We had yet another Sunday among the drifts, as Andrew, Chuck, and Dave turned out at Highland College. This winter, any day you can get out on your bike is a special day. So the three amigos headed west up Saben Church Road on a favorite 30 mile loop
At points along the route, Andrew managed to snap a few photos to commemorate the ride.
This winter, we've been doing more drinking than riding. Our Thursday afternoons have been spent at local watering holes as we bemoan the continuing cold and snowy weather. Thankfully the Guinness at the Fieldstone and Eilerts has brightened our spirits.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
Team Freeport Attacks Tour of California
Led by our own Bill Leibman, Team Freeport went on the attack at the opening of the opening of the Tour of California.
Bill's son Chris lives in Palo Alto, which hosted the prologue this year. He managed to get his father and brother, Adam, into a charity event that ran just prior to the real race featuring the top US and European racing teams.
Rumor has it that Austana and Slipstream riders were distinctly agitated when they saw the Leibman boys go off the start. No professional wants to be upstaged by proletariats.
Click on the link below for news coverage of the prologue before the prologue. Team Freeport is about 10 minutes into the video clip and you can skip to that point once it loads – make sure your sound is on.
http://cbs5.com/video/?id=31332@kpix.dayport.com
Bill's son Chris lives in Palo Alto, which hosted the prologue this year. He managed to get his father and brother, Adam, into a charity event that ran just prior to the real race featuring the top US and European racing teams.
Rumor has it that Austana and Slipstream riders were distinctly agitated when they saw the Leibman boys go off the start. No professional wants to be upstaged by proletariats.
Click on the link below for news coverage of the prologue before the prologue. Team Freeport is about 10 minutes into the video clip and you can skip to that point once it loads – make sure your sound is on.
http://cbs5.com/video/?id=31332@kpix.dayport.com
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Sloppy Super Sunday
Today is Super Bowl Sunday, and for extra February fun, we planned a bicycle ride. After all, we had a new fender to try out, and the weatherman promised a sunny Sunday.
The weatherman turned on us, but we had our fender and the fresh air beckoned, so off we went to meet whomever at Highland College. That turned out to be none other than Andrew Soria, our intrepid cycling commuter. I was delighted to have Andrew’s company and not at all surprised to see him turn out on a day like today.
We headed west on Pearl City Road and angled down through Owl’s Glen to Loran Road. Though it was 25 degrees, the tailwind made for a very comfortable ride. Andrew is always one for good conversation, and he’ll ride any pace you please.
We followed Loran past Route 73 west up to Lott Road then turned south. Now the hills and wind made their presence felt. Turning back east on Saben Church Road, Andrew was ready to don his balaclava. Unfortunately my soft little Smartwool was home, but I had plastered my puss with olive oil testing an old Italian secret on cold weather skin protection.
Cycling alone in weather like this is a real pain and a bit foolish. Andrew and I switched off the front making a lousy situation tolerable. Our buddy system confirmed that any day riding outdoors beats riding inside on a trainer. Even spin class took a back seat to winter riding on this sloppy Super Bowl Sunday.
Thanks for the companionship, Andrew.
The weatherman turned on us, but we had our fender and the fresh air beckoned, so off we went to meet whomever at Highland College. That turned out to be none other than Andrew Soria, our intrepid cycling commuter. I was delighted to have Andrew’s company and not at all surprised to see him turn out on a day like today.
We headed west on Pearl City Road and angled down through Owl’s Glen to Loran Road. Though it was 25 degrees, the tailwind made for a very comfortable ride. Andrew is always one for good conversation, and he’ll ride any pace you please.
We followed Loran past Route 73 west up to Lott Road then turned south. Now the hills and wind made their presence felt. Turning back east on Saben Church Road, Andrew was ready to don his balaclava. Unfortunately my soft little Smartwool was home, but I had plastered my puss with olive oil testing an old Italian secret on cold weather skin protection.
