Thursday, October 23, 2014

Upcoming: Breaking Away in SLO

photo from the SLO IFF website

If you happen to be up in the San Luis Obispo area, or find yourself up there this weekend, check out Saturday's feature of the San Luis Obispo International Film Festival - yes, it is Breaking Away. 2014 marks the thirty-fifth anniversary of the films' release (1979) and in celebration the showing will be marked with a special guest appearance by Dennis Christopher.

It may be too late to see the first film in this particular 'coming of age' themed series (the Goonies is almost as good as Breaking Away), but the third film of the trio will show in November - the silent film Daddy Long Legs featuring live accompaniment by Maria Newman and the Malibu Silent Film Orchestra. 

Some good stuff taking place not too far away. Thanks Wendy, for the heads up on this one.

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

How to Wear a Cycling Cap: The Women of SWAT

Alright, I confess, I didn't know what SWAT stood for. I think I may have known once, but don't remember. I just don't know. The why-memorize-incidentals-when-you-can-just-look-them-up mentality, has been taken a bit too far, I suppose. Now I can't seem to remember what bike I rode yesterday. But hey, I can look it up. Anyway, SWAT have had an especially visual, vocal and even, musical presence at the CX races this season, so I also confess I was curious to refresh my memory. As we awaited our orders at the food truck last Sunday, I could have asked la femme, who selected the comfy looking boulder next to my own granite choice, or rather I could have fake-asked the question, as I had already checked the interwebs.

SWAT - She Wolf Attack Team

For the longest time, it seems, you would rarely gaze upon a woman wearing a cycling cap. I am talking about the '80s and '90s now. Maybe part of that was because most women rode in different circles than my own. Maybe they didn't want to muss up their hair. Maybe they thought caps were too cyclist. Whatever. I don't know. Lately, I have been seeing them more and more, from the ladies on the local rides, to those on the race circuit. Maybe it is because more women are doing the competitive thing these days. Maybe worries about mussed hair is only for dilettantes and sissy girls. Maybe there is no such thing as too cyclist. Anyway, the women of SWAT, with their DIRT FOO jersey/shirts, have the cap wearing art nailed, and look like they are having a lot of fun while doing it.








Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Cycling Claremont: Studio Art Hall, Pomona College


The most recently completed building at the Colleges - this one on the Pomona College campus - is the Studio Art Hall. The hall is like a little village collected under a single protective roof. That roof plus the cantilever upper level and the obvious exterior staircase make it seem like the building hovers over the ground. The sense is compounded in the areas where you can walk under the upper level, such as seen in the top photo. The rooms revolve around a central court, open to the sky. From the courtyard you look up at the exposed structure of the roof and its patterned forms. It adds an element of interest in contrast to the plain blue of the sky. Another interesting contrast is of the numerous materials used - concrete, glass, metal, wood.

I didn't step into the building, but can imagine the studios are quite light-filled. The building includes a lower level gallery, though I didn't notice any reference to its hours of operation. Next you ride through the campus check it out - there are many interesting lines and angles - for instance view along the north face of the building (unfortunately, perhaps the most uninteresting facade) to the old, whited-domed observatory. I am not sure how the design of the ground plane relates, but the alternating bands of concrete and plant material is an interesting contrast in its own way. Currently there is a display of student art projects, various objects made from cardboard, scattered around the site.



The Cycling Claremont series of posts highlight some of the local businesses and points of interest I have been known to frequent because I like what they offer, because they are bicycle friendly, or because they provide something unique or interesting, and which visitors to Claremont may also like.

Sunday, October 19, 2014

2014 Krossto-beer-fest, Or Crying Over Spilt Ale

Before I venture any further with coverage of todays race, I want to recognize the exploits of one individual in particular. This one racer, dressed all in Helen's orange, had an exceptionally fine-tuned beer radar, beerdar if you will. On the other hand, if it was not instinct that saw him take the beer line on each lap, maybe it was simply opportunism or, more likely cross-smarts. If that latter reasoning was the case, then he was clearly the smartest racer on the course at the time. I mean, unless you were racing for a podium spot and would be guzzling out of the winners' stein from the top step, this was your best shot at free brew all day. Without doubt he must have won the Most Likely to Recognize a Good Opportunity When He Sees It award in high school. If Miss H&S Bicycles had not run out of beer, or the race run out of laps, there surely would have been more than just the three photos below. Anyway man, well done, and ein prosit.

first pass

second pass

third pass

Will beer, in fact, keep you pedaling? If Miss H&S Bicycles is to be believed, the answer would be a definitive yes. She argued most enthusiastically for the carb-loading benefits of a mid-race beverage, and was quite successful in swaying many passers-by over to her side of the debate. Or wait, is there a debate?




