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The 24 Hours of Canaan

photoNiteRider2 So I am at the start line in Davis, West Virginia representing the Vet division entry for Greenlees Mountain Bikes. The atmosphere is electric as the clock winds down to signal the start of this 24 hour team relay on the old motocross enduro course at Blackwater. Only there are no throttles in this race. All legs and lungs as the group lined up at the entrance to the river crossing at the very beginning of the course. West Virginians make mountain bike racing hard and Laird Knight was no exception in his innaugural races in this format. http://www.grannygear.com As the gun went off, we all ran towards the river with our bikes on our shoulders and waded accross the thigh deep water until we reached the trail on the the other side. Soaking wet, we were now in the race and the bumping and positioning on the trail was in full swing. As we found our pace, I let the adrenaline calm down a bit and got myself into a good peddling rhythm with some other guys as we made our way on the course. The next obstacle was a group of rocky ledges called “The Moon Rocks” which were a challenge to even run much less ride. It was followed by a swampy,thigh deep bog which represented another hike a bike until the trail emerged again. The finish of the course was non-eventful until we reached the end of the lap at the river crossing again. The portage of the bike began again and exhausted I reached the exchange tent where Chuck Greenlee was waiting to take the baton from me and begin his lap.

The important thing in 24 Hour Racing is to try to get some rest because your next lap was usually in another couple of hours. You had to clean and maintain your bike for the next ride( we had the luxury of shop mechanics from Greenlees and Dirty Harry’s) helping us. http://www.dirtyharrys.net We also had to get something to eat and then lay down in the small motel that was in Davis at the beginning of the course. Usually you had another afternoon lap before you had to rest again and then the real racing began- the night laps. Riding a mountain bike at night on rocky, muddy treacherous trails is a challenge seeing that 90% of all mountain bikes are never taken off road much less at night. I had some experience riding in North Park at night but racing at night is a whole other kettle of fish. In West Virginia it is eerie at 4 AM in the woods. The race is pretty spread out by that point and your light is fixed on the trail ahead of you. When someone came up on you it made you jump a little and when you came up on someone ahead of you, it was creepy too. Often times you heard things in the bushes beside you and you couldn’t help to wonder if it was a bear, or something else that goes bump in the night. One guy came up on me from behind and his light was burned out. He asked if he could folow me and I said sure. It wasn’t long before he fell off and I felt bad leaving him but I had a responsibility to my team mates to get back as soon as I could. Kind of like the guys who climb over people on the way to Everest or the selfish skier who says,” no friends on a powder day.” Oh well.

Our group was doing real well in the Vet division and as we approached daylight, I saw Tim Sweeney,my roomate, getting a cup of coffee in our room. The next thing you know, he falls over in his bed with the coffee spilling all over the place. He had passed out and I quickly tried to revive him to no avail. So, I managed to get him into my Blazer and started to drive towards the hospital in Oakland, Maryland. Tim would groggily come to and then pass out again leaning on my shoulder. I had to drive and push him towards the window. I was going about 90MPH on Rt.219 because I didn’t quite know what to think about Tim’s condition. All I knew was that I better get him quickly to the hospital. As I made my way to the emergency room, a nurse met me and I explained what had happened. She was a mountain bike racer as it turned out, and said that Tim was dehydrated. Tim was an expert racer and as all of our guys did, gave his all on all three of his laps to that point. Several of our guys had done the same and could only ride three laps. Unfortunately they were counting on me to do more because I paced myself and had some gas left in the tank for the morning laps. Knowing my fate, the nurse said to pick Tim up at the end of the day and I should go back to do my next lap. So there I was driving 90MPH again down 219 only to peel into the parking lot to my team mates yelling to hurry up because it was my lap. I didn’t even have time to explain why I was driving and they pushed me towards the river for my fourth lap.

Coming into the finish area after 4 laps, I was spent and the other guys asked me if I could do one more. They were so fast that they had expended all of their energy on three laps and I was the last guy to be able to make up more laps. Cramming some bananas down my throat and downing some Gatorade, I got on my bike and went out for my final lap. Being slow and methodical and saving energy in endurance races of this type can be a blessing or a curse. In this case, it helped our score, but in my eyes, it was a curse because I was trashed. Wading through the river for the last time was cold and I began to cramp. I made it to the other side and laid down for at least an hour talking to friends recounting the race and the harrowing drive to Oakland,Md. I always seem to get into some kind of pickle in events and this 24 hour race was no exception. We won the Vet division, our experts won their division, it was a successful jaunt to Wild, Wonderful, West Virginia for the Greenlees boys. Tim spend the day on a gurney but was glad that we did well. Racing or just riding in West Virginia is not for the faint of heart. I went back for another year and did some other 24 hour events over the years. But the Canaan experience is one that I will never forget. Tim won’t either. That gurney ruined his back. Thanks for reading.

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Rode Hard and Put Away Wet

photo Pat is taking a break from his blog post today and we volunteered to write his daggone post for him. We are his hiking boots. Not any hiking boots mind you, but we are Vasque Hiker IIs. Yea there are lighter, faster, shoes on the market today but we will slay them all. We are the Vikings of hiking boots. So it all began when our nimrod owner bought us and brought us to Allegheny College in Meadville,Pa. A light mist is Meadville sunshine and we tromped around with him in the wet and the mud until he got the bright idea to spread snow seal all over us to make us waterproof. WTH- that stuff is nasty and we thought what are you doing to us? But we later found out that it was good idea and that Pat was brighter than he looks. His constant slathering served us well over the years.