Cycling alone in weather like this is a real pain and a bit foolish. Andrew and I switched off the front making a lousy situation tolerable. Our buddy system confirmed that any day riding outdoors beats riding inside on a trainer. Even spin class took a back seat to winter riding on this sloppy Super Bowl Sunday.
Thanks for the companionship, Andrew.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Jillyphant's Winter Woes
We all have our woes in winter and especially when we are laid up with a cold or an ailment when we could be out in the winter sunshine on our bicycles. Here's a tale of winter woe from our own ChainLinkCyclists club president, Jill Whiting. Given the lousy road conditions of late, this is probably the best time to be off the bike.
"I am injured right now and so depressed. How did I get injured?? Would like to come up w/ a better story (climbing Nepal, on a polar bear expedition, even cleaning the bathroom) …but the real story – sitting in a car (for waaaay too long!) . I am ALWAYS telling KB my body has a tough time in a car – now I am really gonna be adamant about car rides. Started with a big bump on the back of my knee (I diagnosed myself (how’s that for scary!) with a bakers cyst….but then my whole knee blew up….now it’s my calf – elephant leg! And I’m getting a “cankle”! Sooooo painful. The doc checked that it wasn’t a blood clot (wasn’t) – but then just blew me off. So I called to go back (tomorrow 9:45 am) and I’m going to be much more aggressive. I’m hiking Grand Canyon in 3 months. I need my leg back!
Oh well, thanks for letting me whine (like you had a choice!)"
~ Jillyphant
"I am injured right now and so depressed. How did I get injured?? Would like to come up w/ a better story (climbing Nepal, on a polar bear expedition, even cleaning the bathroom) …but the real story – sitting in a car (for waaaay too long!) . I am ALWAYS telling KB my body has a tough time in a car – now I am really gonna be adamant about car rides. Started with a big bump on the back of my knee (I diagnosed myself (how’s that for scary!) with a bakers cyst….but then my whole knee blew up….now it’s my calf – elephant leg! And I’m getting a “cankle”! Sooooo painful. The doc checked that it wasn’t a blood clot (wasn’t) – but then just blew me off. So I called to go back (tomorrow 9:45 am) and I’m going to be much more aggressive. I’m hiking Grand Canyon in 3 months. I need my leg back!
Oh well, thanks for letting me whine (like you had a choice!)"
~ Jillyphant
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Across the Top and Into the Past
In May of this year, I received an email from Elizabeth Taylor. This was astonishing.
But another glance at the subject line read “Conference Point Camp Reunion,” and Beth Taylor threw open a door in the heart of my adolescence.
I fired back the usual “Wow!” and “What’s happening in your life, and by the way, I’ll ride my bike over.” Then began the usual anticipation and preparation. Beth needed help locating other camp staffers. I looked for several and found two.
I was eager to take my Salsa cyclocross bike. The Las Cruces is rugged enough to tote panniers, laden with clothes, shaving kit, camera, I-pod, and road food, in style and grace. We removed the off-road rubber and resoled Ron Mattson’s beautifully built DT Swiss wheels with our favorite Bontrager Race Lite road tires.
My pilgrimage to Conference Point Camp took me north through Afolkey and across Hickory Grove, Walnut Grove and State Line Roads all the way east to Wheeler Road which turned back south to Yale Bridge Road. If you’re planning a ride over to Lake Geneva, there’s a boat landing on Yale Bridge Road just across the Sugar River where you’ll find water and a potty.
Yale Bridge Road continues straight east over to Bluff Road and the Rock River. A short jog north over the river on Prairie Avenue, and we were in busy traffic. Crossing Routes 2 and 151, a detour took me up the west side of the Interstate to a busy Route 75 interchange. Traversing the interstate, the traffic thinned as we continued north on a new four lane boulevard. At the stop sign, we turned right on Highway 67.
Highway 67 continues east past the Beloit Airport. Gliders glistened like huge gulls on this sunny blue Friday. We crossed into Wisconsin and followed County Road P.