 For now I want to take a minute and turn to the podium. I don't often get around to the podium since the awards tend to be given out while other racing is going on. This time, however, I managed both. I got shots of some men's podiums and then some women's podiums. All the while there was this guy standing next to me who was clearly having a hard time - his muscles were twitching, he was making nervous sounds, and comments about waste. He would close his eyes, look away, but always refocus on the podium with wide eyes. You see, all the while beer was dripping, and spilling, and splashing from cups, mugs, steins, and bottles. This guy was really on edge and barely under control. Finally he couldn't take it anymore and dashed to the podium where he lay at the steps and let the amber liquid cascade into his mouth. It was Krosstoberfest, and the beer was freely flowing. And spilling.






I know what you are thinking right about now, you're thinking "what is this? This post has nothing to do with cyclocross racing. It's just about beer." What you have to understand is that for some people the two go hand in hand - you can't have the one without the other. I promise that once the Flickr album is ready there will be plenty of non-beer related photos.

From the hundreds of photos, I narrowed the selection to 142 - click here for the album.

Friday, October 17, 2014

Riding Through Spooky Hollow


The spectre let out a moan. It was not the first time her angst had become unbearable, but what was intended as a sigh, released as a howl, one filled with regret, overflowed with longing. She understood that the living could neither hear nor see her, yet she had the uncomfortable impression that this one had picked up on her plaintive cry; a quick swivel of a head in her direction, the face revealing surprise and suppressed anxiety, as evidence. She had seen the look before, but always as a reaction to the sound of some unseen animal scurrying through the underbrush. This time was different, the canyon quiet and still. The living possessed a wonderful gift in imagination. Yet that ability, which often made life more interesting, could hamper and stifle that same life when it took a more dark and surreal turn. These moody woods fostered that turn, especially when the day was dark with overhanging gloom. When fog or clouds pressed down from above, they smothered the brightness and light. Her mood darkening as the shadows faded from existence.

She was not sure how she came to inhabit these woods, or why or when, though she recalled thinking, long ago, that it seemed like an eternity. There was no measure of time here, none that she was familiar with. The black limbs of trees, crooked and scabrous, never seemed to change. They reached from the ground, clawing their way from the confining dirt. She often thought they were trying to escape this place, but as far as she could tell none ever did. Their imprisonment was the same as her own. As she drifted from hollow to hollow, she would sometimes come upon one with broken back, splintered bones abruptly white against the dark skin. That she could not recall a shattered form at this spot told her time was passing, but the movement was invisible to her.

Occasionally she sensed the presence of other forms like her, but there was never any contact with them. How could there be. She wasn't sure if they suffered the same confinement she did, or if they were able to pass from this place to somewhere else. This place? There was a vague familiarity to these woods, though the word familiarity seemed inadequate. She remembered a word - memory - but she could picture nothing before this existence, and so she sufficed with familiarity, hazy and ephemeral as it was. That seemed appropriate and she could think of no reason for it to be otherwise.

Some nearby ravens made that bone rattling sound deep in their throats. She had come to recognize this as their way of creating mischief; it startled some of the living, frightened others. The ravens were different, though, from the other denizens of this place. All the other animals existed in some shadowy form, they slunk or scurried here and there, seeming to be as unaware of her as were the living. After all, they occupied the same world. In contrast, the ravens were clear and sharp of form, from every curve of every feather, to the crook of every talon, to the depth at the center of their eyes. She suspected this was because they, somehow, could pass between worlds - that of the living, and the one in which she existed. The first time raven flew into her space she was curious, yet shocked and in some way frightened, by the suddenness of their trespass. Eventually, though, she came to welcome their appearance, to look forward to their, what she called, visits. They could see her when no one and nothing else could. They were her one comfort, her one pleasure.

