Bicycling August 2018

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United States
6,41 €(IVA inc.)
22,91 €(IVA inc.)
6 Números

en aquest número

2 min.
’cross is fixed

In the fall of 2016, Nick Keane and Jean Padilla, two delivery guys for my bike messenger company, TCB Courier, asked me for advice on soliciting sponsors and event planning. When they told me they were planning a new, unsanctioned race series, I was stoked. They wanted to rally the tight-knit yet dwindling bike messenger community around a fun, competitive, and inclusive environment. Sweet. When they mentioned it would involve track bikes on cyclocross courses, I paused. I wasn't sure "tracklocross" would be a hit; for the most part, messengers rally around alleycat races (a.k.a. illegal street races). But the more I thought about it, the more I figured at least a few locals would come out-many of us in San Francisco have ridden our track bikes in the dirt…

18 min.
the deal

“MY TITLE AS NATIONAL CHAMPION HAD JUST BEEN PROMISED TO ME BY MY BREAKAWAY PARTNER.” I remember that the race was long and lumpy, 18 times around a roughly six-mile loop. I remember that on one side of the course rain would sprinkle and splatter, and on the other side the sun would bake road grit against my lips. I remember racing down single-lane roads canopied by ancient oak trees and haunting willows. I remember horses grazing in green fields framed by white fences. I remember a swamp. Humidity. I remember I felt good. I felt as good as I will ever feel on a bicycle. I know that now. ONE WARM EVENING during the summer of 2001, in a leafy suburb outside of Columbus, Ohio, I climbed into a white passenger…

12 min.
the first bike i really loved

THE BIKE IS OLD NOW AND NOT MUCH TO LOOK AT. The white and gray paint is scratched and gouged in too many spots to count. The parts are a curious mishmash of swish upgrades from 15 years ago, and secondhand near-junk bought at the local nonprofit bike shop. That dashing red chevron on the top and down tube that seemed so fetching to me all those years ago? Time and decay have revealed it to be not paint, but rather a cheap decal with no clearcoat. Same for “Bridgestone” and “MB-1.” This is my old mountain bike, currently my townie, my hoopty. I own 6.5 bicycles (the half is a shared dirt jumper). But if all were lost tomorrow in a fire, the one I would mourn the most is…

14 min.
the new truths of cycling

NOT LONG A GO, I went on what may have been one of the most glorious rides of my life—a three-and-a-half-hour rural loop with a steep six-mile climb that is famous among locals. It was one of those days when everything—weather, training, rest, group chemistry, and caffeine—came together perfectly. I soared up Pine Canyon at a scorching pace that I knew would earn me a Strava PR—perhaps even a place in the hallowed Top Ten. As I pedaled, I could almost see the “kudos” racking up. Alas, when I downloaded the file, it was empty. In my postride bliss, I’d forgotten to save my ride before powering down. The ride—and all my prospective glory—had vanished. There’d be no ritual postride data wallow. No parsing of watts or heart rate. And certainly…

7 min.
julien howard brings the cut to you

ON MY SECOND birthday my dad put me on a bicycle, and I basically haven’t stopped riding since then. It was my freedom. I was always riding my bike until the sun went down. When I was a kid, I had a BMX, then I had a mountain bike. As I got older I started road biking. Last year I got hit by a truck on my bike. That frame is still cracked, so I recently got into fixies. I’m slowly getting back to where I was. It’s always been my passion. Riding in the city is the ultimate rush. You need an active mind, and you have to focus three steps ahead always. I’VE BEEN MESSING around with hair since I was 15 or 16. I started cutting hair in high school…

21 min.
alison tetrick did not sign up for this

“I HAVE AN ENGINE, I HAVE THE WILL, I HAVE THE STRENGTH.” A CHILDHOOD OF FREEDOM I grew up on a cattle ranch in Los Alamos, in Santa Barbara County. When I was in junior high, we moved to another cattle ranch in Redding, California, near Mount Shasta. It was pretty rugged country. I didn’t do a lot of organized sports, because it was a trek to shuttle us to town. Instead, we had family adventures: sailing, four-wheeling, horse packing into the mountains. I grew up with a big imagination. When you’re raised in this secluded way, you don’t feel any gender stereotypes, any limitations. School, not sports, was where I first exhibited a competitive streak. I always liked to get the best grades in the class, read the fastest and the most.…