It’s good to be married to someone who’s very talented at the things I’m bad at. The fidgetiness and chronic lack of attention to detail that makes me a struggling bike mechanic (and bad speller: I’ve had to take a file to two stuck chainring bolts in the last month, and Firefox auto spellcheck is my friend) makes me an appalling seamstress. I’ve been modfiying my own gear for over a decade, and my trademark remains messy hand stitched bartacks, using dental floss.

M, on the other hand, has a gift for visualizing something, and then being able to make that idea concrete. The latest experiment, a seat pack for multi-day racing and rides.

My idea was to utilize the space under the seat, creating a places for batteries and bivy gear without interfering with technical riding in the least.

Mission accomplished.

Not only does it have around 800 cubic inches of capacity, but possesses whimsical and nuanced style.

It was built around an old REI seatpack, torn apart and used to provide structure and ease of attachment.

We added a strip of 2″ tow strap to guard against wear from tire rub. The fat Weirwolf will just buzz the bag when the rear suspension compresses all the way.

There were a couple hicups in execution, mostly due to the limitations of sewing onto the already built seatpack. It went on a (road) test ride last night, and all is excellent.

This, on the other hand, was my lame attempt. Ick.

Training has generally been going well. Intervals are still not my cup, but that is slowly changing. I’ve been going without the brace for the last two days, which is very nice. Only very occasionally does it remind that it was broken two weeks ago. One of those times it, unfortunately, when in the normal bike position, so I’ve been trail running and riding around on the hoods of the Lenz. Fitness overall is ok, though climbing on the bike feels lacking. Worrisome when I think about the planned La Sals epic next month, so last night I set off on the road to correct that. The summit of 89a, going east towards Jerome, is ~15 miles and a bit over 2k up from our front porch. I headed off to tag the pass and come back. The interesting thing about the ride is that, for the last 10 miles, the climbing does not cease. The angle is never steep, and undergoes prolonged and gradual shifts, but never lets up. My goal was to keep a steady burn all the way.

Maybe it was the 7 hill intervals two days before, maybe it was the inability to vary the burn by cranking out of the saddle, most likely it was my lack of seated climbing chops and two weeks mostly off the bike. In any form, I suffered a good bit, and while progress was inexorable, felt very slow in coming. Only the cars not blazing past me on the switchbacks led me to believe I was not in death crawl mode. I did hit the top in 1:40ish, paused as long as I dared in the fading day to enjoy the sunset and moonrise, then turned around and pinned it downhill.

Shifting into one’s top gear and staying there for 10 miles is cool. Covering those 10 miles in just over 20 minutes is better. Light on for safety, and I beat the darkness just back to the door. A good 2.5 hours out. The foundation exists, but a bit of dust needs shoveling before I can start polishing.

Everytime it seems to much, not worth it, or just a general nuisance of a task, I think about climbing the Shandies, or Gold Bar, or spinning through the steep and loose climbing away from the Rainbow Rim. Little memories, totems to keep life in perspective. Plus I’ve got this guy, making me feel week for needing to sleep 8 hours.