Greetings, Sioux Fallers and Biker/Sailors

I’m back from vacation, all inspired and proud of the 14 new curse words I learned in Japanese, thanks to a friend from Japan. That’s one gruff language! Take that, cabrones!

But I’ll keep this G-rated, so as not to offend the toddlers out there.

So:

ZPG sponsored an alleycat in Sioux Falls a few weeks ago. Check it:

ZPG is also a big fan of this take on the “one less car” shirt, courtesy of Josh.

Thanks, amigos!

ZPG empire still expanding

ZPG’s been steadily growing for the last couple of months — and ZPG merch is now available at five new stores: Chenango Point Cycles (Binghamton, NY); Green Tee Gallery (Knoxville, TN); Thick Bikes (Pittsburgh, PA);  the Bicycle Emporium (Auburn, CA); and the Arkay Workshop (here in San Francisco, CA). The really cool part: the staff at the Bicycle Emporium will soon all be wearing 53 Miles Per Burrito shirts. Boomsticks!

Also, because my heart is so big and I love biking so much, I’ve recently sponsored a few more events: the Dia De Los Muertos alleycat in Fort Collins, CO; the Bike Pavillion at University by the Sea, in Long Beach, CA; and the 3rd annual Supermarket Street Sweep, here in San Francisco. I’ve raced in that last one twice and had tons of fun, and will be the first to admit that I can’t wait to ride fast in the cold, rainy, darkness that is early December.

Akron’s first alleycat

Since I’m such a fan of the heartland, I’m sponsoring Akron’s first alleycat: the Rubber City Alleycat, on April 5th. Tell your fellow Ohians, and look out for flying beer cans. (Last time I rode a bike in Ohio, some dude threw a can of beer at me as he drove by.)

ClusterFuck – probably the best named alleycat yet

Some rad people from MileHighMess and CycleJerks.com, in Denver, are putting on an alleycat in a month called ClusterFuck. I’m sponsoring it. Like, part of it. I think (and my memory may be failing) that it’s the best named alleycat I’ve heard yet (second best: Get to the Choppa!, which was here in SF). It’s also for a good cause (funding a new community bike shop called Battlesteed), and the people putting it on are rad.

Behold Exhibit A, an email from Jen, who is organizing the race: “I’m so fucking psyched that you’re so fucking psyched about sponsoring the shit out of ClusterFuck! “

I think that’s the best sentence I’ve seen all day.

Anyway, it’s in Denver. January 4. 8pm. I wish I could race it, flatlander-lungs and all. But I’ll be in Mexico, working on my new boat.

trickster treat 07

last night i raced around town with 50 other riders, and along the way trampled through a dark pet cemetery, pulled a dead (plastic) baby from a lake, ogled at a haunted house, ran through a spooky cave, and ended up at the top of mt. davidson, in a cold, eerie fog.

the result: I came in second place (right behind devin), and won a KHS track frame. I also fell on my ass while descending the hill at 2mph. go figure.
*results*

1 – devin
2 – jonny5 (me)
3 – christina
## paul, charles, chris, and craig (missed some checkpoints)
4 – judah
5 – tommy
6 – jenny
7 – Antwon
8 – Ben Joaquin
9 – Daniel
10 – Daryll
11 – Igor
12 – Caleb
13 – Jonathan B
14 – Tony
15 – Steve
16 – Seth
17 – Dennis
18 – Miles
19 – Emil
20 – Jeremy
21 – Jonathan
22 – Ted
23 – Mike B
24 – Sarah V
25 – Levi
26 – Winford
27 – Chris P
28 – Phil

babes in bikeland alleycat: officially sponsored by ZPG

Kayla and Emily are putting together a girls-only alleycat in Minneapolis next week, and ZPG is sponsoring the event with a few belts, a bunch of patches, and a whole mess of stickers. The official Babes in Bikeland site says this:

“Do you race in all the alleycats and already kick ass? Or have you had the same rusty 3 speed since junior high and get lapped by your grandma’s walker? Who the fuck cares?”

I love it already, and wish everyone involved tons of luck and fun.

 Also cool: Emily and Kayla did a nice job with the race flyer, and lined up a shit-ton of other cool sponsors, among them Freight, Chrome, Soma, Under the Weather, Chicago Wig, Don Walker Cycles, Trackstar, and of course, ZPG.

SF Bicycle Film Festival = overstimulation

Just recovered from 48 hours of bike-infused goodness, courtesy of the Bicycle Film Festival and a couple of alleycat races.

