Y1NZER

or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Pedal Picksburgh

I had been taunting Mehaffey all week. We were traveling to western Pennsylvania for Pedal Pittsburgh. I had signed on for the sixty mile tour, which included a climb of the dreaded Mt. Oliver. Dan and Sarah were doing the fifty mile loop. Ten fewer miles and no climb: clearly, Dan was a wuss. (To be fair, the wuss in question is currently training for his second triathlon, but I digress...) And a wuss, as you well know, is deserving of scorn.

Pedal Pittsburgh is an annual bicycle tour of varying lengths of the landmarks and neighborhoods that make Pittsburgh unique. It is hosted by and benefits the Community Design Center. I had planned to ride last year, but bailed at the last minute to ride with the Tahoe team; I was starting to get nervous about my training. This year, I know better where I am in my training, and more importantly, I know what to expect in Nevada, so I gladly substituted sixty miles in the 'Burgh for eighty miles in Davidsonville, Maryland.

I was sick as a dog last week. I missed multiple days of work and still had a hacking and wheezing cough on Saturday. I mention this only because I mentioned it to Sarah and Dan about two hours into our journey west and was promptly accused of attempting to lay the groundwork for skipping my last ten miles. Of course, after all I ran my mouth, there was no way I could in good conscience - no matter how much I wanted (and I'll be honest - it wouldn't be long before I really wanted) - back out of climbing that damned hill. Through my boast, I had signed a contract, much like a medieval knight who vows to rescue the damsel or slay the dragon, back when such was the business of the day. This brave brave Sir Robin was not about to bravely run away.

After lunch at Taco Loco, as Will and Laura were heading to the bike shop to outfit nine month old Cash with the required helmet, the rest of us did a bit of reconnaissance on the South Side Slopes. Now, I was vaguely familiar with my impending climb because Vrabel used to live atop the dreaded Mt. Oliver. But it had been several years, at best, since I had been in that part of town. First of all, I don't recall Josephine Street being so steep. Second of all, I don't recall Josephine Street being so long. It looked really bad. Dan, at one point, volunteered to join me for the ten miles provided we race. I hesitated, because the last time I was challenged to a race in Pittsburgh... well, "cheated" isn't strong enough a word, but ultimately agreed. We clocked the climb at only a mile and a half, but that particular mile and a half was relentless. It went up. And up. And up. Then it went up some more. And just when it looked as if we were about at the top, it went up a little bit for good measure. And if that weren't enough, the descent was one of the most notoriously steep and serpentine streets in the city, which so happened to be in rather rough condition, potholewise, after the winter. It is this particular street - Sycamore Street - that my father used to drive down after taking out-of-town friends and relatives up Mt. Washington, just to show off a bit. It is this particular street that Vrabel points to when he mentions his concept of urban skiing. On the way back to Lawrenceville, Dan and Sarah and Heather all remarked that I was considerably more quiet and seemed to be scratching my head more than usual.

Despite the minor anxiety, I slept alright once I managed to get Nobody out of my appointed room. (Nobody is a cat.) I rose at a quarter to six with a minimum of snoozing and began preparing for my ride. I ate a light breakfast, prepared my water and snacks, and herded the cats a bit before getting to the day's attire. Now, there was some fuzziness to the weather forecast so I went to great pains to pack for every conceivable condition. I ultimately decided on the short sleeve jersey with a windbreaker and no leg warmers, when.... oh, (insert expletive here).

I dressed in street clothes and went outside to sit on the stoop to wait for Sarah and Dan. As they pulled up, Sarah rolled down the window:

"What's wrong?"

"I forgot my bike shorts."

"What about your other shorts?"

"I don't wear other shorts."

(Coincidentally, it was to Dan and Sarah's wedding last month that I set out without a coat and tie. I realized I forgot the core outfit of the weekend when we were well south of Fredericksburg and going back for it was completely out of the question. We stopped at Hecht's just outside Richmond, but the clerk forgot to remove the security device from my new jacket, so I spent the entire wedding with my hand robotically glued to my waist so that no other guest would suspect me of acquiring a really nice jacket by less than ethical means. And now, once again, when packing for the weekend, I forgot the core outfit. This is all Sage's fault - I know it; I simply have not yet concocted how, exactly.)