So his blog is titled the experiences of a 58 year old kid? Who is he kidding? He looks rode hard and put away wet just like us. His face is like a catchers mitt for crying out loud. You can’t believe the crap that this guy put us through over the years. Take when he got out of school and decided that he was going to be a granola cruncher and hike on weekends on the Laurel Ridge Hiking Trail in Pennsylvania. At least he had the decency to put us under cover in the evenings in the lean to shelters. You can’t dry us out when you are burning wet logs, nimrod, and the smoke kept choking us. He then took us to these crazy hikes in New Hampshire with an 80 pound pack on his back. Skis, ski boots, all kinds of gear and junk and he expected us to support him through all the streams and snow. Then when it came time to actually hike the mountain, he abandons us and puts on his ski boots. They can’t climb like us. Too bad he didn’t slip and slide all the way down on his derierre, the inconsiderate goof. But we complied and serviced him as always.

Fast forward and he has us at the Hahhnenkaam Men’s Downhill in Austria. He and his pal hiked up the course which was a solid sheet of ice. He was complaining about the traction. I mean what were we supposed to do? Grow crampons??? What a putz. How about the time he took us to the World Mountain Bike Championships in Vail, Colorado and he had us walking all day looking at Tomac, Overend, and all his heroes. Man were we ripe at the end of that day. He dumped us in the corner of the condo and let us air out all night. This guy has had us working like a dog all over the country as hiking boots, after ski boots, and now he has us working on day hikes with his wife like he is some kind of benevolent soul who is trying to show his wife the wonders of nature. The ultimate insult is that he also uses us currently to keep traction on his steep hillside while he is mowing tha grass that grows out of this backyard cliff. The cheap putz won’t even get his hillside landscaped so he puts us through the pain of holding his rear end up while he mows the hill sideways. We don’t want to see that nasty mower blade any closer than he puts us to it.

We have been with this guy for 41 years. It is amazing that we still have the original tread and that he hasn’t abused us any more than he has. Look at us? We are beat. Yet he is older than us. That is the only thing that keeps us going is that we will beat him in the end. Oh well, all in all, he is a good guy and we have enjoyed mostly all of the adventures that he has shared with us. So, we were happy to write this post. He thinks he is Hemmingway or somehing. What a joke. But we will go along with him like we always do. Thanks for reading -like he always says. What a jagoff, but we love him.

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The Month of Mud

DSC_0099-Lphoto So I buy myself a mountain bike right around the time that I was first married. The technology in the 80s was primitive compared to today but nonetheless, I was riding a steel frame, straight fork(shocks for mountain bikes were not invented yet), cantilever front brake and “U” brake for the rear wheel. The worst invention of all time seeing that the “U” brake caught all the mud, sticks, leaves, gum wrappers, and anything else it could suck up on a ride. I was in virgin territory in the woods of North Park with my new mountain bike.

Fast forward, the competitive juices started to flow again and the next thing you know, I am in a series of local mountain bike races called” The Month of Mud.” Now my friend Gary Bywaters started this frivolity and all of us local road riders and racers got involved and it was off to the races with a sport and competition that would keep me occupied up until the present time. None of us knew what we were doing in those days and the following is a synopsis of the flavor of “Mud”

The Brothers Grimm Venue- this was a track of land that had home made trails near the airport with a stream crossing that became a nemesis to many of us. As we watched Jay Humphreys fly through the stream, we were all inspired until I dropped my front wheel in a hole and catapulted over the handlebars, face first into the creek. Soaked to the bone is not the way to continue a race in 40 degree weather but I persevered along with the other poor saps who shared a similar fate

Trax Farms- By had us riding through the pumpkin patch with a climb that had us all jostling for position so that we wouldnt be sent off into the rotting pumpkins and cow patties. It was here that Joe Papp got his indoctrination to bike racing. Joe has achieved some notoriety as a road racer and some not so good publicity in the performance enhancing drug scandals. But suffice to say, after his mom dropped him off, the old guys took him under our wing and jump started him.

Knob Hill Park- this swamp of an area out north of Pittsburgh was notorious for soaking us to the bone in very cold conditions. By thought it would be funny to place pink flamingos along the course which drew some laughs from the crowd but didn’t serve any more than a reminder that this venue was anyting but tropical. During one race, I got lost and took a bunch of guys and Diane Blackburn, the women’s champ with me. The guys were cool as we made our way back to the course but Diane ripped me from head to toe. I gradually got to know her better but she was frightening on that day.

Brady’s Run- this place always was cold and had a real steep climb in the beginning. Sidebar- I was jostling for position on the first climb and squeezed Matt Eaton, the National Road Racing Champion off the trail and down into the woods in a heap. I felt terrible as Matt was new to mountain biking. I apologized later and Matt being the gracious soul that he is with his British upbringing, told me not to think a thing about it. I remember during the incident looking to my left at Larry Lynch after my misplaced elbow sent Matt flying and saying” National Road Champion………..HE GONE!!!” This crazy place always got snow which sent a lot of us over the bars on this off camber downhill that we lovingly called the “Descent of Death”. Any precipitation at all would turn this trail into a slick, slimy path of destruction.