County P angles northeast across Highway 140 just south of Clinton where it intersects with County Road J and Northrop School Road. We turned north and rode up Northrop School to Lake Shore Road. This road took us straight over to Fontana. Several years ago, we ran the 18 miles on a hot Saturday morning and were grateful to dive into Lake Geneva at Fontana Beach. I was happy to be on my bike this time.
Lake Shore is a pleasant road freshly surfaced in spots where I remembered it being very hard on hot feet. It is also flat, and my luggage laden Las Cruces rolled happily along as if under its own power.
Lake Shore Road becomes Brick Church Road at the big brick church three miles west of Fontana. We carefully crossed over US Highway 14, and cycled up Six Corners Road to Willow Bend Road. Willow Bend took us straight over to Route 67 just southwest of Williams Bay.
It would have been easy to turn north on 67 and ride that into Williams Bay along the smooth wide shoulder. But the lure of a scenic route took me down the hill towards the lake on Stearns Road. Alas, my loaded panniers were a real drag on the climb back up the hill on N. Lakeshore Drive. This took me back past the entrances to George Williams College Camp (now Aurora University) and the grand entrance to Yerkes Observatory.
Just as West Geneva Street and Route 67 bare left down the hill into Williams Bay, we rode straight ahead on Congress Street in front of the old school and turned right on Colle Street and left on Conference Point Road. We followed Conference Point Road down to the very end and the camp.
I had ridden 80 miles and was making a much anticipated grand entrance. Only nobody appeared to be around to applaud the arrival. I cycled up the steep hill to the Administration building and walked inside for the first time in 40 years.
Conference Point Camp has changed. Summer hire college and high school students who tended the grounds and beach, cleaned the cabins, washed dishes, and served meals to the large groups attending the camp are now gone. In their place are caretaking and catering professionals.
This weekend, the “camp family” returned to reminisce about past friendships and personal lessons working at Conference Point. Frankly, without the hustle bustle of young fresh staffers, the camp looked a tired and forlorn.
Today, TLC of so many buildings is much more expensive, and visiting group receipts are down from the days when this place buzzed with hundreds of campers and staff.
But Conference Point is still magical, and Beth and Dave walked up to the main chapel across from the dining hall to ring the dinner bell in the tradition of the good old days. After dinner, we savored Lake Geneva from the promontory and walked through the lonely grounds and large vacant old buildings sharing memories of our staff family.
On Saturday, our small camp family headed up the hill to tour Yerkes Observatory, the sprawling ornate spawning ground for astrophysics. I elected to go in style on my trusty Las Cruces taking extra time to roll about the handsome park surrounding the observatory.
On Sunday, I bid farewell to Beth and her family and pointed Las Cruces towards Freeport. The light drizzle turned to a steady August rain, and my thoughts floated over such a peaceful weekend reunion. Turning south from Davis towards Winneshiek Road, the sun peaked out to dry my sopping discomfort.
If you have the urge for a long weekend retreat on your bike, follow the route over to Conference Point. Their web site is www.conference-point.org.
But another glance at the subject line read “Conference Point Camp Reunion,” and Beth Taylor threw open a door in the heart of my adolescence.
I fired back the usual “Wow!” and “What’s happening in your life, and by the way, I’ll ride my bike over.” Then began the usual anticipation and preparation. Beth needed help locating other camp staffers. I looked for several and found two.
I was eager to take my Salsa cyclocross bike. The Las Cruces is rugged enough to tote panniers, laden with clothes, shaving kit, camera, I-pod, and road food, in style and grace. We removed the off-road rubber and resoled Ron Mattson’s beautifully built DT Swiss wheels with our favorite Bontrager Race Lite road tires.
My pilgrimage to Conference Point Camp took me north through Afolkey and across Hickory Grove, Walnut Grove and State Line Roads all the way east to Wheeler Road which turned back south to Yale Bridge Road. If you’re planning a ride over to Lake Geneva, there’s a boat landing on Yale Bridge Road just across the Sugar River where you’ll find water and a potty.
