Hemmel « Bike Noob

Give a Little Bit…

November 3, 2009 at 7:48 pm | In Rides | 8 Comments
Tags: guest post, Hemmel

A few weeks ago, I signed on for my very first charity ride. Okay, it’s not really the first first, but it’s the first at which riders were encouraged to not only enter for the cause, but to do a little fundraising as well. It looked like a fun ride, a friend had done it last year, and the cause was worthy…MDA, or what most of us think of us as the Muscular Dystrophy Association. You know, Jerry’s kids. I signed on for the longest distance available, logged onto my fundraising page, and began the time-honored process of annoying friends and neighbors by asking for donations.

Charity rides are becoming commonplace in the cycling community. And why not? Charity rides give riders a chance to get together with others who share that same interest, go on a hopefully fun group ride, maybe even challenge ourselves with a distance beyond our normal routine. In the process we can put that time to good use, and hopefully raise some money for a worthy cause, all before gorging on the post-ride pasta-and-soup extravaganza, or what I like to refer to as the “eating food I would never normally touch at this hour of the morning” portion of the event.

It’s a fun time for all. Or maybe not…

My first indication that trouble may be afoot was when a family member (I’ll protect their identity) resisted my suggestion to tell their friends about what I was doing. In this person’s view, everybody is suddenly asking for money. Last week it was the breast-cancer walk, this week it’s me and MDA, next week who knows? Time’s are tough, and people like me are getting, well, annoying.

Then, I heard that person tell someone I was just doing it for the free jersey. And he or she (how’s that for careful!) wasn’t joking. Was I that shallow?

Maybe a little. To me, that’s all part of the fun of a lot of these events — the participant gets a t-shirt or jersey that says they did it. It’s a souvenir, the kind that bike geeks seem to love. Am I wrong to think the incentive for doing the ride is cool?

More to the point, why is something I originally thought would just be a nice day for a good cause turning into something I feel bad about?

I thought about that for a while. Then I went to the charity’s web site and watched a video about what the money raised is used towards. One of the main goals is to send kids with neuromuscular diseases to a summer camp. That might not sound like anything earth shattering, but if you learn more you’ll see that kids who attend these camps frequently note that it was the one, special time in their lives when they didn’t feel different. When they could relax and have fun, and just be accepted as themselves. The one time they remember when they weren’t the kid in the wheelchair, or the kid with the leg brace, but just a kid, with friends, having fun. Think about that for a moment. If you have healthy children of your own, think about it for a moment longer.

Yes, times are tough, and friends asking for money are annoying. But come on, can’t most of us spare a few dollars? And as a participant, if we can raise that money by doing something that we’re uniquely qualified to do, is it wrong that we also enjoy the event…right down to the souvenir jersey?

As long as we don’t overdo it, can’t we annoy our friends every so often if the cause is just?

In two weeks I’ll be riding for a great cause, sharing the generosity of some truly kind friends and family, and maybe even wearing a free jersey.

And feeling good about all three…

A Few Things You Always Wanted To Know About Saddle Sores…But Were Afraid To Ask

October 15, 2009 at 6:12 pm | In soreness | 3 Comments
Tags: guest post, Hemmel, saddle sore

So there I was, stripped naked, one foot up on the tub, mirror in hand, contorting myself into positions that would make an adult film star proud… all the while hoping no one walked in and said something like “Uh, honey, that’s interesting,” or, “Dad, what exactly are you doing?”

What I was doing, of course, was looking for the source of some recent riding discomfort. Problem was, I had no idea what I was looking for. Sure, I’ve heard mention of saddle sores, but I always thought they were something like a serious case of rug burn, a rough spot that was scraped one too many times by an ill-fitting pair of shorts or poor seat design. Instead, all I found was a small red spot that looked kind of like a pimple. Maybe a spider bite or something. Never seen one? Scroll down; I shot a picture of it.

Just kidding. I wouldn’t do that to you. I also wouldn’t do it to me. Imagine the above scenario of wife or child walking in, but add me trying to take a picture into the mix. Yeah, that’s an image that would be burned into a family member’s memory.

