Bike Ride Rambles

The Cycle of the Seasons

2011-11-10T18:44:00.000-05:00

The shadows are getting longer these days.

Boats vacate their slips, as cold air makes for brisk morning rides...

...and winter spirits quietly begin inhabiting the newly empty spaces.

Bike Lanes of Harvard Square

2011-11-07T20:47:00.002-05:00

I love bike lanes! It goes beyond the merely practical. Yes, they make riding safer and easier -- that's reason enough to love them right there. But bike lanes also have a subtle, quiet grace about them.

Look at these photos I took of the bike lanes in Harvard Square...

It's as if Cambridge is saying: we make a little room for everyone.

Seven Cycles & Ciclismo Classico

2011-11-04T23:31:00.006-04:00

This past Tuesday night I was invited to a reception hosted by two great Massachusetts bicycle-related companies: Seven Cycles & Ciclismo Classico. The event took place at the Seven Cycles headquarters in Watertown, Mass.

It was a dark and chilly night...

But inside all was warm and pleasant.

Ciclismo Classico is a bicycle vacation company based in Arlington, Mass. I first received their catalog in the mail a year or so ago and spent many happy hours on the subway browsing through it and dreaming about their trips. Their tours cover a range of experience levels, from the "easy" Venice con Gusto tour to the "expert" Majestic Dolomites. Each trip is led by a guide and consists of a limited number of participants. Here's the 2012 catalog that I picked up at the reception:

Really beautiful, don't you think? Log onto Ciclismo Classico's website, request that a catalog be sent to you, and have a look. I enjoyed chatting with a cyclist at the reception who went on their Norway tour. Actually, I seem to come across Ciclismo Classico "alums" all the time. On my very first event ride in Connecticut, a woman in our group wore a Ciclismo Classico jersey. I remember her saying how tired she was after riding our 22 miles through western Connecticut, which seemed odd because she had just told us all about her much-longer Ciclismo Classico ride through Italy. She must have sensed our quizzical looks though, because she soon added: "but we stopped for great food and wine in Italy, so it felt easy!"

Seven Cycles makes custom bicycles, building their frames right there at their Watertown headquarters. I'm afraid I didn't take many photos, but here are two shots I snapped of their bikes on the showroom floor:

The top frame is titanium and the bottom frame is steel. Bicycle racing fans: do you know why the steel bike is painted pink? It's a custom "Giro d'Italia" themed bike! Very cool.

Seven's frame are true works of art. Look at the gracefully curved seat- and chain-stays. And the unpainted titanium. Beautiful.

Here's the Seven catalog that I picked up on the way out (the 2012 bikes are being announced this Saturday):

We were also given a tour of Seven's small factory, which was truly inspiring. Come to think of it, maybe "workshop" is a better word. Even with its high-tech computer generated schematics, spic-and-span cleanliness, and precise machinery, Seven's old-school artistry is what impressed me most. There is no assembly line -- each craftsperson works on multiple processes in the creation of a frame, sometimes building an entire frame from start to finish. Pride in one's work, the magic of seeing disparate elements come together into a cohesive whole, and the mysteries inherent in crafting metals ... they all really come alive in this remarkable shop. In fact, there's even an anvil sitting in a corner! The artists at Seven are carrying the great traditions of New England framebuilding into the 21st Century, and that's wonderful.

So what a great evening! Extraordinary travel and exquisite bicycles ... all inspired by one thing: the quest for the magical ride.

Ghosts of Races Past

2011-10-28T23:01:00.008-04:00

When it comes to commemorating great bicycle races, there's no Boston Garden on which to hang a championship banner...

...or Fenway Park.

That's because only a few hours after a road race ends, like the TD Bank Mayor's Cup criterium I attended here in Boston last month...

...the city settles back into...

And that's o.k. This is what makes cycling so special.

In the Mayor's Cup race, which consisted of multiple laps around City Hall Plaza, the scene of cars speeding down Cambridge Street that's repeated night after night...

...for one special day was preceded by this scene for the women's race...

...and this for the men's...

The race results certainly look solid enough...

1. Jen McRae (787 Racing)
2. Samantha Schneider (Team TIBCO/To The Top)
3. Coryn Rivera (Peanut Butter & Co.TWENTY12)

1. Ken Hanson (Jelly Belly p/b Kenda)
2. Dan Holt (Team Type 1)
3. Luke Keough (Mountain Khakis p/b SmartStop)

But what you may not notice in these photos I took of the winners...

...is that if you take away that temporary stage, all you'll be left with is...

So how do we keep the memory of great races alive? Through blogs, paintings, books, collages, photographs, and magazines. That's why "cycling culture" is almost always tied to some sort of creative endeavor. It's from those elusive arts that our own championship banners are hung.

Saturday on the Minuteman

2011-10-23T20:51:00.005-04:00

It's autumn in New England, and the Minuteman Bikeway just gets more and more beautiful with each ride.

Beginning at Alewife Station in North Cambridge, the "Minuteman" is an old rail line that was converted to a bikeway in 1993. Remnants of its passenger train heritage still exist, such as this "W" marker which directed engineers to blow the train's whistle...

...and this old railway car at the trail's Bedford end:

On weekday mornings the Minuteman Bikeway is one of the country's busiest rail-trails, and for good reason. Running 11 miles through the towns of Bedford, Lexington, Arlington, and Cambridge, it's a fast and direct car-free route from the historic western suburbs to Boston's Red Line subway. I like to think this makes the Minuteman uniquely "New England"; it's as practical as it is scenic.

Although shared by cyclists, runners, skaters, and people simply out for a stroll, the Minuteman Bikeway's smooth surface and yellow center-line make it easy to pass slower traffic. In fact, while the path's multi-use purpose rules out high speeds, on quiet early mornings we cyclists can still pedal along at a pretty good clip, which is quite thrilling without having to worry about cars.

The Minuteman Bikeway isn't very close to where I live, but there are two great ways for me to get to the start of the path from my home on the South Shore.

The best way is by bicycle, of course! It's a spectacular 25-mile ride, running by the beaches of South Boston...

...the ships in Boston's Cruiseport...

...commercial boats on Boston's Fish Pier...

...on bike lanes into downtown...

...through Boston's historic North End...

...and on the Charles River Bike Path.

The other way for me to get to the start of the Minuteman is to take my bike on the Red Line subway (the "T", as we Bostonians call it).

The T allows and encourages bikes on most of its lines. If you're reading this and live in the Boston area, check out the T's guidelines here.

Within the past three weeks, I've both cycled and taken the T to the start of the Minuteman. Yesterday morning I chose the T, since I wanted to get to the Bikeway as soon as possible to ride its full length and then continue out beyond its western end.

Arriving at Alewife Station around 7:45 am...

...I entered the Bikeway, which is just across the street.

I then rode the entire trail...

...taking a short detour through the center of Lexington...

...and stopping to admire the Minuteman's quirky mile markers along the way. This one indicates Mile 7. Can you figure out how?

(Hint: Think Roman numerals!)

Reaching the end of the Minuteman in Bedford, I then rode on extraordinary tree-lined roads out to the nearby town of Billerica and back.

Feeling the need for that most favorite of cycling beverages (coffee), I stopped in Lexington's Ride Studio Cafe on my way back down the Minuteman (you can read about the Cafe in my Oct. 17th post). It was full of cyclists! I enjoyed a great iced coffee while chatting with an amateur racer relocating to the Boston-area from Pittsburgh. Thanks so much to the Ride Studio for putting my Oct. 17th post on their facebook page!

After enjoying about a half-hour at the Ride Studio, I got back on the trail, rode to Alewife Station, and took the T home. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday morning in New England, don't you think?

The Ride Studio Cafe

2011-10-17T23:32:00.004-04:00

On the Minuteman Bikeway...

...in the historic village of Lexington, Massachusetts...

There's a coffee shop.

Now on the surface, there's nothing special about a coffee shop in Lexington. Across the street from this Ride Studio Cafe is a Starbucks and a Peet's Coffee. And like every other town in Massachusetts, a Dunkin Donuts isn't far away.

But the Ride Studio Cafe taps into something extraordinary.

According to a historical plaque outside the old Lexington train station, through which the Minuteman Bikeway now passes...

...19th-Century Lexington was once known as a "town of taverns", a place where weary travelers could escape the cold, and enjoy good food and company before resuming their journeys.

I'm not sure Peet's and Starbucks reflect that today, but for cyclist-travelers on the Minuteman Bikeway, the Ride Studio Cafe brings the romantic notion of a mid-adventure tavern back to life -- but now as a 21st-Century cafe, with coffee and croissants rather than ale and roast mutton! The Ride Studio Cafe is a coffee shop devoted to cyclists.

What an ingenious idea! It's part high-end bike shop, part repair shop, and part coffee shop.

I stopped by the Cafe on my own journey down the Minuteman Saturday morning, and it was as if I had stepped into a vortex of cycling culture, in all its cool creative essence. After all, "coffee-shop culture" and "bike culture" are like old friends, each with a deep appreciation of community consciousness, off-beat artistry, and good story-telling.

If you plan to visit the Ride Studio Cafe but don't have a bike lock, no worries. Just bring your bike inside and park it on the rack. That's my blue bike in the foreground:

Feeling self-conscious about your biking shorts, snug-fitting jersey, cycling gloves, and helmet? Don't. On the morning of my visit most of the customers were in full cycling gear.

In fact, during my entire time there I never bothered to take off my helmet or cycling gloves!

After placing my bike on the rack, I ordered an iced coffee from the barista and sat down at a big wooden table which had an assortment of strange and wonderful cycling magazines.

I watched a bit of the 2000 Championship of Zurich that was playing on the large flat screen television...

...and then I turned my attention to those magazines and journals as I enjoyed my iced coffee (it was excellent coffee, served in a nice big glass).

Although the Ride Studio Cafe sells these hard-to-find cycling magazines, I didn't have a way to carry them home on my bike. So I can't wait to go back one night after work this week and buy them! Rouleur looked especially intriguing -- an artistic, almost avant-garde journal with thoughtful stories and striking photography.

The owner and staff kindly let me take pictures in the shop (I asked permission), but I'm always sensitive about taking close-ups of people. So although there aren't many other cyclists shown in my photos, a steady stream of customers did roll in and out during my brief time at the Cafe. One man who seemed to know everyone happily told tales of his cycling trip to Italy.

So there I was in this unique cafe, enjoying iced coffee in a tall glass, surrounded by sleek handmade bicycles, reading exotic cycling journals, all in the middle of a historic village not far from America's most popular rail-trail. It doesn't get much better than that.

I could have stayed there all morning! But now that I had discovered this super-cool place, I knew there would be more visits in the future. So it was time to get back on the bike. I paid for my coffee, left a tip in the jar, walked my bike out the door and down the sidewalk, and then resumed my journey on the beautiful Minuteman Bikeway.

But a funny thing happened as I sped down the path. Having spent time at the Ride Studio Cafe, I felt like I was no longer just a single cyclist enjoying an early-autumn ride. I was now part of the greater cycling culture. Thinking of those cutting-edge cycling journals, riders telling tales of faraway places, and the old-world artistry of handmade bicycles, I had the sense that a simple ride can inspire endless creativity.

Maybe that's why so many great stories include cafes, inns, and taverns. There's a kind of subtle wisdom in those intimate spaces. We enter, enjoy, reflect, and then resume our journey -- but somehow we're changed, just a little. The path ahead seems richer than ever, bright with possibility.

Colors of the Tour de France, Stage 21

2011-09-18T20:31:00.004-04:00

What is it about that last little bit of a project that's always so difficult to finish? Maybe it's the final piece of trim on a new window you installed, or that oil painting you spent months working on that now sits up against a wall, simply waiting for a frame.

Or maybe you assigned yourself the project of painting a watercolor for each stage of the Tour de France, and after twenty paintings completed and posted on your blog, you just can't bring yourself to do that last one!

A deadline really is a wonderful thing. There's no way I could have done twenty-one paintings had I sat down after the Tour and said: "I think I'm going to do a painting for each stage of the 2011 Tour de France." It was the challenge of doing them quickly during the Tour itself that kept my inner critic quiet. "Just leave me alone," I'd tell it, "I have a blog to write! It's good enough!"

But the final Stage 21 painting was different. There was no Stage 22 coming up the next day. No future stages that would pile up saying, "paint me now or else you'll fall hopelessly behind!" I had all the time in the world ... which really meant I had no time at all, because when tomorrow is an option, so many more mundane things start crowding into today.

So at long last, here is my Stage 21 Tour de France watercolor!

...or maybe I should say "post-Stage 21" painting. I think I'll call it: Tour de France, The Day After. Or maybe: A Tour de France Fan Lives Here.

Unlike football, baseball, hockey, or nearly any other sport, there's no stadium for road cycling that stands during the off-season. There are only scattered remnants of races past to remind us of all the fun and excitement of a remarkable Tour, like photos, articles, blogs, books, and journals ... and a few very special jerseys, hung out to dry until next year.

In my painting, life goes on down below on the street, but you never know where a Tour de France fan might live in the windows up above, reminiscing about Tours from earlier days, keeping the magic alive.

So to all the riders, team managers, mechanics, t.v. announcers, Tour organizers, journalists, wild & crazy roadside fans, and fellow television viewers, thanks for a wonderful 2011 Tour de France! I loved every minute of it. Vive Le Tour!

Colors of the Tour de France: Stages 15-20

2011-07-24T15:52:00.002-04:00

After Stage 15's brief but beautiful journey through the villages of the Southern France...

...it was time for the Alps!

What words define the Alps for you? Maybe majestic, grand, or even breathtaking. But we Tour fans have our own unique shorthand for describing these magnificent mountains. A picture may be worth a thousand words -- but for us, a simple name brings up a world of images and stories.

Like Col du Galibier, with its misty, treeless summit and winding road, the site of this year's Stage 18 and 19:

That word, Galibier, will now always bring Tour fans back to the thrill of Andy Schleck's solo breakaway on Stage 18 and Alberto Contador's equally daring attack on Stage 19. Who wasn't cheering at their TV's during those stages?!

Then there's the mythic L'Alpe d'Huez, with its 21-switchbacks, wild fans, bright colors, and thrilling finishes...

After Stage 20, it will always be remembered as a very special place for young Pierre Rolland, the first French cyclist to win this legendary climb since the 1980's. That's the beauty of the Tour -- there's a little magic in it for everyone.

This year we can also add new names and images to our Tour vocabulary. Like the high-speed descent through the dark forests of Sestrieres, where in Stage 17 Thomas Voeckler once again defended his Yellow Jersey with so much heart and panache.

Then there was the so-called "transitional" Stage 16, which to everyone's surprise turned into a fantastic GC battle when Alberto Contador attacked on the Category 2 Col de Manse. But that was only half the story! Norwegian Thor Hushovd's victory inspired thousands of Scandinavian fans to cheer him on, chalking his name on the road in grand Le Tour tradition.

And to end this historic week of racing, there was Stage 20's Grenoble. Not a mountain, but a beautiful mountain city, where Cadel Evans launched his magical ride.

What an incredible Tour de France! And after 20 stages of watercoloring, I'm beginning to run out of paint! But I think I have a little left for one more day: Stage 21. Paris.

So fellow TV viewers ... see you on the Champs-Elysees.

Colors of the Tour de France: Stages 12, 13, & 14 (The Pyrenees)

2011-07-18T23:23:00.009-04:00

The soulful Pyrenees seem so mysterious and remote in comparison to their superstar cousins, the Alps. But that just makes them all the more romantic. Maybe you have a mountain range near your own home that you love, like the Berkshires, the Cascades, or the Alleghenies. But for a few days in July, every cycling fan's heart lies in the Pyrenees.

My Stage 12, 13, and 14 watercolors are of the blur of orange-flag-waving Basque fans as they crowd around the climbing rider, a lone racer careening down a misty Pyrenean descent, and the mountain switchbacks made so colorful by the breakaway and long line of fans:

There was so much drama in these three stages! Not only did Thor Hushovd earn his first mountain victory, but the battle of the favorites was both weird and wonderful. Sure, it would have been fun to see Contador, one of the Schleck brothers, or Evans pull out ahead and really dominate the race. But watching all of the contenders eye and test each other on the slopes of the Plateau de Beille was equally suspenseful and thrilling. And best of all, we still have no idea who the 2011 Tour de France frontrunner is. It's going to make for a wonderful few days in the Alps!

Colors of the Tour de France, Stages 10 & 11

2011-07-13T23:31:00.003-04:00

Two stages, two days of amazing Tour de France scenery and racing. For Stage 10, I decided to paint a watercolor of the riders careening through the lovely red-roofed village of Villefranche...

And for Stage 11, the iconic Tour image: the peloton racing past fields of bright yellow sunflowers ... here in a quick, late-night watercolor:

Can't wait for the Pyrenees tomorrow!

Colors of the Tour de France: Stages 7, 8, & 9

2011-07-11T23:54:00.008-04:00

Those were beautiful fields the peloton rode through in Stage 7 of the Tour de France -- the perfect setting for Mark Cavendish's incredible stage win. Here in my Stage 7 watercolor, the riders are being cheered on by local fans as they race through the lovely colors of the Loire Valley:

But the scenery in next two stages was truly magical! Deep in the Auvergne region of France, the riders weaved their way around the "puys" of the Massif Central. Puy is the French term for a dormant volcano. How cool is that?! Both stages featured climbs up and around those magnificent old mountains (as well as some terrible crashes, unfortunately). Here in my Stage 8 watercolor, the peloton is just a tiny ribbon of color as it races toward the village ahead (I put on of one of those distinctive puys on the right):

And in Stage 9, the riders rode right up into the misty upper reaches of those now-quiet volcanos:

Colors of the Tour de France, Stage 6

2011-07-08T00:15:00.008-04:00

We see so many colors rush by the peloton as the Tour weaves its way across France. Soon we'll replace the greys, browns, deep greens and blues of northern France with the sandy and sunny colors of the Mediterranean coast and the cold granite shades of the Pyrenees and Alps. But if there's one color we see absolutely everywhere on Le Tour, it's the stark white of all those rented RV's and campers!

I imagine the camper-renting fans must be having so much fun. They simply park their RV in a prime spot, role down the awning, break out the Normandy cheese, and wait for the Tour to pass by. I love seeing whole families cheering on the race, standing in front of those oddly charming-looking vehicles.

