Über Euro Edition: Part I

My cell phone rang yesterday & it showed a 420 area code. I ignored it, looked up the area code & found that 420 is somewhere in Wisconsin. I don’t know anyone in WI anymore. As I’m trying to figure it out my voicemail goes off. It turned out to be my Czech friend Robert calling to tell me that his daughter was born. 420 wasn’t the area code, it was the country code for Czech Republic. Robert followed up the voicemail with an email a few hours later:

My Dear Friends and Colleagues,

I am very happy to let you know that today on June 24th at 6:18 AM was born our second daughter, Eliska Hordossy. She weighs 8.8lb (3.99kg) and she is 20inches (51cm) tall. All is well with all of us.

With Kind Regards,
Robert Hordossy

Robert lived in the U.S. for a few years and we worked and rode together regularly. The guy is a stand up dude, tough as nails, but I fear for the innocent adolescents of his two daughters. He and his wife Jana are building a house in Prague and knowing Robert, they probably built an Eastern Block style gymnasium to raise the girls as Olympic Gymnasts, skiers or even weight lifters. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of Baby Eliska’s first vaccinations is laced with some sort of performance enhancing serum.

By the looks of that tan line, it looks like Robert's been riding a lot. Good man.

I might have to.

If like bikes and you must because you're reading this blog, then the one piece of training advice I can offer is to listen to Jens Voigt's training advice. Yes, I realize that it’s not easy to listen to a German, much less trust one, but Jens is single-handily suffering for the sins of the German people by being the toughest bike racer on earth. Maybe even the toughest human on earth – that’s up for debate. Anyway, listen to what Jens has to say.

This man is Über Tough because he suffers for the sins of your German ancestors.

Okay, I'm all Euroed out already.

Not all death marches turn out to be epic. Some turn out to be just plain stupid.

Take Saturday for example. The plan was for Joey, Jamie, & I to do Raincross and then turn around and head to Huntington Beach where the women and children would be waiting and frolicking in the ocean. I estimated it to be a 90 to 100-miler and that we’d be napping on the beach by noon. Yeah, it was going to be a hot and long ride, but I’d done it before. No big deal.

It occurred to me that it was indeed a big deal during the Raincross portion of the ride. The pace was super fast, there were only 8 of us in the lead group, and 2 of the 8 still had to ride another 50 miles in 100 degree temps to reach our final destination. The smartest thing we did all day was pull the plug at VanBuren, did an about face, and began riding to the beach earlier than planned.

To make a long, hot, and painful story short, we made it, but it wasn’t pretty. None of us ate enough during the ride and the headwind on the Santa Ana River Trail was as bad as I’d ever felt. I had the urge to blow chunks for the last ten miles, but given the wind speed, it would have been messy – both for me and my comrades. On a side note, I’ve always thought it would be hardcore to vomit in the middle of a ride and just keep going about your business as if it never happened.

I used to thrive on death marches, but not this time. On this day, the highlight was not pushing my body to its limit, but getting to play with the family on the beach.

One of our many water stops took place at Featherly Regional Park where they were having a classic auto car show. We looked for my dad, but we didn't see him.

During the Raincross ride Joey's heart rate monitor strap was sending nasty messages to his Garmin at the rate of 195 beats per minute.

Meanwhile at the beach, Ryder got all oiled up to work on his tan.

Destry was going for more of a tradational cyclist's tanline.

We crammed 5 adults, 2 kids, 2 car seats, 3 wheels, 3 helmets, 2 purses, 2 beach bags, an ice chest, & and a bunch of sand toys inside my car for the drive home. Everything else went on the roof. We Jam Econo!

You’d think after a 6 hour day in the saddle and suffering from a bit of dehydration, I’d give it a rest, but I’m not that smart. By 8:30 AM on Sunday morning I was riding up to South Fork with Uncle Greg, Edward, & Norm. Mountain bike rides don’t get much better than that.

