Jeff Deminski wins November ICDBM Award!

Congratulations to our new International Cycling Douche Bag of the Month (ICDBM) winner, Jeff Deminski! Jeff is a "radio personality" in Detroit who is out to rally his listeners–the helpless drivers in Michigan–to deal with a "crazy cult of self-entitled bicyclists" from the seats of their cars. I read about Jeff on the League of American Cyclists web site (http://www.bikeleague.org/) "Trash Talk" feature, where they mentioned the Deminski and Doyle radio show. On August 7, 2009, these two losers apparently giggled and gabbed on their radio show about their impatience with cyclists. Ahh…my favorite thing: Drivers who can't handle the pain of backing off the accelerator because of a cyclist in the road.
An example quote from the show: "I doubt very much that any cyclist would have the gumption to call us, but how many of them have seen a bicyclist and would just LOVE to lob something at their heads?" Wow, what a tough guy. He sure showed those cowardly cyclists with that dare. I did have the "gumption" to call this loser, but more on that in a moment.
I did a brief Internet search on this cyclist-basher who likes to put stupid, dangerous thoughts into the minds of others. I found his blog where he again shares his small-minded perspective on cyclists. In case he gets the gumption to remove his "Bikers Suck" blog post, I'll share a couple gems on his cycling perspective with you…

• "moronic zealots with their save the world I'm better and greener than you bullshit" – Gosh, I sure hope Jeff Deminski and his sidekick have matching Hummers that help declare their immutable manhood and their disdain for anything green.
• "bike-pants-wearing-flamers" – Sure, Jeff. All cyclists are not only green, but they're gay. (I later found out in my call with Jeff that he is actually a pathetic little girl inside a small man's body.)
• "This whole bicyclist mantra of 'bicycles have the same rights to the roads as cars do' wears a little thin…" Yeah, so does this radio personality mantra of "DJ's have the right to say unbelievably stupid stuff without incurring physical harm." Guess what, genius: It's the law. Cyclists have the same rights to the road. Unfortunately, they can't legally pop a cap in your forehead no matter how stupid or dangerous you are.
• "I really felt like turning back and doing a Grand Theft Auto on her relief map ass. What a bitch." Again…what a tough guy. Your listeners would have been so proud of you if you had, you brave little doughboy.

After hearing about his perspective and reading his blog, I just had to let him know what a big fan of his I am. He was out of his office when I called, so I left him a voicemail saying "You're a douchebag." I didn't leave my name and number. I mistakenly thought he would not want to speak with me. Fortunately, I don't block my caller ID. Jeff wanted so badly to let me know what a nice guy he is, so he called me this morning. Here's how the conversation went (I have to go by memory; Jeff probably recorded the whole thing, being in the radio biz)…

• Dan: "Hello?"
• Jeff: "Hi, is Dan Go-EH-suh there?" (The mispronunciation of my name helps confirm that it's nobody who knows me. He also mispronounced La Jolla, so he might not pronounce his own friends names correctly.)
• Dan: "Can you please take this number off your list?" (I didn't realize that the caller ID "Greater Media 248-591-6800" was from the company that owns Jeff's radio station in Detroit.)
• Jeff: "I'm calling about your message yesterday."
• Dan [ecstatically]: "Oh my god!!!! Are you the douchebag from the radio station in Michigan?"
• Jeff: "What's this about?"
• Dan: "I just wanted to tell you how I feel about you promoting thoughts about 'lobbing' things at cyclists."
• Jeff: "Oh is that what this is about? That was such a long time ago."

Wrong response. Gosh, yeah, Jeff. It was almost five months ago, so it's all OK now. He said he had some cyclist organization on the show later. He went on and on, completely clueless. My wife and I were laughing about the conversation later. She was listening to the whole thing. We agreed that Jeff was like a praise-deprived child, trying so hard to convince me what a swell guy he is. I did less talking, listening carefully but sticking to my core message to make sure he understood what a loser he is.
Jeff tried to explain that I had to listen to the "whole episode" of the podcast to get some nuance that he couldn't begin to explain on the phone. (Oh, really? Should I not skip the commercials, too?) I told him I didn't give a big stinking pooh about his stupid radio show. Listen to it for yourself... Does this make it sound any better? My problem is with him, his attitude, and his cyclist-bashing blog, which is still very much alive as of this writing. Even after his "follow-up show" with the biking organization, he's clueless about cycling, he's contributing to the delinquency of selfish, cyclist-bashing drivers, and he's full of BS.