For all of this trouble, mud, cold, snow and freezing conditions during the fall, By would have a rousing awards celebration with awards of the highest quality. First place was usually an apple. Second place was a bannana, and in third you were usually awarded a rock. If you were looking for good prizes in the late 80’s and the seminal years of the Month of Mud, you were in trouble. In following years, By would take some of his old race walking trophies and turn them into series champion trophies. Once you wiped the cob webs off of them, they were actually a decent memento of all the sweat, grime, broken chains, flat tires, snow, freezing rain that was the Month of Mud. Lots of racers of note got their start in the MOM. Gunnar Shogren- who eventually rode professionally for GT showed up from West Virginia. He would bring Rob Acciavatti and Susan Haywood with him. Sue was young and eventually rode professionally for Trek. Another kid would show up from Lancaster and slay all in his jeans and bike jersey. He was Mennonite and didn’t let anyone see his legs because that would not be modest. How things changed from those days for Floyd Landis who won the Tour De France only to be stripped of his title for taking testosterone as a performance enhancer. Yes, Floyd got his start in Western Pa with the Month of Mud and Jim Sota’s race series at Hidden Valley Resort called the Fat Tire Stampede and Fat Tire Fallout.

Local heroes also got their start at the Month of Mud races. Tim Sweeney, Barry Jeffries, Scott Root, EJ Sigety, Jonathan Moran, Chuck Grenlee, Sam Dyke from West Virginia, and a host of others who went on to race at NORBA events and other regional battlefields. Even John Humphreys, Larry Lynch, John O’Toole, Bob Bannon and yours truly battled it out in the veteran’s division back then. We had a blast heckling each other each week only to vie for the coveted apple in our age group.

Today the Month of Mud is a well organized series.  http://www.monthofmud.com   The hard work of Gary Bywaters in the early days spawned a wonderful series that is now sponsored by bike shops and manufacturers supplying the bike industry. The prize pool has significantly improved( no offense By). But as I see the younger, fit, lycra clad generation battling it out these days, I think back to the good old days when a bunch of young kids and older guys peddled and pushed their way to local glory on the trails of Sunday morning. A lot of us are still at it. We may not be racing any more but we love to ride our mountain bikes. Pleasant rides in the woods, no cars, nobody running you off the road and throwing chipped ham sandwiches at you and calling you names( yes- that happened to me. The sandwich had mayonnaise on it too!!) Go out and ride. Thanks for reading.

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Cream Tea and Two Wheels

photophotoireland One of the most gentile things you can do in England or anywhere for that matter is to have “high tea” or “cream tea” as they say in England. Imagine a sweat hog like me coming in after a great day of riding in the English countryside and inhaling the delicious bisquits, clotted cream and strawberry preserves in front of a refined and proper server at a fine establishment. Even though I was outside, the silver service and the delectables were in contrast to my perspiring and un- refined appearance. But boy, was it good and when I remarked to the server how absolutely scrumptious the bisquits and clotted cream were, she said,” Where are you from ……the moon?” The English have a way of not making you absolutely comfortable and I quickly paid the server, took a picture of the fine china and silver, and went on my merry way back to the hotel.

Cycling in England is an interesting experience. Like anywhere in the British Isles, you are on the left hand side of the road which makes crossing the street daydreaming a harrowing experience. However, like hanging, you get used to it and you make your way to some of the most historic sights on earth. I particularly liked the cathedrals that I rode to in Salisbury, Winchester, Westminster, and others. When you arrive at a cathedral at 4:00PM, you are treated to Evensong which is the late afternoon choir servcice where they let you sit right in with the choir to hear the beautiful choral pieces in the midst of fantastic and angelic voices. I made sure to take a shower before I went to Evensong because you are literally right with the choir as they make the cathedrals echo with heavenly music. The graveyards are actually humorous. It is not unusual to see headstones with interesting inscriptions like,” Here Lyes Dan Brown, once was living but now in the ground, although it is sad, his wyfe was mad, and Dan was befelled with a pan that was round.” Curious how you could spend your afternoon with your bike parked at a fence and laughing at the headstones of an English graveyard. Historic landmarks in our country are 250 years old.In contrast,I saw the Magna Carta the foundation for our legal system which dates back almost a thousand years. The castles are filled with interesting historic pieces like Henry the Eighth’s suit of armour in Windsor Castle. Amazing to see.

Riding a bicycle is definitely the way to see a country as you have seen from my last several posts. England was no different as I pedaled to a ferry that took me out to a days ride on the Isle of Wight. I saw the White Cliffs of Dover, and made my way to Stonehenge. How the Druids or space creatures ever stacked those thousand pound stones will always mystify me. The cottages in the English countryside are spectacular with the lattice work on the side of the house filled with the most beautiful roses. The pubs are fun with merriment and delicous ales although at a temperature that was a little warm for me. They claim that it makes the beer taste better when it is a little warmer but I thought I could make some real money selling ice machines in England and Ireland. Nothing like a cold beer to me but that is the ugly American coming out.

Most of my riding was in the country side but one day, I went in early to London. I was like a Whack a Mole in that I rode the underground and popped up at the tourist sights. Up out of the hole- Buckingham Palace-picture- check- back down in the hole. Pop out- the Tower of London- check out the Crown Jewels- check- take a picture, back down in the hole. Pop out again- go see the London Symphony -check- culture enhanced, back down in the hole. By the end of the day, I took the last train out with all of the punk rockers. I was definitely the Howdy Dooodie of the group but the multicolored mohawks, and piercings, were a little over the edge for me, as was the cockney accent which is tough to decifer when you are on a moving train full of reprobates. All in all, a quick view in one day of a marvelous city which I need to see again some time. Perhaps a couple of weeks would do it justice- not one Whack a Mole Day.

