doped during the Tour de France, testing positive and getting his whole team kicked out of the Tour with less than a week to go, taking teammate Andreas Kloden—sitting pretty in fifth position—with him. If I were Andreas, I’d be pissed, but then maybe I’d be hoping I didn’t get my ass caught too, since I’d be on the Astana team, a horrid joke of a doping conclave. Let’s not forget that this was the gang of idiots that couldn’t even field a goddamned team for last year’s tour, since half the team was under suspicion of doping by association with Dr. Fuentes. Oh yeah, and if you’re enjoying watching Alberto Contador lighting up the road this year, and maybe catching a case of smug satisfaction watching him toy with Rassmussen (the other big doping story of the ‘07 tour) on the Pyrenees, don’t forget he too was on Astana last year.

Man, this just sucks. Roid Landis invalidated his Stage 17 comeback last year, and after 12 months of discussion about doping and how cycling needs to clean up its act, and the cycling press really handing it to the dopers and suspected dopers, we’re back in the same pile of shit this year.

The thing that really pisses me off is the smug reaction from colleagues and the mainstream media who look at cycling like it’s a circus. I mean, it is, but being a football fan and looking down your nose at professional cyclists is like being a catholic and looking down your nose at child molesters.

Are they all doing it? No way. But I’d say most are. Still. And that’s what I find really sad. But I can tell you this: I can’t wait for tomorrow’s last stage in the Pyrenees. It’s a great sport, filled with skill, danger, speed and pain. And I enjoy the contests and the scenery. And, P.S., the other sports have the same problem, but better unions, so shut up and enjoy the rest of the Tour.

Yeah so last week I wrote a post that purported to be about a cool cruiser bike, but was really a platform for me to bitch about a local bike ride that I felt had fallen into a sad display of Boulder elitism. I railed against these people and their policy of requiring costumes and cruisers on the ride. Since that time, some of the people I was complaining about found my little rant, and posted some seemingly witty retorts; what they really did was show their true colors. Meanwhile, several other bastions of the true spirit of the ride emailed me off-line and showed me the seamy underbelly of the Boulder bikeride/cruiser/chill/hangout groove, and as you might expect, it ain’t pretty.

In the process, I got my shit straightened out. The good news is, the cruiser ride is dead. The better news is, the ride(s) live on.

Here’s the thing: The so-called “Boulder Cruiser Ride”, or “Happy Thursday Ride”, or whatever you want to call it, had exploded in popularity last year and a lot of the people who showed up were wasted college- and high school-kids who were only there to get fucked up (just like the rest of us). But there were too many of them and they kinda sucked at riding and they kinda had no appreciation for bikes, so they sorta sucked and had to go. I agree. But it became the opinion of some of the regulars that anyone showing up for the ride without a cruiser bike, or not in costume—a silly, silly habit of some of the regulars—should not be allowed to ride. Which I disagreed with. I said as much on the happy_thursday Yahoo list—that purported to be the mouthpiece for the ride but is in fact an odd collection of people that I have long since unsubscribed to—and got slammed for saying so. So I quietly bailed from the whole sad thing.

And then last week I saw a cool cruiser on a website while surfing one night and blogged about it, and I guess my little post devolved into a rant about the shitty attitude of what I perceived to be the consensus of the “Boulder Cruiser Ride” attendants. Turns out the ride was ruined by a bunch of hypocritical assholes who drive their SUVs in to Boulder from outlying towns to ride, and have taken over the long-standing ride tradition to serve their own egos and idiotic goals, ultimately leading to the ride being published in the local newspaper and the attendant rise in attendance which led to the problems that led to its demise. And I got flamed for complaining about that.

The best thing about all of that is that some of the very best people involved in the old Boulder Cruiser Ride have contacted me off-list and explained how my off-the-handle rant was out of line; it’s a good reason to have a website and an opinion. I’ve learned that with regard to the so-called “Happy Thursday Ride”, a few bad apples have fucked the entire batch.

The Boulder Cruiser Ride is no longer, but it’s all good, as we say. There are now several factions of people riding bikes around Boulder on Thursday nights; some of them are into bikes and bike culture, and some of them are egomaniacs with agendas—and there are loads of people in between. So I plan on venturing out this week and enjoying the benefits of evolution. I already know where the cool ride leaves from.