Yale Bridge Road continues straight east over to Bluff Road and the Rock River. A short jog north over the river on Prairie Avenue, and we were in busy traffic. Crossing Routes 2 and 151, a detour took me up the west side of the Interstate to a busy Route 75 interchange. Traversing the interstate, the traffic thinned as we continued north on a new four lane boulevard. At the stop sign, we turned right on Highway 67.
Highway 67 continues east past the Beloit Airport. Gliders glistened like huge gulls on this sunny blue Friday. We crossed into Wisconsin and followed County Road P.
County P angles northeast across Highway 140 just south of Clinton where it intersects with County Road J and Northrop School Road. We turned north and rode up Northrop School to Lake Shore Road. This road took us straight over to Fontana. Several years ago, we ran the 18 miles on a hot Saturday morning and were grateful to dive into Lake Geneva at Fontana Beach. I was happy to be on my bike this time.
Lake Shore is a pleasant road freshly surfaced in spots where I remembered it being very hard on hot feet. It is also flat, and my luggage laden Las Cruces rolled happily along as if under its own power.
Lake Shore Road becomes Brick Church Road at the big brick church three miles west of Fontana. We carefully crossed over US Highway 14, and cycled up Six Corners Road to Willow Bend Road. Willow Bend took us straight over to Route 67 just southwest of Williams Bay.
It would have been easy to turn north on 67 and ride that into Williams Bay along the smooth wide shoulder. But the lure of a scenic route took me down the hill towards the lake on Stearns Road. Alas, my loaded panniers were a real drag on the climb back up the hill on N. Lakeshore Drive. This took me back past the entrances to George Williams College Camp (now Aurora University) and the grand entrance to Yerkes Observatory.
Just as West Geneva Street and Route 67 bare left down the hill into Williams Bay, we rode straight ahead on Congress Street in front of the old school and turned right on Colle Street and left on Conference Point Road. We followed Conference Point Road down to the very end and the camp.
I had ridden 80 miles and was making a much anticipated grand entrance. Only nobody appeared to be around to applaud the arrival. I cycled up the steep hill to the Administration building and walked inside for the first time in 40 years.
Conference Point Camp has changed. Summer hire college and high school students who tended the grounds and beach, cleaned the cabins, washed dishes, and served meals to the large groups attending the camp are now gone. In their place are caretaking and catering professionals.
This weekend, the “camp family” returned to reminisce about past friendships and personal lessons working at Conference Point. Frankly, without the hustle bustle of young fresh staffers, the camp looked a tired and forlorn.
Today, TLC of so many buildings is much more expensive, and visiting group receipts are down from the days when this place buzzed with hundreds of campers and staff.
But Conference Point is still magical, and Beth and Dave walked up to the main chapel across from the dining hall to ring the dinner bell in the tradition of the good old days. After dinner, we savored Lake Geneva from the promontory and walked through the lonely grounds and large vacant old buildings sharing memories of our staff family.
On Saturday, our small camp family headed up the hill to tour Yerkes Observatory, the sprawling ornate spawning ground for astrophysics. I elected to go in style on my trusty Las Cruces taking extra time to roll about the handsome park surrounding the observatory.
On Sunday, I bid farewell to Beth and her family and pointed Las Cruces towards Freeport. The light drizzle turned to a steady August rain, and my thoughts floated over such a peaceful weekend reunion. Turning south from Davis towards Winneshiek Road, the sun peaked out to dry my sopping discomfort.
If you have the urge for a long weekend retreat on your bike, follow the route over to Conference Point. Their web site is www.conference-point.org.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Remember Floyd
It's been over a month since our last post. Working really gets in the way of writing.
So tonight as I browsed through Getty Images' wetsite, we happened on a series of photos of Floyd Landis, our tragic 2006 Tour de France champion who's crown and title are now tarnished by a doping scandal which haunts professional cycling.
As we look across Floyd's facial expressions together, you be the judge.
Thank you, Getty Images, for preserving millions of photos of thousands of human stories. Truly, you are a repository for our collective civilization.