First, there were lyrical movies like Macaframa, in which Phil and Colin roll up/down/around town struttin’ their smooth tricks:

There were two AMAZING shorts — Street Fighter and Skiboys — by Benny Zenga; I’m gonna do whatever must be done to get my paws on those. But the highlight of the show, at least judging by the racuousness of the crowd at the Victoria Theater, was when the East Bay Scraper Bike Boiz got on stage with their scraper bikes:

There were also a couple of alleycats that I raced with Devin. Not sure why, but partner races have been a theme for the last month around here. Four weeks ago, we rode a race in honor of the anniversary of two messengers, and, after riding around for an hour, I shoved a delicate pastry into Devin’s mouth and he read me a sweet poem at the finish, and we ended up in 4th place. So last week, when I heard that Demarco was putting on SF Scavengers as a partner race, I called up Devin… a frantic, sweaty hour later, we cruised in to Gestalt in 1st place (my first alleycat win!). Yesterday, Demarco hosted another partner race, called Best Friends Forever — so I called Devin an hour before the start and he boogied down to the Ferry Building just in time. I was in within view of the first and second-placed guys through the second checkpoint; but probably flubbed it when I chose to run up the Lyon street stairs with my bike over my shoulder rather than ride up through the Presidio. At any rate, Devin and I cruised down to the finish line on Capp st. in 3rd place — and took home some sweet Chrome bags with the Bicycle Film Festival logo on them.

So here’s to all those race sponsors, race organizers, awesome friends, and incredible film-makers who put so much energy and love into making it an awesome weekend.

NACCC San Franfuckingcisco, 2007

I raced in the North American Cycle Courier Championships, here in SF over the weekend. I’m no courier, but I’ve held my own in a bunch of alleycats, so I figured the NACCC race would be no problem, particularly since I know my way around SF so damn well. Thing is, the race was on a closed course, so my local advantage didn’t count for beans. And the qualifying race actually involved picking up and dropping off packages, which I, um, have never done. So I kinda had some disadvantages. OK, I was on the same footing as everyone else. Luckily, I had 2 chances to qualify for the big race on Sunday. So when I flubbed it on my first attempt (turning in a 44 minute run), I knew all wasn’t lost. After a couple hours of rest, I hopped on the bike again, and turned in a 35 minute run, which was just barely fast enough to make the finals. Thing is, I didn’t race in the finals the next day because a) it was a “messenger-only” event, and b) I was tired, and wanted to eat scrambled eggs and lounge about.

I did hang around for some post-race skid-comp fun. (Footage and cheering courtesy of Jeff Purton.)

What a great weekend.

The Great Northeast Bicycle Scavenger Hunt

ZPG is sponsoring another awesome northern race: scAVENGER: the Great Northeast Bicycle Scavenger Hunt.

It’s on May 5th, in Minneapolis, and you’ll need these things to race: a digital camera, and up to 5 friends. I’m pretty sure the race is goatless, too — so it’s got my blessing. ** Also, all proceeds from the race benefit Chirs Zito, a cyclist who was badly injured in a hit-and-run accident a month ago.

BIG news on the alleycat front!

Due to an unprecedentedly-high density of alleycats on the calendar recently (4 in the last 2 weeks), there’s much to report. I’ll go chronologically:

1) Two weeks ago, on a warm thursday night, I threw down $6 to partake in the winner-take-all Crazy Eights race, put on by Devin, in Golden Gate Park. The route: 3 laps around 2 circular fountains, avoiding metal benches all around and one sandy spot on the side. Total distance: .36 mile. The story: After exciting track-stand starts, not much happened once we got around the first turn and settled into a paceline. There was lots of skidding around the fountains, and a couple scary pedal-strike incidents, but otherwise the race was pretty much a matter of not falling over. The result: finishing positions indicated a certain lack of sprinting talent on my part. In heat 1, I got 5th (out of 6). In heat 2, I got 4th (out of 7). But fun nonetheless. The bling: after the winners of each heat agreed to a modified winner-take-most contract, the winner of the final face-off, Massan, took home $30, while Nate took home $18.