This was my last European cycle trip and I am hoping that as life moves on here a little bit and things start to slow down, perhaps Janet and I can take some other trips to distant lands and enjoy the people, the countryside, the historic sights, and the culture. I may be on the back nine, but I am not finished yet. Carpe Deium. Thanks for reading.

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A Life Lived Well

photo ” I want to go skidding accross the finsh line of life, leaking oil, missing parts, screaming …Geronimo!”
Bill McCollum- Ski Racing Magazine.

The picture you see here is of my friend Chip Kamin. I am the one behind him with the red shirt and wool hat. We were on one of our trips skiing and camping at Tuckerman Ravine in New Hampshire. Chip not only skied and camped with us on those trips but he also hiked to the ravine next door called Huntington Ravine and went ice climbing. You see, Chip was a real adventurer. I first met Chip when he was an examiner for the Central Division of PSIA- the ski instructors organization. He and Larry Cohen and Bob Irish formed a ski school based out of Laurel Mountain in Pa., and an area that Chip owned at the time in Warren, Pa called The Buckaloons. All three of these guys introduced me to ski instruction when I was in college. Chip was a fantastic skier and very knowledgeable and a great influence on me when I began the process of certification for ski instruction through PSIA.

Chip was an amazing guy. He invited me to his screening of his climb of Ama Dablam in the Himalaya. Not only did he climb the challenging peak, but he arranged a documentary which he screened at Chatham College to a packed house. It was the first ascent of Himalayan Peak by anyone from the Explorers Club of Pittsburgh. Chip won 2 silver medals at the 2005 Senior Olympics in road cycling and was responsible for founding The Selkirk Powder Company in Schweitzer,Idaho which specializes in backcountry ski outings. Chip developed real estate very successfully in Telluride and Schweitzer and had the foresight to work with these developments long before the areas became popular among the ski and outdoor set. His background in real estate development served him well as he made a life for himself out west.

I met Chip’s wife Robin when they were dating. She was his soulmate, skiing and outdoor partner, and mother to their two very successful sons. We go back a long time. Chip used to tell me little gems that were helpful. Things like, “Pat- downtube shifters on the road bike are now dangerous. The shifting in a pace line is so fast now with the new index brake lever shifters that if you reach down to shift your downtube shifters, you may cause an accident.” I immediately went out after that and bought a bike with the new Campagnolo shifters and immediately saw the advantage and the wisdom of the tip from Chip. We constantly talked about ski equipment and the evolution of the shaped ski. Our adventures with my friend Eric Durfee and Chip’s friend Stuart up at Tuckerman Ravine were times that I will never forget. 90 MPH winds, visqueen shelter covers, freeze dried food, bottled gas cooking stoves, sunshine and sudden snow storms, are memories that are etched im my brain forever. Chip was a part of my life. I will forever be in his debt for all of the comraderie and all of the information from a true explorer.

In recent years with family obligations, I didn’t get to ski and ride with Chip as much but every time I saw him on the hill or at the North Park lot, we had a lot of laughs and I enjoyed riding with him whenever I could. The guy was a true Renaissance man in every sense of the word. Strong, athletic, bright- he was the first guy I ever saw use a Garmin device to plot a ride and download the results on his computer. Chip was in the prime of his athletic and entrepreneurial life when he was suddenly taken out with a cardiac arrest last Friday. He passed quietly on Monday of this week and we all are shocked. How could a guy with this much verve and fitness be taken out by a heart attack? Chip was 62 and looked and acted like a guy half that age. I will miss him and so will all of the active community in Pittsburgh, Telluride, and Sandpoint, Idaho.

We all wonder why? God’s ways are not our ways and we do not know the hour of the timing of His plans. The Bible says that ” He knew you in your mother’s womb.” I believe the good Lord knew exactly what he was doing when He created Chip. I also believe that He knew full well what He was doing when He took him. Adventurers sometimes do not age gracefully. Chip lived a life that most people never get to experience. It was full, loving with Robin and the boys, and caring with all of his friends. We will never forget him. I believe that the moment that Chip was taken, he sailed to the Great Beyond- in a winged parachute suit…………with a smile on his face………..screaming……..Geronomo!!! Thanks for reading and please remember the Kamins in your thoughts and prayers.

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Cycling the Fietspads(people paths)

home02 As I was winging my way accross the Atlantic on another cycling adventure to the Netherlands on KLM Dutch Airlines, I found myself traveling with a group of Hasidic Jewish gentlemen who seemed to be all together on a trip. Being the inquisitive(nosy) person that I am, I inquired with the gentlemen sitting next to me who informed me that they all were on their way to the Diamond Market in Amsterdam. I quickly was treated to a discertation on diamond clarity, cut and other factors that are key when selecting a diamond. A lot of information for my mind to process but nonetheless I was amazed at what you can learn on an airplane if you are a little forward and a little inquisitive.