So tonight as I browsed through Getty Images' wetsite, we happened on a series of photos of Floyd Landis, our tragic 2006 Tour de France champion who's crown and title are now tarnished by a doping scandal which haunts professional cycling.
As we look across Floyd's facial expressions together, you be the judge.
Thank you, Getty Images, for preserving millions of photos of thousands of human stories. Truly, you are a repository for our collective civilization.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Peggy Badgett's Reminiscences of Cycling in Oregon
Close your eyes and imagine your favorite dream (no, not THAT one!) of riding your bike along winding roads with breathtaking views of thick green forests, rushing streams, and beautiful mountain passes. Your powerful legs spin the cranks as you float up steep grades and fly down the other side. You awaken every morning to fresh crisp air and the smell of breakfast cooking, ready to spend the whole day on your bicycle exploring a new part of the country you have never visited. At night your head meets your pillow with stars shining down upon you after rehashing the days events with friends over dinner and a few beers. Only you pinch yourself and realize it is not a dream, you are riding “Cycle Oregon”.
Cycle Oregon is an organized tour of relatively uncrowned country roads, fully supported. The caravan includes a traveling kitchen, semi trucks hauling stainless steel showers and outdoor sinks, tents for open air dining, vans of bicycle mechanics, a stage for each night’s entertainment, and of course dozens of port potties (blue rooms). As one of the 2000 riders, your only duty is to play on your bike, stuff food into your mouth and jersey pockets at the daily rest stops and three square meals, and set up your tent every night.
I signed up one dreary Midwest winter day, seduced by the promising brochure. As departure drew closer, my anticipation grew. My training consisted of my usual summer mix of racing a few time trails and pleasure rides with all my cycling friends (after all, I love climbing hills!). The most difficult part of preparation was packing. We were only allowed 1 bag, maximum weight of 65 pounds, which for me was several week project as I wrestled the tent (borrowed from Chuck), sleeping bag, and clothes inside to get them to fit. There was no room for high heels. I practiced setting up the tent in our living room several times, narrowly avoiding poking our children’s eyes out with the poles. I am a novice camper, so I made sure I had everything I would need as outlined on the ride web site.
My journey began with Dennis and Darryl as we boarded our flight from Chicago to Portland. Ron and Joe had packed my Madone into a box and shipped her out ahead; she waited for me at the ride start in her box painted with orange and red horse designs. We stayed with Jim and his family in Portland who were wonderful hosts that Friday, and Cheryl from Florida joined our group after her flight arrived late that night. Saturday we set out for Sisters where the ride was to begin. As we drove along the mountain roads, excitement built. I would soon be on my bike with no cares in the world, no pharmacy customers demanding my attention, no bills to pay, and no children to be nagged. I was free.
When we arrived in Sisters, we parked the rental van in the remote parking area and walked to the information building to pick up our rider packets. They put wristbands on us and gave us stickers that had to go on our helmets and bicycles, identifying us by number. Dennis and company wandered to find their tents in the “gated community” (tent and porter service they had signed up for - I referred to them as the suburbs). I dragged my bag to a promising site relatively close to a set of port potties away from the main crowd. And so set the rhythm of the week; as I wrangled the poles amid offers of help which I graciously turned away, I set up my humble abode and organized my cycling gear and skort for the next day. Later, after I picked up my Madone which had been carefully reassembled by the mechanics, we all met for dinner at the food tent.
The days that followed were a blur of meeting new people, miles of majestic evergreens marching, lush quiet forests, peaceful winding roads, and river water rushing over weathered smooth stones as I pedaled along. Sometimes I rode with my friends, sometimes alone admiring the scenery, and sometimes with new acquaintances. Some days the sun rose to melt the frost on my bike as she stood guard at my tent, some days a gentle mist fell softly. Some days the sweat rolled down my arms as I met new ascents, happy and at home climbing upwards. Some days I shivered with fear and chills during the descents. The highlight of the week was a once-in-a-lifetime ride around Crater Lake as the sun shone hot and bright and I chased down group after group up and down the hills.