I must have one of these! The Ellsworth “The Ride” is the coolest cruiser bike ever, and I am now accepting donations towards the purchase of one of these bad boys. And I promise to ride it around Boulder and not be an elitist asshole like the local “Boulder Cruiser Bikeride” jerkoffs who have taken their little (formerly large) ride underground (sort-of) and excluded all people who show up on non-cruiser bikes or not in costume (and, let’s face it, costumes are, like, totally stupid, even on Halloween).

I realize I have not given sufficient back story on the Boulder Cruiser Ride, but I guess those assholes never gave me enough good times to do so. And now you have to have a cruiser and a costume to be allowed into their little drum circle, so I guess I’ll never get enough material to fill you in. Suffice to say, the Boulder Cruiser Ride has become another bad example of Boulder Elitism, and I now live to hurl insults at the entire rolling jerkoff assemblage. (They’re not all bad, as it turns out.)

Meanwhile, I am still accepting donations for an Ellsworth “The Ride” cruiser, so I can cruise in non-pretentious glee.

So, my fabulous weekend came to an abrupt halt this morning, quite literally. As I was flying though the air, I thought, yep, weekend’s over. Lemme back up a bit.

I was riding to work, about to join the Foothills bike path when this dude making a right onto the Boulder Creek Path decides he’s just going to use the entire bike path to make his turn. Problem was, I was thinking I might just use the right half of the path myself.

We collided, I went flying up and over him and ended up on my back, thinking “what the hell just happened?” By the time I got to the office I was a little light headed and was starting to sense that I’d done some things that are definitely gonna hurt in the morning, and the collection of scrapes and bruises all over my body are testament to that. Worse than that is my right index finger, which apparently acted as cushioning for my brake lever when it slammed into the other bike. It’s swollen, purple and stings like hell, four hours after the incident. Gonna go get it looked at, I think.

I hope the other guy is alright. He seemed fine, but so did I at the time. My trusty On One commuter bike is fine; the front wheel is a little out of true and the saddle lost some leather, but otherwise it’s ready for more action.

I also think Boulder is rubbing off on me; instead of ripping him a new one for ruining my morning, I showed genuine concern for the guy, even after he fully admitted the crash was all his fault. If this was Jersey, I’d have been spewing expletives before I’d even landed.

What a bunch of idiots these guys are. With the Floyd Landis Show currently unfolding at Pepperdine University, complete with tales of Greg LeMond’s weenie and an obsfucatory defense that would make Johnnie Cochran proud, now it appears that Oscar Pereiro—the man who finished second to Landis in the 2006 Tour de France and the man who stands poised to claim a belated yellow jersey if Landis is proven guilty of cheating—is also mixed up in the Operation Puerto scandal, the scandal that has already forced Jan Ullrich out of the sport and brought Ivan Basso into the darkest point of his career (and hopefully will rid the sport of Tyler Hamilton once and for all).

Doping has been going on for years, this much is clear. For me, the wake-up call was in 1990 when I read A Rough Ride, by Paul Kimmage. Kimmage, a former pro, saw first hand what was going on and was one of the first to come out (after retirement) and say how dirty the sport of cycling was. But business as usual remains the order of the day, and it only seems to have gotten worse. The Festina affair and then Marco Pantani have come and gone, and then the biggest mess of all: Operation Puerto blows up the ‘06 Tour, and then Landis with the manufactured testosterone coursing through his veins.

Puerto is kicking some major ass; Ullrich, Basso, Hamilton. And now with Perriero implicated, we have the loser-was-doing-it-too scenario. Which begs the question, “where does it end?” It sure as hell seems like no one is clean in the sport. And what pisses me off is that they all take us for a bunch of fools, with their explanations for all these drug test failures. Landis has the Jack Daniel’s defense, Hamilton has the hilarious chimera defense. But so far my favorite is the latest from Pereiro:

“...if I have to use DNA to demonstrate my innocence, I will leave cycling, because it’s obvious that cycling like that isn’t worth it.”

Cycling like what? Like an honest competitor? Like a guy who has nothing to hide? Or do you mean cycling under a system that has an ironclad method of catching all the dopers? Yeah, proving you’re not an outright cheater (and a contract violator and a fraud) via a simple drug test, remaining in the sport you supposedly love, getting paid to race a bicycle—just isn’t worth it. What an ass.