So here's my Stage 6 watercolor, dedicated to rented campers and the fans who inhabit them.

Hmmm ... I wonder where that family on the left drove in from, waving the black, yellow, and red flag. Can you guess? (Hint: they're most likely rooting for Philippe Gilbert and the entire Quick Step and Omega Pharma-Lotto teams...)

Colors of the Tour de France, Stage 5

2011-07-06T23:36:00.001-04:00

Congratulations to Mark Cavendish on an incredible sprint finish!

As much as I was rooting for Tyler Farrar on Stage 3, I was rooting for Cavendish today. Something just doesn't feel right these days when Cavendish isn't out there winning stages. Maybe it's because we feel his emotions so vividly. We know how terrible Cavendish feels when things go wrong, especially since he always says he owes his loyal teammates a win. Or maybe it's because watching Cavendish and HTC-Highroad win a sprint is such a thing of beauty. In Cavendish and HTC's hands, the tactics of cycling look so graceful and powerful on the road.

Today's victory might not have followed the usual HTC-Highroad playbook, but that just made it all the more thrilling.

And then there was the magnificent backdrop of Brittany, with its grey villages, rocky coastlines, and all those delightful fans. Watching today's stage, I wanted to hop on a plane, rent a bike, ride to a spot on the Tour route, and cheer alongside all those wonderful people who love cycling so much.

So I'll do the next best thing. To the cycling fans of beautiful Brittany, this Stage 5 watercolor is for you.

Colors of the Tour de France, Stage 4

2011-07-05T18:05:00.004-04:00

What an amazing stage -- with Contador, Evans, Hushovd, and Gilbert all battling it out at the finish! The "Wall of Brittany" certainly lived up to its evocative name, here in its first Tour de France appearance as a stage finish (See interesting comment from Trevor of the Purple Traveller blog below, correcting an earlier version of this post where I wrote that it was the Wall's first-ever appearance in Le Tour. Thanks, Trevor!)

Like yesterday, the scenery was just incredible. Gone are the red roofs of the Vendee region. Here in Brittany, we're being treated to the beautiful greys of the shops, houses, and village cathedrals, and the deep greens of the forests. And so it's that dark, mysterious forest that is the subject of my TdF watercolor for today, as the peloton races through Brittany on its way to the Mur de Bretagne.

Colors of the Tour de France, Stage 3

2011-07-04T18:41:00.006-04:00

There were so many dramatic scenes I could have chosen to paint for Stage 3. The peloton crossing the incredible St. Nazaire Bridge, Tyler Farrar forming a "w" with his fingers as a victory salute to the late Wouter Weylandt, and Yellow-Jersey wearer Thor Hushovd cheering on his teammate Farrar at the finish all would have made for wonderful subjects.

But one of the things I love about watching the Tour is discovering the little slices-of-life that make Old World France so unique. I've been visiting with my parents in North Carolina this week while on vacation, and one the things my mother (who is a great Tour de France fan) enjoys seeing are shutters that actually work!

Here in the US, shutters are pretty much decorative. They're just nice window dressings permanently nailed open. They don't even have hinges anymore. But in France, sometimes the shutters are open and sometimes they're closed. Sometimes they're bright blue, red, green, or brown. And sometimes, if you look closely enough, you can see a Tour de France fan inside wearing a yellow shirt and hat cheering on the race.

So to all the French fans throwing open their shutters, waving the Tri-Color, and shouting "allez! allez!" at their favorite riders ... this painting is for you.

Colors of the Tour de France, Stage 2

2011-07-03T19:22:00.003-04:00

For this very exciting Team Time Trial stage, I was going to paint the winning team, Garmin-Cervelo, racing through the beautiful village of Les Essarts, with "Etape 2" (Stage 2) rising out of the background. But after painting the riders so stark against the white paper, I looked at it for a moment and thought: "you know, that's pretty nice just as it is."

Because the mechanics of a team time trial are a beautiful thing alone. An even line of riders, speeding ahead at rates of over 40 mph, rotating leaders at the front like a graceful machine ... it's a thrilling site.

Keen observers will notice that I did not include Thor Hushovd's Polka Dot King-of-the-Mountains jersey in this painting. That's because it just didn't look right on Thor! We're used to him in green, sprinting toward the finish ... not laboring up a mountain in polka dots (besides, it really belonged to Philippe Gilbert, who was in the Yellow Jersey). So I took a little creative license and gave Thor a matching Garmin-Cervelo outfit. After winning yellow at the end of this stage, I'm sure Thor was happy to be out of those polka-dots too.

I may go back and finish this painting at some point. But for now, it's all about Garmin-Cervelo. Congrats our great American team!

Colors of the Tour de France, Stage 1

2011-07-02T23:53:00.003-04:00

The Tour de France is back!

For me, the month of July is all about the Tour. That means watching the coverage on Versus each evening, and then breaking out the watercolors to continue what has become an annual tradition on this blog ... a Tour project! Because after seeing something so monumental and beautiful every night, you just have to do something.

And this year, my project is all about color.

Sometimes abstract, sometimes more literal, and sometimes a little of both, I hope to capture a bit of the real -- and even imagined -- colors of each stage. Connecting each painting: "Etape", the wonderful French word for "Stage".

This year, the Tour literally seemed to rise from the sea, as the riders crossed the Passage du Gois -- a road that twice-a-day is completely submerged by high tides, connecting the Beauvoir-sur-Mer to the Vendee region of France. We didn't see much of that crossing on T.V., since it happened very early in the race. But it was that long mysterious road that still formed the mythology of this stage.

And so today, even with all the drama of crashes and sprints that shook up the General Classification ... it was the peloton's crossing of the sea that was foremost in my mind. The blues of water and sky, browns of the seabed, the greens of the Vendee countryside, a hint of red for all those red-roofed towns, and one long, dark road illuminated by the peloton ... those are the colors that stood out in my mind in Stage 1.

As an aside, June was a very eventful month for me, which I'll be reporting on within the next couple weeks. I just finished the two-day, 150 mile Boston-to-Provincetown MS Ride -- an incredible experience. So stayed tuned for details!

Zoncolan

2011-05-22T16:34:00.009-04:00

It could be something from Science Fiction, as in...

Han Solo stopped for lunch on Planet Zoncolan.

...or fantasy...

The villagers ran for cover at the sight of Zoncolan, the fiery dragon.

...or politics...

The left-wing crowd marched on the square, carrying signs proclaiming their candidate, Zoncolan.

But no, it comes from the world of cycling! The Monte Zoncolan is one of the toughest mountains in the 2011 Giro d'Italia, and, as Universal Sports commentator Todd Gogulski described it: "One of the most wicked climbs in all of cycling".

The road to the top winds through green forests, dark tunnels, and treeless heights. It's so narrow that team cars have to be left at the base while mechanics follow their riders on motorbikes. One of those motorbikes couldn't take the 22% grade and broke down in a great puff of smoke. I imagine some of the riders were ready to do the same.

There's something very Italian about the Zoncolan climb. The motorbikes were chugging away behind the riders, the spare bikes were draped precariously over the mechanics' shoulders, protests on an earlier climb led to the Zoncolan being routed earlier into the stage, the fans were wild, and the scenery was stunning -- all of which gave it a feeling of controlled chaos peppered with so much passion and love.

And then there's that wonderful word ... Zoncolan. It just doesn't look right in boxy print. It needs to have a darker edge to it, like something hastily painted on the side of a wall late at night when no one's looking.

Rather than paint a realistic scene from the climb, all I wanted to do was write that word with the flair it deserves. So that's what I did, against a backdrop of those rich green and brown colors that make this singular mountain stage so beautiful.

A Quiet Ride

2011-05-18T08:15:00.007-04:00

Bike rides can be epic and grand, or contemplative and quiet. It's often those quiet rides that are the most evocative, bringing back thoughts and memories that extend well beyond the ride itself.

Words are like that too. For each of us, the simplest of words can be filled with a wealth of personal meaning.

One of my favorite words has always been "rambles". Miriam-Webster's online dictionary defines it as: a leisurely excursion for pleasure; an aimless walk. That's really nice. But for me, what makes the word so special is that it reminds me of Don Adcock.

Mr. Adcock was my high school private flute teacher in my childhood home of Raleigh, North Carolina. In addition to being a great jazz and classical flutist, he was also the director of the North Carolina State University Music Department and the best flute teacher in the city.

Nothing got by Mr. Adcock during my lessons. Rushing the tempo, ignoring a dynamic marking, or missing a note would provoke an animated “What?! Did you hear what you just did?" I wish you could have heard him say those things though, because they were spoken with a voice full of humor, enthusiasm, and a love of music and teaching. Mr. Adcock was tall and thin, with a full head of grey hair, and despite struggling with arthritis that severely limited his own flute playing, he seemed to bound into the room with an endless supply of energy.

One of Mr. Adcock's favorite flute exercise books was "60 Rambles for Flute" by Leon Lester. Each Ramble was only a few lines long, but they were jazzy little gems.

“I just love these little Rambles,” Mr. Adcock would so often say, looking over my shoulder at a few bars I had just played. The Rambles weren’t all that difficult technically -- they had none of the twisty finger combinations found in the notoriously tough Paris Conservatory etude books. But those sweet little Rambles had a unique difficulty all their own. They were about learning to play a melody, and playing it beautifully. With enough practice, you can teach your fingers to perform just about any series of notes. Playing a tune with a singular beauty takes something far deeper.

When I was deciding on a name for my blog, "rambles" was the first word that came to my mind. Although I didn't consciously name it after that exercise book, I could hear Mr. Adcock's voice saying the word and it felt perfect. Through those short, lilting melodies, my teacher taught me that even the simplest things have an inner beauty and complexity all their own. Given a little dedication and care, they can unfold into something truly extraordinary.

I'm sorry to say that last Saturday my mother called me with sad news. Don Adcock had passed away.

I wish I could do something like paint a watercolor, as I did in the last post about the very public death of cyclist Wouter Weylandt. But the death of a teacher and friend is more difficult than that. Sometimes the best we can do is simply set aside some thoughtful moments in the days ahead, reminisce with family and friends, take a quiet bike ride, and remember.

Moving Tribute at the Giro

2011-05-11T12:40:00.000-04:00

The riders, team leaders, and race organizers created a beautiful tribute to Wouter Weylandt on Stage 4 of the Giro d'Italia.

In this atmospheric watercolor I painted, depicting the last few miles of Stage 4, the line of Weylandt's eight Leopard-Trek teammates lead the peloton to the stage finish, joined by Tyler Farrar -- a good friend of Weylandt's on the Garmin-Cervelo Team, whom the Leopard-Trek riders thoughtfully invited to ride with them.

Not only did the riders choose to neutralize Stage 4 in honor of Wouter Weylandt (which means they just rode together as a pack without racing), but they organized themselves with a very touching choreography. Each of the teams spent a few minutes at the front of the peloton, ending with Weylandt's team, Leopard-Trek.

The smooth progression through the beautiful Italian Riviera, the poignant hand-written signs and applause from the Italian cycling fans lining the side of the road, and even the sensitive commentary by the Universal Sports announcers all made for a very moving tribute, full of camaraderie. Only in cycling could this occur.

It was a very sad day, but so full of heart.

Wouter Weylandt

2011-05-11T00:03:00.000-04:00

As a fan of professional cycling, I would like to add my condolences to all those mourning the tragic death of Belgian cyclist Wouter Weylandt, who crashed on Stage 3 of the Giro d'Italia. Such a sad day in the cycling world.

Two Shipyards, One Ride

2011-05-10T20:09:00.005-04:00

I generally begin each bike ride with a good idea of my route. Part of this is for practical purposes ... avoiding traffic, figuring out where to ride within a limited amount of time, etc.

But riding familiar roads also gives me the great feeling of being a local cycling expert. It's as much sailing as cycling, following the currents of the local terrain like an old Gloucester fisherman on native waters. There's something reassuring about being so in touch with your surroundings.

Once in a while though you simply have to satisfy your inner Lewis and Clark and start exploring. So last Saturday I hit the road at 5:30 a.m. and headed east, along the southern rim of Boston Harbor, with no plan or destination in mind.

The nice thing about cycling is you don't have to ride into unknown territory to feel like you're making new discoveries. Roads you've already driven by car seem fresh and new on a bicycle.

Riding out on Washington Street, the temporary drawbridge across the Fore River Inlet loomed large up ahead...

Rather than cross it (it's hazardous for cyclists), I turned right into the Fore River Shipyard. Active from 1901-1986, workers here built submarines, battleships, aircraft carriers, and other large ships, including the USS Salem, which now rests in one of the shipyard's old slips. Volunteer guides give visitors a great tour of this historic navy vessel.

Next door is the ferry to downtown Boston.

But unfortunately that's all that's left of this once mighty shipyard, other than abandoned buildings (note the broken window)...

...and wide spaces of industrial nothingness.

Looking through those broken windows at the old office furniture inside, you can just imagine engineers hovering over blueprints of massive ships, and secretaries noisily banging away at their typewriters, transcribing their shorthand notes. There was a certain artistry to work back then.

Riding out from the Fore River Shipyard, I followed quiet side streets in an easterly direction, passing through a nice neighborhood of little Cape Cod style houses in Braintree.

Without even trying, I eventually found myself in Hingham, Mass. Hingham is a beautiful seaside town, and home to the famous Hingham Shipyard.

The Hingham Shipyard is faring better these days than its Fore River cousin. Although no longer an active shipyard, it's now the home of a nicely-designed shopping center, a modern ferry terminal, a marina, condominiums...

...and a lobster shack.

Next door is a memorial to the shipyard's remarkable history.

But best of all, walking my bike down the nearby path...

...led me to an amazing spot.

It doesn't look like much now, but what you're seeing are the old launching sites from the World War II-era shipyard (look close and you can still see ruins of the wooden pilings on the beach).

All's eerily quiet now...

...but just imagine what this place was like 60 years ago, as each new ship was launched into the deep-water harbor with cheers and fanfare. Over 15,000 people worked here, building 227 ships in the 3.5 years that the yard operated during World War II. Incredible.

Riding back home, I didn't have much time to reflect on those two great shipyards. Even while retracing the same roads, there were still so many little things that caught my attention. What's wonderful about cycling though, is that those reflections come later, all throughout the day, as images and thoughts from the ride rise to the surface.

That afternoon I would be quietly reading a book on the subway -- but in my mind I was still standing on that windy pier in Hingham, imagining those magnificent ships launching into the sea.

Springtime on the Harbor

2011-05-07T20:10:00.004-04:00

Spring is slowly coming back to life here on Boston's South Shore. Each day more and more boats return to the marina I pass by on my regular riding route.

Some boats still sit around the parking lot though, patiently waiting for their turn to set sail.

My "regular riding route" is actually rarely that regular. There are many little detours I like to add along the way. For instance, on a late-day ride last Thursday, I turned down a steep hill to take some photos at this lovely Boston Harbor cove:

It's a little tough to see in the following photo, but that tiny white speck in the center is Boston Light, the oldest lighthouse in America:

Every night the rays from Boston Light shine all around the harbor, reflecting up off the water into the evening sky. It's a beautiful sight.

Misty Morning Ride

2011-05-03T18:50:00.003-04:00

Sunny days are overrated.

If you're a cyclist in New England, then you know it's those cool, misty mornings that are often the most beautiful.

On one such morning last week, I decided to explore the two "necks" of Quincy, Massachusetts: Squantum and Hough's Neck. They jut out into the southern portion of Boston Harbor, creating Quincy Bay and a long stretch of beach in between.

Riding out to Squantum, the streets were still wet from the rain that fell the previous day...

But this morning there were just cloudy skies, a nice backdrop to the flowering trees on top of Squantum's hilly terrain.

Riding away from Squantum, I turned onto beautiful Quincy Shore Drive...

...and looked back onto the Squantum peninsula, where I had just ridden.

After some thrilling moments zipping along the shore, I took a left turn, rode a few more miles, and was soon pedaling on Hough's Neck...

At the very end of Hough's Neck sits Nut Island. It's not really an island, just a little bump of land connected to the neck itself. It was once the site of an artillery testing facility; the base of one of its big guns is still plainly visible on the center-left of this photo.

All around are views of the southern part of Boston Harbor, which this morning was eerily calm.

My favorite part of Hough's Neck is at the very tip of Nut Island, where a lonely pier juts out into the morning mist...

Sometimes it's lined with people hovering over their fishing lines and rods. But this morning it was quiet and mysterious.

Walking my bike out on the pier, it's easy to imagine this as some dark Cold War-era spy rendezvous site....

It really gets your imagination going!

Riding back, along the other side of Hough's Neck...

...and back onto Quincy Shore Drive...

...it wasn't long before the sun was shining through clear blue skies.

Returning home a short time later after this 30 mile ride, I cleaned my bike, watched some of the morning news shows, and then switched on the Weather Channel. By that time it was noon, 75 degrees and sunny ... the warmest it had been all year.

But personally, I'm happy I got to experience that special cool morning, in the mist, on a bicycle.

First Ride of the Season

2011-03-06T23:37:00.001-05:00

I'm back!

I had originally planned to put photo of a "Closed for the Winter" sign on a December post -- like one of those signs you'll so often see hanging on the doors of Cape Cod art galleries and ice cream shops. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. Along with the snow, ice, and frigid temperatures that make up a typical New England winter, so too is there always this sense that maybe ... just maybe ... a rare morning will come along when the sun shines bright and the temperatures are just warm enough to squeeze in a bike ride.

I guess didn't have the heart to officially close the blog down for a few months.

And so today that long-awaited morning finally arrived. It was 58 degrees and partly cloudy ... perfect conditions for the first ride of the season.

As you can see, there weren't many boats in the marina...

They were all still lined up on pilings nearby...

But despite the potholes and puddles made from the the 75 inches of snow that fell here this year (the last remnants of which you can still see)...

...it was a great ride. Thrilling, really. About halfway through, the ocean crosswinds really started to howl. It was difficult to ride into, but wonderful -- which is what serious cycling is all about, seeing the beauty in the very things that make your morning ride so challenging.

But that was only the beginning of this magical day! Just a few hours later the European cycling season began, with Versus channel broadcasting Stage 1 of Paris-Nice. It was as if there was some sort of eerie concurrence going on, because the determining factor in that very exciting first stage of Paris-Nice was .... crosswinds!