photo evidence

2)Two days later, about 20 of us raced in Ascent, MASH’s second race in a 3-part monthly series. The route: point A to point B — from the SF library to the top of Telegraph Hill, about 300′ higher. Total distance: about 2 miles. The story: we took off around 1pm, heading down Larkin st. I was out front early, and after 10 or 11 blocks, took a right on Post st. on the tail of the (yellow-shirted) guy in the lead. A few blocks later, 4 other guys caught up to us as we scrambled to get through some red lights. I took a sharp left on Grant st, since it was the most direct route, but all of a sudden, I was on my own, heading through Chinatown. A few intense-pedestrian-dodging blocks later, I caught sight of 3 guys half a block ahead of me. (I suspect they took Kearny to Columbus and back to Grant, but I’m not sure). I tried to pull them in on the final steep block up Grant, but I just couldn’t spin on Attila (my fixie) like I can on Paducah (my roadie). At the top, I took a right onto Lombard, and continued steadily up to the top Telegraph Hill, getting closer but not close enough. The result: I came in 4th. The bling: MASH hooked me up with a fatty sweatshirt, but better than that was riding the 2nd half of the Tour of California prologue course the day before the race — friggin sweet.

*photo evidence

[*Colin, who won the race, is the guy front and center puking his guts out. Note that the rest of us are either 1) laughing or 2) running away]

3) A couple hours and a couple beers later that day, about 50 of us met up at the Bow and Arrow for Thuderdome, an alleycat that turned out to be much more alleycat-ish than the rest. The route: 6 checkpoints scattered about Bernal Heights and Potrero Hill. Total distance: ~ 10 miles (just a hunch). The story: The manifest that we got at 3pm looked, to my astonishment, ENTIRELY unfamiliar. Usually I recognize the name of some street, some place, some park, some statue — anything, but no, not this time. Unknown territory, and lots of it, was coming my way. BUT, I had been hangin with Mansur, a former taxi driver and a buddy from a few other races, and he kindly let me ride on his heels. So at 3:30 we lined up along the bay, and the organizers then ziptied every riders’ right of left hand to his/her handlebars, then threw a dozen pairs of scissors on the ground. When someone yelled go, there was a mad dash for the scissors. The guy left of me had a pocket knife with him, while the guy to my right used his keys to saw through the ziptie. I was even luckier – I wiggled my hand up the bar and off the end (my bars are chopped, bullhorn-style), and was free. So…I scampered around everybody and got up there with the lead pack, and zoomed way down Howard street, into Soma, with absolutely no idea where I was going, just aware that I had to stick with the pack or else… At the park, there was the opportunity to ride a little tiny bike with flat tires for bonus points, but I passed on the option, and got my manifest signed quickly, and followed the direction that the first guy — who just happened to be Mansur — had gone. I rode over some mulch, down a curb, and then under the overpass, then finally caught up with him. We got to the second checkpoint first, running across the BART train tracks under I-280, and found our guy. He told us he was hungry, and wouldn’t sign our manifests until we got him some canned food. So we got back on our bikes and boogied, looking for someplace — anyplace — that had food. On the way, we passed other bikers just arriving, and somewhat frantically searched for a store that sold any foodstuffs. Demarco, just behind us, ran in to Sports Basement, and found something in there. Mansur and I stopped at the bakery across the st, and bought a banana and a croissant — a big mistake. When we got back to the checkpoint, we were berated and then ignored, since we had not brought back canned food. Meanshile, Demarco took off, heading to checkpoint #3. So we followed suit, figuring we’d find canned food along the way. Up Potrero hill we went, and halfway up I found and ran into a tiny store that had canned peaches. I bought 2 cans, and then Mansur and I continued over to Vermont st, where we found another guy on a trail in the woods. After a shot of homemade absynthe, he signed our manifests, and we cruised back to checkpoint #2, to deliver our peaches. From there, we cruised south and east towards the bay, where we did pushups and threw a boomerang at a huge pig’s head in another futile attempt to earn bonus points. Mansur and I boogied from there to checkpoint #5, at the end of a long road jutting out into the bay. The people there handed us tiny multiple-choice tests; if we got 8 out of 10 correct, we’d earn bonus points. None of us earned bonus points (I got 5 out of 10.) So we took off, riding cyclocross-style down a trail, across a bridge, and along the water until we found a road. Here I finally recognized where I was (from another Alleycat) – but not for long. We cut west on Cesar Chavez, and found checkpoint #6 in some industrial wasteland-ish intersection. Here we were instructed to spin a wheel. Mansur went first, and landed on “gulag.” Someone put a blindfold on him, sat him on the back of a tandem bike, and dropped him off a few blocks away. Meanwhile, I spun the wheel, and landed on “amputation.” Before I had a chance to ask what I was in for, someone took an allen wrench to Attila, and removed her seat and seatpost. This was not encouraging. But, all that remained was finding my way to the finish, at Holly Park, and a quick glance at a map revealed a little green patch labelled as such, maybe 2 miles away, down Cesar Chavez and up Mission St. So off I went, figuring Mansur, riding a non-amputated bike, seat and alll, would surely catch up to me. Oh how it hurt. Oh how my legs burned, standing up to ride for so long. Oh how I yearned to be off the bike and have a chance to stretch my legs. And oh, how psyched I was when I rode up the final hill, and saw Demarco jumping around and screaming at me. The restult: I got 3rd place, and earned bonus points for being the first “amputee” to finish. Mansur came in a few minutes later. The bling: I had a few beers, got a t-shirt, and then accidentally left my debit card in an ATM, which later vexed me for a couple of days.