As we made our way to the hotel, I assembled my bike and began exploring one of the world’s most facinating cities. I cycled along the famous canals and watched the houseboats float lazily along and was amazed at the brilliant colors of the tulips and the other flora that decorated the homes along the canal. I made my way to the Rijksmuseum where the famous paintings of Rembrandt and others reside. As I gazed at the painting of the Dutch Masters, my childish mind went back to the sultry Edie Adams singing “Cigars, Cigarettes, Tiparillos?” . Because I was such a rube when it came to art, I could only relate to the painting because I saw it on the cover of the famous cigar boxes. I wished that I had taken an art appreciation class when I was in college as I exited the famous museum and made my way to the Van Gogh museum where I was equally baffled. As is the custom in galleries I gazed at the paintings again not knowing what I was looking at and caught the gaze of another patron next to me. I could tell that he thought I was the ugly American who didn’t appreciate art and uncomfortably I made my exit into the streets to treat myself to the famous cafes. In Amsterdam, I quickly discovered that the rules are …….there are no rules, as people smoked their hooka pipes, and other herbs shamelessly along with drinking free flowing Amstel and Groelsch brews. Chuckling at the freedom that the Dutch have in their signature city, I peddled to another section of town where I purchased a pair of clogs. I thought I was pretty hep as I exited the shop and slung the bag over my shoulder. I heard some voices from above yelling,” Hey college boy- hey college boy.” Now I hadn’t been called a college boy for some time and I realized that I had peddled into the Red Light district. Feeling sheepish I exited rather quickly as the calls turned to jeers. Amsterdam- what an amazing city.

I rode along the Zuyder Zee which is the famous barrier built by the Dutch to keep the Atlantic from flooding their below sea level country. It is kind of eerie when you peddle along thinking how catastrophic a leak would be. I cycled the roads of the famous Amstel Gold Race and as I made my way along the famous cobbles, I thought of how tough the Euro cyclists were as my fillings almost rattled out of my head from the pounding of the rough cobblestone roads. However, there is a more gentile way to cycle along in the Netherlands. In the post war era, the government had to do a lot of rebuilding of the infrastructure due to the incessant bombing raids during the war. The economy in post war Europe started to flourish again and the resurgence of the construction led to an improved economy and a love for the automobile. However, as the roads became clogged with traffic, the Dutch were looking for an alternative especially as the 70s created a world wide oil crisis. The need for alternative transportation was at the forefront and the government created a system of paths called Fietspads(people paths) that became very popular not only with commuters but with folks who wanted to travel auto free in the Dutch cities and countryside. I utilized a lot of these paths during my visit and made my way through towns and villages that were named for the cheese that they produced. Villages like Edam and Markam were names which I related to cheese and I had my fill along the way washing the samples down with the famous Dutch brews. Another way to make your way besides the people paths were the smaller ferries where you could load your bike and take a pleasant ride along the canals and rivers. The ferries were always commanded by these tall Dutch girls who looked like they could throw you out of the boat if you messed with them. It is humbling to feel like you have stepped into a hole when you are standing next to them, but they definitely commanded your respect and admiration. I was definitely polite to them as I made my way.

If you go to You Tube and look up How the Dutch Got Their Cycle Paths, you will see an interesting history of the paths as well as transportaion in Holland. I was amazed at how the Dutch ride their 3 speed Raleighs with the fenders to commmute to work. Wearing suits and dresses does not impede them as they travel by the thousands to work. With the cost of petrol in Europe, this type of transportation is a must. We are learning in America and even here in my home town of Pittsburgh. We now have a network of bike paths and bicycle sharing programs in the city. Lessons are being learned about the health advantage of cycling and the economy of using two wheels to travel to work and to enjoy the scenery of Western Pa. Taken right out of the Dutch playbook. Thanks for reading.

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Riding in the Old Sod

photo I was in a road race a number of years ago up in Ithaca,New York and I lost contact with my group that I had raced with for 70 miles. It is tough when you bonk and get dropped and you have to finish by yourself, in the wind, out of gas, and between groups. You could wait for a group behind but sometimes you just grind it out and try to get to the finish. As I crossed the finish line, my friend Eric Durfee greeted me because he finished with the real fast guys ahead of me and he handed me some fig newtons which I cheerfully stuffed into my bonking system. It was at that point that I thought maybe I would take a break from road training and racing and just………….ride.

Fast forward and I was on an Aer Lingus flight to Ireland with Gerhard Meng and his folks from Gerhard’s Bicycle Odysseys. Gerhard is an affable character who has a lot of contacts in Europe and sponsors these really nice bicycle touring trips. His staff is very professional and Gerhard has been doing this since 1974. So we land in Shannon Airport and for me, it was a dream come true to finally arrive in Ireland the home of my ancestors. As I collected my things, we made our way to the hotel and I put my bike together and went outside to check things out when I came upon the first paddy that I met who said,” Ya need a chain and a lock for that bike there laddy. I will take you to the place to get it because I am a proud member of Alcoholics Anonymous and I know the folks who will not give you a hooking.” I was liking the characters of Ireland already.

Every day, we had a fabulous Irish breakfast in which the highlight was the soda bread and orange marmalade. I ate baskets of the stuff along with the great Irish breakfast. Gerhard and his staff were very well organized and gave us a map every day. All we had to do was pack our things, throw them in the van, and get to the town at the end of the map for dinner. The first night we stayed in Dromoland Castle- really cool and went into Blarney to the woolen mills to shop. Also the famous Blarney Stone is there which supposedly gives the gift of eloquence when you hang upside down and kiss the stone. I didn’t do it because our van driver said,” Pat – you don’t want to be kissing the stone………the locals relieve themselves on it.” That was enough for me and I moved on.