It really was a beautiful stage, and it definitely had the feel of a early-season race. Despite the green fields surrounding the roads, all the trees were still leafless and grey, making the colors of the peloton look even more vivid ... the subject of a very fast watercolor I did after the race:

It's good to be back.

Late Fall Rides

2010-11-24T09:20:00.005-05:00

Fall sure is a beautiful time in New England.

I took those photos on a ride a couple weekends ago, when the leaves were just beyond their peak.

But fall is always a bittersweet season in New England, because just as the leaves grow more colorful, the days also get shorter, the shadows longer, cold morning winds stir up whitecaps on the bay...

...and the cycling season moves closer and closer to its end. All of which make those late fall rides even more special. Everyday things are framed in a whole new light, like this bus stop that sits just a short distance from the shore:

Although it's part of the massive Boston transportation system, that bench seemed to me to be such a peaceful outpost as I rode past it. Those are the wonderful little things you notice from a bicycle.

By the time I headed out for a morning ride last Sunday though, most of the leaves had fallen...

...and it was a very blustery 39 degrees. Time to break out the cold-weather cycling gear. Wearing an insulated jersey, leggings, and jacket, I felt fairly comfortable out on the road ... all except for my feet, which were freezing beneath my cycling shoes. So that afternoon I took the train to my LBS (cyclist-speak for "local bike shop"), and bought these...

Aren't they cool? Made in Italy by Castelli ... the legendary cycling-clothes company ... they're a nice little throwback to the great Italian cycling culture. Look at many Tour de France teams, and you'll often see Castelli's iconic scorpion logo on their shorts and jerseys.

And as the darkest winter months approach, it's also time to collect more reading material for those long weeks off the bike. I started by buying this book and magazine, both of which are wonderful...

It's one of the great things about being a cyclist ... the beauty of our sport inspires so many writers and photographers, that when your cycling season comes to an end there are more than enough storytellers around to keep your cycling-dreams alive over the winter. Happy reading!

Two New Magazines

2010-11-13T09:24:00.002-05:00

I was browsing around Barnes & Noble a few days ago, and I came across these two cycling magazines:

Not only are they great magazines, but they're brand new! Each one is a premiere issue. They both seem to take an artistic, passionate approach to cycling journalism -- just my kind of writing and photography.

So pick them up at your local bookstore, and enjoy!

Hub on Wheels Ride and Mayor's Cup Race

2010-10-11T10:54:00.013-04:00

September 26, 2010 was a great day! It was the sixth-annual Hub on Wheels ride, with 10, 30, and 50-mile routes to choose from, followed by the Mayor's Cup professional criterium race around City Hall. Both were organized by the City of Boston and its sponsors. I've written about many rides on this blog, but nothing was quite like this.

Before the Ride

That's over 4,000 riders you're looking at, stretched out from the start line at City Hall all the way beyond the Old State House. You may be wondering: why is this ride called Hub on Wheels? Well, it's a Boston thing. "The Hub" is short for "The Hub of the Universe", a phrase written by Oliver Wendell Holmes to describe Boston. One of the goals of the ride was to give cyclists a sense of the many diverse neighborhoods of our beautiful city -- on bicycle wheels!

The nickname "hub" certainly fit on this special day. I felt as if the entire universe of cycling revolved around Boston.

The ride was set to begin at 8:00 a.m., but I arrived downtown at about 6:45, taking my bike on the T (the T is our subway system, which allows bicycles on most lines). This was the eerily-quiet scene as I cycled through Downtown Crossing on my way to City Hall Plaza.

I registered online only a week before the event, so I had to pick-up my number at on-site registration rather than receive it in the mail. This worried me a bit ... I had a feeling the lines would be long. But fortunately not many riders had arrived by the time I reached City Hall Plaza, and I was able to walk right up to the registration table.

The organizers gave me a route map (which you can see a PDF of here) and my number...

...and then I began the pre-ride ritual of pinning the number to my jersey. There are all sorts of superstitions surrounding number-pinning among racers (although this was a ride, not a race). Many of the world's best cyclists insist on pinning their numbers themselves, and of course the number 13 requires special consideration. Fortunately, I didn't notice my number as I pinned it on (4413), or I would have pinned it upside down to let the bad luck pour out, as Tour de France racer Fabian Cancellara did this past summer! But I guess ignorance is bliss ... I had no flat tires or any other mechanical issues during the ride.

After carefully pinning the number to my blue jersey (being sure not to make it too tight or it would tear, but not so loose that it would flap in the wind -- it takes a bit of trail and error), I had nearly an hour to simply walk around and enjoy the pre-ride atmosphere.

City Hall Plaza is a huge, expansive brick pavement, surrounded by government buildings, coffee shops, pubs, and our modernistic City Hall. It's not as warm and inviting as the Common or Public Gardens, but for this event it worked really well. Over the plaza's large open area we could easily roll our bikes around, and in the center of the plaza vendors were setting up for the bike festival which was set to begin after we arrived back from our rides.

By 7:30 a.m., I realized that arriving early was a wise decision. The registration line was now very long and the plaza was completely ... wonderfully ... full of riders! The weather was perfect (sunny, in the 60's), so I think a lot of people decided to show up on the spur of the moment.

That modern gray building in the last photo is our City Hall, and in the third photo you can see historic Faneuil Hall. They make a nice contrast to each other.

If you're wondering why I'm using so much space to write about this pre-ride time, it's because I love these moments. There's a great feeling of anticipation in the air, knowing this is the starting point for a great journey. But more simply, we cyclists just enjoy being together! Conversation flows easily, and we're probably one of the most polite and good-humored crowds ever to assemble on City Hall Plaza. Everyone is patient and kind, and stories of epic rides flow around the plaza as effortlessly as the cool New England early-autumn breeze (which would later turn into a thrilling coastal headwind ... but more on that later). For many of us, there was no place we would have rather been.

At about 7:35 or so, I decided I had better get myself onto Cambridge Street and into the starting area. As I've written before on other posts, I don't like riding in the rear of a pack. I feel better knowing there are plenty of riders behind me in case I get a flat tire. That way, by the time I change it I can still easily catch up.

As I made my way toward the start banner, I noticed these cars...

Recognize them? They're the neutral support vehicles from the Tour de France! Well, to be honest I'm not sure if they were the exact same cars, but they're still very cool.

Since most of the riders were still pinning their numbers on their jerseys or hanging out on the plaza, I got myself in great position close to the start-banner.

That gate you see was used by the organizers to stagger the start a bit. The people in front of me were in the first group, which headed out a little after 8:00 a.m. Our group left about 30 seconds later, and so on and so forth all way back. Everyone pretty much did end up coming together in a gigantic line of cyclists, but this slightly staggered start allowed each rider to find her or her own pace for the first mile or so with a little extra room around the wheels.

I noticed that I was standing next to a rider with a Raleigh bicycle (same brand as mine), so we chatted for a while. He worked for TD Bank, which was the principle sponsor for the event. Working for a non-profit arts organization, I know a bit about sponsorships, and I have to say that I think TD Bank got their money's worth. They were a visible presence throughout the day, but in a fun, snazzy way. It was clear that this event could not have happened without their great support, as well as all of the other sponsors.

Time went quickly as we awaited the start of the ride. You just kind of stand there, at peace, chatting with fellow riders, enjoying all the good feelings and thinking about the route ahead.

The route I had chosen to ride was 30 miles. Although I completed a 48 mile ride in August and would normally have bumped up my mileage to 50 ... 30 miles felt just right for this end-of-the-season ride. When I ride an event, I like to end strong, and although I cycled throughout August and September I hadn't concentrated on long distances. Anyway, this ride was about discovery and enjoyment, not miles. I loved the look of the 30-mile route, and .... most important of all ... I wanted to get back in good time for the lunch party!

Just before 8:00 a.m., the sponsors and organizers stepped onto the small stage to give their pre-ride greetings, including our bicycle-riding mayor Thomas Menino:

And then with a few parting words of advice ("don't ride to close to the rider in front of you" and "follow the traffic rules on open-to-cars roads") we were off! The first group cranked their pedals and headed out amidst a crowd of cheering orange-shirted volunteers ... and a few moments later the gate was moved and I was on my way! 30 miles of adventure lie ahead.

The Ride

As always when I do organized rides, I only took photos at the rest stops. It's simply too much fun being on the bike, surrounded by the whirring gears of all your fellow cyclists, to then stop, pull over, get out the camera and take pictures (or worse, try doing it on the bike ... yikes!). Normally I would go back in a rental car and take photos along the route, but having come to this ride by subway that wasn't possible; and besides, it's just not the same without all the riders on the streets. So after the ride I dusted off my watercolor set and went to work.

My first painting is a scene from the first few miles of the ride, which took place on roads closed to traffic:

And that's not just any road ... it's Storrow Drive, one of the busiest thoroughfares in the city! On this beautiful morning it was all ours. Storrow Drive is a very dramatic road, with the Charles River and tree-lined Esplanade on one side, the brownstones of Beacon Street and Boston University on the other, and ... once we made the sweeping turn back toward downtown ... the skyscrapers of Back Bay in the distance. I painted this scene from memory, so it's more an impression of all of these things rather than an exact spot on the route.

The start of a large event ride always feels great, but to have it take place on this beautiful road, traffic-free, with 4,000 fellow riders was just incredible. Although mindful of needing to conserve my energy, I still found myself moving steadily forward around a nice 17 mph pace.

It takes a bit of choreography to get into your riding rhythm, passing slower riders with a politely called out "on your left" so they know not to swerve into your path, while yielding to speed demons who fly by you (whom you assure yourself will wear out by the end of the ride, making you feel a little better). While there were certainly plenty of carbon fiber and aluminum road bikes (like mine) on the road, there were also riders on mountain bikes, cruisers, hybrids, and everything in between. This was a big-city urban ride, which means you saw all ages and types of people. There were teams of riders, couples, and families, but also plenty of independent souls who showed up on their own and made 4,000 new friends.

We rode up one side of Storrow Drive, made a u-turn just after passing Harvard University, and then rode down the other side. That's when the enormity of this ride really hit home. In the remaining miles of Storrow Drive, I never saw a single break in the huge pack of riders coming the other direction. I could have stopped, replaced a flat tire, oiled my chain, and eaten a cereal bar or two without seeing the final rider pass me!

As we pedaled off Storrow Drive, those doing the 10-mile route turned back toward downtown, while the rest of us continued on the tree-lined Fenway and Riverway, meandering down landscape architect Frederick Olmsted's "Emerald Necklace" of parks. We were back on open streets now, with some red lights (providing nice breaks to check out the cool bikes of fellow riders) but very little traffic on this early Sunday morning.

Passing by Jamaica Pond in the heart of the artsy, hip, and diverse Jamaica Plain neighborhood (one of my favorite haunts in my college days), we made a turn into the beautiful Arnold Arboretum and soon arrived at the first rest stop.

As you can see it wasn't very crowded, since I had ridden pretty close to the front of the riders. I heard it filled up quickly though, which actually would have been fun to see. But for now, I was glad to have first pick of the huge amount of healthy goodies they had lined up for us (although in the end I went with the tried-and-true cycling staple ... a banana and some Gatorade). After a few pleasant moments enjoying my small breakfast, I was back on the road.

Living along the coast, the interior sections of Boston are places I rarely visit, so it was wonderful discovering this section of the city by bicycle. The route took us through the leafy Arboretum, then into the busy neighborhood at the junction of Washington Street and Hyde Park Avenue, and finally into the soulful Forest Hills Cemetery. This was the location of Rest Stop #2.

Isn't that gothic gate extraordinary? Just one of the many beautiful sights on the ride.

Again, the rest stop wasn't very crowded when I arrived. I think it had to do with the group-dynamic of the ride. Not long after leaving Storrow Drive, we had transformed ourselves into a long line of cyclists with little pockets of groups riding together. As you increased or decreased your speed, you would find yourself cruising along with a new set of riders. It made for some pleasant cycling.

As I cycled out of Rest Stop #2 and the cemetery, one of the volunteers singling a turn yelled out to me: "lookin' good blue bike!" This was another incredible feature of the ride ... at every major turn there were at least two volunteers in bright orange shirts pointing riders in the right direction, often yelling out "great job!" and "you can do it!". Volunteers were everywhere, as were police officers guiding us through intersections, and EMT personnel ready to help if anyone got hurt. The level of organization and support was phenomenal. It made me so proud to be a Bostonian.

After leaving the cemetery, the route soon took us into Franklin Park for some quiet riding through rolling hills and woods. We then entered the neighborhood of Dorchester. Dorchester is an expansive, densely populated, culturally diverse area, which made for a wonderful stretch of urban cycling. Its defining architectural feature is the Dorchester Triple Decker ... a large three-story flat-roofed house with clapboard siding, built as closely as possible to its neighbor. Again, my painting doesn't depict an exact place on the ride, just an impression from my memories:

It was here that I experienced an odd sense of deja vu, as if I had dreamt of riding on these streets before. Strange things like this happen on bike rides. You're so focused on the moment and in touch with your surroundings, that sometimes your mind drifts into its deeper, more mysterious corners. I simply enjoyed the sensation.

Our route through Dorchester first took us due-south, but as we gradually turned to the east I could begin to pick up the scent of the sea. Along the way a woman working in her garden waved to me as I passed, and the volunteers and police officers were wonderful as they helped us through the intersections. Moving steadily along and feeling great, I decided not to stop at Rest Stop #3 (although it was tempting!).

After turning onto a transitional street of businesses and warehouses, it wasn't long before we made a right onto the seaside Morrissey Boulevard and the final third of the ride had begun.

With Boston's vast waterfront on our right, we rode up Morrissey Boulevard (where a flat surface was laid across a rough drawbridge, to make it easier to cycle on) and onto the Harborwalk Path, which took us past the stunning JFK Library and around the University of Massachusetts before we arrived at Rest Stop #4:

Here's my bike, looking good...

...and thanks to Wheelworks, a great local bike shop, you could get your bike fixed if you happened to have any midride mishaps...

Leaving the rest stop, I had a feeling the final portion of the ride was going to be something extraordinary ... and it was. The route was both quietly beautiful and epic at the same time. Riding along the beaches of South Boston, colorful boats bobbed on the bay to my right, while on my left narrow streets climbed upward past neat rowhouses to Telegraph Hill. As we followed the path around the end of Southie, the huge cranes of the Conley Shipping Terminal loomed large in the distance.

Crossing a small bridge over an inlet, we entered the Black Falcon Cruise Terminal, which is the docking point for the many cruise ships making port in the city. I loved this area! Like all waterfront shipping districts, it's a mishmash of gigantic warehouses, abandoned railroad tracks, and fish distribution centers. Cobblestones appeared in the road where the modern asphalt had worn away, recalling earlier days of clipper ships and steamers. I love old industrial landscapes, so cycling through this area was a real treat.

Making our way through some powerful ocean headwinds, we rode along Northern Avenue, past the Fish Pier with its commercial fishing boats tied up along its edges, and back onto the Harborwalk to loop around the ultra-modern Institute of Contemporary Art. Following a winding route of waterfront streets, we were soon cycling on Atlantic Avenue toward downtown.

As volunteers cheered us on through the final turns, we made one last left onto historic State Street.

What a way to end this ride! Back from our journey through so many of the beautiful corners of our city, this final stretch of road featured an iconic Boston image: the colonial-era Old State House surrounded by the modern skyscrapers of the financial district. It truly felt like a grand-finale moment. And then with one final right turn onto City Hall Plaza, riding through a crowd of congratulating volunteers, we made it!

I truly felt like I had returned from an adventure. I discovered parts of the city I didn't know existed, met new people along the way, challenged myself, and made it back knowing I had experienced something extraordinary. It was a wonderful 30 miles.

By this time it was 10:40 a.m. or so, and I seemed to be among some of the first riders back. I picked up my free bag of goodies from the sponsors...

...and then walked around the plaza, stopping by all the booths at the bike expo.

The next big event of the day was the Mayor's Cup professional bike race, which was set to begin at 2:00 pm. Since I live just a 25-minute T ride from City Hall Plaza, I decided to make a quick trip home, drop off my bike, take a shower, and return refreshed for lunch and the race.

The Mayor's Cup Criterium Race

I arrived back at City Hall Plaza around 1:00 p.m. Sampling some of the lunch items provided by sponsors Boloco and Redbones, I then waked to the start banner to wait for the women's race to begin. It was the same banner I had pedaled under just five hours earlier at start of the Hub on Wheels ride! Announcing both races were the wonderfully enthusiastic David Towle and Tour de France rider and Versus Channel reporter Frankie Andreu.

It had gotten fairly chilly by this time, with high winds and occasional periods of light rain ... such a switch from the morning. The course was a .7 mile loop around City Hall Plaza, around which the racers made multiple laps. It was quite scenic, with one nice uphill section, and plenty of long straightaways for launching an attack. All of the elements you see in the Tour de France you could see in this race, including breakaways, a peloton, sprints, and ... unfortunately ... a crash (there was one bad crash during the women's race that neutralized the field for a number of laps. I hope the two riders who fell are o.k.).

Here are the racers lined up at the start of the women's race:

That bell you see on the left side of the photo is a cowbell, passed out to the crowd by TD Bank (I have mine sitting on my desk right now). It's the traditional way to cheer on a bicycle race! How cool!

After a brief introduction, the racers were off! They zipped by in a blaze of bright color...

...and then you wait, the suspense building as each second ticks by.

It isn't long before you hear the honking of the lead-out Volvo car and the racers are back, barreling under the start banner at incredible speeds...

The commentators were wonderful throughout, keeping fans informed on the details and tactics of what was a very exciting race.

After a while I decided to walk around the rest of the course...

Here's a nice view of the peloton with the narrow streets of the North End in the distance. Incidentally, that restaurant on the right side of the photo is called the "Bell in Hand" pub -- very apt today!

Here are the riders making a sharp turn at the Old State House, which I had ridden by earlier that morning:

The crowd cranes their necks to catch the final sprint finish...

...and here's the winner Lauren Tamayo after the race:

The men's criterium began a short while later...

This next photo is pretty blurry, since it was getting dark by the time the race ended, but here you can see winner Daniel Holloway just after he crossed the finish line in a thrilling sprint:

The award ceremonies for the first, second, and third place winners of both races were then held. For the men it was Daniel Holloway, Gavin Mannion, and Andrew Crater...

And the winners for the women's race were Lauren Tamayo, Jen Mcrae, and Laura Van Gilder...