So anyway, back to saddle sores. I didn’t know what I was looking for because I’ve always been fortunate enough not to get them. I used to ride without chamois cream; lately I’ve been trying it out. But either way, I stayed mostly comfortable down there. Numb, yeah, but not subject to anything as nasty sounding as a sore.

So needless to say, I set out in search of a few answers. There was a good article on saddles in a recent issue of Bicycling that defined saddle sores. Apparently, they come in various types — a simple abrasion, something called folliculitis, even an abscess that might need serious medical care. Yeah, that latter one sounds way too foul to me, too, and I know a simple abrasion when I see it. So let’s focus on what seems to be cyclist’s most common problem — folliculitis.

The name offers a hint as to what it is — folliculitis is essentially an infection of a hair follicle. We’ve all probably heard how to avoid the problem. Stuff like getting a good bike fitting, wearing quality padded shorts, standing on occasion, choosing the proper saddle, using lube, not hanging around in your nasty shorts after finishing a ride, blah blah blah. What I rarely seem to read is how to treat it once it happens.

Apparently, keeping the area clean is a good idea. I’m not going to argue that one, as the last thing I want is some nasty bacteria invading the small piece of real estate that is situated between two relatively important body parts. Beyond that, other suggestions include a basic over-the-counter acne medicine with 10% benzoyl peroxide. Yup, you can oxy-cute ‘em! Other suggestions include treating sores with hydrogen peroxide or witch hazel, both of which apparently are astringents. Prescription solutions are available should things turn serious.

Mine’s not too bad, so for now I’m still riding. If you take the same approach, trying changing your shorts or saddle. A certain stitch or rough spot could be exacerbating the problem. Lube appears to be a good idea, although I’ve read some stories of riders being told by their doctors to stop using lube. You can even try Preparation H, apparently. It should shrink swelling and reduce the pain. Some experts suggest dabbing it on a few minutes prior to applying your normal chamois cream.

I thought mine was already on the mend before today’s ride, but two hours in the saddle proved otherwise. Though I wore my favorite shorts, I can feel something has changed. Maybe the edge of the chamois has developed a rough spot or something. I won’t stop riding, but I’m going to pay attention to it. After all, I don’t want it turning into something worse.

I would, however, like to get back to checking out some butts other than my own…

Fitting in

September 27, 2009 at 2:10 pm | In clubs, training | 4 Comments
Tags: guest post, Hemmel

Jeff Hemmel is back again, telling of his recent attempt to ride with the big boys. Meanwhile, I’m still taking responses to the question, “What saddle do you ride?” Drop me an email. I’ll have a report sometime this week.

Lately I’ve been feeling a lot like that little dude Hermey, from Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer. You know, the elf who wants to be a dentist, and wonders why he just “doesn’t fit in.”

That’s become me on the bike.

Once upon a time, I fit in pretty well with my good friends who were casual cyclists. We rode together occasionally, enjoying our time on our bikes. Pretty soon, however, it was clear that I was getting more serious about the relationship, while they were content playing the field. To put it in Hermey-speak, I had designs on being a dentist…while they were happy just toiling away at the North Pole.

So, at least in my cycling life, I began to fit in with a smaller group of friends. I ride with one or two of them once or twice a week, and churn out the rest of my miles solo. Occasionally I’ve even started joining a few group rides. Still, sometimes I can’t help dreaming big.

A few weekends ago, I decided to see how I fit in with a faster crowd. I knew where my ride would intersect theirs, so when they came by right on schedule, I latched on as the caboose, trying to stay politely out of the way and feel them out. I tried to ingratiate myself with a few comments during the tamer part of the ride, but no one seemed overly friendly. So, I passed the time checking them out.

