Holy bike gear Batman

Date: April 12
Mileage: 21
April mileage: 98
Temperature upon departure: 40
On the iPod: "We Are Nowhere, And It's Now" ~ Bright Eyes

eBay is an amazing thing. It brings the world's biggest garage sale to your doorstep, and whether you're a resident of New York or Alaska or Kalamazoo, it's yours for the taking if you want it enough.

Today Geoff stumbled across a listing for a huge lot of mountain bike gear. Absolutely mammoth. We're talking more gear than most ever dream of owning in their lifetimes, and then some. The seller is a chick who recently retired from racing, and she is unloading all of her stuff in one lump package. Her auction doesn't even list everything she is selling. It includes (and of course is not limited to):

* 10 different pairs of biking gloves
* 18 3/4 pairs of biking pants (don't ask me what the 3/4 implies)
* 20 pairs of shorts
* "Soooooo many tops" (her words)
* 3 vests
* 9+ jackets
* 9 half-tanks (what's a half-tank?)
* 10 hats
* 50+ pairs of socks
* and enough random maintenance stuff to get any century-a-day rider through the next decade.

It's excess in its most blatant form, thrown at the World Wide Web At Large for a starting bid of just $600. I gave it some serious thought. I mean it. There's a good chance this girl, a former racer, is smaller than I am. But I'm 130 pounds myself, so the difference is probably negligible enough that most of it would fit me, especially since some of the sizes are listed as "medium." But what in the world would I do with 18 3/4 pairs of cycling pants? Currently, I don't even own one pair. It's funny, actually. When it comes to consumer products, I inherited from my dad a kind of blanket practicality that borders on indifference. My current cycling repertoire (that is, my clothing that actually qualifies in the category of strictly cycling gear) includes:

* 3 pairs of well-worn bike shorts (well-worn in that every single pair went with me on a cross-country tour two and a half years ago, and I still have yet to buy new shorts)
* 2 long-sleeve bike jerseys, both generic
* 3 short-sleeve bike jerseys, also generic
* one pair short padded gloves
* one pair full padded gloves
* one helmet

Wow. That may actually be it. I don't even own clipless pedals, for crying out loud. I'm a sad case. Hopeless, as my mom would sometimes say when she tried to take me shopping. Not that I wouldn't like to own stuff. I really do appreciate the edge or comfort a really good piece of quality gear can provide. And I have been really diligent lately about buying stuff ... warm stuff ... stuff I needed to keep me alive.

But then this auction came along, and it was going to bring it all to me - more stuff than I could ever dream of using, and all I had to do was click a button. Alas, the auction ended this evening without meeting the reserve, so I'll never know how close I came. However ... she may relist. How much do you think a lifetime supply of cycling jerseys would be worth?

Crunchy goodness

Date: April 11
Mileage: 24
April mileage: 77
Temperature upon departure: 32
On the iPod: "The Plan" ~ Built to Spill

Boy was I grumpy when I set out on my bike ride today. It started out as a sunny day and deteriorated quickly. By the time I left work, it was blowing snow. On top of that, I forgot my ski goggles. I guided my bike through the white static while trying to look anywhere but forward. The present came to me in a cinematic flicker of involuntary blinking. I was annoyed, but I wanted to take others' good advice about getting back on the bike, because I've already had plenty of days off.

Amazingly, about seven miles into the ride, I began to loosen up. The knot of irritation released in bursts of energy. I embraced my blindness and accepted that I was moving by shapes and sounds. And I began to think that maybe I'm not tired of cycling. Maybe I'm just tired of winter.

On the way home, I rode beside an open field of smooth snow. I don't know why I pulled my bike over a six-foot snowbank to reach it. The snow conditions are changing so quickly that I could have encountered anything. I could have sunk up to my hips in ice shards or collapsed into a hollowed-out slush puddle. But what I found was hardpack so solid that I barely left footprints as I walked. That's when I knew I had arrived.

The rumbling crunch of studs hitting hardpack snow is a beautiful sound. I zigzagged through the field because I had nowhere to go and no place to be. I was as free as the bald eagles that I scared from their perches. They circled through a swirl of falling snow and landed a hundred yards ahead, and still I rode toward them ... a directionless pursuit. I dropped into a gully and began to follow a stream bed, pedaling hard enough to feel the cold wind burn in my lungs and the enduring thrill of weaving around bushes and trees ... create-your-own-singletrack. The snow was soft enough in spots that the occasional posthole had serious consequences (think brake check). But I was amazed how easily I could decide where I wanted to be and just float there. I was a rider without a trail, with no need for a trail. The world was my trail.

And I began to think that maybe I'm not tired of winter. Maybe I just have the wrong ideas about spring.

Cyclists' block

I am in need of some serious motivation. Like Matt Foley kick-down-your-door-and-enlighten-you-about-your-future-in-a-van-down-by-the-river-type motivation. I have a serious case of cyclists' block, and I'm not sure how to get through it.

It was so easy in the winter. Basically, I had a plan to do this frozen-tundra century that was so overwhelmingly terrifying that everything (and I mean everything) seemed pleasant in contrast. Now I'm facing decidedly easier conditions. Sure, the "paved" roads are so riddled with frost heaves that I can get some serious (and I mean serious) air on my road bike. And sure, a fierce west wind coupled with 25-degree temps dropped the wind chill down to single digits today. And sure, the slow-moving spring break-up causes all (and I mean all) surfaces to turn to soup. But still, there's no excuse for my inability to get out and ride.

This morning I woke up, dressed in some cycling gear, went downstairs and stared at my bikes. Just stared at them, for several minutes. Then, almost inexplicably, I went back upstairs, grabbed my gym outfit and keys, and left for work in my car. I can't explain why I didn't want to ride this morning. I just couldn't face it. Then, after I left work, I had this idea to pick up where I left off and go for an evening ride. But once outside, the wind hit me like a blast of freezer burn. I grabbed my iPod and high-tailed it to the climate-controlled elliptical trainer.

As I turned the hamster wheel and browsed a great article about Edward R. Murrow, I thought about writers block and the way it can feel like it's never going to end. I'm starting to think that maybe cyclists experience the same thing. It's frustrating, after a full-steam winter, to suddenly hit a wall. It's even more frustrating because summer, the actual bicycling "season," is just about to begin. But I'm still holding out hope that my cyclist's block ... much like the ice-choked Tenana River ... will soon collapse under pressure from the relentless Arctic sun and melt into the even flow of summer.

Where's the inspiration? Where's the passion? Where's Chris Farley when you need him?