Post by allegra on Apr 28, 2007 9:15:10 GMT 8
The Rime of the Ancient Cyclist - Part II: Mr Know-it-all don't know jack
By Greg Moody
This report filed April 27, 2007
I felt like Bullwinkle J. Moose just after he had pulled his Mr. Know-It-All act and Rocky had made him look like an idiot.
I am that idiot.
I got signed up for a medical bike fit at the Boulder Center for Sports Medicine the other day, part of my preps for Ride the Rockies this summer. I wanted to be ready. I wanted to make sure the bike was ready for me.
Andy Pruitt, Ed.D, an internationally known expert in bike fit and cycling physiology, looked me over to try and determine a physical baseline for how I felt and why I felt the way I did on the bike. An X-ray from Boulder Community Hospital told him a lot. My spine looks like a chicane in a Formula One race and my vertebrae look like a pile of drunken Jenga blocks.
Oh, joy. I can hear my mother now.
"It's all that TV he watches! I always told him it would ruin his eyes, or his spine, or something important!"
Then, we went into the bike fit itself -- and I got the surprise of my cycling life.
Now, I've been riding seriously for about twenty five years. I've had three bikes in that time. Two 49 cm, one 51. The shops set them up for me and then I tinkered with them along the way to make them slicker, faster and sleeker.
The one thing I never did -- was make them comfortable.
Andy Pruitt took one look and said, in the way that only Andy Pruitt can say something, "You deserve every bit of your aching back, hip and knee."
The bike was not only set up completely wrong, but the bike itself, the new bike, the bike I had bought after saving up for a year, was completely wrong.
Completely. As in totally. As in "We don't know if we can save this bike."
Heavens to Murgatroyd.
But they tried to make it work, oh, how they tried.
I was fitted with infra-red sensors, then, pedaled to show my "form" (hahahahaha) on a computer screen. They analyzed the results and started major bicycle surgery. The stem got shortened. The angle on the stem got raised. My saddle moved down and forward. My pedals moved out.
It wasn't a complete fix. They took the bike (as is) to the edge of what they could do with it.
Now, if I want to keep using it, I need a new tri-ring crank, a new bottom bracket, new shoes, new pedals and a new stem. With labor, about $500 bucks worth of fun.
"But, Greg," you ask, "why didn't the bike shop notice this when they sold you the bike?"
And that would be a good question.
A better question would be: Hey, Moody! Why didn't you ask some questions instead of pointing at a bike and a price and saying "Me want that!"
Questions like:
Do you have a road bike that would be good for both general riding and Ride the Rockies?
Do you have a frame that will fit someone with my build?
Do you have a bike that will be comfortable (and fast) for an old dude like me?
Do you have a bike in my price range that has the shifters I want and enough gearing to get me up a mountain pass?
Do you have the bike for me?
I didn't ask any of those questions. And because I didn't ask any of those questions, I'm out in the cold.
They sold me the bike. But I bought it.
Mr. Know It All was not a good consumer.
And now I'm paying the price -- not only in terms of dollars spent (and still needed to be spent), but also in terms of aches, pains, pulls and sprains.
Even the professionals will tell you: in the end, comfort, as well as speed, is the name of the game.
Know the questions. Get the answers. Then -- plunk down the cash.
You'll be a much happier rider.
Three weeks later and the adventure continues
A few weeks ago I visited Dr. Andy Pruitt at the Boulder Center for Sports Medicine and I learned the fact that my bike -- my new bike -- did not fit my oddly shaped body. That was too bad, because, as I said, it was a new bike -- I thought it fit me -- and it cost me the entire bike fund I had been saving for the past year.
I thought that maybe I could just ignore the fit and ride it (short-haul, anyway), but then Ride the Rockies came along and my back was giving my entire left side fits and I finally knew 'something just ain't right here.'
And it wasn't. So, with that in mind, I determined to follow Dr. Pruitt's advice and do the fit correctly this time.
I packed up my ancient Diadoras and hied me hence to Wheat Ridge Cyclery.
The ever expanding store on W. 38th (near Wadsworth) has been a favorite stop for years, but I hadn't been there in quite some time. The place was unrecognizable.
It's huge. There are bikes and equipment and tools and storage everywhere. If they're not the biggest bike dogs in town, they certainly have the nicest dog house.