They all had shaved legs; I was hairy. They all had cool jerseys from clubs and events and races; I was sporting a blank Pearl Izumi that, in its “screaming yellow” color way, also practically screamed, “watch out for the noob!” (In my defense, my ride started at dawn, in Florida. Considering the motor-vehicle reputation of our, shall I politely say aging population, you’d want to be seen too!) Eventually the pace quickened and I held my ground, even bridging the gap back to them when we briefly got mixed up with a slower ride. Hey Hermey, maybe we can fit in after all!

Then came the bridge, a towering structure over a waterway pass. Determined to not get gapped again, all I wanted to do was move myself a little further up in the pack. What happened, however, was that I found myself stuck in the lane of traffic when all of them compressed into the bike lane. I’ve got decent legs climbing, so I just did what came naturally and rode until I found an opening. It came at almost the peak of the bridge…and after I had passed all but three of the riders.

Yup, suddenly I was at the front, and with what seemed like a grand tour-sized peleton breathing down my neck. Long story short, I held my own, plunging down the bridge before settling into a fast paceline. I even took my turn as the engine of that train, doing my best to fit in with their obviously well-practiced rotation. Elated to be hanging with the cool kids? On the contrary. I started to ask myself if I’d feel comfortable having some stranger thrust himself into the midst of my group, traveling at those speeds and within such close proximity. After about a mile, I also began to question my legs. I was hanging with them at the moment, but what shape would I be in after five more miles? I had already done a decent ride before I hooked on, and now about 10 more miles with the group. Would they slow, or pick it up even further? Could I hang, or be embarrassed when I had to drop out?

Was I ready for this?

I took one more rotation through, then began to drift back. After about another mile, I let them go.

This elf, however, has now tasted life as a dentist. And while I don’t think it’s the profession for me all the time (maybe I’m content as, like, the cycling equivalent of the hygienist or something), I’d like to know I could play doctor on occasion. I’d like to, what else, fit in.

Anyone else out there caught in cycling limbo? Send a comment. I’ll read it…just as soon I finish watching Hermey pull the Abominable’s teeth.

The Road Less Traveled

September 15, 2009 at 6:28 pm | In guest post | 4 Comments
Tags: guest post, Hemmel

Sometimes it’s good to get away. A lot of times, that’s exactly what cycling provides, an escape, be it from work, stress, boredom, whatever. Every so often, however, I think we need an escape from our own everyday ride. That’s why this summer, just before leaving for vacation, I put a roof rack on the car and took my bike along for the trip.

My destination alone provided enough of a diversion. My normal routes at home in Florida are flat, flatter, and flattest. There’s also usually a lot of traffic to deal with at various points of the journey. Contrast that with these scenes from the Adirondack Mountains of Upstate NY. The roads were quiet, the hills occasionally quite steep, and a lot of times the peloton consists of some pretty slow-moving guys with black spots. See, there’s a hillside full of them now:

My favorite part, however, was that I often had no idea what was around the next bend. Sure I had explored this area on mountain bike before, but with my road bike my range became so much farther, and the sights so much more unexpected. One day I pedaled down a nearly deserted road, crested a hill, and discovered this:

On the journey home, we stopped in Alexandria, VA, right across the Potomac from our nation’s capital. Though my riding gear was buried deep inside our Thule cartop carrier and the next day’s schedule called for some on-foot exploration of the monuments and Smithsonian, the friend we were visiting urged me to get up early and check out the Mt. Vernon Trail. It was worth it. Winding directly alongside the river (as well as, for a few surreal moments, the runways of Reagan National), it afforded amazing views of the city. Stuff like this…

And if you cross the bridge, this…

Sure, I could see these sights in typical tourist fashion. On my bike, however, it all seemed so much cooler. I not only had the freedom to go where I wanted to go, but I often had no idea where the path would lead. And I loved every minute of it.

I’m home now, back in Florida, and back on the familiar, flat roads and paved trails I’ve ridden time and time again. The break from the norm, however, made me appreciate even more just how great cycling is. And made me even more curious about what’s around all those corners just beyond my normal cycling backyard.

That’s why the bike rack is staying on the car this fall. Because some weekend, when the routine is getting a little too routine, I’m going to see what’s out there…even if I have to drive a few miles first to find it.