And with that, this magical day had come to an end. It wasn't long before crews were tearing down the stage and start banner, and by the next morning all traces of Boston's cycling festival had vanished. It now just exists in our memories, which is why I decided to take my time writing this post to record as much as I could.

On this special day, we celebrated not only the beauty of cycling, but also how far our city has come in just a few short years, from once being ranked one of the least cycling-friendly in the US to quickly becoming one of the best. Mayor Thomas Menino and Boston's Director of Bicycle Programs (a.k.a. Boston's "Bike Czar") Nicole Freedman have provided such great leadership to make the transformation possible, promoting healthier, greener living in the process. But it takes the entire Greater Boston cycling community to show up and make these dreams come alive -- and show up we did.

Thank you so much to all the volunteers, the police, emergency personnel, the generous sponsors, and Mayor Thomas Menino and Bike Czar Nicole Freedman for creating this magnificent event. It was one I will never forget.

MassBike Ride

2010-09-25T19:40:00.000-04:00

Wow, has it really been two months since I last blogged? I'm pleased to say that it hasn't been due to a lack of cycling. Early morning rides, long weekend rides, and an event ride have made this a great summer.

This was the scene about a quarter of the way through the 47-mile MassBike Summer Ride, which I did on August 14th ...

I thought to myself as I rode this stretch, "wow, this is why I ride a bike." It's such a wonderful feeling being out there in a new area, with a map and arrows leading the way, constantly meeting fellow riders who come and go along your journey.

The August 14th MassBike Summer Ride, sponsored by the Massachusetts Bicycle Coalition, took place in the quiet and historic western suburbs of Boston. It began and ended in Lexington, and I chose to do the 47-mile route. It was about a three-and-a-half hour ride, beginning at Lexington High School, looping around the area's rolling hills, and returning back in time for a late lunch.

This was a quiet sort of ride. There was no mass start with hundreds of riders at the line. At 9 am, when the 47-mile ride was set to begin, most of the riders were just hanging out, checking in at registration, or rolling around the parking lot to give their gears some trial shifts.

"It's a rolling start," said one of the organizers, when I asked her whether it was time to begin. "Feel free to leave anytime between 9 and 10 am."

So I headed out around 9:15 on what was a truly wonderful ride! These arrows painted on the road by MassBike organizers led the way...

...and there was one wonderful rest-stop along the route...

As with all event rides I participate in, I didn't take any photos while doing the ride itself, so that I could simply enjoy the road and scenery. But afterwards I drove the entire route by car and snapped these photos of the road-just-cycled...

Here's my bike post 47-mile adventure, sitting up against my rental car (with Alabama plates!):

Thank you to all of the organizers at MassBike for a fantastic ride!

Tour de France: Stage 20

2010-07-29T19:14:00.008-04:00

Bravo et Merci!

That's the message Claire Pedrono wrote on her chalkboard on this final day of the Tour de France.

For nearly a month Pedrono rode on the back of a bright yellow motorbike, writing the time gaps between the breakaways and the peloton on her board, displaying them to the riders. But today was different. On the first half of Stage 20 there were no breakaways, no chases, and no battles to be fought. Instead of the high mountains and deep forests that were the backdrops for the greatest dramas of the Tour, we saw apartment houses, stores, and parks.

It was, quite simply, a friendly neighborhood bike ride. A time to celebrate and say thanks.

So as the riders patted each other on the back and sipped champagne, our friend Claire Pedrono captured the moment perfectly. "Bravo et merci!" she wrote, and seeing her chalkboard on t.v. I thought to myself: yes, I couldn't agree more.

But if all those good feelings were what defined the first half of Stage 20, the second half was on a different plane entirely. Quietly, as if entering the room through a side door, the riders arrived in Paris, and everything changed.

I say "quietly" because this wasn't a little Pyrenean village they were riding into, with the peloton barreling through narrow streets, larger than life. Here, the great city simply unfolded for its guests -- gracefully, one panel at a time.

The riders passed by the beautiful bridges of the Seine. We television viewers marveled at the pictures of the Eiffel Tower. Way off in the distance we could make out the Louvre and Notre Dame. As the helicopter cameras panned out across the metropolis, each new kilometer revealed so many familiar sights and wonders. And the best part was ... it all came into view at the smooth and fluid pace of a bike ride.

It's the same magical pace that took us through the modern streets of Rotterdam, across the cobbles of Belgium and northeastern France, up the treeless peaks of the Alps, past the sunflower fields of Revel, and over the mightiest passes of the Pyrenees. What a wonderful way to experience this magnificent corner of the world.

And now, as the Tour carried us down the banks of the Seine, deeper and deeper into the most beautiful city in Europe, this smooth cycling motion felt as graceful and stylish as the city itself. Not only had the Tour de France riders earned the right to be here in Paris, they belonged.

With a sweeping turn onto the Place de la Concorde, the final battle began -- this time on the greatest stage of all: the Champs Elysees. Eight laps up and back, all under the proud view of the Arc de Triomphe, surrounded by cheering fans ... the subject of my final Tour de France 2010 painting...

What a thrilling battle it was! There on that long flat avenue, we could see the architecture of the Tour play itself out one last time. The rebellious little breakaway, the Empire that is the peloton, the lead out trains, the breathless announcers, and the breakneck sprint to the finish ... it was as if it was all being etched into our memories, this time for good. And then when Mark Cavendish crossed the finish line, that was it! The Tour de France 2010 -- one of the most exciting Tours in memory -- had come to an end.

So now here I sit a few days later in a Boston coffee shop, writing the end of this post, and I find myself at a loss for words. Twenty stages and countless stories have passed since the Tour began -- what can I possibly write to sum it all up? All I can think of are images: foggy mountain passes, dusty cobbles, exuberant fans, huge windmills, cozy villages, horrific crashes, colorful jerseys, and green forests.

But then I stop trying so hard. I look out the coffee shop window for a moment, reflect back on this extraordinary month-long event ... and slowly a few words drift into my mind.

I realize they're perfect.

So to everyone at the Versus channel who brought us those beautiful pictures...

To Phil Liggett, Paul Sherwen, Bob Roll, and Chris Hummer who told us the Tour's stories with such eloquence and humor...

To all the wonderful riders who created those stories on the road...

To the thousands of people lining the streets of France, Belgium, and Holland...

And to all the folks like Claire Pedrono, who worked so hard behind-the-scenes to make the magic of the Tour come alive...

Bravo et Merci!

It was a wonderful ride.

Tour de France: Stage 19

2010-07-24T23:29:00.000-04:00

As I sat down to begin my Tour de France painting of the day, I had a problem. I knew I wanted to show a rider racing through the green vineyards of Bordeaux -- but which rider? Contador, Schleck, or Armstrong?

Following the tradition of the Tour de France where great stories constantly overlap, I chose all three. In the following painting, you'll see traces of Alberto Contador's yellow jersey, Andy Schleck's white jersey, and the red Radio Shack jersey of Lance Armstrong:

Contador and Schleck both gave the time-trials of their lives -- a thrilling ending to one of the greatest GC battles in Tour de France history. And Lance Armstrong? It was as if he constantly found new things in this Tour de France to motivate him, no matter how small. He fought through one crash after another in the early days of the Tour; but when it became clear there was no possibility of victory, he didn't give up. He supported his team, gave a stage win a shot, and when all else failed, simply rode his bike -- kilometer after kilometer, always finishing. What a wonderful ride.

Tour de France: Stage 18

2010-07-23T23:35:00.004-04:00

The sprinters are back! Cavendish, Hushovd, Petacchi, and Dean ... it was like seeing old friends from college again. So guys, what have you been up to? "Oh, don't ask," they reply, shaking their heads. "Everything was going great, until we hit these mountains...."

Well, there was no need to worry on this stage. The switchbacks, fog, and Pyrenean sheep herds were all behind us. With nothing but flat roads all the way to Bordeaux, we were once again treated to the magnificent colors of a full-out sprint to the finish, the subject of my painting for the night...

Tour de France: Stage 17

2010-07-23T00:15:00.002-04:00

It was as if we'd stepped into a dream. The white jersey of Andy Schleck and the yellow jersey of Alberto Contador, emerging from the murky mists of the Tourmalet, climbing higher and higher -- into the clouds. After three weeks of racing it had come down to this.

Side by side, they climbed ... Schleck in front, Contador just behind. Equal competitors, their attacks were barely noticeable on the road. It was in their faces that the story of Stage 17 was written. Surrounded by wild fans, fog, and flags waving in their faces, Schleck and Contador's eyes were focused solely on each other -- testing, daring, concentrating, and wondering.

It was in those great cyclists' eyes that you saw they got it. They got that here on this most historic of Tour de France climbs they were creating something extraordinary. When they patted each other on the back at the finish line, I think for a moment they had stepped outside of themselves, realizing what an incredible mountaintop adventure story they had written together. They were each simply saying: well done, my friend.

It's Schleck, Contador, the fans, and the mists of the Tourmalet that are the subject for my Stage 17 painting:

What an incredible stage it was.

Tour de France: Stage 16

2010-07-20T23:58:00.002-04:00

The miles of campers parked alongside the road, the insane fans, the restaurant at the top of the pass, and the treeless landscape ... it can only be one place: the Tourmalet! Along with Alpe D'Huez, the Tourmalet is one of the greatest climbs of the tour to watch. And the best thing about it this year is that we get to see it twice. After the rest day tomorrow, the riders head back up the opposite side. Can't wait.

With all the amazing climbs in Stage 16 though, what I ended up remembering the most were those long, treacherous, and thrilling descents. Everything must seem like a blur to the riders as they barrel down the mountains at 60+ mph, the subject of my abstract painting for the evening...

As for the race itself -- yet again we saw some dramatic stories etched into Tour history, both on the road and off.

On the road ... What a thrill it was to see Lance Armstrong in the breakaway! That fast-pedaling cadence of his brought back many memories. Even though the day didn't end as he had hoped, seeing Lance battle it out one last time was a real treat to watch.

And off the road ... I just read the translation of Alberto Contador's YouTube apology/explanation, which I thought was very nice. I'm sure it won't change things on the course. Schleck will still be out for revenge, as he should -- that's what makes a great bike race! But Contador's video was a very human moment, and it really showed the difficult split-second decision he had to make. Nicely done.

Tour de France: Stage 15

2010-07-20T00:17:00.001-04:00

Stage 15 was really only about one climb ... the majestic Port de Bales. Near-perfect it is, in the unique geometry of a Tour de France climb. It begins modestly in a small Pyrenean village with a little uptick in the road. Then it winds its way through a dark tunnel of trees ... higher and higher, steeper and steeper ... until finally the road bursts above the treeline, fanning out in a multi-colored ribbon of wild fans over an endless ripple of ridges -- the subject of my painting for the night:

It was here on this great mountain pass that the Tour de France 2010 handed us our moral question of the race: Should Contador have attacked when Schleck was having mechanical problems, eventually taking the yellow jersey?

In a perfect world, sure -- it's very easy for me to say yes, I would have preferred it had Contador waited for Schleck to fix his chain. Contador could have thought: who cares if Menchov and Sanchez keep racing to the end! This is a battle between me and my great rival Andy Schleck. I'm going to wait for him to fix that rotten chain of his ... and then I'll attack him!

That's all well and good, but there are two things that keep me from simply saying Contador was wrong:

1. That's a lot to think about in the heat of the moment. He's still young.

...and more importantly...

2. A Tour rider should only wait for a contender with a mechanical problem if he truly believes it's the right thing to do -- not because it's simply the custom.

Lance Armstrong and arch-rival Jan Ulrich both waited for each other after falls in the 2001 and 2003 Tours de France. They waited because you could see in their faces that they considered the situation and made thoughtful choices. Those were wonderful moments.

But if every rider waited each time a contender had a crash simply because they were following some unwritten code of conduct, that would make for one very boring bike race. Remember, no one waited for Lance Armstrong when he crashed on the cobbles of this year's Stage 3.

So O.K., Contador didn't wait. That was his choice. It was a heated moment, and there's no rule saying he can't. But now Andy Schleck will be out for revenge tomorrow, and everyone loves to root for the guy who falls behind in life through no fault of his own. If anything, Cantodor may have given Schleck the greatest gift of all ... there will be millions of people cheering for Andy on Stage 16.

Tour de France: Stage 14

2010-07-18T22:35:00.002-04:00

The Pyrenees! These are the stages we've all been waiting for. Four amazing days in the high mountains, with the #1 podium spot still in hot contention. What could be better than that?

Today's stage first took us through the dark gorges of the Pyrenean foothills -- the subject of my Tour painting for the evening...

...and then we moved onto the day's two massive climbs: the above-the-tree-line Port de Pailheres, and the final climb up the Ax Trois Domaines. In a way, Stage 14 was all about twos: there were two mountains to climb, two Yellow Jersey contenders battling it out, and two dramatic stories created on those high roads.

Story #1: The Strange Dual Between Andy Schleck and Alberto Contador

Contador looked to be in good form on the steep slopes of today's mountains, which normally means he's virtually unbeatable. Bad news for Andy Schleck. So what did Schleck do? He just rattled Contador's nerves. Rather than attacking, Schleck kept his eyes glued on Contador and mirrored his every move. When Contador attacked, vroom! -- there was Andy Schleck instantly on his rear wheel, every single time ... following, never attacking.

But I think Contador wanted Schleck to attack; he wanted this battle to begin. So Contador literally dared Schleck to pull ahead of him, riding slower, slower, and even slower, to the point of a near standstill. Schleck just seemed to say fine, if you want to go slow, just watch how slow I can go too. And so we were treated to the rare sight of two of the top riders in the Tour de France nearly falling off their bicycles, trying as hard as they could not to attack!

Had Schleck attacked though, Contador could have latched onto Schleck's rear wheel, waited for him to wear out, and then pulled away. So it was brilliant riding by Andy Schleck. He can't afford to do this again -- Schleck still desperately needs to add minutes to his lead. But for today, the strategy worked beautifully.

Story #2: The Magnificent Ride of Christophe Riblon

French rider Christophe Riblon had no time for the mind games of Schleck and Contaodor. He had a stage to win! And wow, win it he did, leading the race for an astounding 160 kilometers.

There were no gifts helping Riblon along to victory. This was earned. Team Astana drove the peloton forward at a blistering pace. No matter, Riblon stayed away. 2008 Tour de France winner Carlos Sastre launched an attack, trying to bridge the gap to the lead. Again, Riblon stayed away. Even Dennis Menchov and Samuel Sanchez pulled up close to the lone leader toward the end ... but it had no effect on the determined Riblon. He made it all the way to the finish line, punching his hand into the air in celebration during the final kilometer.

So congratulations, Christophe! You did it! All of us were cheering right along with you.

Tour de France: Stage 13

2010-07-17T23:28:00.002-04:00

Beautiful, beautiful Stage 13. The riders sped past great fields of sunflowers, weaved their way through picturesque medieval villages, and traveled mile after mile of tree-lined roads. Those trees are so neatly spaced that they're like giant frames for the symphonies of color all around them. I bought a new watercolor pad this afternoon, so I enjoyed inaugurating it with a painting of the Tour racing through that incredible countryside...

Tomorrow begins the part of the Tour we've all been waiting for ... the Pyrenean stages. But I'll miss the quieter roads of southern France. As I climb on my bike for my own morning rides, I'll be thinking of those brilliant fields of yellow, the mysterious old forests, and the gently rolling hills of that magnificent corner of the world.

Tour de France: Stage 12

2010-07-16T23:49:00.003-04:00

Wonderful stage today! I've always loved the intermediate stages between the Alps and the Pyrenees. One would think those roads would be pretty flat, but they aren't. There's an old, soulful mountain range right in the middle of southern France called the Massif Central that keeps them rolling.

I've never been to the Massif's mountains, but it looks to me that they're not unlike our equally soulful Appalachians here on the East Coast. I love the dark beauty of those quiet mountains and forests. One of the most graceful moments of today's stage was when the peloton crossed over a Roman aqueduct-style bridge, the subject of my quick Tour painting for this evening:

As for the strategy of Stage 12, I think Alberto Contador attacked on the Mende climb simply to stamp a little fear into his rivals before the Pyrenees. It was as if Contador was saying: "Watch out! You never know when I'm going to strike." I thought it was a brilliant and stylish move.

The cool and calm Andy Schleck never panicked though. He may not have had it in his legs to follow Contador at that moment, but he kept riding hard enough to minimize the lose of time. So tonight he still wears yellow (it's just 10 seconds less bright...).

Tour de France: Stage 11

2010-07-15T23:58:00.003-04:00

Stage 11 began as one of the happiest days on the tour. The roads of the Drome Valley were wide and flat, and fields of sunflowers smiled on relaxed riders. Lance Armstrong was seen chatting with Mark Cavendish. Alberto Contador rode alongside arch-rival Andy Schleck, talking away. Fabian Cancellara waved at the camera. What a happy bunch.

I thought to myself: what a nice painting I'll create later tonight, with the colors of bright sunflowers, big hayfields, and clear blue skies...

Then wham! ... we entered the sprint phase and it all blew apart. Saxo Bank began by hammering out a blistering pace, keeping Andy Schleck in the front, but spinning exhausted rider after exhausted rider off the back. Then the lead-out trains started to form like giant dragons rearing up, ready to strike. HTC-Columbia, Team Sky, Lampre, and an abbreviated Garmin-Transitions all jockeyed for position on the road. They passed under the one-kilometer-to-go banner, gracefully made two sharp turns without incident...

And then things got ugly.

It began when Mark Renshaw headbutted Julian Dean. Did Dean encroach on Renshaw's line? I replayed my recording again and again, and it's tough to tell. Then Mark Renshaw made a second foul when he moved to the left and blocked Tyler Farrar, who was in a good position to contend the final sprint.

Now we all know that bad things sometimes just happen on the final 500 meters of a sprint. Renshaw does have a reputation for being a safe and fair rider, and it's a rough neighborhood in those final moments. But the organizers couldn't let a headbutt and a block go. That was too much. And so they threw Renshaw out of the Tour. Wow.

This has quite simply been the most bizarre Tour de France ever. Even a stage that began so peacefully just had to end with everyone mad at each other. What new mayhem will tomorrow's stage bring? We'll see...

Tour de France: Stage 10

2010-07-15T00:14:00.002-04:00

After all the action of Stage 9, today's Bastille Day stage was a quiet one -- quite a relief from the drama, triumph, and heartache of the past week. Stages like this allow us to sit back and enjoy the scenery.