I tied up with Fred Nolting, the lead fitter at WRC and explained my problems. Yes, if you've been following my adventures, I'm sure you're surprised, but I actually did take the time to explain my problems and what I needed in a new set of wheels. I did not, I can assure you, just point at a pretty color and say "me like, buy now."
(Patience in major buying decisions has never been my strong suit. Ask me sometime about the Kharmann Ghia.)
Anyway, I told Fred that I needed a bike that could handle Ride the Rockies, could be ridden for long periods of time and would remain comfortable throughout. In the end, that was the most important thing: I wanted it to be comfortable on my back, my knees and my wallet.
Fred nodded and we started the process. He took my numbers from Dr. Pruitt and, using those as a baseline, measured my flexibility. Then, we began the fit process.
First, we reworked my shoes. The Diadoras, god bless 'em for the past 20 years, finally had to go to that great place of honor in the sky. The game had changed. I needed new kicks. Dr. Pruitt had recommended Specialized Body Geometry MTB shoes for the road. We found a pair in my size and price range, added SPD cleats and went over to the Serotta Size Cycle, a Rubik's Cube of a bike that could be adjusted in any one of a hundred different ways.
We worked the seat. We worked angles. The stem. The stretch. The drop. The cranks. The stance.
We worked the way that I hold the handlebars. My grip (Kung-Fu Death Grip as learned from G.I. Joe) ran right along the major nerve bundle in my palm. No wonder I've spent most of my rides wondering if I'd ever get feeling back in my right hand. A slight adjustment to hand placement -- and the numbness went away.
We tinkered. We puttered. We argued. It worked.
And, yet, with all the adjustments, adjustments across the bike, we discovered that my right knee still splays out a bit too far, though the left has come in nicely. Some spacers on that pedal might smooth that out -- or -- I might just be a clumsy rider that no one can completely save.
When Nolting finally got the bike where he wanted it, we began a computer program to measure both the total power output and the output on each individual pedal. The numbers actually matched.
Even more pleasantly, I was riding smoothly, with power.
And -- while I rode, for the first time in years, I felt comfortable.
Which is, in the end, the name of the game.
I'm riding Ride the Rockies, for heaven's sake, not L'Alpe du Huez.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
With numbers in hand, it became time to check out bikes.
I rode a Serotta Fierte and a Specialized Roubaix. Both were beautiful rides. Both fit. I was, quite frankly, shocked at what you can discover when you take the time to actually move through the fitting process with people who know how to do it and do it right.
Still --
It was the Serotta MeiVici that I truly wanted to ride home. Beautiful to look at. Light as a feather. It was like riding liquid lightning.
It carried the most sensational lines and Campagnolo Record all the way around.
Top of the line.
My gosh.
And only $13,000.
Yes, operator. That's right -- only thirteen THOUSAND dollars.
Oh, well. A boy can dream.
And three weeks later - the adventure still continued
I still haven't decided what bike I'm going to be riding for Ride the Rockies.
I should probably get around to that decision, as we're now a mere three months away from the word "Go!"
I'm working with a couple of different bikes, and have gotten great fit work and advice from Andy Wardrip at Bicycle Village and Fred Nolting from Wheat Ridge Cyclery and the Boulder Center for Sports Medicine and the gang at MOB Cyclery, but the final decision on what to ride is still up in the air. Up there with my imaginary bank account.
But I am training.
And I am learning. I'm learning about pedal stroke and cadence and saddle position and sizing and watts and heart rate and the fact that spinning ain't riding outside no matter how you try to make it so.
I've also made a very disturbing discovery in the midst of all this pedaling:
I've discovered, riding various, marvelous, beautifully built and complex machines, that I'm not quite sure I know how to ride a bike.
Yep. A lifetime of bike riding and I'm not sure I know how to do it. At least competently.
You see, I'm used to fighting with my bikes. The cast-iron, fat tire, one gear, coaster brake classics of my youth. The old chrome-moly frame with friction shifting that got me back into the game. The over-sized early version lugged carbon fiber with index shifting (and a reach that made me look like I was sleeping on the top tube). The heavy as a moose mountain bike that I used as a commuter for years. (Yes, that was the muddy one that was occasionally parked in the lobby of the Buell Theatre in downtown Denver.)