photo evidence

4)
Yesterday, a cold, gray Sunday, 35 of us met up at noon to race up Twin Peaks. The route: point A to point B — from the clocktower, downtown, at Embarcadero and Market to the top of Twin Peaks, about 900′ higher. Total distance: about 4 miles. The story: I showed up at noon on Attila (the fixie) and quickly realized I had made a grave error. Road bikes, as I had suspected, were the machine of choice for this race. So I rode home, swapped out Attila for Paducah, and rode back with 10 minutes to spare. I ditched the bike, took off a layer, and gathered with the rest of the crew on the steps 100′ away. When the clocktower struck 1:00 and began ringing, we took off in a mad dash, picked up our bikes, and started sprinting up Market St in a crazy swirling peloton. [A few notes: 1) There was some discussion before the race about the benefits of riding up Mission St, 1 block south of Market, on account of it having fewer traffic lights -- this discussion proved moot. 2) I had ridden a couple different test routes most of the way up Twin Peaks on my fixie the week before, in a painful-but-worthwhile experiment to figure out the fastest route. Market to 17th St., even though it required extensive hike-a-bike (ok, run-a-bike) up the steeps, which reach 17%, was the fastest. Page to Ashbury, a bit longer but a much gentler climb, ended up taking a minute and a half longer. So I knew where I was headed.] So: we’re on Market, swerving around buses and trolleys and hopping over the tracks and screaming to alert pedestrians to our oncoming speeding swarming mass, riding through lights and stopping traffic and listening to some guy on the sidewalk yell “Tour de France! Tour de France!” in our honor as we zoom by. We make it through Van Ness and then Octavia (stopping traffic both times) and then we start slowly climbing up towards the Castro and I scoot my way up from maybe 12th to 10th to 7th to 5th, and all of a sudden we hang a right on 17th, and things get very painful and very quiet very fast. I’m out out of the saddle, breathing hard, hammering up this ridiculously steep street that I’ve ridden down a hundred times and never once made it up (at least on the fixie.) A car goes by honking beep-beep-beeeeeeeee-beeeeeeeee-beep at us, with some guy screaming out the window for us to push it and ride harder, but it sounds miles away and it’s hard to pay attention with the unrelenting hill asking so much of my legs and my lungs. Finally I reach the crest and make a left on Clayton, and can easily see the top of the tower looming a few hundred feet above. I’m maybe 20 seconds behind Devin, who’s closing in on another guy, and I want to ride faster and think about riding faster and look down at my speedometer and it’s not budging from 9mph. I just can’t catch them. Still, up we go, taking a left on Twin Peaks blvd and around the hairpin turn, and I can hear people on top screaming go go go go go! and it also sounds very remote and irrelevant and all I can think is THE END IS NEAR. At the top of the hairpin Devin and the other guy hop off their bikes and run up the trail to the top, and I briefly contemplate doing the same, but figure staying on the bike, on the road, and winding around is faster, so I do, and 30 seconds later I’m on top, hopping off my bike, turning in my card, leaning my bike against the stone wall, grabbing a beer, then leaning myself against the wall too. The result: I came in 5th, in just under 24 minutes. (The winner, Darren, was just under 23 mins). The bling: a huge Timbuk2 messenger bag, and some pride in a well-spent saturday afternoon.

photo evidence

Blast from the Past: Late Night Frostbite Race Report [from January 14th, in Washington, DC]

PHOTOS

on saturday night about 90 people from all over the east coast showed up to race in Washington, D.C.’s annual late night frost bite — an alleycat that deserved its name, given the 30 degree temps, occasional snow squalls, and crazy high winds (25mph, with gusts of 60mph). we met up at the warehouse at 8pm, where we got spokecards and manifests, which were pretty straighforward — no sneaky clues or anything. we would be riding to 6 checkpoints in any order… except that up on 18th st, at pharmacy bar, we were to pick up another manifest, to be ridden in order.