In the end, it worked out okay. Gatto Cycles had no merchandise for sale other than helmets and tubes, but I was able to reach Will and Laura before they left home, and they brought a pair of gym shorts for me to wear. I wasn't about to do sixty miles, for reasons I'd just as soon not discuss, but I did ride the first eight miles with Cash before setting off on my own on a modified version of the thirty-five mile course. So yeah, ultimately, I did wuss out of climbing the dreaded Mt. Oliver, but I did ride up to Troy Hill, Highland Park, and Squirrel Hill. (Let me repeat that last part: Troy Hill, Highland Park, and Squirrel Hill.) The most important part, though, is that I had a blast. And that Whole Foods provided burritos (of a sort) at the end. If you're within a few hours, I urge you to pedal Pittsburgh next year. It's a heck of a lot of fun and with five different routes, there is one for every skill level. And it is for a good cause.

Speaking of good causes (I bet you saw this coming), the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society is very definitely a good cause. You can, as always, donate here: http://www.active.com/donations/fundraise_public.cfm?key=tntncaJHuntzi My deadline is officially Friday, but there is a month or so grace period afterward, so please don't let that stop you. And, again, thanks go out those who have donated thus far. And while we're at it - thanks go to Jason, Heather, Laura, Will, and Cash for being such gracious hosts last weekend. See you next year, if not before.

superstructures

I realized long ago that I was born one hundred and fifty years too late. Had I arrived on this celestial orb in the year eighteen hundred and twenty-three, I'd never have had to explain to my contemporaries my distaste for automobiles, cellular telephones and mass-market media. So it is a great mystery to me that I fail to see the charm of covered bridges. On the surface, what's not to like? They're old. They're made of wood. There aren't many left. And yet, they fail to move me. After all, it's just a barn, isn't it - albeit a barn that spans a little bit of water. And where I come from, barns are a dime a dozen. Besides, as we (okay, Beth) discovered while training for Solvang, arriving at a bridge only means there's nowhere to go but up.

Still, we really couldn't have asked for a better ride with only three weeks left to train. We rode from Frederick, Maryland into Pennsyltucky, around Liberty Mountain and back. I was expecting a 75-80 mile route, but this was only a pleasant 65 miles. And it was mostly flat. The weather was perfect - sunny but cool with a slight breeze. In all, it was probably the easiest and most fun training ride I have done.

After the Solvang ride, I upgraded to clipless pedals. Clipless pedals, for those that don't know, clip the soles of your shoes directly to the pedal. (Don't ask me, I didn't name them. That's just what they're called.) As anyone who has made the switch will tell you, clipless pedals are notorious for making even the most agile gymnast feel oafish. Having your feet attached directly to your bike takes some getting used to - particularly in the stopping department - and most people take a tumble or five as they make the adjustment. As one who is coordinationally challenged, at best, I was feeling pretty good about myself that I had yet to hit the deck, and I had ridden with the new pedals enough that I thought I might get off scot-free. As we were riding into Thurmont, MD we came across another group of cyclists who were stopped and having a snack on a (uncovered) bridge over a stream. We had to slow down to make a turn just there, and one of the women asked me what we were training for. Sure enough, as I attempted to stop and answer her question simultaneously, I forgot to clip out and down I go. No harm was done other than what little pride I have, but that, my friends, is the story of my life in an instant: an attractive woman asks a question of me and I promptly fall on my ass.

Which brings me to everybody's favorite portion of our show: the part where I plead for cash. My fundraising is going a little more slowly than I anticipated this year, and with a month left I have adjusted my goal accordingly. I am now shooting for $3,000, which I feel is a little more realistic with the time that is left. I should mention that as part of my agreement with Team in Training, I am on the hook for four grand, regardless, so whatever I don't raise comes out of my pocket. So if I can get to $3,000, I am fine with putting up the rest of the cash myself. (Of course, if I can raise more than that, so much the better.) Once again, I cannot thank enough those who have already helped out with a donation. If you haven't yet, please consider it. Your donation is tax deductible and the money goes to a great cause - the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society - that gets results. The five-year relative survival rate has tripled in the past forty years and the childhood survival rate is up to 80%. Please help us continue to fight cancer. Thank you.