I'm used to shifting back and forth, front and back, here and there in a vain attempt to find a comfortable spot on the saddle. I've raised the seat. I've lowered the seat. I've changed the seat. I've gone leather, gel, comfort, extra comfort, fatty-fatty-two-by-four in saddles, all in search of the perfect one.
I've fought with gears, gear ratios, bottom brackets, cranks, pedals, shifters, derailleurs, brakes, headsets, handlebars, tires, thorns, rims, spokes and that delightful line of mud that creeps up your back on a rainy day. I've dealt with control (and lack of same), power (and lack of same), ankling (and ... you get the idea) and the cleat from hell that won't release from the pedal so that you fall sideways into the intersection. (Have you ever seen a speeding SUV from the underside? It's quite the view.)
I've spent a lifetime ready for everything. Anything. All of it. Mostly bad.
But now, to ride quality bikes that have actually been pulled and tweaked and measured and changed to fit my oddly shaped little body, I'm facing a whole new challenge. The bikes ride smoothly. They respond without a battle atop the pedals. My back doesn't hurt. My hip doesn't hurt. My knee doesn't hurt. (My butt still does, but that's the never ending story).
I have no more excuses.
I'll actually have to do this now.
And learn to do it well.
I'm going to ride the miles.
And learn to ride my bike.
And three weeks after that - the adventure finally resolves itself
Have I kept you in suspense long enough?
Did you really even care?
I finally got a bike. It all came down to two, both sized and fit to within a millimeter of my bum, but in the end, I went with the Specialized for Ride the Rockies.
It's a Specialized Roubaix, 49cm, the model suggested months ago (when all this nonsense started) by Dr. Andy Pruitt. It's got Shimano Ultegra all around, a triple chain ring, Specialized Milano Body Geometry saddle, Shimano rims, Specialized Pro tyres, Shimano and SPD pedals. The Diadoras, god bless ‘em, have been replaced by Specialized Body Geometry "walkable" shoes.
It's got the comfort geometry that Pruitt said I needed, plush without being fat, and, a carbon frame that gives me weight savings (which I then waste on my belly) and a ride that is responsive without being too 'whippy.'
So far, I've been getting in about five hours a week on the bike. That jumps to this week this week, with an expansion to commuting to and from work as soon as I can trust the weather. (Which around here means never.)
Actually, I think the commuting should start this week, perhaps as early as Wednesday. That should add anywhere from 12 to 30 miles a day, depending on the route traveled and the point I'm at in my base training.
That base training, in fact, has been going fairly well. I've been able to get my heart rate up to the top of zone two without killing myself and then hold it there, with some peaks and valleys, for an hour at a time.
I sweat like a Missouri day in August, but it's getting me where I have to go -- and that is -- to the spot in training that will allow me to Ride the Rockies without embarrassing myself too terribly or leaving breakfast by the side of the road.
That's the goal.
Essentially, it's survival.
It's a point where I can say on Day One: Goodbye, Frisco -- see you in a week.
And say, a mere 422 miles later: Hello, Frisco, Hello.
That's what I'm talking 'bout.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Who the @#$% is Greg Moody and why should I care?
Television super-star Greg Moody is a long-time friend of those of us at VeloNews. In his day job, Moody holds the admittedly vague title of "Critic-at-Large" for Denver's CBS4, but he launched his spectacularly successful career as an internationally renowned mystery writer right here with us. Moody penned (hunt-and-pecked?) five novels "Two Wheels," "Perfect Circles," "Derailleur," "Deadroll," and "Dead Air," all published by VeloPress in the United States and Germany. As one critic noted "He's as big in Germany as David Hasselhoff and that guy Screech from 'Saved by the Bell.'" (Okay, okay, so Moody was the critic who noted that, but it's still a good line. - Editor)
As for Moody's roots, those remain a mystery. His employer notes that "Critic at Large Greg Moody was born in a Washington D.C. cloakroom in 1897. He is the second son of United States Senator Benjamin Hapnik Moody (Whig-Michigan) and the Contessa de Mal de Mer, late of the small Baltic country of Castoria. His parents are lovely people who have spent their lives building impressive careers and solid reputations in the community and thus hope that you forget the previous paragraph, or, at the very least, not blame them for foisting their son upon you."