I don’t know what the answer is—and cycling sure as hell isn’t the only sport that is completely suffused with drugs—but I’m just sick and tired of these guys offering lame-ass excuses for their results. In some ways, Ullrich has shown more stones by “retiring” than any of these other guys with their nonsense.

This morning I went for a ride in the mountains, an activity I have just recently started doing and I realize I am remiss in reporting on here. Suffice to say, it’s amazing. All the splendor of the mountain scenery that I witness when I go hiking, plus high speed descents and the camaraderie of the road. Opportunities for nature spotting abound; often there are raptors circling high above the canyons I ride in, and occasionally one can see a deer up on a hill, or a squirrel will dart out across the road. A couple of weeks ago I even saw a fox run cross the bike path with breakfast in his mouth. But today, I was treated to an even more unique nature experience. Today, as I started ascending Left Hand Canyon Road on my way to Jamestown, I caught a glimpse of a black bear. Actually, it was a really fucking good glimpse. Specifically, I almost hit him.

I was riding along, minding my own business, when I heard a rustling in the bushes just up ahead and to the right side of the road. As I searched the area of the rustling, imagining a rabbit or squirrel was about to make an appearance, this brownish furry mass just exploded out of the bushes and lumbered onto the road. He was dripping wet—must have just taken a dip in the stream that I was currently riding over—and he seemed about as surprised as I was: he, to be standing in the middle of the westbound lane of Left Hand Canyon Road, and me, to be staring broadside at a black bear that was about as big as my Volkswagen and galloping across the street about 15 feet in front of me. I hit the brakes for a second, but since it appeared he was determined to make it across the street, I picked a line behind the bear, between his ass and the edge of the road and—this is the slow motion part—I rode right behind the galloping bear as he made his way across the street. If I’d reached out real far I could have touched him as I passed. This didn’t seem like a great idea.

Luckily I was going uphill; I was only going about 15 miles an hour, so I didn’t have to hit the brakes too hard to avoid hitting him. But if I was coming down the hill and he’d come out from that side of the street, things would have been very different. Food for thought.

Another Colorado memory that I will remember forever!

From “The Escape Artist”:

The road makes a hard bend to the right and then straightens to point directly downhill to the valley floor. If the surface is dry and you are running on good tyres, if the way is clear and you can use the width of the road, if you have all your courage and your wits about you, you can make it round that curve without touching the brakes. You hit forty-five, fifty, right at the apex. You cannot see the exit and it is crucial to pick the right line. If you start running out of road, the camber will be against you, shrugging you off the blacktop. Once committed to a line, it is too late to use the brakes. To crash at this speed is unthinkable.

And then, in a split second, you are round and free… You have taken flight.

Matt Seaton’s book The Escape Artist is one of the few books I’ve read more than once, and I read parts of it again today, as low clouds and snow visited us again here in Boulder. Matt’s descriptions of the cycling subculture and the joy of cycling in general are wonderful, and his integration of his Real Life with his cycling story is simply fantastic. Matt’s book was inspiring when I first read it, as a commuter train-bound rat race runner. Now that I am back into the cycling world, Matt’s book and his words hold a newfound meaning, and connect to a deep love of bicycles that I have—and have had since I was five years old. Living in Boulder and brushing up against some of the legends of US cycling, having a neighbor who is actually using his USCF mechanic’s license—the same one I got in 1991—living next to the Rocky Mountains, riding my bikes against and in the amazingly beautiful backdrop of these humbling formations; once again, I’ll say it: I can’t believe I live here.

After a long, long, very long winter, I’m here to tell you that spring is on its way, and is settling in nicely. I realize I just marshaled the weather gods to unleash a furious last ditch winter storm sometime in the coming weeks, but I don’t care; Colorado is becoming beautiful again!

I went for a bike ride today, in 70 degree weather under blue skies (and discovered that my new bike has a really nasty propensity for high speed front end shimmy). Last week I read the latest Backpacker magazine and picked out a few choice fourteener hikes I want to do this year. Brenda and I made some headway on our foyer & landing flooring project this weekend, and I hope to be done with that one soon so we have more free time on the weekends to go hiking. This time last year, we had already crested Green Mountain and Bear Peak, but this winter was a whole different animal—one that I hope is an endangered species.

The point is, summer is on the way, and I couldn’t be happier.