The 2007 Wheeler Dealers Jerseys

This photo doesn't do the jersey justice. (I'd model it, but some of you may be trying to eat.)

As I mentioned earlier today, the Wheeler Dealers, our support crew, and other well wishers gathered to party go over our plans for next weekend.

Gerry's first order of business was to hand out the volunteers' official MS 150 t-shirts and to give some final instructions about where to meet and when. Next came some discussion about who's riding where with whom and what time we all needed to arrive in preparation for the ride. Finally, Bob and Gerry unveiled and presented the cool-looking 2007 Wheeler Dealers jersey, which Gerry's brother Carl so generously provided us.

Some of you already know that more than a few of this crew like to do a bit of gambling from time to time, and this influenced the jersey's design. I didn't know it until someone explained it to me, but black chips are worth $100, and green chips are worth $25. The observant among you will note that the values of the one black and two green chips on the front of the jersey total 150, and I'm assured that this is no coincidence.

On the back of the jersey, the face cards bear the likenesses of the loved ones for whom we're riding. Pretty awesome, huh?

The Front

The Back

All Together Now

Almost, anyway. Next weekend is the big MS 150 weekend we've all been training for, and Patrick has arrived back in Texas to make his final preparations. Since he's had to do all his training on his own, so far, Bob, Sarah, and I joined him yesterday for a 44-mile training ride.

It was a beautiful, sunny day, and as we headed out around 11:30 it was already quite warm. I broke out my sleeveless jersey for the first time this year.

We headed out through Flower Mound to Lake Grapevine, where Bob took off like a jackrabbit. Earlier in the season, when he took off like that, he paid for it later in the ride—but not yesterday. He rode strong all day. Bob always claims to be a 12-13 mph guy, but between this year's training and his borrowed Specialized Roubaix, he's flying.

Next, we headed out through the rolling hills toward Argyle. With the recent rains, the countryside was very green and quite beautiful. Sarah and I particularly enjoyed seeing elaborate homes, the baby cows, and the pet horse that followed along beside its master's riding mower and munched the freshly cut grass.

After the first good climb, Patrick decided that riding in the 30 mph Uruguayan winds was not quite the same thing as real hills. His borrowed bike wasn't fitting him well, and he had only one water bottle for the day. Fighting dehydration and hand numbness, he soldiered on—but I think it's safe to say he didn't enjoy himself as much as the rest of us.

Fortunately, this ride identified some problems that need attention. With a week before the MS 150, there's still time to make some adjustments to bike positioning, and so forth.

Back at Bob's house, we learned that our special team jerseys had arrived, and Bob gave us a first glimpse. I know there were some issues getting them this year, and they don't look anything like the previous Wheeler Dealer jerseys, but I think they look pretty sharp. We're all meeting at Sarah's this afternoon for a final planning session and to receive our jerseys, so I hope to have a picture of the jerseys to share with our sponsors later today.

A Blustery Day

Sunday morning, it was time for Dawn Patrol and another metric century with Bob and Sarah. At 63 °F, the temperature was nearly 20 degrees warmer than when we started our ride last weekend, but the stiff southern wind and overcast skies made for a gloomy sort of day. That was good news for us, because the homeliness of the day kept a lot of the usual runners and wobblies inexperienced cyclists away from The Rock, and the wind made us work—for half the loop, at least.

Nature break (a gratuitous double entendre)

I think it was after our fourth loop (~36 miles) that we made a quick stop for potty breaks and energy bars. As I munched on a Blackberry Sawdust Clif bar, a squirrel with a very fluffy tail boldly scampered up to me. It sat up on its haunches and watched me intently, eyes bright and whiskers twitching.

"Hey, Squirrel Bait," I called to Sarah. "Your little friend's back."

"Ew! Make it go aw—"

She didn't finish, instead stopping to watch the squirrel. It had cranked the cuteness up to 10, sensing the potential for a handout, and would have batted its eyelashes at her, if it had had any.

"Aw... he is kinda cute, isn't he?"

The squirrel puffed up its tail and shook it to signal its excitement and a desire to be our best friend. I broke off a chunk of my Clif bar and tossed it in the squirrel's direction.

The squirrel leapt into the air. Time slowed, Matrix-like, so that we could fully appreciate the back flip with full twist it executed before snatching the crumb from the air and landing in a graceful crouch on the sidewalk.

"Go, Neo!" I said, genuinely impressed.

The squirrel was busily munching its chunk of chewy energy bar, but spared me a glance and seemed to wink conspiratorially.