For me, the most beautiful moment of Stage 10 was the descent of the Col du Noyer, with its incredible series of switchbacks. When the riders enter the switchbacks, it's as if the Tour narrative changes from prose to poetry. So graceful, they are. They're the subject for my quick midnight painting/pastel...

Tour de France: Stage 9

2010-07-13T23:55:00.001-04:00

What an amazing dynamic between Andy Schleck and Alberto Contador in today's stage. At first, we saw Schleck testing Contador ... attacking, then pulling back, then attacking again. Contador kept up with it all, quietly matching each acceleration. But when they began to approach the lead group of riders, they started working together! It's that ever-shifting strategy of the Tour de France that makes it so much fun to watch. I did a quick painting/pastel of Schleck and Contador on the road...

There were other great strategic moments in today's mountain stage too. Like when Vinokourov launched off the contender group, clearing a path for teammate Contador. Or when Jens Voigt stayed in the lead pack, helping to pace Schleck when he arrived. And then there was Sandy Cesar, who knew just where to be on that final corner before the finish line. He'd done his homework.

The other story of this stage was a sadder one though, and that was Cadel Evans falling out of the lead. Seeing him so upset at the end was really heartbreaking. But we've now just learned that he's been riding with a fractured elbow, caused in a crash during Sunday's stage. It's incredible that he's still in the race. So hats off to ol' Cadel. He's got a lot of heart.

Tour de France: Stage 8

2010-07-13T10:50:00.001-04:00

Many people like to say that there's a time to bring every good thing to an end. "Leave while you're on top," they say. Well, I don't agree. There's something a little too perfect in that phrase, as if it's an attempt to mold one's own legacy. I like it when people push the boundaries of their interests and passions.

Lance Armstrong could have retired permanently after his seven Tour de France victories. He could have put them in a little bottle and moved on. But he didn't ... he reached further into this sport he loves, fearless of the effect it might have on his seven-victory legacy. I love that.

So now here we are at the end of Stage 8 of the 2010 Tour de France, and the final chapter of Lance Armstrong's career is about to be written. His string of bad luck has probably made an eighth overall victory impossible. But he will adjust. He can ride for teammate Levi Leipheimer. He can go for some spectacular stage wins. He can help drive the Radio Shack team to victory. He will keep fighting.

Armstrong's seven Tour de France wins will always be a monumental presence in those beautiful French mountains, the subject of my painting for today...

...but a painting for Lance's final Tour de France may be a quieter one. Rather than forging an unbreakable legacy, Lance is weaving a more human story this time, and that's great too. I can't wait to see how it unfolds.

Tour de France: Stage 7

2010-07-13T00:14:00.001-04:00

What a Stage! First of all, hats-off to Jerome Pineau for adding points to his King of the Mountains Jersey in such heroic fashion. He earned every spot on that polka-dotted shirt and bike. But equally special was the story of Pinaeau's Quick Step teammate, Sylvain Chavanel. After all the flat tires, bike changes, and terrible luck of Stage 3 that cost him the Yellow Jersey, Chavanel didn't give up. He saw something special in those beautiful green hills of Stage 7. But it wasn't green that was urging him on -- it was yellow...

...the awesome glow of the Yellow Jersey.

Tour de France: Stages 5 and 6

2010-07-12T23:34:00.002-04:00

I originally intended to write separate posts for each stage ... but these two need to stay together. Stage 5 and 6 were like two bookends of a great comeback story. First we saw Mark Cavendish's tearful and emotional win in Stage 5, after so many had written him off; and then the next day we watched his jubilant stamp-of-approval win in Stage 6. The incredible Mark Cavendish joined those two days together in a thrilling tale of hard-won victory. That's the magic of the early days of the Tour de France.

The most dramatic moments of Stages 5 and 6 took place in the final kilometers of each day's race, as the lead-out trains sped toward the finish. It's those long lines of riders jockeying for the perfect position to launch their sprinters that is the subject of my abstract painting for today...

Tour de France: Stage 4

2010-07-07T22:43:00.002-04:00

Serene, good-natured, even contemplative -- that's what Stage 4 felt like after yesterday's thrilling, torturous cobbles. It was wonderful, really. When you watch the Tour every day, you learn to enjoy its unique ebbs and flows.

Today saw the peloton racing through the treeless fields of northern France ... the subject of my quiet Stage 4 painting:

Tour de France: Stage 3

2010-07-07T00:20:00.000-04:00

Cobblestones! Seven sections of cobbled mayhem, to be exact. They were the stars of today's stage. It was as if the Tour de France gods put all the riders in a salt shaker, gave them a good toss, and let the contenders spill out wherever they happened to land.

Poor Frank Schleck, out with a broken collarbone. So sad seeing him go down. It's going to be strange watching his brother Andy race without him. But there were many wonderful rides today too. Contador looked cool and composed throughout. Armstrong rode with such amazing determination and grit, trying to recover from a terribly-timed flat tire. The entire Saxo Bank team dominated the stage, pushing everyone to their limits. And I was delighted to see Thor Hushovd pull out the winning sprint.

There was nothing graceful or elegant about this stage. It was rough, dirty ... and so colorful and thrilling. As always, the fans were amazing. And so it's the cloud of dirt, flags, cobbles, and color that's the subject of my quick impressionistic painting for tonight:

Tour de France: Stage 2

2010-07-05T21:18:00.001-04:00

When a crash occurs in a bike race, you see something you don't see in any other sport ... total and complete confusion. One moment all's well -- and then wham! There's a crash and no one knows what's going on, including the t.v. commentators.

Who crashed and who made it through unscathed? Who's in the newly formed mini-groups? Where are the favorites? Which riders have slowed and are waiting for their teammates to catch up? Sometimes the team leaders simply have no clue where their colleagues are on the road.

That's what happened today on the decent of the Stockeau. You can read a great summary of it on the Velonews website here.

Chaos like this actually produces a very human moment in cycling. Everyone is focused on one thing ... reestablishing some sense of order in a frenzied situation.

So I understand why Fabian Cancellara neutralized the stage by convincing his fellow riders to slow down the peloton. Bike racing is not like football where what happens on the field simply happens. Riders can make choices; they can agree to impose a sense of fairness when too much bad luck affects too many riders. It's part of the sport, when used sensibly. In this case, a motorbike crashed trying to avoid Francesco Gavazzi's fallen bicycle, spilling oil on the road. That's an extreme situation, which led to an uncontrollable chain reaction of crashing bikes.

But too many "gentleman's agreements" means it's no longer a bike race. Team Cervelo was unhappy with the neutralization, and they have every right to be. Thor Hushovd could have pulled off a good sprint for second place, earning valuable Green Jersey points. So no one was right here, and no one was wrong. It's the beauty of bike racing ... there are grey areas, just like life.

But one thing was clear ... Sylvain Chavanel earned every thread of that yellow jersey! He attacked and attacked for 187K, never giving up. He got ahead of all the chaos that would later strike the peloton, and he rode brilliantly. So congrats, Sylvain! My painting for today pays tribute to the forested roads of Stage 2, the rainy skies that caused so much havoc, and the lone breakaway:

Tour de France: Stage 1

2010-07-04T22:25:00.005-04:00

Pan flat. That's how Versus television commentator Phil Liggett described today's stage. But don't let the lack of hills fool you. The flat stages are often the most fun to watch.

Today's race from Rotterdam to Brussels was no exception. Oh my, all those fans! Can there be any two countries more in love with their bicycles than Holland and Belgium? What was most inspiring were all those bike lanes and paths running alongside the road. I've decided that someday I have to take a trip to Holland and Belgium, just to see what a country looks like when almost everyone rides a bike.

The race itself was thrilling (and at the end downright chaotic!) ... and as always, the scenery was amazing. In Holland it was all about big sky, red-roofed villages, expansive marshes, windmills, and ... off in the distance ... the great North Sea. But soon after crossing the border into Belgium, the race switched to an urban steetscape -- first in Antwerp, then in Brussels. That's the subject of my Stage 1 painting for today:

Happy July 4th!

Tour de France 2010: Prologue

2010-07-03T22:04:00.002-04:00

What an incredible prologue time-trial in Rotterdam! I loved watching each rider approach the Erasmus Bridge, speeding through all those incredible fans. A great subject for a quick painting...

Ten Reasons to Watch the Tour de France

2010-07-01T23:20:00.017-04:00

1. The Scenery

Imagine you're in France. You stop by the village brasserie to buy some bread and cheese for breakfast, and the old man behind the counter notices the France 2010 guidebook under your arm. Shaking his head disapprovingly, he pulls a crinkly old map and a red felt-tipped pen out of a drawer, motions you to come closer, and says in a low voice:

"If you really want to see France, forget those books and just follow this."

The man removes the cap from the pen, begins outlining some twisty little roads on the map, and hands it to you.

"There, my friend, is where you'll find the real France."

Such is the Tour de France. Most everyone has seen photos of the riders racing down the Champs Elysees with the Arc de Triomphe in the background. But the Tour's heart and soul lies in the little country lanes of the Auvergne, the narrow roads high up in the Pyrenees, and the wind-swept streets along the Brittany coast. The Tour draws its own imaginary red lines on those beautiful routes, highlighting them for all the world to see.

Local races may have highlighted extraordinary roads in your own hometown too. Here's a photo I took on a street near my apartment, with remnants of an old race still visible on the pavement...

...and in Boston, the finish line of the Boston Marathon is always there, recalling memories of it's annual day in the spotlight:

2. You Have a Need for Speed

Speed is graceful. Speed is fluid. Speed is lean, simple, and uncomplicated. For the cyclist, speed means that all the elements of the road, air, and machine have fallen together in a near-perfect unison. Watching cyclists careen through a town's curving streets, you forget how hard they're working -- how impossibly difficult a Tour de France stage is to win. All you sense is the beauty of the road and the quiet whoosh of riders racing by their cheering fans.

What's that you say? You can't make it to France this summer to experience the phenomenon for yourself? No worries ... get a feel for it by attending a local bike race! I took the two above photos at the Mayor's Cup Criterium Race here in Boston last fall.

3. Phil and Paul

The Tour de France just wouldn't be the Tour de France without legendary television commentators Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen. Maybe someday I'll travel to France and see the race in person -- but even then, I'm sure I'll still hear Phil and Paul describing every moment in poetic detail in my mind!

Just as the Tour de France moves with an ever-changing rhythm -- from steep mountains to rolling hills, windswept shore roads to hot Provencal paths -- so does Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen's commentary ebb and flow with the contour of the race. Is has to. You simply can't listen to excited voices all the time in a month-long event. Rather, Phil and Paul describe the Tour as if they're sitting there in your living room, telling a story.

Simply put, they're wonderful.

4. It's On Every Night!

If you love the Tour de France, then the Tour is your July. You'll never wake up on a Saturday morning this month and think, "hmm, what shall I do today?" You'll be watching the Tour de France, of course!

5. Collateral

The Tour de France is a storyteller's dream. The wild fans, legendary climbs, small towns, eccentric riders, team cars, cool bikes, frustrating controversies, and colorful maps ... there's so much to write about! And where do you find these stories? In magazines, websites, and books! One of my pre-race rituals is to buy all the Tour de France magazines I can find and read them cover to cover. Here are two that have been accompanying me on my subway commute this past week:

6. The Strategy

A multi-stage bike race is like a chess match on wheels. You can study the strategy beforehand by reading books and websites (check out my 2009 Beginners Guide to the Tour de France post) ... or you can do what I did and simply let your understanding evolve as you watch the race on T.V.

Beneath all the intricate strategy, though, is one fascinating fact: nobody's place on a cycling team is defined by a set "position" on a field, like a first-baseman or a linebacker. In essence, everyone is equal on the road. It's the choices each rider makes that define the contour of the team. On good Tour de France teams, every riders is comfortable in his appointed role, even if it means sacrificing his own ambitions for the team leader. But watch out! Team leader status is never 100% secure. Falter too much, and nothing can stop one of your teammates from staging a rebellion and sticking it to the boss.

7. The Gear

Oh my, those bikes are a thing of beauty...

(Again, I snapped the above photo at the Mayor's Cup Race here in Boston. Local Tour de France equivalents are rarely far away!) One of the most marvelous things about the Tour de France is that all of the bike frames and components used by the pros are the same as those that come right off each company's high-end production line. No custom, one-time builds allowed. As long as you have the money (a lot of money, that is), Lance's Trek Madone can be yours.

8. Cheering for the Underdog

Sure, most of us here in the U.S. are rooting for Lance Armstrong to win. But the beauty of a 20-stage race is that Lance only needs to have the best time at the very end. There are plenty of chances for little known riders to have their moments in the sun too.

For example, Lance Armstrong knows that he's at his best in the mountains, where he'll most likely pull away from over 90% of his fellow riders. So there's no need for Lance to waste energy trying to win a flat stage. That presents a great opportunity for a little-known rider to get into a breakaway and ... if all the stars line up correctly ... pull off a big win that afternoon! It's one of the most thrilling moments all of cycling.

Here's a painting I created illustrating the magic of the lone breakaway (for the full-color version, and the accompanying story I wrote with it, click here for my earlier post)...

9. The Fans

In no other sport can fans get as close to the action than in professional cycling ... and Tour de France fans take every opportunity to get as close as possible, sometimes disturbingly so! Crazy fans wave flags and snap photos directly in rider's path, moving away at the very last moment. How the riders keep their concentration is beyond me ... but it's all part of the culture of the race.

10. The Mountains

Think for a moment what a typical photo of a mountain looks like. It usually has a grand, sweeping vista, with a big sky and awesome snow-capped peaks jutting up through the clear blue horizon. About right?

Well this is not the image you'll come away with when you watch the Tour de France. As the riders follow narrow mountain roads up and up, higher and higher, you'll see every contour of the switchbacks ... feel the rhythm of each inclined slope. You'll sense the inner character of the mountain as it's reflected in the faces of the suffering riders. And as the cyclists make their way above the treeline, the simple shades of the sky, rocks, and grass are punctuated with a kaleidoscope of color created by thousands of wild fans.

Yes, the Tour de France pays respect to the magnificence of the mountains. But more importantly, it makes them wonderfully, thrillingly human.

Now that you've finished reading this post, you may be wondering -- why did I put all my photos and paintings in black & white? Well, the race hasn't happened yet! All the colors of the Tour de France will reveal themselves as this magical month progresses. Stay tuned, and enjoy the start of Le Tour!

The Hill by the Sea

2010-06-26T11:12:00.000-04:00

I took this photo just below the summit of a hill I often climb, on my regular cycling route:

Maybe it's my imagination, but the sun always seems to shine brighter at the top!

Here's the view from the same location, looking back to where the steep road drops off from sight. It eventually leads down to the place the hill begins, at the edge of the sea...

Beyond the Horizon

2010-06-13T21:22:00.002-04:00

The clear line of the horizon influences everything along the coast.

Cycling past the boats in the marina...

... I always feel a strange sense of suspense, as if the ships are silently focused on one thought alone: getting back out there.

Looking across the harbor to the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library (the black and white building on the left)...

...I'm reminded of how the sea inspires so many great visionaries, how its endless expanse makes the impossible seem possible.

And as the wind blows through the coastal trees and across the saltmarshes and coves...

... it's as if that wind originates from some faraway place. Maybe it blew in from the Canadian maritime provinces, or past remote Sable Island or the Labrador shore. One thing is clear though: it's not of this place alone.

It only takes a few colors out of my paint box to depict the sea...

But within that horizon lies a limitless world -- if only in our imaginations.

Merrymount

2010-06-07T23:31:00.005-04:00

Inspired by Stage 8 of the Tour of California -- which ended in a multi-lap circuit around Thousand Oaks -- I decided to create my own circuit route here on Boston's South Shore. For my 5:00 a.m. rides yesterday and this morning, I rode a circular course through the neighborhoods of Wollaston and Merrymount in Quincy, Mass. -- round and round a ring of seaside roads.

It took me along the bay...

...and up into the small hills and marshes of Merrymount:

Many, many ghosts inhabit Merrymount. Its unique story probably would have disappeared if it wasn't for Nathaniel Hawthorne, who used it as the subject of his short tale The Maypole of Merry Mount.

In it, Hawthorne writes of the fun-loving 17th-century colony of Merry Mount, which dedicated a tall pine tree as its spring maypole. The colonists decorated it with flowers and ribbons, crowned a lord and lady of spring, and happily danced around. All was well, until the neighboring colony of Puritans found out what was going on. I won't tell you the ending, but it isn't pretty.

In reality, this part of Quincy was settled by the very colorful Englishman Thomas Morton, who arrived here in 1624 and called his new home Ma-re Mount. Officially, that meant "Mountain by the Sea", but Morton also knew it could easily become "Merry Mount", which was fine by him ... because that's just what he intended to establish -- a merry, Utopian society. He got rid of some guns by trading them with the Native Americans for furs, established equal-rights among former indentured servants, and basically set up a free-spirited society that integrated with the Native American population -- and yes, set-up a maypole, around which he led some pretty wild drunken celebrations, mixing pagan elements with classical mythology.

Here's my abstract depiction of the mystical maypole at night, deep in the Merrymount forest:

Merrymount got to be such a popular place, that residents of nearby Puritan settlements soon began joining Morton's little hippie colony ... all of which angered Puritan leaders, in their usual self-rightous and violent way. It wasn't long before Morton's experiment came to an abrupt end when Myles Standish of the Plymouth Puritans (a.k.a. the Pilgrims) invaded Merrymount and banished Morton to the Isle of Shoals off the New Hampshire coast. The maypole was no more.

Thankfully though, the Puritans never counted on Hawthorne writing about it 200 years later. So the story of Merrymount's maypole lives on ... even on the Merrymount Homeowners Association webpage:

Merrymount remains an integral yet unique part of Quincy, MA – minus the Maypole, but filled with warm and friendly neighbors, friends and families.

Nicely put. They should also add that it's a great place to ride a bike! I rode three exhilarating laps through Merrymount each morning ... all in the shadow of its incredible story.