We, however, are quite pleased to foist Moody upon our readers and look forward to documenting the meteoric progress of the Ancient Cyclist.
By Greg Moody
This report filed April 27, 2007
I felt like Bullwinkle J. Moose just after he had pulled his Mr. Know-It-All act and Rocky had made him look like an idiot.
I am that idiot.
I got signed up for a medical bike fit at the Boulder Center for Sports Medicine the other day, part of my preps for Ride the Rockies this summer. I wanted to be ready. I wanted to make sure the bike was ready for me.
Andy Pruitt, Ed.D, an internationally known expert in bike fit and cycling physiology, looked me over to try and determine a physical baseline for how I felt and why I felt the way I did on the bike. An X-ray from Boulder Community Hospital told him a lot. My spine looks like a chicane in a Formula One race and my vertebrae look like a pile of drunken Jenga blocks.
Oh, joy. I can hear my mother now.
"It's all that TV he watches! I always told him it would ruin his eyes, or his spine, or something important!"
Then, we went into the bike fit itself -- and I got the surprise of my cycling life.
Now, I've been riding seriously for about twenty five years. I've had three bikes in that time. Two 49 cm, one 51. The shops set them up for me and then I tinkered with them along the way to make them slicker, faster and sleeker.
The one thing I never did -- was make them comfortable.
Andy Pruitt took one look and said, in the way that only Andy Pruitt can say something, "You deserve every bit of your aching back, hip and knee."
The bike was not only set up completely wrong, but the bike itself, the new bike, the bike I had bought after saving up for a year, was completely wrong.
Completely. As in totally. As in "We don't know if we can save this bike."
Heavens to Murgatroyd.
But they tried to make it work, oh, how they tried.
I was fitted with infra-red sensors, then, pedaled to show my "form" (hahahahaha) on a computer screen. They analyzed the results and started major bicycle surgery. The stem got shortened. The angle on the stem got raised. My saddle moved down and forward. My pedals moved out.
It wasn't a complete fix. They took the bike (as is) to the edge of what they could do with it.
Now, if I want to keep using it, I need a new tri-ring crank, a new bottom bracket, new shoes, new pedals and a new stem. With labor, about $500 bucks worth of fun.
"But, Greg," you ask, "why didn't the bike shop notice this when they sold you the bike?"
And that would be a good question.
A better question would be: Hey, Moody! Why didn't you ask some questions instead of pointing at a bike and a price and saying "Me want that!"
Questions like:
Do you have a road bike that would be good for both general riding and Ride the Rockies?
Do you have a frame that will fit someone with my build?
Do you have a bike that will be comfortable (and fast) for an old dude like me?
Do you have a bike in my price range that has the shifters I want and enough gearing to get me up a mountain pass?
Do you have the bike for me?
I didn't ask any of those questions. And because I didn't ask any of those questions, I'm out in the cold.
They sold me the bike. But I bought it.
Mr. Know It All was not a good consumer.
And now I'm paying the price -- not only in terms of dollars spent (and still needed to be spent), but also in terms of aches, pains, pulls and sprains.
Even the professionals will tell you: in the end, comfort, as well as speed, is the name of the game.
Know the questions. Get the answers. Then -- plunk down the cash.
You'll be a much happier rider.
Three weeks later and the adventure continues
A few weeks ago I visited Dr. Andy Pruitt at the Boulder Center for Sports Medicine and I learned the fact that my bike -- my new bike -- did not fit my oddly shaped body. That was too bad, because, as I said, it was a new bike -- I thought it fit me -- and it cost me the entire bike fund I had been saving for the past year.
I thought that maybe I could just ignore the fit and ride it (short-haul, anyway), but then Ride the Rockies came along and my back was giving my entire left side fits and I finally knew 'something just ain't right here.'
And it wasn't. So, with that in mind, I determined to follow Dr. Pruitt's advice and do the fit correctly this time.
I packed up my ancient Diadoras and hied me hence to Wheat Ridge Cyclery.
The ever expanding store on W. 38th (near Wadsworth) has been a favorite stop for years, but I hadn't been there in quite some time. The place was unrecognizable.
It's huge. There are bikes and equipment and tools and storage everywhere. If they're not the biggest bike dogs in town, they certainly have the nicest dog house.