As we milled about outside there was lots of talk about hypothetical situations in which going straight to the farthest-away checkpoint might be smart, but i wasn’t convinced. i had learned my lesson in an alleycat a month earlier — as soon as i was handed the manifest then, i said, hey, i know where that is, and boogied, and ended up missing other checkpoints because of time constraints and just poor planning. so this time, i thought about a nice circular route to ride, and when i heard GO, at 9:30pm, i was right there with the super fast kids from NYC.

we bolted down 7th st., passing some mega trucks and dealing with tons of saturday night traffic, then cut right onto G st. and pulled up to the MLK library at 9th, where we had to note (as per the clue on the manifest) the building’s sunday hours. (1-5pm). i knew it would take too long to scribble it down on my manifest, with glove removal and finding a pen and getting out my maniifest from my jacket pocket, so i went straight, as per plan, towards the next checkpoint.

as i left, i looked back and could see 15 or 20 bikers clammering around the front of the building, looking for the clue, wasting time. so i knew i was already ahead. in fact, all of a sudden, i was in front, and 4 NYC riders pulled up behind me, saying, hey, you know this city? i said, yeah, i’m from here, follow me, we’re headed to dupont circle (to 20th and o). as I headeddown G st., I hit a red light, stopped, and learned the difference between wimpy DC riders like me and real NY messengers…those bastards don’t stop. i didn’t wanna run too many reds…but i didn’t want to get dropped, either, so after minimal hesitation i busted through too. when i caught up, the NYC dudes haggled me a bit, yelling, come on man, come on, lets go, we don’t know where we’re going, so i got back in front and we took a right on 11th and then turned left onto Mass Ave, and this is where the wind became painful. In a matter of seconds we dropped from 20-something mph to 12mph to 8mph. it was f-ing windy. we were hammering as hard as we could, standing up, pushing forward, and it’s was just me and these NYC kids, and we went under the bridge at 16th, and were cruising again, and then we rolled 3/4 of the way around dupont circle, hung a quick right on new hampshire ave, and found the park at 20th and O with a plaque on it that we needed to find for the clue. someone found it, yelled out sony bono, 1998, and, once again, i realized it’ll would have taken too much time to write it down, so i got right on my bike and thought to myself, shit, i won’t be able to remember a dozen different clues, cause I’ll get distracted by something… but so far it was only 1) 1-5pm and 2)sony bono 1998, so I was OK.

i rode into dupont cirlce by myself, in the lead, and i hit a red light at a tricky merge-lane intersection. the nyc kids rolled right through it, in front of, between, around cars, forcing them to stop and swerve (keep in mind, it was nighttime) and all i could think was you crazy bastards. they rolled up 18th st, which is a) bumpy as shit and b) has lots of stop signs and cross traffic, so i took a minor detour that didn’t set me back at all, cutting up connecticut ave to 19th, parelelling the lead pack one block to the west. a dumb cabby made a right in front of me and then sat there in the road, forcing me to skid to a quick stop, but i recovered, cut over onto florida ave., and then cut a left onto 18th just behind the NYC kids. I passed a few of them on the little uphill to the pharmacy bar, and then ditched my bike on the sidewalk and ran in and got manifest number 2. then i did what needed to be done, and get out a map, and plotted the new points on it, with little numbers: 1 2 3 4 5 6 end.

the nyc kids were yelling in a quasi panic, where do we go, who’s from here, someone get going, and i could see what route weneeded to ride, and how to link up with the other checkpoints, and i’m thought, cool, this is good. i also wrote down the first 2 clues, and put my gloves back on and took off up 18th to columbia without saying a word, hoping to drop some guys on the uphill andmaybe lose them, but they were right there behind my blinky light. those dudes were friggin FAST andstrong, especially since they had no idea what lay ahead.

we were headed to the chronic, at 13th and columbia, but columbia’s a one way st, and i wasn’t about to ride against traffic for 6 blocks, so i got onto harvard and cruised and cruisedand the nyc dudes were like, yo, you gotta just go through the lights, we’ll cover you, and was like, yeah, you race your way and i’ll race mine, thanks, and then they’re like, so where are we going, and i think, damn, if i could drop them just once they wouldn’t have a chance. we took a quick left onto harvard, then a left on columbia, and i could see the place cause there were 15 other bikes with red blinkies outside (from people who skipped the first 2 checkpoints and just went straight there after getting the 2nd manifest) and we ran inside and some dude stamped my manifest and then the nyc guys bolted down the street the wrong way, headed east, towards 1st and adams.