Cycling Past the Twin Lights

2010-06-01T21:37:00.001-04:00

Whenever I visit Cape Ann, I'm always fascinated by the twin lighthouses that sit off Gloucester and Rockport, Mass., on uninhabited Thacher Island. Here's a photo that's also on my May 29th post, from the route of the Tour de Cure:

The lights are so inaccessible, and often so beautifully dark and gloomy ... as seen in this photo I took on a ride last September (described in my North Shore Adventure post):

But on the Tour de Cure ride, it was all bright sunshine as we pedaled past Good Harbor Beach with the twin lights off in the distance. The following watercolor pastel is not an exact depiction of Good Harbor Beach, but just something I created quickly last night...

As you can see, we cyclists are only visitors in this incredible landscape ... just blurs against sea, the rocks, the sand, and the endless sky.

North Shore "Tour de Cure"

2010-05-29T22:45:00.004-04:00

It's 6:40 a.m., and I just pulled my zipcar Honda Element into a space at the already bustling Gloucester High School parking lot. This is my kind of crowd: people in brightly colored jerseys hauling equally brightly colored bicycles out of hatchbacks and off roof racks, pumping air into tires, and giving their gear shifters a final check.

"Need any help?" I ask an attractive woman in the parking space next to me, who's trying to negotiate the best way to get her bike off her car's rooftop carrier.

"Thanks so much, but no ... I've got to learn to do this myself!" she laughs.

The smell of the sea is strong in the air this morning. Gloucester, Massachusetts is America's oldest seaport, and it's still as active as ever in the commercial fishing industry today, with the sea representing so much beauty, and so much tragedy. I think that's why the North Shore is such a haven for painters and writers, telling the stories of this remarkable region in ways that only artists can.

Over 500 cyclists registered for today's event, and that's wonderful. Because it's a magical ride...

We've all come together on this beautiful New England morning for the American Diabetes Association's annual Tour de Cure, raising money for diabetes programs and research.

My mother was recently diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes ... so when I learned about the ride, I signed up right away. Mom has been really amazing in adapting to the new dietary regimen -- I know it's been more difficult than she lets on. This ride felt like a good way to help support those living with this disease and aid the effort in finding a cure ... all while experiencing this beautiful corner of New England by bicycle.

The Tour de Cure is only the third event-ride I've participated in. I rode 10-miles in the rain for Boston's Hub on Wheels last September, and 22-miles at the Tour de Aldrich in Connecticut a couple weeks later. So for this ride, I upgraded my mileage by choosing the 30 mile route. I like having successes to build on as I set my goals higher and higher. The other routes to choose from were 8, 15, 62, and 100 miles.

Here's a photo of the map they gave me at registration, that sat tucked away in my jersey pocket during the ride:

It was also available online prior to the event. So the night before, I studied that profile very carefully. Sitting there in the dim light of my bedside lamp, I came up with a simple plan: ride with moderate intensity in miles 1-12, pedal nice-and-easy on miles 13-21 (enjoying the spectacular scenery), then use all that saved energy for the tough-looking miles 22-30. Three sections, three movements ... it was to be symphony of a ride.

As I walked to the Gloucester High School gym to register, the 62 and 100 milers were gathering at the start line to begin their rides, which left an hour before mine. Making my way across the lot, the cleats of my cycling shoes hit the pavement at such awkward angles. Unfortunately there's no graceful way to walk with clipless pedal cleats! It's kind of funny, really ... the more serious we cyclists become, the more the bicycle transforms us in such strange ways. We become like sea-encrusted sailors, more comfortable in our chosen element than on land.

The gym was a beehive of activity, with cyclists pinning numbers on their jerseys and filling out donation forms. Walking up to the registration table, I turned in the donations I'd collected, received my number, chatted with a few other cyclists, and then went back to my car to prepare for the ride.

If you're like me, then you love packing-lists! So for all you list-enthusiasts out there, here's what I stuffed in my small seat bag for the ride:

Tire repair kit (spare tube, three tire levers, patch kit)
Small Allen-Wrench tool (you never know what can come loose on a long ride)
Eyeglass screwdriver (a must for all who wear glasses)
Five cereal bars (I only ate one, but it's nice knowing you've packed extra goodies)
Digital camera
Swiss Army Knife (with the Phillips-head screwdriver feature, rather than the usual corkscrew)
Wallet
Cell phone (with the Tour de Cure rider support number programmed in)
Car keys

On my bike were two water bottles; in my cycling jersey's rear pockets were the route map and two paper towel squares; and on my wrist was my Road ID band. Oh, and of course I wore my helmet, cycling gloves, cycling jersey, and cycling shorts.

Around 7:45 am, I began to make my way to the line for our 8:00 am start. In the back of my mind were Tour de France Commentator Phil Liggett’s words-of-wisdom:

“The smartest place to ride is at the front of the pack … the back is where all the trouble happens.”

Now this ride was not a race, and no one drafts off other riders or forms a tightly packed peloton in a charity ride. But still, I do like the feeling of staying in a steadily moving group and having others behind me. So I positioned myself close to the start-banner.

Looking back from the line, it was tough to get a feel for how many riders were there. But just before we were about to leave, I would guess there were about eighty or so.

Around 7:55, a well-spoken man thanked all of us for being at the Tour de Cure and talked a bit about his own life with diabetes. It was great listening to him ... he really reinforced why we were riding on this special day. Then the event organizer went over some safety rules (including "be careful, there's a drawbridge on the route that doesn't like bicycles"), a young woman sang the national anthem ... and then we were off!

Before I write anything further, a note about the photos: other than at the rest stops, I didn't take any pictures during the ride itself. Knowing me, that would have stretched the ride from two hours to around four! Besides, I wanted to simply enjoy riding, without feeling tempted to stop and snap photos at all the scenic points. After the ride though, I drove the route by car, which is where I took all these pictures. So just imagine lots of riders on these roads when you look at them!

For the first mile or so, we were led out of town by police escort. Gloucester has such a unique and tough kind of beauty to it. There are very few trees, and tightly-packed clapboard houses hug the winding and hilly streets. I really love it...

As we made our way into the greener outskirts, the thrill of beginning a long ride really hit home. Wheels were whirring all around me, gears were shifting in unison at each climb ... and although it wasn't a race, riders still jockeyed for position as they settled into groups that matched their preferred speed.

The first third of the ride wound its way around the very tip of Cape Ann, up and over rolling hills on beautiful tree-lines roads, and past old homes with views of the sea breaking through the trees now and then.

I especially loved riding through the little village of Lanesville, with its tiny post office.

Arrows painted on the road indicated where to turn (each color for a different mileage route).

It looked like they were painted with some permanence, which I think is really cool. That means that all year long those arrows are just cryptic symbols, until a special day in May when we cyclists magically give them meaning and direction. I'll have to go back in a month and see if they're still there.

We soon passed through the historic town of Rockport...

...and then entered a more moderate stretch of rolling hills before arriving at the first rest stop around mile 15. Fifteen miles is easy for me, but I was developing some soreness in the inside of my right leg ... which was odd, because I ride fifteen miles on my morning ride all the time. I decided it had to be because of some unnoticed tension in my position on the bike, caused by being out of my usual element. So the rest stop gave me a chance to stretch, drink some Gatorade, and eat a banana the volunteers had set out (very kindly donated by Lull Farm).

I remember reading somewhere to be careful at rest stops: don't stay too long or eat too much! Otherwise, you'll loose your momentum. So after about five minutes or so, I hit the road again for the middle section of the ride, concentrating on pedalling powerfully but keeping my legs relaxed. It worked. Within a mile or so, the soreness in my right leg faded.

This middle section was breathtaking in its beauty. The only thing separating me from the Atlantic Ocean was a rocky coastline and one extraordinary road...

The scenery reminded me of the fog-covered moors you read about in Sherlock Holmes novels like The Hound of the Baskervilles. Riding along that stark landscape, I thought of the "Fantasia on a Theme of Thomas Tallis" by Ralph Vaughan Williams, with its wide open modal harmonies and rich string texture. So mysterious and intensely beautiful.

As the road gradually turned to the right...

...we made our way back into the center of Gloucester, riding along its historic harbor, past the Crows Nest bar (made famous by the book "The Perfect Storm"), and by the Gorton's Seafoods headquarters (as in Gorton's fishsticks!).

The route soon took us back near where we began, by the Fishermen's Memorial...

...and on to Rest Stop #2. I didn't take many photos at this stop, but here's one looking up the road at some cyclists who had just pedaled away...

I had half-of-a-banana, ate one of my cereal bars, drank some incredibly refreshing Gatorade (next time, I'm filling one of my water bottles with Gatorade!), and then took off for the biggest hills of the ride. This is the section I'd kept in mind for the entire trip so far, telling myself: "take it easy ... don't forget the hills in miles 22-23."

The first climb hit quickly, and it was steep. The man riding ahead of me soon dropped back to ride slower, saying "this hill's a killer!" I'd been preparing for these hills for so long though, that even though it was steep, it didn't feel bad at all. I've taught myself that part of being a good cyclist is learning to love the hills ... even the most vicious, leg-burning, plus-10%-grade monsters (and this one wasn't nearly that bad). It's where the best stories of the ride are created.

Fortunately, I was able to stay focused and patient, concentrating on taking advantage of the rhythm of each hill by relaxing my legs slightly on the flatter sections and staying in a low enough gear to keep my cadence steady on the steepest slopes. And before I knew it, I was up and over!

We then turned right onto a very wooded and curvy road that headed mostly downhill. I was feeling great. I looked at my cycling handlebar computer -- twenty-five miles were behind me, only five to go. I figured we'd passed the biggest hills of the ride, so I thought: what the hell ... let's crank up the speed. I shifted into a higher gear, passed a couple of the riders ahead of me, and was zipping happily along when the road turned to the right ... and there it was.

A hill. A really steep hill.

It was the kind of hill that has no personality whatsoever. No false flats, no curves ... all it did was go UP. It's a wonderful thing really, because a hill like that is such an honest sort of monster. It doesn't try to lure you closer by rolling out a few gradual inclines. It's just there, standing in your way.

A rider near me said "yeesh, what a hill!", which made me feel better ... I wasn't alone in my thoughts. And really, I should have been prepared. All I saw on the profile sheet were the longer hills around mile 23; the smaller bump on mile 26 just hid innocently in their shadow. But after the initial shock, I got down to business. I shifted into my absolute lowest gear, relaxed my shoulders to make breathing easier, and began to climb.

Life takes on a surreal kind of simplicity on a steep hill. There's no music running in your head, no worries ... it's just you, the hill monster, your bike, and your legs -- which become entities all their own after a while. Sometimes they burn and hurt, but that's really just the hill monster trying to communicate with you. If you panic, the monster speaks even louder ... so the key is to stay focused and relaxed. Take your time, breath normally, enjoy the sensation of the road beneath your tires, and lull the monster to sleep as you continue steadily upwards ... higher and higher ... until ...

You've done it! And wow ... what an amazing feeling that is.

So to the Mile 26 Monster, I'm really glad I met you. You were scary at first, but I made it up and over your summit, and you gave me a good story to tell.

From there on it was pretty much all downhill ... beautifully, wonderfully downhill. We eventually broke through the trees and onto a road with marshes and coastal scenery on each side, and soon we were back in town, near the Fishermen's Memorial ... almost home.

We crossed the charming "drawbridge that doesn't like bicycles"...

...and then turned back onto the same street near the high school that we rode on two hours ago, but this time in the opposite direction. Up ahead, I could see the reverse side of the START banner, and it read:

Crossing under that banner was an other-worldy sensation. I felt like I was a time traveler returning home. Gloucester High School looked the same as it did when I left it, and some of the same volunteers were gathered around the finish area (giving us a big cheer as we arrived). But we riders had changed.

We had been transformed and inspired by two hours on the road.

The road
that revealed oceans, forests, and storied old villages.

The road
where the miles fell one by one, reminding us "you can do this".

The road
where we learned to love the hill monsters.

The road
where our fellow cyclists were so kind, looking out for one another.

The road
where journeys were made and epics created.

The magical,
mysterious,
wonderful road.

It was an incredible ride.

As I walked my bike around the end area, I checked in with the volunteer recording the number of each finishing rider (we were told that if we didn't report in at the end, the organizer would come to our homes to be sure we were o.k.!). After that, I joined the volunteers in applauding some of the other 30-milers coming across the line. I then sent a few text messages and headed into the gymnasium for some post-ride goodies. Inside, the organizers were distributing free Tour de Cure t-shirts and bags to riders....

At the end of the free-gift line was a table for filling out a post-ride survey. My favorite question was: which rest stop did you like the best? I think I selected Rest Stop #1, but I can't remember for sure. They were all very much appreciated!

It was now around 10:25 or so, and it looked like lunch was going to start around 11:30. So I had some nice time to relax. Other cyclists were walking around too, meeting with family and friends, or just enjoying the feeling of a completed ride.

Here's a nice photo of my bike, post 30-mile adventure:

It did so well! No mechanical problems, and it even received a compliment from an organizer for its beautiful blue color.

I walked my bike across the parking lot to put back in my SUV zipcar ... which, now that I think about it, was kind of funny. I could have easily ridden it, but I guess subconsciously I figured my bike deserved a rest!

I then visited the sponsor booths and collected literature on diabetes. Riders from the various routes were still coming across the line, and the volunteers gave a cheer for them all. I talked with one of the volunteers for a bit, and she said she'd been out since 5 a.m. that morning, but she wasn't complaining at all. They were fantastic.

I changed out of my cycling clothes in the restroom, into shorts and a comfortable shirt ... and before long it was time for lunch!

First I had an awesome cup of clam chowder donated by Lobsta Land, a local restaurant. It's the kind of chowder you can only find here in New England ... the perfect blend of clams, cream, and potatoes ... so subtle and smooth. I then had some always-good Papa Gino's cheese pizza. There were also wonderful-looking dishes donated by Cafe Barada, which my food allergies unfortunately kept me away from. But they sure looked great!

While eating, I listened to the speakers give out awards for the highest fundraising totals. Asking people for money is never easy, so hearing about these incredible fundraisers was really inspiring, and a great learning experience for the future.

But all good things must come to an end ... so soon it was time to say goodbye and head for home. I was actually looking forward to the drive though -- retracing the route by car to take photos, and having some quiet time to reflect on this great day.

So a huge THANK YOU to all the organizers, the wonderful speakers, the generous sponsors, the hard-working and cheerful volunteers, the inspiring "red riders" (riders who identified themselves as having diabetes), and all the other cyclists. The North Shore Tour de Cure was a ride I will never forget.

Paris-Roubaix: The Arenberg Forest

2010-05-08T19:04:00.002-04:00

How many forests do you know that have a name? Off the top of my head I can only list a few: Sherwood Forest, the Great North Woods, Amazon Rainforest, and Mirkwood -- all mysterious and magical places (and in the case of the last one, imaginary). But I have a feeling many people are like me, whose local forest growing up was simply a nameless woods just beyond the backyard fence. Nothing too special, other than the rare deer or brightly colored bird that happened to wander in from its darker corners.

Give those woods a name though, and everything changes. It becomes a place of old stories, ancient mysteries, and hidden portals to unknown places.

I thought about this while watching the Paris-Roubaix bicycle race on the Versus Channel, as the riders passed through the Arenberg Forest. I couldn't get the beautiful image out of my mind of all those colorful cyclists and fans surrounded by the dark green shadows of that old forest.

A few weeks later, I was in North Carolina visiting with my parents, and one night my mother brought a tin of watercolor pastels to the kitchen table, saying: "I'm not sure where I got these, but I've had them for a long time and never used them. So you can take them, if you'd like."

Thanks, Mom. That set of 40 Caran d'Ache pastels was just the inspiration I needed to put that Paris-Roubaix image down on paper:

The road through the Arenberg Forest is actually a narrow path of cobblestones, for which the race is famous. There were 27 "secteurs" of cobbles on the 2010 course ... the condition of which are mostly bad, some worse-than-bad, and some absolutely horrendous. The Arenberg Forest cobbles are in the absolutely horrendous category -- which is why they're so wonderful (for the fans ... not so much for the cyclists!). The fact that it runs through an old forest elevates this beloved cobbled secteur to mythic status.

So the next time I cycle through an anonymous forest, I'm going to try to learn more about it and assign it a name. Given a name, a forest takes shape, defines its inner character, and finds a voice to tell its stories.

The Boston Marathon

2010-04-27T17:50:00.002-04:00

Last Monday was a wonderful day. I woke up early and took a great morning ride...

...and have taken some awesome rides since then...

But all this week, I've been thinking about what really made last Monday, April 19th, so special: the Boston Marathon! After all, cyclists and runners are kind of like cousins. We both take ordinary roads and turn them into something extraordinary.

Here in Boston, the third Monday in April is always marathon day and a state holiday (Patriots Day ... commemorating the Battle of Lexington and Concord). So most of us in Massachusetts get the day off to enjoy the race. I took these photos within the very last mile...

There are few things in life that are perfect, but the Boston Marathon comes pretty close. The way it starts in the country and winds its way into the city; the way we Bostonians cheer every runner that passes, calling out their names (knowing this, many runners write their names in big letters on their shirts); the thrilling wheelchair race; the world-class runners from around the word ... all of these things make it special. But more than anything else, it's the unique stories of so many people running such a life-changing race that make the Boston Marathon so magical.

That evening, I drove down to Rhode Island to attend a business conference the next day -- slightly suntanned and hoarse from standing outside and cheering on the runners. But it was well worth it. Later that week I was back on the bike, so inspired by those amazing athletes.

The Mechanic

2010-04-17T16:23:00.006-04:00

My bike knew something big was happening this morning. It sensed my air of purpose, saw me channeling my inner bike mechanic...

"So," it said, eyeing me cautiously, "what are you up to?"

"Oh nothing."

My bike doesn't trust me. It groans when I bring out the tire pump, pesters me with instructions when I adjust a screw. Too tight! ... Wrong direction! ... Why don't you leave it to the real mechanics!

After my Friday morning ride in the rain though...

...my bike's chain was in desperate need of a good cleaning. Thanks to a post I read on the Cyclin' Missy blog, I had recently bought this:

I know, it's pretty sinister looking. But it's actually a chain degreaser/cleaner. You can see how it works on the box cover. It also comes with that oddly shaped brush for cleaning dirt out of the rear cassette cogs. Today, I was going to give them both a try for the first time.

As I took the machine out of the box, my bike got mighty suspicious.

"What's that you got there, Jason?"

"Well, it's a chain cleaner."

"Oh no!" my bike started to protest, but I interrupted...