Bike-Chasing Dogs…And Dog-Chasing Bikes

July 31, 2009 at 8:43 am | In guest post | 9 Comments
Tags: dogs, guest post, Hemmel

hemmelsride3 By Jeff Hemmel — Let me say first, I love dogs. Truth be told I’m not so big on cats, but dogs are my kind of pet. Just not when they’re chasing me on my bike.

Most of the time, that’s not an issue. Leash laws and traffic combine to make things pretty quiet animal-wise on my typical ride. Every summer, however, I get the chance to escape to the Adirondack Mountains of Upstate NY. And while I absolutely love the climbs, the scenery, and the lack of traffic, I don’t like the increase in furry friends I encounter during the course of my ride.

About two weeks ago, I was just beginning the steep, lengthy climb back home when a particularly ferocious dog seemingly came out of nowhere. The dog’s timing couldn’t have been better. Given the abrupt steepness of the hill, I couldn’t outrun him. The road was also narrow and I was approaching a blind curve, meaning I didn’t want to chance making a turn and speeding back downhill. I had no time to grab my water bottle and give him a squirt, and was sure if I attempted to slow and unclip I’d either let him take a chomp or fall. With every turn of the pedals my calf inched closer to dog chow.

So I let instinct take over. I yelled. Then, unable to speed away, I hit the brakes, causing the dog to briefly shoot past. I can’t call what happened next any masterful plan – it was more like pure rage. But I planted my front wheel right on the dog’s tail, like Lance pouncing on Bradley Wiggins. Muttley veered left and I followed. He veered right and I followed again. The look on the dog’s face was sweet revenge, as he clearly didn’t like the idea that my spinning tire was not threatening to take a bite out of his miserable behind. Yes, it would have been a disastrous fall had I actually hit him, but all I could think of at the time was how delighted I was to be turning the tables. Instead of a dog chasing a bike, this was now a bike chasing a dog. Take that, canine.

It worked, albeit briefly. The dog finally broke away, and I rode past, stringing together a combination of curse words that I don’t think even a linguistics professor could decipher. As the dog sat down, I turned my attention back up the road. And that’s when I heard the unsettling sound of nails against pavement.

Yup, the angry pup was answering the bell for Round Two, and I hadn’t even had the chance to rest up in my corner. This time around I lunged for the water bottle, almost wiping out in the process. Problem was he was now attacking from behind, so every twist to see where he was caused me to wobble dangerously in the road. Eventually he made a lunge, and I got him with a decent squirt. One more and he ended the chase.

In the moments that followed, the reality of what had happened began to set in. Fortunately no cars had come along at the same time. I’d hate to think what could have happened had I been worried about both the dog and traffic. I also began to think about how close I came to falling while frantically twisting from side to side to track the dog once he attacked again from behind. I was furious…and scared.

And wondering what to do the next time around. I’m sure fellow Noob readers have had similar close calls. Any suggestions? I’m wondering about keeping a small air horn in my jersey pocket. Think a deafening blast at close range would scare him off?

Does anyone bottle the scent of a vet’s office?

Rollin’ With the Bobke

July 16, 2009 at 6:50 pm | In guest post | 5 Comments
Tags: guest post, Hemmel

Jeff Hemmel was lucky enough to go on a ride recently with Tour de France commentator Bob Roll. While we’re all in Tour mode, I thought it would be apropos (Mon Dieu, Noob!) if he told us all about it.

HemmelsRide So anyway, the other day I was out for a ride with Bob Roll when…

Sorry. I’ll pause while you get out the broom. After all, that’s a pretty big name I just dropped. But come on, how often do you get a chance to say something like that? This is Bob Roll I’m talking about, legendary American cycling great, a guy I’ve watched on the Tour-DAY-France coverage for years, a guy who…well…who…who actually knows Lance! And not just knows him, but who actually was there when Armstrong was up in those mountains of Boone, NC pondering giving up the sport of bicycle racing, before Armstrong won all those Tour-DAY-France victories and before completely random people started wearing yellow bracelets with his message sunk into the rubber. The Bobke has played a key role in cycling history. He’s connected, an actual cycling celebrity, a charismatic, balding guy in tights.