That is until the pain began. More than familiarity, this was memory - clear and unmistakable memory which caused a surge of anguish. Why it suddenly appeared to her, she could not guess at. A rider passed before her as she sat beside the stream (though she couldn't quite be sure sitting is what she was actually doing), and in that instant she saw herself. It was just a flash, a brief moment of brilliant  color before the muted shades of her existence clamped back down. From that first passing she had become increasingly afflicted by the memory. Once again, she recognized the inadequacy of her place of existence, for the word affliction was grossly incapable of describing the depth of the pain and longing she felt. The feelings intensified each time she saw a passing rider until they became unbearable, her moans lost to all but the suddenly indifferent ravens. Or so she believed. What was this place that it created such longing, and why did the longing cause such torment?


The woods through which the trails of Spooky Hollow hide much in their shadowy recesses, much that our mortal eyes are incapable of seeing. Something to give thought to the next time you ride through when the day is like twilight.

Thursday, October 16, 2014

How to Wear a Cycling Cap: Imerio Massignan

With the brim up.


Massignan was a noted Italian climbing specialist, who raced as a professional between 1959 and 1969. In that time he captured the Mountains title at the Tour de France twice (1960, 1961), and claimed eight top ten overall finishes at the Tour and Giro, the highest being 2nd at the 1962 Giro d'Italia. A standout among the pantheon of epic battles of the Giro d'Italia was the first ascent of the Passo di Gavia in 1960, the first time the climb featured in the race. Jacques Anquetil, five-time champion of the Tour de France was there. Rik Van Looy, counted among the greatest climbers of all time was there. Charly Gaul, nicknamed the Angel of the Mountains for his grace in climbing was there. Gastone Nencini, with two earlier mountain stage wins already under his belt was there. Each of those greats, all but Gaul, withered in their turn. The road in 1960 was still unpaved and the melting snow on the pass's steep slopes had created a slippery quagmire with grades up to 17%. Undaunted, Massignan attacked the accomplished Gaul, pulling away with each turn of the wheel. The first puncture set him back, all the more because he had to change the flat himself. Pushing on, the second puncture set him back yet again, this time for good. A heroic effort, though, saw him finish as runner-up, only fourteen seconds back of Gaul. 

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Time and the Thin Edge


I would not say that the stretch of dirt maintenance road where I stopped to snap this photo is indicative of Powerline, neither is it far off the mark. The opening third is more rocky, its surface marred with sand traps, there is even a pseudo stream crossing - not that I have ever seen water flowing through it. Last evening I decided to switch things up a little, head out on the cross bike, rather than the roadie, allow me to ride a little dirt and gravel. While I will often tack Powerline, and the trail beside Thompson Creek Trail, onto the end of a local mountain bike loop, it was the first time to have ridden either on a less beefy rig. 

I am still dialing in the cross bike, discovering and adjusting to its geometry and the nuances in the way it handles. Mostly I spun along the thin edge separating loosely-in-control from careening-wildly-out-of-control. Slipping from one side to the other allowed me to pick up speed and weave between rocks on the one hand, and forced me to squeeze the brakes and shake like a dachshund on the other. Bouncing from rock to rock, sliding through sand and gravel, it was the conditions of the trail that determined my line ninety percent of the time, not me. Clearly I need to move that percentage more in my favor, something that is going to take practice, miles of riding under similar conditions, time, and an entirely new way of thinking about riding a bike.

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Upcoming: Pumpkins, Death Rides, and Velodromes

No connection, or none that I am aware of, just three events of interest that I wanted to make special note of: 

First up is the Pomona Pumpkin Patch Pedal which rides, this Sunday, from downtown Pomona to the Pumpkin Festival at Cal Poly. We would go to the Festival every years, when my son was of an age. It has been a few years now, so I can't vouch that it is the same, but there was a massive field littered with pumpkins you could wander through, looking for just the right one, there were games, food, the farm store, and I don't remember what all else. Oh, I remember now - fun, there was a lot of fun. The Pedal, hosted by the Pomona Valley Bike Coalition is, of course, a better way to get to the Festival because it allows you to avoid the campus parking hassle. 


If you fail to get your fill of climbing this weekend during the El Grande Fondo de Los Angeles Crest and want some more the following Saturday, check into the Deer Creek Death Ride.



And then the following weekend the Los Angeles Grand Prix is returning to the Velo Sports Center. If you have never seen Sarah Hammer circle the track during competition, it is worth it to go there one night just for that. She can rev it up like few others.


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