"Now look -- after yesterday morning, you need it. Your chain is covered in road grime, and all the oil has washed away. Believe me, you'll feel much better afterwards. Besides, look how cool this cleaner is!"

My bike let out a defeated sigh. I went to work.

First I cleaned off the chain and cogs with the brush and then used the brush's handle to get the dirt out from between each gear. It worked remarkably well! That hook drops right into the cassette, so all you have to do is turn the pedal cranks and the dirt falls right out.

My bike didn't say anything, which I think meant it was secretly a little impressed.

Next it was time for the big gun ... the degreaser/cleaner. First though, a technical note: in bicycle-speak, the sprockets in the back of the bike are called cogs, and those in the front are called chainrings. The degreaser/cleaner instructions suggested shifting the chain into the smallest rear cog and then shifting the front chainring into whatever gear keeps the chain level with the floor -- all of which I did.

As I went step-by-step through the cleaning process though, my bike started hammering me with its usual worries:

First I filled the cleaning machine's reservoir with citrus degreaser...

"Wait, don't spill it!" it yelled.

...then I pressed the chain into the bottom half of the machine...

"Careful, don't twist the chain!"

...and clasped on the lid...

"Don't get the chain stuck!"

...then I started turning the pedal cranks...

"Watch out, don't let the chain fall off the chainring!"

...and the chain fell off the chainring.

My bike looked at me. I looked at my bike.

"See," it said.

I groaned.

It took some doing to get the chain back on the sprocket. Even though I had shifted the chain into the middle gear of my triple chainring set, it actually fell outside the largest chainring and wedged itself in the front derailleur cage. Yikes! I'm sorry I couldn't take a photo for this post, but my hands were covered in grease. After shifting the front derailleur into the highest gear though, I was able to pry the chain back into place pretty easily.

With a renewed sense of purpose, I said to my bike...

"Don't worry, it's o.k. We simply forgot Rule Number One: throw out the instructions!"

My bike just rolled its eyes.

I figured the problem had to do with the chain being in the smallest rear cog, which never feels all that stable even when riding. I was wary of this when I read it in the instructions. So I shifted the chain into a nice centrally located cog and tried again.

This time everything fell into place. I turned the cranks, and after a few starts and stops, the chain moved smoothly through the multitude of sponges and brushes, degreasing and cleaning itself to a sparkly finish. After a number of rotations, I undid the lid and removed the contraption from the chain. It never looked so clean!

I then dried the chain with a cotton cloth and gingerly applied a light coating of chain lube. After letting it sink in, I wiped away the excess and stood back to inspect my handiwork.

Nice! I could have repeated the process to make it completely spotless, but I'd had enough for one morning. I thought it looked awesome as is.

My bike just stood there gleaming, and I could tell it was pleased. After washing out the cleaning machine, I put my handy new tools away. Time for my morning ride! I pulled back the curtains and checked the weather out the window...

It was raining.

I looked at my bike ... I looked at the rain ... I looked at my bike ... I looked at the rain again. I thought about all I did.

Then my bike said:

"Why don't you just go to Dunkin' Donuts and get a nice cup of coffee. We'll ride tomorrow."

My bike. It always knows.

Ghosts of Boston Harbor

2010-04-11T20:35:00.005-04:00

When you live near a very old harbor, odd things are always showing up at your doorstep. For instance, this just appeared in my corner of the harbor last week:

It's a barge -- or more exactly, about a third of a barge. It was a complete vessel when it arrived, with a bow, a stern, and everything in between intact. I saw it every day as I crossed over the Neponset River Bridge on the subway.

But by the time I rode out to it on my bike this morning, all that was left was:

Now, I love industrial ruins. Abandoned factories, dilapidated wharfs, crumbling mills ... they all have an eerie, dark beauty about them. And this barge seemed especially mysterious as I passed by it on the subway, when it was all in one piece.

So looking at its remains this morning...

...I was sad to see it in the process of being demolished. The grimy old barge would have felt very much at home naturally decaying among the other ruins in this quiet part of the harbor, like the sparse remnants of Flounder Fleet Wharf next door...

...the overgrown runway just across the water I wrote about last year...

...and the strange industrial tower on my normal riding route (here in a photo I took on a gloomy morning last month):

It must have had an interesting life, this old barge. So as I got back on my bike to head for home...

I took a parting photo...

...and wished it well as it joins the many ghosts of Boston Harbor.

Early Evening on the Road

2010-04-08T21:25:00.002-04:00

I took a rare after-work bike ride this past Tuesday. I usually prefer to ride in the early hours of the morning, but this evening's ride turned out to be a real treat.

I watched the sun set over the salt marshes:

And on the waterfront, as the city wound down its day...

...someone played bagpipes out by that mysterious tower. I couldn't see the piper -- he or she must have been on the other side of the rocky neck. But the sound of those pipes spread all across the harbor. As a blimp hovered over Fenway Park off in the distance (the dot on the left)...

...and the Red Sox prepared to take on our arch-rival New York Yankees, that music seemed to be the perfect way to let this warm spring day settle into a beautiful Boston night.

Early Morning on the Road

2010-04-03T14:25:00.007-04:00

It's 70 degrees outside as I write this post, at 1:00 p.m. on Saturday. But this morning the temperature was in the low 40's. So when I got out of bed at 6:00 a.m., I had a choice ... I could go back to sleep and plan for an afternoon ride in the warmer weather (the forecasters have been talking about it for days), or I could head out at 6:20 with the cold still in the air, but enjoy sunrise over the bay and little traffic.

I chose the sunrise...

Even though it was fairly light when I began my ride (and I was wearing my usual bright-red windbreaker), I still attached lights to my bike to be doubly sure cars could see me...

But really, the roads are always pretty much all mine that hour of the morning...

...except for a feathery friend fishing beside the causeway...

The Moswetuset Hummock

2010-03-31T07:52:00.002-04:00

I made a wonderful discovery on my regular riding route this past Sunday. I was zipping along the East Squantum Street Causeway in Quincy, when I approached this outcropping of trees on the right side of the road...

I've passed by this spot many times before. It rises out of the salt marshes all on its own, has a small parking lot near the road, and a path that wraps around its edges. I've always thought, "I should really stop here and check it out", but I never have -- mainly because East Squantum Street is simply one of the most wonderful roads on which to ride fast! Just look at this picture I took of it last summer...

It's got a nice wide shoulder and beautiful views on either side, tailor-made for putting the bike into a giant gear and ratcheting up the sped. So I had always just careened on by, never managing to stop at that odd little hill.

But this past Sunday, a small turn of fate pulled me in...

I had just replaced my front tire earlier that week. So riding down the causeway on Sunday morning, I was struck by an annoying thought: "I wonder if I turned the quick-release lever too tight when I put the wheel back on?" Now you know what happens when you get a thought like that ... there's no relief until you stop to address it. So for the first time in my life, I slowed my bike down and pulled into what I would soon learn was the Moswetuset Hummock.

After checking my wheel (of course it was fine), I got curious and made my way toward the mound of trees. Walking along the path I had so often seen from afar, the first thing I came across was this historical marker:

So the name "Massachusetts" came from this very spot!

Apparently, Native American Chief Chickatawbut led the Massachusett tribe from the top of Moswetuset Hummock, on which I was standing. Moswetuset means "hill in the shape of an arrowhead", which eventually became "Massachusett" (if you don't see the resemblance, try saying the two names out loud a few times). Colonial settlers met with Chickatawbut and eventually adopted the tribe's name.

Walking my bike around the little path, it truly is a beautiful place...

I imagine it will be even more beautiful later this spring.

It's hard to believe an entire people were led from this little mound. But when you live in a place like Boston, there's rarely a hill or valley that doesn't have some story behind it. The tides of history may have passed by Moswetuset Hummock for the time being, but it still seemed to have a special aura about it. I'm glad I finally slowed down long enough to notice.

A Tale of Two Hills

2010-03-25T18:02:00.004-04:00

I added hills back into my riding this past weekend -- something I like to do a couple weeks into the start of a new season. It lets me work the winter stiffness out of my legs before getting down to some serious cycling.

So early Saturday morning, I hit Milton Hill in Milton, Mass.

It's a small, but decent hill to climb after the long winter break. It begins with a steady incline, followed by a false-flat in the middle, and then a steep section near the top. Once you reach the summit, there's a very nice view to enjoy...

The grassy area is called Hutchinson's Field, named after Thomas Hutchinson, the last Royal Governor of Massachusetts. He built his country estate on this very spot. Hutchinson ruled Massachusetts during the Boston Tea Party and the Boston Massacre -- so as you might imagine, he wasn't a very popular figure in these parts some 235 years ago.

The next day, I rode up and over the Quarry Hills in Quincy, Mass....

...and then to the top of Penn's Hill a couple miles away...

That cairn at the summit marks the spot where Abigail Adams watched the smoke rise from Boston Harbor during the Battle of Bunker Hill. Her husband, John Adams, was in Philadelphia at the time, attending the Continental Congress. When word of the battle reached her home, Abigail Adams took her 10-year-old daughter Nabby and 7-year-old son John Quincy (future president) by the hands, left her home at the base of Penn's Hill, and climbed to the top for a closer look. It's a very steep climb on a bike ... I can't imagine what it was like dragging two kids with the sound of cannons firing in the distance. Returning home that evening, she wrote her husband a detailed letter, describing the historic events she witnessed.

You can still visit the John Adams and John Quincy Adams birthplaces at the bottom of the hill today.

So to recap, I rode Milton Hill on Saturday and Penn's Hill on Sunday. Two hills, two sides of history...

One bike.

The Dream Ride

2010-03-17T23:46:00.004-04:00

There are two kinds of bike rides: those you've ridden and those you dream about riding someday. This colored-pencil drawing I created over the weekend is from one of those dream rides:

It's of a small section of Route 2 between North Adams and Charlemont in northwestern Massachusetts. Also known as the Mohawk Trail, Route 2 follows an old Native American and colonial trade path through the high mountains of the northern Berkshires.

I've driven the Mohawk Trail many times on trips to western Massachusetts, and I always think the same thing: I have got to come back here someday on my bike! It would be a challenging ride, surrounded on all sides by mountains. But it's intensely beautiful; the kind of beauty I really like -- a winding road through a dark pine forest, tucked away in a deep valley, and the vague memory of ancient tales hanging in the mist. The forest itself is one of the oldest in New England, with Hemlocks that are nearly 500 years old and White Pines that reach upwards of 160 feet, the tallest trees in New England.

It would be a thrilling ride ... someday. But for now I'm happy to enjoy the dream as I wait for spring to arrive. So when I saw that my local art supply store was having a sale on colored pencils, I bought a 24-color set and went to work on a little corner of the dream ride.

It was kind of strange, but for the first time I actually had the sensation I was there in the forest while drawing. Coloring in the black asphalt of the road, I could sense its smooth surface, how nice it would feel gliding under my 25-millimeter tires. And the different shades of green in the grass, and the browns and reds of the bark ... it all felt like I was bringing these magical woods to life on the page.

I also really enjoyed the sounds of drawing with colored pencils -- the clickety-clack of dropping one pencil and picking up another, and the light scratching of the lead on paper. It reminded me of the soothing, mechanical rhythms of cycling ... where machine and imagination all come together.

A Ride Before the Rain

2010-03-13T23:46:00.003-05:00

What a great ride this morning! I got up at 5:45 a.m., checked outside ... cloudy with strong winds. Good enough! The forecasters had called for heavy rain all weekend, but it looked like there might be a small window in the weather where I could squeeze in a ride.

I switched on the Weatherscan channel though, and there it was -- a big, very ominous-looking mass of precipitation on the radar, heading our way. And it was cold ... 39 degrees.

But I really wanted to ride. So out I went.

Incredibly, I felt great, despite the cold and blustery conditions. When I reached Quincy Shore Drive the ocean winds really started to howl. So I shifted down to a lower gear, leaned into the drops of my handlebars ... and enjoyed every minute of it.

Riding out to the Squantum peninsula, the winds continued to force me into lower and lower gears. But then riding back the opposite direction, those headwinds became tailwinds, and it was amazing. I threw the bike into my biggest chainring and cranked out an exhilarating pace on the wonderfully flat, wide-shouldered, and scenic East Squantum Street. Like always, there were almost no cars on the road that early ... it was just me, the bike, the wind, and a few runners and walkers out on that cold morning.

As I turned onto my home street the rain finally started to fall. Whew! Made it just in time. Since then the rain has been coming down in sheets all day long. But it's fine. I've already claimed my little corner of the weekend. Now I can just enjoy a nice rainy day.

A Light Above the Bike Shop

2010-03-02T23:35:00.002-05:00

I was driving home from the Berkshire Hills last week with a friend, when we passed the Arcadian Shop ... a wonderful outdoors store full of hiking and climbing gear, clothes, books, a cafe, friendly staff, and a fantastic bike section. Located in the heart of western Massachusetts, the store always felt to me like a kind of gateway to the rugged, more adventurous corners of the beautiful Berkshires.

Driving by it that evening though, it was well past open-hours and the shop was completely dark ... all except for one lone light in an upper corner window. I didn't have a camera, so I painted this picture over the weekend...

I took a lot of creative license with this painting (i.e. I left out things I didn't know how to paint). So be sure to check out the Arcadian Shop website if you would like a more accurate idea of what it looks like!

We passed the shop so quickly in the car that I couldn't see anything inside the lit window. It was just one warm yellow square in an otherwise dark building.

So I thought to myself ... why is that light on? Did someone simply forget to turn off the stockroom lamp? Or maybe the owner was sitting at a desk in the upper room, adding up the receipts for the day. Yes, that was probably it.

But that's not where my mind went...

Instead, I imagined that somewhere inside the store, the shop-owner's road bike was leaning against a wall, and he or she was upstairs, sitting at the computer late into the night, writing about the day's adventures on the bike. Maybe it was a tough climb on the dark and winding Richmond Mountain Road. Or a monumental trek up Mt. Greylock. Or it could just as easily have been a contemplative spin around the little Berkshire village of Lenox that inspired that nighttime typing.

Whatever the chosen road, the romance and adventurous spirit of cycling lives on long after a ride has ended. A great bike shop reminds me of those feelings. So if you happen to pass by your own neighborhood bike shop late at night and notice that a light is still on, be sure to be quiet. You never know what wonderful stories are in the process of being told...

Back on the Bike

2010-02-23T19:10:00.001-05:00

And four months since my last post ... I'm back! Boston finally made it above freezing this weekend, so I headed out for my first two bike rides since late October.

The ponds were still frozen...

...the streets lined with old snow...

...and the marina nearly empty...

But even though it was a pretty bitter 37 degrees outside, there's only so long you can stare at your beautiful bicycle across your apartment without going a little stir crazy. It felt wonderful being back on the road again, enjoying this brief stretch of moderate weather within in a long winter.

Now ... about that four month break ...

It must be a common blogger-dilemma -- what do you write in the winter when your blog is about something you only do in the spring, summer, and fall?

At first I decided I would change the name of this blog to "New England Rambles". I would go for walks and hikes, take train rides here and there, visit some new places and write about them. Cycling would come back to the blog once spring arrived, but it would no longer be the sole focus. I even registered a new Blogger url, changed my bio and everything.

But you know what I found out? I don't really like hiking. And while I love seeing new places here in New England, writing about them isn't nearly as much fun for me as writing about discoveries I make speeding down the road on a 24-gear aluminum bicycle. I wrote one post for "New England Rambles", but it felt like work and I didn't have the heart to publish it.

So ... I re-discovered for myself that cycling is my thing, and "Bike Ride Rambles" this blog will stay. It actually felt pretty cool coming to the realization that some things in life don't have to get bigger and better. Just writing about what you love is fulfilling in itself, especially when it unfolds in ways you never imagined. That to me is a blogging-adventure worth taking -- even with a nice four month break worked in along the way...

Fall Foliage in the Back Bay Fens

2009-10-24T13:24:00.001-04:00

Here are some photos I took yesterday in Boston's Back Bay Fens. Wedged in between some of the city's most densely populated neighborhoods, the Fens are amazingly quiet and serene. I love the way the Muddy River winds past the beautiful fall foliage and beneath storybook-like bridges...

Late Night Drive to L.L. Bean

2009-10-20T22:15:00.002-04:00

It's Saturday night. The weather is cold and windy, and a massive Nor'easter is due in the following morning. You're sitting at home, feeling restless. Maybe your date canceled at the last minute, leaving you with no evening plans. Or you're feeling sad that the cycling season is almost over. What's a New Englander to do?

Well, this New Englander decided to make a late-night trip to the L.L. Bean Flagship Store.

Located in Freeport, Maine (a little over two hours from Boston) the "L.L. Bean run" has been a midnight right-of-passage for college students, outdoor enthusiasts, and New England insomniacs ever since Mr. L.L. Bean himself removed the locks from the store's doors in 1951. To this day, it's still open 24-hours-a-day, 365 days a year.

I had never made the trip though. So by 9:30 p.m. Saturday night, I was on the road in a rental car heading to Freeport. Beside me was a big cup of Dunkin' Donuts coffee and my camera.

It's always surprising to me how close Maine actually is to Boston. Just head up I-95, zip through New Hampshire's tiny coastline, and in about an hour you're at the Maine border. From there, it's another hour drive on the Maine Turnpike to Freeport. Completed in 1947, the Maine Turnpike was one of the first super-highways built in America.

Just before entering Portland, I exited onto I-295, which loops out closer to the coast. At that point I switched on the radio and listened to the Yankees-Angels ALCS game. I didn't care who would win, now that the Red Sox are out (sniff, sniff). But I do like hearing sounds of baseball in the background.

Portland was soon visible out my right window -- a beautiful city glittering against the clear night sky. On my left was the Portland Jetport. That's right ... not an "airport", a "jetport". Isn't that cool? I wonder ... when Portlanders go to their airport, do they say: "I'm leaving for the jetport"? I hope so.

The road became quite dark north of Portland, but it wasn't long before I began seeing exit signs for Freeport. By this time it was about 11:40 pm. I thought back to the directions I memorized from the L.L. Bean website. Exit 18, 19 ... then there it was ... Exit 20. I got off the highway, turned right at the next street, and soon I was driving down Main Street, Freeport.

It's a bit eerie driving through this world-famous, brightly-lit shopper's paradise with no one around. Despite having so many major brand stores (Burberry, J. Crew, Polo Ralph Lauren, etc.) the town still has the feel of small New England Village, complete with art galleries and restaurants. All were closed.