i thought, hey, they just f-ed up, cause there was another checkpoint down on 13th and V, which was realyl close. so i left them to ride as they wanted to, and rolled into 13th and V with one other guy. the clue at the checkpoint was to name a doonsbury character or football player, so, lacking knowledge of all football players, i wrote down duke and hopped back on my bike and took off.

i was thinking of how i could cut over to 1st and adams, since the streets get all diagonal over there, and i caught up to 3 other guys, but they made what seemed to be a wrong turn to the south, so i busted out on my own, and passed a cop, and was tempted to make a left on red into traffic, but didn’t, and lost precious seconds, but i was ok with it. at the green i took a left on to 1st and rode up past v and w and found adams and i went right and inside the house someone stamped my manifest and then i headed back out onto the cold street.

i bolted down towards union staion, and because of luck with the traffic lights and because i was heading south with the wind behind me, i hit 31mph and i just barely caught up to a kid named jason who worked as a messenger in DC and knew where he was going as well as i did. we cruised over to union station, where some kids signed our manifests and told us that we were the 3rd group there, (though it wasn’t clear if the other groups hit all of the other checkpoints or not) and we did some minor cyclocross moves to get past the stupid curbs that separate one lane of traffic from the other, and got back onto the main roads.

we cut up onto mass ave heading towards SE, made some nice smooth turns around a circle, hung a right onto 8th st, and headed to eastern market, where at long last there was no traffic. we were looking for a coffee shop called the ugly mug, but i spaced out and thought we were looking for a different coffee shop which turns out to be called murky coffee, a block east of there, meaning another 30 seconds lost, but we recovered and found the right place and two kids ran out of the shop when they saw us pull up and they stamped our manifests and then we were off, into the wind again, crusing west on M st towards the titanic memorial in SW.

jason and I took turns drafting off of each other, but it was so gusty from all directions that it didn’t really help, so we just huffed it and tried to ride on the leeward side of cars. we rode over to 4th st, then right on p, then out the ramp to the monument, where it was windy as hell on the edge of the water, whitecapsand all. i pulled out the manifest worrying that it’d blow away and be gone forever, and then i also got out a thermos full of hot cocoa, and traded a cupful for a nip of whiskey out of a paper bag from the kids at the checkpoint. a bit of wasted time, but a good trade, i thought.

we hopped back on our bikes, heading straight into the wind, and jason said, ah, shortcut, we’ll cut through here and then get on virginia ave towards georgetown, and i thought yeah, great. the shortcut, though, was a walkway along the water straight into the wind and it was so rough that we wre standing up to pedal on flat ground and it was friggin miserable. then, again, we did some more cyclocross moves to get across a park and down onto the street, and this is where i flatted my front tire but didn’t notice yet, then up we went, towards the mall and over on independence ave and then up on 14th and then over and onto virginia, where i finally realized i had a flat tire on my front wheel, so we pulled over and i quickly pumped it up while jason, kindly, waited for me. it seemed to hold air so i said, whatever, and got back on my bike and we cruised past the watergate, and passed another cop, forcing us to wait for the red light to turn green. from there we took a crafty (but this time good) shortcut through the waterfront to k st, then up thomas jefferson ave to m st, then through all the traffic and drunk frat boys in georgetown to the f scott key memorial at 35th st, where we wrote down the dates of his birth and death.

before hopping back on the bike I dug into my bag again and grabbed a hunk of cheddar cheese, hoping to fuel up for the big hill coming, but it was too cold to eat a big hunk of cheese, and i was breathing too fast anyway, and my face was half frozen it being january and all, so i just held it there in my teeth because i needed both hands to navigate through traffic. so as I was riding down M st I realized i was sort of drooling around the cheese, but i didn’t care, because this was the big hill, and my chance to get away from the few dudes who we just caught up to. up wisconsin ave we went, just hitting the light in time, and i could hear the guys holding behind me, but as we climbed and climbed and climbed (up to the national cathedral, the highest point around) i realized i dropped them all and was now alone, holding at 12mph up one of DC’s longest, steepest hills.

at the cathedral checkpoint there were a couple otherbikers (visible from the red blinkies) and they didn’t seem to know how to get from there to the end, which was at 8th and buchanon, and they were looking at a map and thinking about going down mass ave., and i said, i wouldn’t do that if i were you, because i knew where the hills were and how to cut through the park. i said to them, follow me, and took off, but when i looked back there was nobody.