Meanwhile...

St. Bob had been on the phone, checking in at home. There was a smallish emergency that was going to cut his ride short—and Sarah's, as well, since they'd carpooled.

To make a long story a bit shorter, I ended up going off on my own so that I'd be sure to get in my metric before my lovely bride started looking at the clock and worrying (as she is wont to do). I considered going for some extra distance, but by the time I'd finished my seventh lap, I'd had enough of the wind and the racer wannabes and gave that a miss. I ended with 65.5 miles at an average of 16 mph.

Later in the day, I got a call from Bob, who wanted to be sure I'd made out okay finishing on my own.

I don't call him St. Bob for nothing.

He told me that he and Sarah had gotten their 63 miles in, too. After taking care of business at home and having some lunch, they went back out and finished their ride. Bob also had some material to add to the squirrel anecdote:

After he and Sarah finished their last lap and returned to the parking lot, the park maintenance guy who had tried to help Bob with his mechanical problem last week was there. He asked about Bob's bike problem and whether they'd had a good ride, just making conversation. Then, he asked if they'd seen his squirrel, and it turns out that the bold little critter I'd fed isn't just some random rodent. Her name is "Sylvia".

Who knew?

The Bike Gods II: Making Sport of Bob

Two weeks after our less than stellar April Fool's ride, and after taking a weekend off for Easter, Bob, Sarah, and I headed back to White Rock Lake, ready to resume training in earnest. Due to the heavy rains from a couple days before, we wisely decided to drive to the lake and start from there, rather than risk encountering more mudslides on the trail down to the lake. By 7:30 or so, the temperature was still in the 40s, but the Dealers were not to be deterred. We unloaded the bikes, pulled on a couple extra layers of clothing—Bob's lobster gloves are particularly sexy—and hit the road.

As the uncoordinated one in the group, I always try to take off first. That way, if I fall down I'm taking everyone else with me. I'd traveled about a hundred yards from the parking lot when I heard Sarah call out behind me.

"Hey! Where's Bob?"

I didn't know. I thought both he and Sarah were right behind me.

We turned around to find out what was keeping our fearless leader and arrived back at the parking lot to find him fiddling with his bike. One of the cranks swung loosely as he poked at it with the toe of his shoe.

"Geez, I just had it in to the shop to have the chain cleaned!" he said. "Why would they have taken the crank loose?" None of us could think of a rational explanation, except that the bike gods appeared to be having a bit more fun at Bob's expense.

So Bob loaded up the bike and drove back home to pick up his backup bike. Meanwhile, Sarah and I headed out to put a dent in our planned 63 miles. We cranked along at about 15 mph, which is right about the pace we plan to ride during the MS 150. As the morning wore on, it started to warm up, and we stopped after every second lap to peel off layers of clothing and to take care of other necessities.

At a little past the halfway point, Bob finally made it back with his hybrid bike and salvaged (if memory serves) about 28 miles. With Sarah as a riding companion, I rode a more sensible pace than I usually do and was having a really good day. Sarah had more miles on her legs for the week and wasn't feeling as spry, yet when I dropped the hammer about halfway through the last lap to "do the demo",* she jumped too. She claimed she just found a little extra energy left over, but I think she was sandbagging on me.

* This is an expression coined by performance recumbent rider Rich Pinto. When a recumbent takes a wedgie rider to school—drops him like a bad habit—that's "doing the demo". It's usually the result of an overheard remark about recumbents being slow or for old, fat guys with beards and pocket protectors (which, while to a certain extent true, doesn't really tell the whole story).

Later that same day...

...the Wheeler Dealers extended family gathered for team photos and socializing.

The Riders
(Sorry... you'll have to imagine Patrick, who couldn't be with us.)

The Support Crew

Back in the Saddle

After a week of rest and rehabilitation (mostly in the form of vino)...Bob and I hit the road again. A breezy 27 mile tour around Flower Mound, with no major incidents that we encountered on our last ride togehter. Just one buzzard that eyed us pretty closely as we passed his road kill lunch buffet.

Only 24 days until we all torture our butts for 150 miles. Are you ready? I am on my way, I have sworn off all heavy drinking, junk food and have vowed to ride 4 days a week.

Rider #517

I went and picked up my ride packet yesterday, so you can now officially refer to me as #517. Along with my ride numbers, the MS 150 staff handed me a big plastic bag o' swag. Everything you see below: a water bottle, the obligatory ride t-shirt (just about the most attractive one in my ever-growing collection), some kind of lanyard (for when I get my press pass?), a small bottle of Purell hand sanitizer, a terry cloth sweat rag, several discount coupons from local bicycle retailers, an emergency rain poncho, a tube of sunblock lip balm, and a few basic first aid items in a blue plastic case.

