Today, April 28th, is the 20th anniversary of The Soiled Chamois. We all know it should have ended long ago, along with nearly every other bike blog from the early 2000’s. But, as they say, here we are.
Much has changed along the way, for better and for worse, but for some unknown reason, I keep hitting the publish button. For that you have my apologies.
I like to think the way I write has got better over the years, along with my perspective on things like bike racing, bikes, photography, and life in general.
The bulk of the bike-oriented blogging was done from 2005 to 2013 and on Google’s Blogger platform, and sadly, when I look back from time to time, I can’t say I enjoy reading it; that’s why it remains offline these days.
There’s a saying out there amongst office-working types; “This meeting could have been an email.” Well, I think it goes without saying the bulk of my posts over the past 20 years could have been a Facebook post or, better yet, maybe just not posted at all.
However, I am a creature of habit, and this digital fish wrap helps me bring my favorite hobbies together, share some words, and have an outlet for the creative part of my brain that I don’t know how to shut down. (I imagine more stuff before 7 AM than most people do all day!!)
At best, I hope my blog can inspire you to get outside or maybe laugh. And at worst, you find me an insufferable prick that can go fuck himself.
The blog post below was the first “real” post I did as The Soiled Chamois. I don’t have any photos from the ride, but I included one of me and a 15-month-old B-Man taken a week or two after that first post. The pic is just before the start of my first race of the 2005 season (The Revenge of The Rattlesnake XCM in West Virginia). B looks less than thrilled to be on the start line, and 33-year-old me looks emaciated compared to 53-year-old me!
I don’t think I have another 20 years of this shit show in me, but until my hosting plan runs out, I’ll be here.
Later.
First official post: April 28th, 2005:
Wednesday’s Road Ride Recap
On Wednesday, I was given the afternoon off by my boss to make up for the fact that I completed a large, stressful project last week and was working with an infamous doofus of a sales rep. So, as soon as I finished up, I drove out to my Dad’s house, about 35 minutes from my office, to do a road ride on the seemingly endless low-traffic roads.
My goal was 4 hours in the saddle. For late April, it was a chilly 55˚ and partly cloudy, but the forecast was for rain, so I took my new rain jacket along with me. Along with plenty of water, I also took along my special mix of Hammer Perpetuem and Hammer Gel for fuel.
During the ride, I found some new farm roads as well as some new White Trash Roads (They’re not exactly farm roads but are WAY out in the middle of nowhere and are real cars on blocks/couches on the porch/rabid dog tied to tree/muddy faced baby wearing nothing but a dirty diaper sort of roads). It was nice to get on some new-to-me roads regardless of the views or lack thereof.
About 2:45 into the ride, the wind kicked up, and it started pissing down raining sideways. So, I pulled off to put on the rain jacket, made sure my blinky light was on, threw a wiz, and got moving.
The temps seemed to drop about 20 degrees, and my hands got so numb I could barely feel my levers to shift or brake. Not to mention, without a fender, the water was rooster tailing right up the chamois like a cold water enema.
The suffering was good for me; it’s not always gonna be sunny and 70˚ on race day, BUT I also didn’t want to get sick with my first race of the season just 2 weeks away. So, at 3:20 into the ride, I aborted. I fell short of my 4-hour goal. However, I suffered a bit and got over 55 miles in, so it was all good.
When I rolled into my Dad’s, I went straight upstairs and took a hot 20-minute shower (sorry about that water bill, Dad!), and then headed for home.
Me and B. He graduates college on Friday!
When I got back to our house, the sun was out, and it had never even rained there. Wifey was out slinging law knowledge, and the B-Man was at my in-laws, so I washed the road grime off my bike, cut the grass, made dinner, and did 3 loads of laundry. Does this count as cross-training? [Note from my future self: I should have seen my domestic destiny coming with that last statement! Oh well, I was ready!]
Thursday will see me violating IMBA trail rules and, riding the Salsa on some muddy singletrack and dodging raindrops—again!
Later.