i continued riding up wisconsin, thinking about cutting down macomb to connecticut and then across the park on porter, and then onto 16th. i was riding alone, and aside from hitting the light at connecticut, i was pretty fast, though i was careful that my front tire was still holding air. I cruised down the big hill on porter alone, then cranked up park rd, past some police lights flashing on adams mill rd, where a huge tree had fallen down in all the wind, and then i hit 16th st, hung a left, then a right on arkansas, and a right on buchanon, into a quieter neighborhood. away from all the traffic and buildings i could see how clear and dark it was out — a perfect winter night — and was only a few more blocks up a small hill, and then i saw a couple of red blinkies on the corner and i hopped off my bike and tossed it up onto the fence and locked it there next to a few others, (noting that my total distance was 24 miles) and i ran inside and handed my manifest in, and the house was still pretty quiet — just me and 10 messengers — and I was half frozen and half hot as hell so i drank the rest of the hot cocoa i had then ate a big bowl of chili and by the time i headed for the kegs in the back the dj had started groovin and more riders kept showing up and things were good.

fool’s gold rush race report

PHOTOS HERE

just over 100 fixie riders showed up to the park at embarcadero and folsom at noon, including a few bikeforums/pirates i knew from DC/chicago, and at 1pm, shortly after getting our manifests, we were off…

i made it to the first checkpoint, maybe a mile NW of the start, just behind the lead pack, after swerving in and out of traffic on embarcadero pretty much as recklessly as could be — we rode through pedestrian-crowded crosswalks and busy intersections like a fiendish swarm. at the checkpoint each rider grabbed a fed-ex envelope and put his/her name/address on it — from then on, we had to put all our items from the proceeding checkpoints into our envelopes, and deliver the full package to the peeps at the end, to prove we had completed the race. i took off from there with the lead guys, heading for the fort below the golden gate bridge as fast as i could, trying not to lose the guys who knew where they were going, since i pretty much had no clue.

i got in a paceline with 6 guys, sorta roadie style, all taking turns at the front in the wind, and we caught up to the guy in the lead, who was being filmed by a pair of dudes on a motorcycle. (btw, props to the motorcycle guys for not crashing or, say, getting, like, 300 traffic tickets.)

I got to the 2nd checkpoint, opened up my bag, grabbed the envelope, grabbed a little plastic spider thing they were handing out, tossed it in, put the envelope back in my bag, and the bag back tight over my shoulder, and took off towards the presidio. as i left, a group of about 20 more riders was coming in, and we sorta waved as we crossed paths. we took took a right and started going uphill, towards the the outer richmond (at the end of geary st.)

as we started going uphill, i passed a few guys and got to the front of the pack, and started following one guy (ben, was that you?) who said he knew where he was going. the pack was thinning out behind us, and i was a little nervous that just two of us were breaking away so early, and then the guy ahead of me makes a right, stops, and declares, shit, i’m lost, and then turns around, heading back down the hill.. i hesitated for a second, then took the right and continued up through the park alone, hoping that my little knowledge of the presidio roads would guide me through. (i’ve biked through here maybe six times now, on the way to work in sausalito). i also realized that leaving the pack that early was a dumb move — a tactical mistake i had made in other alleycats on terrain i knew much better — since i didnt know how to get to any of the next checkpoints. so up i went, wiggling along, solo, not really sure if the roads were dead ends or what, but just feeling my way in the right direction. i passed some cops doing training arrests, asked if the road went through, got an affirmative, and continued along generally westward. a few turns later I mumbled, aha, i know where i am, and then cruised down to baker beach and seacliff and took a left at 25th and then a right on geary. I caught up to a few guys on geary, then boogied down the final hill and took a right into a parking lot where i just barely saw a glimpse of a fixie rider up ahead. i went where he had gone and ditched my bike above the beach and ran down a long flight of steep stairs to the 3rd checkpoint and got my item (a copy of the onion) and put it in my envelope in my bag and ran back up the stairs and took off, again solo, but trailing 2 guys up on geary by about a block.