Photographs and words cannot do justice to my experience. There are memories I will treasure for the rest of my life; the feeling of power as I passed everyone climbing the mountains, icy cold waters of rivers and lakes I swam in, joking and laughing with my new friends as we recounted events of the day, and even the homesickness and tears that hit me suddenly that week (and abated after a few beers!). Even though I was very happy to exchange the wafting odors of the blue rooms and dampness of everything in my tent for the comfort of my bed and arms of my family, I find myself wistfully remembering the openness of the wide skies out West, in the magical land they call Oregon.
Cycle Oregon is an organized tour of relatively uncrowned country roads, fully supported. The caravan includes a traveling kitchen, semi trucks hauling stainless steel showers and outdoor sinks, tents for open air dining, vans of bicycle mechanics, a stage for each night’s entertainment, and of course dozens of port potties (blue rooms). As one of the 2000 riders, your only duty is to play on your bike, stuff food into your mouth and jersey pockets at the daily rest stops and three square meals, and set up your tent every night.
I signed up one dreary Midwest winter day, seduced by the promising brochure. As departure drew closer, my anticipation grew. My training consisted of my usual summer mix of racing a few time trails and pleasure rides with all my cycling friends (after all, I love climbing hills!). The most difficult part of preparation was packing. We were only allowed 1 bag, maximum weight of 65 pounds, which for me was several week project as I wrestled the tent (borrowed from Chuck), sleeping bag, and clothes inside to get them to fit. There was no room for high heels. I practiced setting up the tent in our living room several times, narrowly avoiding poking our children’s eyes out with the poles. I am a novice camper, so I made sure I had everything I would need as outlined on the ride web site.
My journey began with Dennis and Darryl as we boarded our flight from Chicago to Portland. Ron and Joe had packed my Madone into a box and shipped her out ahead; she waited for me at the ride start in her box painted with orange and red horse designs. We stayed with Jim and his family in Portland who were wonderful hosts that Friday, and Cheryl from Florida joined our group after her flight arrived late that night. Saturday we set out for Sisters where the ride was to begin. As we drove along the mountain roads, excitement built. I would soon be on my bike with no cares in the world, no pharmacy customers demanding my attention, no bills to pay, and no children to be nagged. I was free.
When we arrived in Sisters, we parked the rental van in the remote parking area and walked to the information building to pick up our rider packets. They put wristbands on us and gave us stickers that had to go on our helmets and bicycles, identifying us by number. Dennis and company wandered to find their tents in the “gated community” (tent and porter service they had signed up for - I referred to them as the suburbs). I dragged my bag to a promising site relatively close to a set of port potties away from the main crowd. And so set the rhythm of the week; as I wrangled the poles amid offers of help which I graciously turned away, I set up my humble abode and organized my cycling gear and skort for the next day. Later, after I picked up my Madone which had been carefully reassembled by the mechanics, we all met for dinner at the food tent.
The days that followed were a blur of meeting new people, miles of majestic evergreens marching, lush quiet forests, peaceful winding roads, and river water rushing over weathered smooth stones as I pedaled along. Sometimes I rode with my friends, sometimes alone admiring the scenery, and sometimes with new acquaintances. Some days the sun rose to melt the frost on my bike as she stood guard at my tent, some days a gentle mist fell softly. Some days the sweat rolled down my arms as I met new ascents, happy and at home climbing upwards. Some days I shivered with fear and chills during the descents. The highlight of the week was a once-in-a-lifetime ride around Crater Lake as the sun shone hot and bright and I chased down group after group up and down the hills.
Photographs and words cannot do justice to my experience. There are memories I will treasure for the rest of my life; the feeling of power as I passed everyone climbing the mountains, icy cold waters of rivers and lakes I swam in, joking and laughing with my new friends as we recounted events of the day, and even the homesickness and tears that hit me suddenly that week (and abated after a few beers!). Even though I was very happy to exchange the wafting odors of the blue rooms and dampness of everything in my tent for the comfort of my bed and arms of my family, I find myself wistfully remembering the openness of the wide skies out West, in the magical land they call Oregon.
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