I could be wrong, but I think we may have stopped here so Norm could adjust his saddle & seatpost.

We've Got a Bigger Problem Now

Today on the Yahoo Finance Web page, columnist Anya Kamenetz asks, Whose American Dream Is It, Anyway?

This brings up a question I’ve been asking myself for years, back since I was partially brain-washed by the Dead Kennedys and Give Me Convenience or Give Me Death was part of my regular cassette tape rotation. At that time I didn't believe everything that Jello Biafra was telling me just like I don't buy all of what Kamenetz is selling. I do however believe that far too many people in this country (consumers, developers, and politicians) believed that the American Dream could only be lived by residing in the suburbs under the roof of a tract home.

Now look what we have; transportation problems, a fuel crisis, and a sinking housing market. All of it contributing to the failing economy. Sounds more like the American Nightmare.

Now, I’m not complaining about growing up in the suburbs. I’m just saying that we’re beginning to pay the price for the impracticality of the suburb infrastructure model. The Roman Empire crumbled for its faults. Who’s to say ours won’t?

Kamenetz suggests that more people are now opting for “Time, Not Stuff” meaning they’re willing to give up material objects as a trade for working and commuting less - in turn they have more free time. More free time to ride, hike, travel, swim, and relax. This sounds less like the American Dream and more like my own personal dreams.

My Cell Phone Drowned

Other than the Grim Reaper coming for my cell phone yesterday, Father's Day was cool. I was moving some chairs around with phone in hand when it popped out of my hand, bounced off the concrete & then jumped in the pool. I caught it before the thing hit bottom, but it was too late. Turns out mouth to mouth doesn't work on cell phones. I pronounced my black Samsung dead at approximately 2:45 PM on Sunday, June 15. Needless to say, if you've tried to call or text me after then, you now know that I'm not ignoring you. I'm just disconnected from the world.

I talked to Verizon and since I have insurance they'll replace it after I pay a $50 deductable, or I can get any phone I want for $100 off. My main concern is that I've lost all my contacts because I didn't back them up on the Verizon Web site. So, if you're reading this and we're on speaking terms, please e-mail me your phone numbers to mattfreemanrace@yahoo.com Thanks.


Meanwhile, at bike practice...

We all got lectured by an old woman armed with a camera for urinating in public behind some dumpsters. As evidence for the cops she secretly photographed the suspects while they were taking a natural break. Gross. Obviously she is German.


Someone in this group could be going to the slammer for public urination. I wonder if Gloria Allred does pro bono work for cyclists too or if her services are only for females brandishing nipple rings in the airport?


In Riverside we made our usual stop at the Shell station on the corner of University and Iowa. As far as I know the only crimes committed were the price of gas and Chris Hoyt brandishing unshaven legs.


This is not from Saturday's scorching Raincross ride. Josh sent me this via camera phone when he was up in Oregon a couple weeks ago. I wonder what the ride down was like?

Justice, kind of

The U.S. Olympic Committee and the Union Cycliste Internationale recognizes me as a professional bike racer so even on a fat day I tip the scales at 145 pounds. If I travel with a bike, combined weight is still under two bills. Unfortunately, the Federal Aviation Administration and the airlines it governs doesn’t care what my UCI or drivers license says. A bike, bike case, tools, and my body weigh the same as the average American male (do the math & Google it), yet when I travel with a bike I am forced to pay anywhere from $50 to $150 extra, each way.

Very rarely will the attendant at the ticket counter waive the fee, but that’s as often as a customer at McDonald’s passing up the super size option. On the flip side, while checking in for a return flight, one attendant threatened to charge me double for escaping the bike fee on my outgoing flight. I talked her out of it, but silently wished the cow a life of unsuccessful dieting.

Sometimes it would actually be cheaper if I bought two round trip tickets and traveled with my bike in the seat next to me, but the chain rings are considered a deadly weapon so that’s not an option.