up geary i went, and when i hit a red light i took a right so as not to lose time and then i took a quick left on anza, which, as it happens, a) is flatter and b) is less trafficcy and c) has nicer pavement. at this point the motorcycle/ cameraman combo pulled up just ahead of me, which got me all jazzed up that maybe i was a) going the right way and b) in the lead, so i picked up the pace and cruised all the way up to 25th st., trying to stay with the motorcycle as it rolled up and down the hills, but it slowly got away. i cut right at 25th and then left onto to fulton, and then right, somewhere, into golden gate park. I had been here once before, two weeks earlier, during the san francisco marathon, so i vaguely remembered the layout of the park, but not precisely, especially on the windy roads and all. So I pulled over and get out a map, looking for Stowe lake, figuring better not to totally get lost, and just then the motorcycle and two other riders cruise by, so i hopped on with them. The three of us, side by side, rode to the bridge at Stowe lake, where we each took shots of something tasty and put the little paper cups in our envelopes, as evidence of having hit that checkpoint. As we left, I aksed the guys at the checkpoint who was ahead of us and he said, nobody — you’re it!

so the three of us headed east through the park and cut over on a bike path to stanyan and then quickly onto haight st and back into real traffic and immediately I got squeezed between a bus and a fire truck — and it was totally thrilling but the other two guys keep getting lucky breaks in traffic. then i got stopped by a red light at masonic, but caught back up with them and pulled in to buena vista park back with them. I grabbed a little plastic bag with a metal pin in it, shoved it in the envelope, and was off, down the sidewalk, heading for mt. davidson (the high point of the race.)

Again, the other two guys got some lucky breaks with cars and red lights and such, and i just barely kept them in my sights and followed them up cole and over on frederick and down to lincoln. on lincoln a cop in a silly litlle sidecar caught up to me and so i had to stop at two stop signs, losing a bit of ground. I hung a left, and almost lost the guys ahead of me, but i figured they must have made a right, so i turned, and saw them for a second, and then I hung a left on 7th, and saw them heading up the hill, so i pedaled harder and caught back up to them and the motorcycle fellas. one of the two guys fell off a bit here, so I stayed with the first guy and the motorcycle and we chugged up a long slow hill, standing up in the pedals, wondering where that san francisco breeze was when we wanted it. i asked the guy if he knew where he was going and he said, yo, just stay with me. So i did, and we climbed and climbed and it’s getting really hot and i wasn’t sure how much longer i could hold the pace, but i stuck with him and wiggled through a neighborhood, heading higher and higher. At one super steep section i hopped off my bike and walked about 30 steps and then hopped back on, then caught back up and rolled into the checkpoint just as a few other guys caught up. (Note: this is not the first time the hills here have shown me who’s boss and forced me to walk.) They handed us something and i opened my shoulder bag and put it in my envelope and headed straight back down the hill behind the first two guys.

we rolled down a massive hill, on what seemed to be parkway, which meant pedaling as fast as my legs would go, and as we dropped down onto market st in the castro I sort of figured out where we were and remembered how to get to the last checkpoint, at dolores and 19th. so two of us took a quick right at eureka and then a left on 18th and then i passed one guy and continued down 18th and took a right at dolores and then four of us met up at the last checkpoint at the park. after getting something else for my bag, i split as fast as i could, heading for the end, and some much needed rest.

the fast dude and I rode together, zig-zagging our way across the mission, cutting through pretty much everything, and somehow we dropped or lost the two other guys. we cut under an elevated highway and across some train tracks and then around a traffic circle the wrong way as a cop drove around the other side. we kept cruising along, just barely making it through a big intersection, and then past the train station and up to 3rd st. we took a right, and, (stupidly), another right,which brought us to a park, where we found….nothing. nobody. I was convinced this was it, the end, and as we rode in circles we saw people on the other side of the canal, and realized the finish was mere seconds away. so we booked it a block north to the nearest bridge, but it was blocked by a 10′ tall chain link fence and we were so manic about finishing the race that we said screw it and tossed our bikes over and then climbed the fence and hopped back onto our bikes and rode across the bridge. 20 seconds later, at the other side, we hit another fence, and did as before — bike first, then rider. from there it was only half a block to the end…and as we rolled up, literally 10 seconds before we arrived, the other two dudes rolled in….so after holding it all together in a new city through pretty much every checkpoint, i goofed at the bitter end. but i can’t complain about 4th place.

it was my best finish yet and probably the most thrilling race i’ve ever ridden. the checkpoints were well organized and in fun places, and, maybe because of the end-o-race fence incident, the whole thing felt sort of cyclocrossy, in an urban way. there were plenty of blingy bike prizes (i got a nice Phil cog for my track bike), but more importantly, there were a shit-ton of tasty treats and awesome tacos and yummy beers waiting for us at the end. and a hundred awesome riders, who seem like enough confirmation that i’ve ended up in the right place.