I tied up with Fred Nolting, the lead fitter at WRC and explained my problems. Yes, if you've been following my adventures, I'm sure you're surprised, but I actually did take the time to explain my problems and what I needed in a new set of wheels. I did not, I can assure you, just point at a pretty color and say "me like, buy now."
(Patience in major buying decisions has never been my strong suit. Ask me sometime about the Kharmann Ghia.)
Anyway, I told Fred that I needed a bike that could handle Ride the Rockies, could be ridden for long periods of time and would remain comfortable throughout. In the end, that was the most important thing: I wanted it to be comfortable on my back, my knees and my wallet.
Fred nodded and we started the process. He took my numbers from Dr. Pruitt and, using those as a baseline, measured my flexibility. Then, we began the fit process.
First, we reworked my shoes. The Diadoras, god bless 'em for the past 20 years, finally had to go to that great place of honor in the sky. The game had changed. I needed new kicks. Dr. Pruitt had recommended Specialized Body Geometry MTB shoes for the road. We found a pair in my size and price range, added SPD cleats and went over to the Serotta Size Cycle, a Rubik's Cube of a bike that could be adjusted in any one of a hundred different ways.
We worked the seat. We worked angles. The stem. The stretch. The drop. The cranks. The stance.
We worked the way that I hold the handlebars. My grip (Kung-Fu Death Grip as learned from G.I. Joe) ran right along the major nerve bundle in my palm. No wonder I've spent most of my rides wondering if I'd ever get feeling back in my right hand. A slight adjustment to hand placement -- and the numbness went away.
We tinkered. We puttered. We argued. It worked.
And, yet, with all the adjustments, adjustments across the bike, we discovered that my right knee still splays out a bit too far, though the left has come in nicely. Some spacers on that pedal might smooth that out -- or -- I might just be a clumsy rider that no one can completely save.
When Nolting finally got the bike where he wanted it, we began a computer program to measure both the total power output and the output on each individual pedal. The numbers actually matched.
Even more pleasantly, I was riding smoothly, with power.
And -- while I rode, for the first time in years, I felt comfortable.
Which is, in the end, the name of the game.
I'm riding Ride the Rockies, for heaven's sake, not L'Alpe du Huez.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
With numbers in hand, it became time to check out bikes.
I rode a Serotta Fierte and a Specialized Roubaix. Both were beautiful rides. Both fit. I was, quite frankly, shocked at what you can discover when you take the time to actually move through the fitting process with people who know how to do it and do it right.
Still --
It was the Serotta MeiVici that I truly wanted to ride home. Beautiful to look at. Light as a feather. It was like riding liquid lightning.
It carried the most sensational lines and Campagnolo Record all the way around.
Top of the line.
My gosh.
And only $13,000.
Yes, operator. That's right -- only thirteen THOUSAND dollars.
Oh, well. A boy can dream.
And three weeks later - the adventure still continued
I still haven't decided what bike I'm going to be riding for Ride the Rockies.
I should probably get around to that decision, as we're now a mere three months away from the word "Go!"
I'm working with a couple of different bikes, and have gotten great fit work and advice from Andy Wardrip at Bicycle Village and Fred Nolting from Wheat Ridge Cyclery and the Boulder Center for Sports Medicine and the gang at MOB Cyclery, but the final decision on what to ride is still up in the air. Up there with my imaginary bank account.
But I am training.
And I am learning. I'm learning about pedal stroke and cadence and saddle position and sizing and watts and heart rate and the fact that spinning ain't riding outside no matter how you try to make it so.
I've also made a very disturbing discovery in the midst of all this pedaling:
I've discovered, riding various, marvelous, beautifully built and complex machines, that I'm not quite sure I know how to ride a bike.
Yep. A lifetime of bike riding and I'm not sure I know how to do it. At least competently.
You see, I'm used to fighting with my bikes. The cast-iron, fat tire, one gear, coaster brake classics of my youth. The old chrome-moly frame with friction shifting that got me back into the game. The over-sized early version lugged carbon fiber with index shifting (and a reach that made me look like I was sleeping on the top tube). The heavy as a moose mountain bike that I used as a commuter for years. (Yes, that was the muddy one that was occasionally parked in the lobby of the Buell Theatre in downtown Denver.)