Well, guess what? My bike and I are still going to have to pay extra to travel with our steeds, but the scales are about to balance. The fellow passenger over-flowing into your middle seat may finally have to pay extra for his gluttonous lifestyle just like I have to pay extra for my healthy lifestyle.

Read it and weep O captain of the couch.

The fuel crisis and the obesity epidemic are apparently secret lovers.

A Brush with Blum, Part 2: I Fought the Law

I do not condone all of Richard Blum's actions, but I do beleive that his story must be told. The following is the second installment of my 137-part series called A Brush with Blum.

• "My first encounter with the law was when I was 16. My buddy Gary and I had just scored a 12-pack of beer and were headed back to my house because my parents were on vacation. We were one block from my street when a cop red lit us for rolling a stop sign. The cop drug us both out of the car and started grilling Gary about who sold us the beer. I started to slowly back away and then I ran. Since I was in my own neighborhood I was able to go through back yards and over walls to get home, where I hunkered down. About 30 minutes later, Gary shows up with the beer! After I took off running the cop went looking for me and after10 minutes of sitting on the curb he decided to do the same. Man, we got drunk that day.
  
  When I was a little older I was driving around and I noticed a bunch of crows in a lemon grove so I went home and returned with my pellet gun. I was plucking those babies off one by one and they were making a hell of a racket. Suddenly a police car appeared at the other end of the street with his red lights on. The cop was far enough away for me to take off, so I got a good jump on him and was able to make a few turns and get into the alley which took me all the way home where I was once again safe.
  
  A few more years after that I was riding to L.A. in my friend’s 1960 Cadillac to go see WWF wrestling. My friend’s nickname was Batman because his car was flat black with florescent orange bat symbols on the doors. Anyway, we were driving down the 10 freeway when a cop pulls up along side of us. Of course he looked over at us and of course we were chugging beers so he points at us to pull over. Just then the freeway splits and we go one way and he goes the other. We quickly got off on the next exit and took surface streets to the L.A. Sports Arena safe and sound.
  
  Running from the cops is generally a bad idea and it seems people get caught every time but I’m 3 for 3 in getting away." - Blum

This has been part 2 of my 137-part series called A Brush with Blum. For Part 1, see Wednesday, May 7.

No stunt men or body doubles here. Blum played himself in the 1984 punk rock documentary, Another State of Mind.

Help me understand

Live bands at small venues play too loud: Last Saturday there was a live band at the ribbon cutting ceremony of the Hanger 24 Brewery. Even though I saw a lot of people I know, I couldn’t hear much of what they had to say because the sound was too loud and the band played non-stop. I wanted to buy one of the $38 growlers just so I could use it to smash one of the amplifiers. But that would be a waste of beer.

People with Jesus stickers on their vehicles are bad and often agro drivers: Today I turned west on to 5th Street well before other westbound traffic, yet when the car behind me caught up it tailgated me until the road widened to 2 lanes. Then he passed and drove by the Mormon temple and Moore Middle School at 20 over. The last thing I saw was his middle finger and a Jesus sticker on the back of his minivan. He was coming from Yucaipa. Go figure. He’s lucky I had Ryder in the car with me; otherwise it would have been minivan versus minivan.

The checkout lines at Stater Bros are long: There must be something about their IT system that only allows 3 cash registers to function at once even though most Stater Bros have at least 8 registers. I know this because as I wait in line, Ryder likes to count the checkout stands over and over again. He’d probably know how to count to 50 by now if he’d count all the people waiting in line.

You can still have a good race when you’re sick: On Memorial Day I started coming down with a cold so by Thursday I had pretty much written off Sunday’s state race up in Big Bear. I decided I’d show anyway, but wasn’t expecting much. As it turns out I managed a third place behind Manny Prado and Chuck Jenkins. Not bad podium company. I sneezed on Chuck.

In the absense of podium girls, I decided to show off a little midriff of my own.