The question mark on the orange packet toward the center of the pile is apt, because Cheryl and I were at a loss to positively identify its contents. Some sort of gum, certainly, but just gum? Analgesic gum (which would be cool)? Laxative (which would be not so cool)? Only the NTTA knows for sure, and they didn't leave any clues. Just the enigmatic question mark.

The bag also contained a pretty nice little insulated lunch bag, courtesy of Avonex (which I've learned is an MS therapy drug), but I forgot to put it in the pile and was too lazy to reshoot the picture.

Also missing from the pile are the three Champions of MS bandannas I received. I asked for one blank bandanna, which I plan to have signed by Gerry, Joe, and Barbara—Eileen too, if I meet her—but I guess the staffer heard me say I was riding for three friends and thought I was asking for three bandannas.

So I'm ready to roll. Ride numbers? Check. Bag o' swag? Check. New tires installed on the bike? Check, check. With just shy of 500 miles under my wheels for the year, the legs are feeling pretty good and by May 5 should be ready to go the distance.

The Bike Gods Send Warnings - How Not to Ride

How can good plans go bad??? Today, tested us in ways none of us could have dreamed.

635am - Bob calls Sara - apologizing for the early morning call. Sara wonders - why is he apologizing. I will be there at 645a. Meanwhile, Mike is traveling south to Hillcrest and LBJ. He does not hear the cell phone ring (advising him that Bob and Sara are going to be late. (Oh, what again!!!)

715am - We're off! Sara and Bob are sensing that the air is cold this morning. Mike is warm and toasty in his wind breaker. BRRRRRR!

717am - Look - mud! Retreat, retreat. We back up and use the road not the trail to bypass this pile of mud under the overpass.

724am - Now we've done it. It looks like a lava field without the sharpness or heat. Ok - so it's more mud! Retreat and find an alternate route.

730am - Walking our bikes off the trail and into a shopping center parking look that looks on Forest Lane. We are confident now that we will travel the remaining 5 miles to White Rock using main roads.

731am - Mike yells out - Chain Off - pulling over.

732am - Mike fixes chain and gets ready to ride. OH NOOOOOOO - his front tire passed air. It looks flat only on the bottom.

733-800am - Mike demonstrates the art of changing a flat bicycle tire. Sara and Bob are curious and ask questions. Mike is patient. Mike shows us the proper way to change the tire.

801am - Team Wheeler Dealers make decision to return to base camp at Hillcrest and 635. From this point, we will load up the bikes and drive to White Rock.

835am - As we approach White Rock Lake, Sara notices signs stating there is a Festival at White Rock today. Lots of people, police directing traffic and a marathon, 10k and 5K. Watch Out!

845am - We are riding again! Watch out for all the runners. They are everywhere. Weave, slow down, on your left, on your right, in the middle.

900a - Bob breaks away. Sara and Mike are stuck. Bob's riding fine but Sara and Mike are nowhere to be seen.

910a - Mike and Sara meet up with Bob at Flag Pole Hill. They are a bit perturbed. In unison, they state that they are taking their bikes and calling it a day. They make it clear to Bob that they are not having fun. We agree to meet back at Big Thicket.

912am - Up the hill we go, first Sara, then Mike. Then Mike flies like the wind. Sara follows and Bob can only dream of moving that fast. Sara and Mike are free. They are having fun again. Bob believes that we can ride the remainder of the morning.

930am - Sara is stalked by a very intelligent idiot. He pulls his car behind Sara and then lays on the horn. Startled and shaken, Sara maintains her poise and does not lose control of her bike. Meanwhile, Mister Intelligent Idiot passes her at an unsafe distance and boldly waves to Sara. Sara maintaining her dignity returns the wave with one of her own, fingers that is.

935am - Bob finally arrives at Big Thicket to find Sara in distress. Mike providing verbal comfort. Sara describes her horrible encounter. We arrive at the same conclusion....The Wheeler Dealers are not to ride their bicycles this fine Sunday morning. The bike gods have shown us. We agree to adjourn and head to La Madelaine for coffee and food.

In keeping with the morning, Bob takes the longest way possible to get to La Madelaine. Oh well, the coffee, muffins and omelet helped us all to lick our wounds and feel better about the experience we just shared.