I'm used to shifting back and forth, front and back, here and there in a vain attempt to find a comfortable spot on the saddle. I've raised the seat. I've lowered the seat. I've changed the seat. I've gone leather, gel, comfort, extra comfort, fatty-fatty-two-by-four in saddles, all in search of the perfect one.
I've fought with gears, gear ratios, bottom brackets, cranks, pedals, shifters, derailleurs, brakes, headsets, handlebars, tires, thorns, rims, spokes and that delightful line of mud that creeps up your back on a rainy day. I've dealt with control (and lack of same), power (and lack of same), ankling (and ... you get the idea) and the cleat from hell that won't release from the pedal so that you fall sideways into the intersection. (Have you ever seen a speeding SUV from the underside? It's quite the view.)
I've spent a lifetime ready for everything. Anything. All of it. Mostly bad.
But now, to ride quality bikes that have actually been pulled and tweaked and measured and changed to fit my oddly shaped little body, I'm facing a whole new challenge. The bikes ride smoothly. They respond without a battle atop the pedals. My back doesn't hurt. My hip doesn't hurt. My knee doesn't hurt. (My butt still does, but that's the never ending story).
I have no more excuses.
I'll actually have to do this now.
And learn to do it well.
I'm going to ride the miles.
And learn to ride my bike.
And three weeks after that - the adventure finally resolves itself
Have I kept you in suspense long enough?
Did you really even care?
I finally got a bike. It all came down to two, both sized and fit to within a millimeter of my bum, but in the end, I went with the Specialized for Ride the Rockies.
It's a Specialized Roubaix, 49cm, the model suggested months ago (when all this nonsense started) by Dr. Andy Pruitt. It's got Shimano Ultegra all around, a triple chain ring, Specialized Milano Body Geometry saddle, Shimano rims, Specialized Pro tyres, Shimano and SPD pedals. The Diadoras, god bless ‘em, have been replaced by Specialized Body Geometry "walkable" shoes.
It's got the comfort geometry that Pruitt said I needed, plush without being fat, and, a carbon frame that gives me weight savings (which I then waste on my belly) and a ride that is responsive without being too 'whippy.'
So far, I've been getting in about five hours a week on the bike. That jumps to this week this week, with an expansion to commuting to and from work as soon as I can trust the weather. (Which around here means never.)
Actually, I think the commuting should start this week, perhaps as early as Wednesday. That should add anywhere from 12 to 30 miles a day, depending on the route traveled and the point I'm at in my base training.
That base training, in fact, has been going fairly well. I've been able to get my heart rate up to the top of zone two without killing myself and then hold it there, with some peaks and valleys, for an hour at a time.
I sweat like a Missouri day in August, but it's getting me where I have to go -- and that is -- to the spot in training that will allow me to Ride the Rockies without embarrassing myself too terribly or leaving breakfast by the side of the road.
That's the goal.
Essentially, it's survival.
It's a point where I can say on Day One: Goodbye, Frisco -- see you in a week.
And say, a mere 422 miles later: Hello, Frisco, Hello.
That's what I'm talking 'bout.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Who the @#$% is Greg Moody and why should I care?
Television super-star Greg Moody is a long-time friend of those of us at VeloNews. In his day job, Moody holds the admittedly vague title of "Critic-at-Large" for Denver's CBS4, but he launched his spectacularly successful career as an internationally renowned mystery writer right here with us. Moody penned (hunt-and-pecked?) five novels "Two Wheels," "Perfect Circles," "Derailleur," "Deadroll," and "Dead Air," all published by VeloPress in the United States and Germany. As one critic noted "He's as big in Germany as David Hasselhoff and that guy Screech from 'Saved by the Bell.'" (Okay, okay, so Moody was the critic who noted that, but it's still a good line. - Editor)
As for Moody's roots, those remain a mystery. His employer notes that "Critic at Large Greg Moody was born in a Washington D.C. cloakroom in 1897. He is the second son of United States Senator Benjamin Hapnik Moody (Whig-Michigan) and the Contessa de Mal de Mer, late of the small Baltic country of Castoria. His parents are lovely people who have spent their lives building impressive careers and solid reputations in the community and thus hope that you forget the previous paragraph, or, at the very least, not blame them for foisting their son upon you."
We, however, are quite pleased to foist Moody upon our readers and look forward to documenting the meteoric progress of the Ancient Cyclist.