And yeah, I was riding with him. Just my normal morning ride. Hanging out with the usual crowd.

Well okay, it wasn’t really that normal. And Bob and I aren’t really that tight. In fact, I’m not even sure I made much of an impression on him. But it was fun nonetheless, if only for the photos I sent out later to friends and family who suddenly wondered how it was I was standing with the Bobke’s arm around my shoulder, both of us clearly sweaty from the epic training ride we had just gone on together, the one where he had probably challenged me to a sprint finish and now we were just hanging out, having a few laughs, probably arguing about who was going to pick up the lunch tab, the Bobke or the Jeffke.

Yeah, that part was fun.

So how did I get this chance? One of my friends and riding buddies, Chris Lauber, saw it in the paper. (Chris is actually a pretty good story himself. Last year he turned 50, and rode 50 centuries in one year, losing a massive amount of weight in the process and whipping himself into shape. But this story is not about the Lauberke, it’s about the Bobke, so sorry Chris, your time is up.) As it turns out, an area bike shop was having a grand opening and Bob was the unlikely guest of honor. He was scheduled to do the classic meet-and-greet one evening, but for those who have jobs they can escape from on a weekday, Roll would also be doing a couple-hour ride in the morning. Who could resist?

I sense an epic coming on, so I’ll try to speed things up. We met up at the shop, posed for the group photo, and took off, a group of about 40 heading out on some pretty quiet roads south of Tampa. Chris and I both live on the beachy side of the bay and didn’t recognize any faces, so we started at the back of the pack, figuring we’d ride a nice paceline and eventually move our way up to Bob, who we assumed was somewhere at the front. I actually never saw him before we left, but I knew he was up there waiting to swap some great stories and grin that goofy grin with each and every one of us.

Or maybe not. By about 10 miles in, I still hadn’t seen the guy. A few more and I was beginning to wonder if he was even up there. Then I started to wonder if he was in fact there, but swapping those funny stories and grinning that goofy grin at some other random dude-kes instead of us. Obviously we had to take matters into our own hands, so we picked up the pace and started to move forward. We passed the guy in the vintage 7-11 kit. (Damn, why hadn’t I thought of that angle!) Elbowed our way past the guy in the Astana kit. (Dude, you work at the shop…you’ve probably already gotten the chance to talk to him for, like, an hour!) And finally, finally, we were riding right alongside Bob Roll. It would be the ultimate picture. I reached for the camera in my jersey pocket…and froze. On the one hand, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I had to do it. Then a headline flashed before my eyes: “Bike Noob Takes Out Legendary Cyclist While Trying To Snap Souvenir Photo In Crowded Pack Of Riders All Trying To Convince Their Friends They Know Bob Roll.” Slowly I slid the camera back into my pocket.

Besides, my buddy Chris had taken the inside line and now he was the one swapping stories. And well, they were better than mine. Chris (so close to Bob they were practically sweating on each other in the June heat): “Hey Bob, I’m a former big-time professional photographer, and I shot photos of you back in the 7-11 days when you came through Boston.” Me (desperately trying to lean around Chris and sweating on, well, nobody who mattered): “Bob, Bob, I…I…I spent Christmas near Boone last year!”

Before I knew it, the moment had passed, and I dropped back, letting someone else have their shot at that sprint finish, those laughs, that argued-over lunch tab. Sure, I had a second chance back at the shop, and yeah, it lasted a little longer this time around. Bob and I actually talked briefly about Boone, the Florida heat and humidity (I don’t think he’s a fan), and he autographed a couple Tour podium hats.

Then I thrust my camera in Chris’s hand and said, “Quick, get a picture!”

Jeffke&Bob Later I realized that the Bobke had actually put his arm around my shoulders, grinned that goofy grin, maybe even sweated a little on me.