You ride on the left hand side of the road in the British Isles and it took some getting used to as I wound my way in the roundabouts in Cork. I almost killed myself a few times because I don’t like roundabouts anyhow but as I ventured south to the old Head of Kinsale, I got used to the drill. The roads are narrow and as you come around bends or down hills, you have to watch yourself. I hit the brakes one time as I came upon a shepherd and his flock but the good natured gentleman said,” Ah- twould have been a soft landin there sonny.” I spent days by myself on the country roads and as I made my way from night to night, the staff and the other folks on the trip would ask me about my daily adventures. I would be out from breakfast until just about the time when dinner was served. People trash the Irish cuisine but between the fabulous breakfasts every day and the different types of salmon and vegetables and potatoes you can eat, I have a wonderful respect for the Irish cuisine. It doesn’t hurt to wash it all down with perhaps the best source of soluble iron on the planet- Guiness Stoudt.

The west coast of Ireland is nothing short of spectacular and as you climb the hills and the mountains, you see the 40 shades of green contrasted against the blue waters of the Atlantic. It was perhaps the most dramatic scenery I would ever see and I have experienced the Rockies, the Alps, the Sierras and other dramatic landscapes but I don’t believe you can ever be ready for what lies before you as you cycle around every bend on the Ring of Kerry. The smell of the salt air, the fragrance of the blooming wild flowers coupled with the aroma of cow manure, will always be with me. In fact, when I returned to the US, they wanted to impound my bike because of all the bovine material on the bottom tube. But I talked U.S Customs out of it. See I didn’t have to kiss that stone.

The lakes of Killarney, the mountains, the Cliffs of Moher, are visual smorgasboards but the best part of Ireland besides the scenery are the people. As I rode along through the little towns and villages, people were more than anxious to talk to ” the Yank.” I was in a pub one night, sipping my Guiness when an older gentleman came up to me and said,” So where are you from Yank?” I said,” How do you know I am a Yank?” ” He said,” Not too many fellows in these parts wear shorts and running shoes.” We laughed and I bought him a pint- probably part of his strategy anyhow. Another lady kept me in her parlor after I asked her for some water. She served me scones and tea and brought out all her old pictures of when John Kennedy was visiting. We chatted until it was getting pretty dark and I had to make my way back.

I saw the Tour of Ireland in Bantry Bay which featured all the best amateur and professional cyclists from the continent and the strange thing was that the Russians all peed on the front wheel of their van. Apparently it was good luck for them in the race but I thought that would not be a good tradition to start up back in Pittsburgh. Bantry was interesting in that I got slightly overserved in a pub and walked home to the hotel in the dark past some pretty creepy Irish graveyards. I started to jog and then run thinking about all the wild stories my grandparents had told me about the Banshees. That is another story but I was happy to be back in the light of the hotel. Guiness is good for you- sometimes too good for you.

As I rode through the Dingle Peninsula on the west coast, I knew that my time had come to an end and as I got on the plane, I thought that I was leaving my home. I saw so many people that reminded me of all of my relatives and I could hear my mother’s voice in some of the expressions in my conversations with the Irish. They are a warm, funny, caring tribe and I am proud to have Irish blood in my very American veins. The rough roads, the castles, the lakes, the ocean, can all be seen at 15 miles an hour just like Gerhard advertises. Check him out at Gerhard’s Bicycle Oddysses P.O. Box 757 Portland,Oregon 97207-0757 503-223-2402. Go glide by a castle at 15 miles per hour. You will love it Thanks for reading. Sla’nte.

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Whoa Nellie!!!

09toswinner ” Man is it hot!” ” Ok Pat- two laps to go. Stay on that wheel. Hold your line. Here come the A’s” I feel a hand on my left hip as the National Road Champion, Matt Eaton is telling me that they are coming on the inside. Mac Martin chuckles as he says,” take it out of park,McCloskey.” Dave Eaton is making his move on the outside. ” Move up Pat- there goes Frank, George and Art behind Dave. Get on their wheel-man!!” 2 laps to go. All of a sudden I hear a loud “BANG” . Hess has rolled another tire and I hear metal scraping the pavement, swearing, and bodies hitting the deck. ” Stay upright,Pat” I hear the bell for the final lap. My legs are screaming, I am trying to hang on. ” Hold your line Pat. Come on hang on, hang on, here is the sprint.” Dave Eaton is leading the charge- hang on, hang on………….finish!!!!” Another Wednesday Night ACA Criterium Race in the books. I have no sprint but I got a good workout and a decent result in the books.