I slowly drove through town, keeping an eye out for the L.L. Bean oasis. I turned left at a Gap shop, and then ... a bit off to my right ... there it was -- The huge L.L. Bean Flagship store.

Actually, there were three stores: the main retail store, with clothes, shoes, camping, hunting, and fishing supplies; a new store across the parking lot dedicated to home goods (kitchen things, bedroom linens, some furniture); and then an annex for kayaking, skiing, and cycling.

I parked the car, switch my camera into "Night Snapshot" mode, put on my L.L. Bean jacket which I love (I bought it at an L.L. Bean store near where I live), and walked to the main entrance...

That's their signature product in the above photo ... the Bean Boot, created by Leon Leonwood Bean in 1912 to keep Maine hunters' feet dry.

Walking inside, I had to adjust my eyes to the light...

And so there I was ... at L.L. Bean, at five minutes 'till midnight.

It wasn't crowded, but there were people there. A young woman was talking to her friend on her cell phone. "Really ... it's midnight and I'm at the L.L. Bean store!" she said. And there were a few families with little kids, who were clearly enjoying being up way past their bedtimes (the parents and the kids).

At various locations throughout the store, display cases tell the L.L. Bean story, like these that describe the Bean Boots I mentioned earlier...

This truly is a fun place to explore, even if you have no interest in some of the outdoor activities they cater to. For instance, I've never done any camping as an adult, and I don't really have a desire to ... but I still found myself fascinated by all the cool camping equipment! Amazing tents, solar powered radios, warm sleeping bags ... I started thinking: you know, maybe camping would be kind of nice, sleeping out there under the stars. At the very least you get to dream about buying all this nifty stuff.

Passing through the parka section, feeling the leather of the Bean Boots, and walking by the hunting and fishing areas, I felt like I was at the gateway to Maine's vast North Woods. It's one of the things I love most about living in New England -- I may reside in the Boston area, but I live in a region that still has sparsely populated areas with a wild mystique. Big cities, deep forests, treacherous coastlines, ambling rivers, and remote mountain-tops ... they're all part of this special corner of the U.S.

From the main retail store, I walked over to the "Bike, Boat, and Ski" annex, which was in a building next door. Inside, a mother and daughter were looking over bicycles (it was after midnight now). I checked out hybrid bikes that were hanging from the ceiling, and ran my hand over the smooth carbon frames of some Specialized cross bikes (road bikes with wider tires and lower gears). They sure are beautiful machines.

Walking back to the main store again, I decided I had to buy something -- although I'd purchased my current L.L. Bean coat not long ago and was on a self-imposed budget. So I bought an insulated coffee mug, a tote bag, and ... at the home store across the street ... two cans of Lobster Chowder. I know, a strange combination, but it felt right at the time.

It then was about 12:45 a.m. -- time to head home. I hopped in the car, said goodbye to Freeport, returned to the highway, switched on the radio ... and the Yankees-Angels were still playing! Sigh ... it brought me back to the magical, marathon games of the 2004 Red Sox-Yankees ALCS. Those were the days.

Driving through the night, I could see hints of the coastline to my left -- a break in the trees with a void off in the distance, or a bridge over a black river leading out to sea. Portland and Portsmouth seemed asleep in those darkest of dark hours, but the tollbooth operators all greeted me warmly.

Near the end of the Maine Turnpike, I pulled into a highway rest stop for gas. Stretching my legs, I slipped my credit card into the reader. Invalid card. I tried again. Invalid card. I groaned in frustration.

"Just give it a swift kick!" yelled a rest stop employee near the main building. Hearing that I was having some problems, the on-duty attendant came out, cheerily waved hello, took my card, slid it in and out of the reader with an expert flick of the wrist, and it worked.

"The pump knows I mean business," she said, laughing and handing me back my card. I filled the car, waved goodbye to the helpful folks, and then continued on my nighttime journey.

By 3:00 a.m. I was back in Boston, crossing over the Zakim-Bunker Hill Bridge, driving through the Tip O'Neill Tunnel, and then heading onward to the South Shore. As I arrived home a short time later, a light rain was beginning to fall. I could feel the wind buffeting the side of the car.

At 8:00 am the next morning, the forecasted Nor'easter was in full blast, with gusting winds, torrential rain, and even some snow. But I was home, happy to stay indoors. In my mind, I was dreaming of those storied northern regions of Maine beyond Freeport; places I've never seen like Caribou, Presque Isle, Lubec, and Monhegan Island.

Another adventure for another day...

2010 Tour de France Route

2009-10-17T10:12:00.001-04:00

But first, here are a couple photos of trees I passed by on recent bike rides...

The foliage is still not at peak here in Boston ... but we're getting very close.

This past Wednesday, I got up at 5:30 am to watch the announcement of the 2010 Tour de France route on Versus.com (when I told my brother about it, he said, "o.k., it's official now ... you're a die-hard Tour de France fan!"). You can see the route on the Tour de France website. Lots of mountains, windy ocean roads, and even cobblestones!

What was wonderful about the announcement was how Tour Director Christian Prudhomme described the way some towns along the route relate to everyday cycling. Rotterdam, for instance, is where the race will begin. So Prudhomme spoke about how cycling is such a part of daily life in Holland, with so many bike lanes, bicycle commuters, etc. It reminded me that what makes the Tour de France so special is that despite its complicated strategy, it's still just a bunch of cyclists riding on beautiful roads. Anyone who has ever ridden a bike can identify and enjoy.

Autumn on the Minuteman Bikeway

2009-10-12T21:57:00.000-04:00

The leaves are really starting to show some color here in Boston. We're not at peak yet -- it takes a little longer for the most spectacular foliage to make its way down from northern New England. But it's beautiful enough. So this morning, I decided to do something special to celebrate the leaves. I rode the Minuteman Bikeway.

The Minuteman Bikeway is an 11-mile path that goes right by where the first battles of the Revolutionary War were fought. It begins at the Alewife T Station in Cambridge (the T is what we call our subway system here in Boston), winds through Arlington, and then heads into the historic town of Lexington before coming to an end in quiet Bedford ... all along what used to be the old Boston-Maine Railroad tracks. The Bikeway is both scenic and practical. Many bicyclists use it to commute into Boston from the western suburbs, locking up their bikes in specially-built bike cages at Alewife Station and then taking the T into the city.

I'd always heard so much about the Bikeway, but getting there involves taking my bike on a 35 minute subway ride from my home on the South Shore. It's not a difficult trip, but just long enough so that I'd never done it.

Fortunately, here in Boston we have a safe and extensive subway system that also officially allows bicycles. So by 7:45 this morning, I was on the Red Line train with my bike beside me, and at 8:25 I was making my way up the Bikeway ... on a chilly 42-degree morning.

The Bikeway is completely flat, with a yellow line down the middle to help ease traffic flow. While it's mainly a bike path, the Minuteman is also used by many runners, walkers, and in-line skaters:

I quickly discovered that riding on a dedicated bikeway is a really delightful experience! Everything seems neighborly and small-scale. It's kind of like cycling through a model train set. Intersections are quaint and friendly...

... and this being a rail-trail, it even passes under an old train station...

The Minuteman Bikeway cuts through green areas between houses, past village centers, and through some beautiful forests. The farther I rode, the more colorful the leaves seemed to become:

It was such a peaceful ride. Before I knew it, I had reached the end in Bedford:

I loved seeing the old railway car, which commemorates Bedford's extensive railroad history. From Bedford, there are so many other incredibly scenic towns to explore ... like Concord, where Thoreau, Emerson, and Alcott all once lived. I rode a little beyond the end of the trail...

But then I decided there would be other days to venture farther west (always save something for another ride ... that's my motto). So I got back on the trail heading the opposite direction...

...and after about 5 miles I turned off the path into Lexington, to take in some of the historic spots on the town green. As you probably already guessed, this is the same Lexington as in "The Battle of Lexington and Concord". It's here on this Battle Green that the first shot of the Revolutionary War was fired (to this day, no one knows by whom):

Two buses stopped by, part of the many New England Fall Foliage motorcoach tours that make their way through this area.

After spending some time on the green, admiring the beauty of the place and thinking about all that happened there, I returned to the Bikeway and pedaled back to Alewife Station in Cambridge. In all, it was a 22-mile trip riding the entire length of the Minuteman and back, taking me past many of the things that make New England so special ... quaint village greens, well-preserved history, and magical foliage.

Tour de Aldrich & "Bike Rides" Exhibit

2009-10-07T23:52:00.004-04:00

It's 3 pm on Sunday afternoon, and I'm standing in the main exhibit gallery of the Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum. I'm wearing biking shorts, my bright red jacket, cycling shoes, and I have a wicked case of helmet hair. But I fit right in. Most of the people visiting the museum today look just like me.

That's because I just completed the 22 mile "Tour de Aldrich" and I'm now attending the "Bike Rides" Exhibition ... all put on by my new favorite museum: The Aldrich Museum of Contemporary Art!

The Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum is a small gallery in the quiet little town of Ridgefield, Connecticut ... three hours from Boston.

Ridgefiled sits in a beautiful area of rolling hills and historic old villages, right near the New York border. When I read online that the Aldrich Museum was staging a new exhibition dedicated to bicycles, and organizing a bike festival at its opening, and sponsoring three organized bike rides that day, I decided I just had to be there. I drove down on Saturday afternoon with my bike in the back of a large rental car (a Chevy HHR), spent the night at a Marriot Courtyard in nearby Danbury, and then headed to Ridgefield Sunday morning. It was a beautiful day ... sunny, in the mid-70's.

There were three rides to choose from, all leaving at noon from a school near the museum: Novice (13 miles), Intermediate (22 miles), and Advanced (27 miles). I decided on the Intermediate ride, still being new to the group ride experience.

When I registered for the ride on Sunday morning though, I had a few moments of hesitation before officially selecting the 22 mile route. Driving into town, nearly every road I passed had the word "hill" in it! Great Hill Road, Tanton Hill Road, Prospect Hill Road ... what was I getting myself into? And the map handed to me at registration sure seemed to have a lot of squiggly lines on it...

But I reminded myself that I'd ridden farther than 22 miles many times before (although I usually stop every ten minutes to take photos for my blog!). I just needed to conserve energy, rest on the downhills, pace myself, and most important ... just have fun!

The ride was organized by the Aldrich Museum and the Sound Cyclists Club, who did a great job right from the start. I would estimate there were maybe a hundred people or so there.

First we divided into the three groups ... Novice, Intermediate, and Advanced ... each behind our ride leader. Interestingly, our Intermediate group was the smallest (about 15 people), which was kind of nice. The 13-mile Novice group was by far the largest, and the Advanced group had maybe about 35 people.

Before we all left, a lead organizer gave some guidelines for the ride, reminding everyone to follow the standard traffic rules. But he also went over tools for riding effectively as a group ... yelling "car back" when a car was coming up from behind so that we could be sure we were riding single file, telling us how to vocally indicate to other riders when we were passing each other, stopping or slowing down, or pointing out hazards in the road (like "glass!").

Then our 22-mile group leader introduced himself. He was named Herb, a tall man with a nice steel-framed road bike. He reiterated the rules of the road and reminded us of the average speed we would be riding (12-13 mph ... which takes into account going faster than that on the downhill sections and slower going up).

At noon, the main organizer asked the Advance group to head out first, since they would ride at the fastest pace -- and then five minutes later my group was off! I settled in about fourth from the front.

Now, I would have loved to have taken photos during the ride ... but of course that would have been incredibly unsafe. So I kept my camera stored away in my seat bag. But later that afternoon when the ride was over, I went back and drove the entire route by car, stopping wherever I could to take pictures along the way. So the photos you'll see here will look a little empty, but just imagine them with about five or six other cyclists in front!

The ride was beautiful. We made our way down narrow, hilly roads through deep forests and past beautiful homes. In some areas the leaves were still fairly green, but in others the fall colors were really starting to show.

The group got fairly stretched-out early on, which was fine ... we had two "sweepers" (as they called themselves) who were organizers riding within the group to assist or ride with anyone who fell too far behind. But I stayed with or close to the ride leaders from the beginning to the end. It wasn't a race -- I just felt most comfortable riding near the front.

It's amazing how your senses instantly take on a heightened awareness when you begin a group ride. Everything is in motion ... you, the bike, the fluctuating distance between you and the other riders, and of course the scenery. For the first few miles, we passed through narrow roads filled with greenery and farms, cycling up and over a fair number of small hills. The route was well-marked throughout, with signs at every intersection ... and best of all, there were very few cars.

After about 9 miles or so, we stopped for 5 minutes to regroup and then headed out again. This was real rolling countryside now, with beautiful fall foliage ... and one steep hill.

Just before the halfway point, the ride looped back into town through a more densely populated residential area. Again, there were hills throughout, but they were fairly gentle.

By the halfway point itself, I felt great. I was loving the scenery, enjoying the company, and having a smooth ride. Around mile 15 or so, I was riding just behind the leader when we both nearly missed a sharp turn in the route. So we stopped and waited for the others to catch up to warn them.

At that point we then entered into a very affluent part of town, with huge mansions and tree-lined streets. It was beautiful. Golf Lane had some of the steepest hills of the ride ... but the downhills afterwards were wonderful, so there were plenty of chances to recover. At around mile 19, we took a quick moment to regroup one last time, and then off we went for the final stretch.

We all truly rode at our own pace at this point, and I was still feeling very good ... zipping down the road behind the two leading riders. But little did I know that the last two miles would be the hilliest of all!

Knowing the end was near though, I kept pressing forward ... up and over the hills on a road that weaved through some beautiful forest scenery -- until finally we were on Main Street! Just ahead lay the Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum and the end of our ride.

Riding down Main Street and then turning into the Aldrich sure was a wonderful feeling.

A volunteer congratulated me at the Aldrich's entrance and welcomed me to the "Bike Fest" -- which by this time (2 pm) was already in full swing.

Getting off my bike, I chatted with some of the other riders and the ride leaders. We had talked a little during the ride ... but not much. We were mainly intent on simply cycling. So it was nice to stand and get to know each other for a bit. One woman had just returned from a cycling trip through Italy (for fun, I signed up to receive the tour company's catalog when I got home).

There were bicycles everywhere at the Bike Fest, which took place in the museum's parking lot. Some were locked up, but most were not (small-town life sure is different than the city). I rolled my bike into the festival area, stopped by some of the sponsor booths, and watched a bit of a stunt rider doing tricks. I was then going to find a place to lean my bike so that I could check out the exhibit inside; but not having a bike lock with me, I decided I would ride to my car, put my bike in the back, and then drive back to the museum. Being a subway-riding-city-person, it's just not in my nature to leave my bike outside unlocked, no matter how safe it seemed!

So I rode the short distance to the school where two hours earlier I had embarked on the 22-mile ride. I put my bike in the back of the car...

...drove to a parking lot across the street from the museum, and returned to the exhibit...

As someone who loves modern art and cycling, experiencing both combined was an incredible thing! The museum had two of Lance Armstrong's beautifully painted Trek bikes, as well as bicycles enhanced by contemporary artists, video art on bike themes, and commercially produced bikes that truly did look like works of art (Cannondales, Sevens, Parlees, and other brands).

Here's a PDF of the online catalog from the museum's website.

After spending about an hour or so at the exhibition, I drove the entire 22-mile tour route by car to take photos (while listening to the end of the Patriots game on the radio), stopped in a Dunkin' Donuts to change into non-cycling clothes and buy an iced-coffee, and then hopped on I-84 to begin the three-hour drive home. The trip flew by, with so many great memories of this exciting and inspiring day to keep me company.

So a big thank you to all the folks at the Aldrich Contemporary Art Museum, Sound Cyclists, and the volunteers for creating such a fantastic event!

Claude Debussy and the City of Ys

2009-10-02T23:44:00.007-04:00

When I bike ride by the sea, I often wonder about what mysteries lie beneath its surface.

I know there are shipwrecks out there, memories of mariners battling raging nor'easters, and long-faded sounds of deckhands celebrating their return home. But it's difficult to picture these images simply by looking out over the ocean alone. Those sea is so overwhelmingly beautiful and mysterious, that its stories seem to lie in some mystical, inaccessible place, hidden deep beneath its wordless waves.

But I was recently reminded that there is a place where the sea finds its true voice, allowing the stories of all those who came before us to ring out loud and clear. That place is the world of music.

It happened a few days ago when I rediscovered a wonderful album on my iPod:

Claude Debussy: Preludes for Piano, Book I
Performed by Maurizio Pollini
Deutsche Grammophon recording

These short little piano pieces -- 12 total -- are so ethereal and evocative, as is almost all of Claude Debussy's music. Reacquainting myself with each prelude one-by-one was like taking a journey into a quieter, more mysterious world.

For those who love the sea though, Prelude #10 is simply magical.

Entitled "The Sunken Cathedral", Prelude #10 refers to the mythical city of Ys. According to Breton legend, Ys lies in ruins at the bottom of Douarnenez Bay off northwestern France. For one day out of every century, Ys' old cathedral rises up out of the ocean in great waves of water, color, and sound, its organ blasting through the wind. The magnificent cathedral hovers over the sea for a while, reminding Brittany's coastal dwellers of the ancient city's former splendor. But then back it sinks, farther and farther until once again it rests at the bottom of the ocean. The only sound that remains is that of the wind blowing across the waves.

Now you can listen to Debussy's work with this myth in mind literally, and it's wonderful. His wide open harmonies and chant-like melodies paint a vivid picture of the cathedral rising up from the water. But what makes the work truly extraordinary is that Debussy goes deeper than that. He finds the inner mystery in the tale, bringing to life those universal emotions that tie all of us together, as all great myths do. Feelings of wonder, peace, spaciousness, grandeur, fear, and quiet. And like the best storytellers, Debussy leaves as much unsaid as said, letting your imagination fill in the rest.

So after listening to Debussy's Prelude #10, I returned to the sea on my bicycle today, riding in the early-morning hours before work.

Standing there at the ocean's edge, I realized that Debussy gives shape and form to that indescribable emotion I had always felt by the sea -- the sense that there's something out there ... something magical, something greater than ourselves. Whether it's sunken cities, memories of ships past, or epics stories of ancient mariners ... artists, musicians, and writers allow us to express the mystery we all feel when confronted with the awesome vastness of the ocean. From the sea's hidden history, they unlock the gate to that faraway place where all the old tales lie.