My friend Larry Cohen got me into road cycling a number of years ago and being that I am competitive in nature, I got involved with the Allegheny Cycling Association. http://www.acaracing.com ACA is our local club which sponsors time trials, road races, and criteriums which are the most popular form of road racing in the U.S. Back in the day when our band of weekend warriors were competing in the wednesday night criteriums at the Pittsburgh Zoo parking lot, we had a lot of excellent instruction from a number of national class riders who were members of our club. People like Matt Eaton, the National Road Race Champion and Britain’s Milk Race champion. We had Mac Martin and Tom Chew- two U.S. Road Cycling Team members who didn’t get to go the 1980 Olympics in Moscow because of the Carter boycott. Danny Chew is Tom’s brother and was Race Accross America Champion in 1996-1999. http://www.dannychew.com Criterium races are usually held on a 1 mile course with a specified number of laps. The racing can be fast and furious where you are 6 inches from the wheel in front of you, guys on either side and behind you and the last thing you want to do is hit the brakes in the corners or stray out of your line. Criteriums can either be a concert of cycling fluidity or a crash fest depending on factors such as skill of the riders, aggression in the race and weather. I remember where it was so hot in a crit in Erie that if you didn’t glue your tubular tires securely enough to your rims, they would roll off and you could take the whole field down. The pavement was scorching hot and it was imperative that you properly affixed your tires to the rims. In another race in Parkersburg, West Virginia, I remember getting pushed out of a corner, hitting a hay bale and ejecting out of my pedals and flipping over the bale into the K-Mart parking lot. A harrowing experience to say the least. Another time I was in a criterium in New Jersey when it began to rain and the pavement got real slick in a real hurry. A bunch of guys went down in the corner and I managed to stay upright and wound up in the lead pack. I said to myself,” You don’t belong here Pat- just stay upright and out of the way.” I finished without a scratch. My buddy George Sagan went down and slid right under the announcers stand in the Vet Nationals in New Jersey. I saw the whole thing right in front of me and on the next lap, poor George was hauling his bike out from under the stand. He looked shocked but these things happen quickly in criterium racing. Some yahoo took him out in a corner because he didn’t hold his line. I have a lot of scars on my legs that testify to the “whoa Nellie” factor of criterium racing and when several tri-athletes started to show up for the races and were not used to riding in a pack, they would take guys out in the corners and run them into the chain link fences. It was at that time that I decided to retire from crit racing. Good experience, years of fun, but I knew that I didn’t want any more carnage.

When you see the national class riders in a criterium, it is a vision of speed and grace. They are skilled riders and it is amzing to see the speed and fluidity in those races. I learned a lot in those days of crit racing and my bicycle handling to this day has been honed by those experiences. I am confortable on the road and riding in a pack with other riders. Although I am a lot slower these days, those experiences with the ACA will be forever in my memory. Also, when tellng the tales to the younnger set these days, I always say…………the older I get………..the better I was. Thanks for reading.

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Boston Marathon- Part II

photo I was sitting in my hotel room ironically in Oklahoma City on Monday when I saw the news of the devastating bombing at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. I thought of the horrible tragedy that happened several years before in Oklahoma City and how that event rocked this city of which I was a guest. I thought of all the people in Boston on Monday who were injured and especially the Richard family who lost their little boy, and the debilitating injuries to his mother and sister. It makes you appreciate your loved ones and how quickly life can change in the blink of an eye. Hug your mom, your wife, your husband, your family members. Life is so fragile that it can never be taken for granted.

This post is dedicated to those who were injured and lost their lives. But it is also dedicated to the people of Boston and the runners whose spirit of comraderie and common goal can never be taken away by a senseless act of violence. I think about the girls from Wellesley College whom you can hear from several miles away cheering on the runners as they pass through the campus. It is a tradition there and they spend hours waving and cheering at the top of their lungs. When you leave Wellesley, you feel like you have wings. But Sad Bill slowed me down as we continued to pursue the goal. As you run through the little towns along the way and through the Newton Hills and eventually Heartbreak Hill, you are buoyed by the gracious spectators who volunteer their time at the aid stations only too glad to help all the runners along the way. Folks line the course and take pride in their marathon. They are the soul and spirit of the day just as much as the competitors.

As you make way over Heartbreak Hill, you hear the P.A. system announcing the finish of the wheelchair competitors and eventually the world class men and women. If you want to be inspired, watch the wheelchair competitors who are athletes in every sense of the word and train and work to achieve their goals just like anyone else. They have overcome great odds to get here and are an inspiration to all along the routes of any marathon. The world class runners are indeed impressive as they seem to float along in their sub 5 minute miles. The Kenyans, the Ethiopians, the Americans, runners from all over the world compete in this event. But the backbone of the event are the people who train all year and make personal sacrifices to run and to travel to Boston. They are husbands, wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, sons, daughters, all running together with a common bond not to compete against each other, but to collectively achieve a common goal.

Finally you make your way towards the Citgo sign at Fenway Park and you have 1 mile to go. Usually the first 20 miles are physical but the last 10K is mental. You press on towards the goal. The faithful Bostonians who are celebrating the marathon, line Commonwealth Avenue and their energy blows you towards the finish line where you are greeted by the wonderful volunteers and presented your finishers medal and a mylar blanket to keep you warm as you make your way to friends and family. Forget that the power was out at the hotel and the elevators were not working. Forget that there was no hot water to take a shower. Forget that I had to walk backwards down stairs because my quads hurt too much from the pounding after Heartbreak Hill. Today as I look back, I think of all those Bostonians who ran, volunteered, cheered on the competitors along the way. Patriots Day is their day and the Boston Marathon is their race.

As we learn more each day of the tragic events of the bombings at the finish line, we also see stories of the resiliency of the victim’s families, the injured spectators and runners, and the Bostonians. The same blood that ran through the patriots at Concord and Lexington runs through their descendents today. They are proud, they are tough, and they will prevail against all odds. Thomas Grilk, the Executive Director of the Boston Marathon said it best this week when he stated that,” Boston is strong, Boston is resilient, and Boston is our home. And Boston has made us enormously proud.” The runners will continue to train, and those who were robbed of their opportunity this year will be back with even greater resolve. No terrorists or deranged individuals can defeat the spirit that is the Boston Marathon. The 118th running of the 2014 Boston Marathon will be held with pride. The Richards would want it that way. Thanks for reading and God Bless America!

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The Boston Marathon- part 1.

images On the third Monday in April, the citizens of Boston have a day off for Patriot’s Day. There is usually a home game for the Red Sox at Fenway, the ballpark is packed and the streets are starting to fill with spectators for one of the most storied events in all of sport- The Boston Marathon. Now my connection to the event starts with telling you a little more about Hot Harry Kirsch. Harry is an ex Marine who started to run in his 50s. Today Harry is 89 years old and has run over 50+ marathons in his life. He is most proud of his association with the Marine Corps Marathon for obvious reasons and always had several buses from North Park filled with marathoners competing in the event. Harry always told me about the Marine who stands at attention on top of one of the hills citing the phrase,” pain is fleeting, pride is forever.” Tradition in marathoning is embodied in Harry’s life and I am proud to know him.

In years past I have cut into my ski time a little bit to run. I found myself training for the Boston Marathon and actually did my required 20 miler on a day that I should have been skiing. It was snowing heavily as I ran four times around North Park Lake. I felt good and made arrangements to travel with Hot Harry, Les Brodie, and Carl Trimbur. Les is a few years older than me and Harry and Carl were the senior citizens of the group. They were amazing athletes for their age and we all crammed into a hotel room together. Now with the excitement of the race and the chainsaw snoring that drove Les into the closet to sleep, I didn’t get much rest the night before the event, but I was ready. Harry was ready too. He traveled to the event on the plane with his running singlet and running shorts and shoes. He had a little giveaway bag from the Great Race that had another singlet, another pair of shorts,……..and a toothbrush! These Marines travel light.

One of the cool things about the marathon was the expo. Here you get to see all the running gear booths along with the superstars of the sport. You can also buy all the Boston Marathon paraphanelia. I was presumptious enough that I was going to finish the event that I bought a sweatshirt, a jacket, a hat and if they would have had Boston Marathon boxer shorts, I probably would have bought those too. In typical 7 degrees of separation for Pat McCloskey instead of Kevin Bacon, I had a soulmate in the Nike booth. Joan Benoit Samuelson was the innaugural Women’s Olympic Marathon Champion from the 1984 Games in Los Angeles. She was in the Nike booth and she was a goddess at this event. But you would never meet a more unassuming individual in your life as I came to meet her at the autograph table. I couldn’t wait to tell her hello from her old ski coach from the University of New Hampshire, Jace Pasquale. Jace is my friend who runs the ski race program at Seven Springs Resort here in Westen Pa. Joan was thrilled to talk and inquire about Jace and our whole conversation was catching her up with news of her old coach. Nothing about Joan Benoit Samuelson the Olympic champion, but the humble and happy conversation of someone who was reconnecting with an old friend through me. The people in line were getting antsy so I bid the Olympic Champion goodbye and moved on to talk to Frank Shorter, another Olympic champion. We had a 7 degrees of separation moment too in that I had met him several years earlier in Taos, New Mexico where he was living and training at altitude. The resort at the time was pretty empty and Ernie Blake, the owner of Taos, ate breakfast with our ski group every morning as was his custom with weekly guests. Frank Shorter would join us and we would have many conversations about training and the Olympics during the trip. Now as expected, at the booth, he didn’t know me from a cake of soap, but I told the story and we talked about his years in Taos. I was so pumped after my visit to the Nike booth with all of my purchased schwagg. I felt like I could run right out the door and start the Marathon.

I met Sad Bill Schillinger at the bus stop in downtown Boston and loaded a school bus for the 26.2 mile trip to the startline in Hopkinton Green, Mass. As I sat on the bus, I heard a little knawing voice in my head that said,” I hope you make it man.” The distance of the marathon dictates that anything can happen and you always hope that your training was enough and that nothing happened with your health on race day. Sad Bill was a dedicated marathoner from North Park and was kind enough to give me some pointers about the course seeing that this was my maiden voyage for Boston. Why Harry calls him Sad Bill is a mystery. He is a serious fellow but anything but sad and a wonderful running partner as it turned out. As we approached the start line and found our place, the adrenaline and excitement shot through me like a loaded howitzer as the gun went off. The wheelchair racers were on the course and the crowd noise was deafening. The hair stood up on my arms as we were underway. It took Bill and I three minutes to get to the start line because of the depth of the field and I started my watch as soon as we crossed the start line. I eased into a relaxed shuffle as we made our way through the crowd finally settling into a nice pace that we shared with several other runners. I was running in the storied Boston Marathon and the history of the event filled my senses as I made my way through little towns like Framingham and Natick. Bill kept telling me to run within myself as Boston can be demanding in the end. I listened and we conversed and ran comfortably until we started to hear a roar in the distance that sounded like a Penn State Football Game after a touchdown for the Nittany Lions. I had heard of the girls from Wellesley College but had never thought that the noise could be heard from miles away. What happened next as we approached Wellesley will have to wait until the next post. Stay tuned and thanks for reading. The story has only just begun.