• Dan: "Jeff, when was the last time you rode a bike?"
• Jeff: "About a year ago. I was on vacation…" (Oh no, I have to cut him off here or he's going to start telling me about the brand and color of the skirt and blouse he was wearing on his rented vacation bike!)
• Dan: "Do you have ANY idea why cyclists don't like riding close to parked cars?"
• Jeff: {silence}
• Dan: "Well, Jeff, the cyclists don't like it when absent-minded drivers open parked car doors right in front of us while we're trying to ride fast enough to keep impatient drivers like you from beeping at us. Do you know what it feels like to hit the edge of a door going 20 miles an hour?"
• Jeff: "Yes."
• Dan: "Excuse me??? How the @%&* do you know that?! You are so full of @#$" (Can you tell I'm not fond of morons who are also BS-ers?)
• Jeff: {silence}

He said he thought his blog entry was "long gone." Hmm… How does that happen without you–the blogger–deleting it? If anything good comes out of the fun conversation I had with him, it will be his removal of that hateful blog entry. I'm all for freedom of speech, but not when it adds to the already high level of endangerment to me and other cyclists out on the road. I'm all for courteous cycling and I don't like cyclists who annoy drivers unnecessarily. But cyclist-bashers are even more dangerous than the more innocent (but equally stupid) texting/eating/phoning/makeup-applying/radio-channel-changing drivers who can't be bothered with anything smaller than an SUV on the road in front of them. If he takes that blog post down and doesn't choose some other retaliatory path, I'll remove this post so people can think of him as the boy scout he longs to be.
My bottom line is this, Mr. Dummerinski: I despise bad cyclist behavior even more than you do because it makes more drivers "hate" cyclists, which makes my bike ride even more dangerous than it already is. I have more to lose than you do from their bad behavior. But I don't go on the radio or Internet talking and laughing about lobbing stuff at their heads. You did, and that's how you have won the ICDBM award and made it to the top of the Bike League's "Trash Talk" list.
Congratulations!

Cycling through Bear Territory

Prevailing "bear encounter" wisdom says you should wave your arms up high and make loud noises to scare the bear away. If the bear attacks, you should "play dead." So, do you think you can follow this simple advice? You won't know for sure until the moment arrives. My experience tells me we sometimes forget the "advice" when adrenaline takes over…especially when you're shaken from a deep sleep and forced to react before you have time to think.

We were on a coast-to-coast ride in 1998. This was not a good year to ride much of anywhere because "El Niño" was dumping rain, snow and tornadoes all over the country. When we got to Cook City Montana, it was unusually cold, but the roads were clear. The "bear country" warning signs didn't go unnoticed, but we were tired, cold and hungry. We needed to cook dinner, set up our tents, and get some sleep before another long ride the next day. Dinner was great, but I wasn't very excited about the choice of dessert. It was something made with peanut butter and honey. I love all kinds of desserts, but this didn't seem to be the best place to be eating such an aromatic treat made out of two things bears really love.

I've known for quite some time that worrying is a useless activity. I enjoyed my bear-lure dessert and got ready for bed. All I could do was clean all the sweet stuff off my face and hands, keep my pepper spray and sheath knife next to my sleeping bag, and hope for the best. Since two young riders in our group were finally consummating their thousand-mile flirt in a tent nearby, I figured their whispers and groans might attract the bear first anyway. I was optimistic that I'd wake up alive and well-rested the next morning. A long day of riding helped me finally pass out.

It wasn't quite morning when I was awakened by a broad, solid pressure against my face, through the side of my tent. Holy sh!t. It was still pitch black out. I was very quickly going from a deep sleep to a complete panic. Getting eaten alive has to be one of my LEAST favorite ways to die. Sure, it might be over quickly and might be better than some of the long, drawn out alternatives. But the mere thought of feeling my own body getting ripped and consumed by another animal gets me very worked up. I did not play dead. I didn't grope in the dark for my knife or pepper spray. I immediately screamed and waved my arms wildly. I was not going down without a fight, even if my "fight" would amount to nothing more than appetizing entertainment for this bear.

It probably wasn't more than a second before I was sitting upright with the heart rate of a sprinter crossing the finish line. The bear had apparently backed off, because I was still alive and intact. I grabbed my flashlight, knife and pepper spray. I turned on my flashlight. (It might not have been the smartest thing to do, but remember I already broke the "play dead" rule.) A good portion of my cheap tent had collapsed under pressure from all four sides. This was no ordinary bear. As I came to my senses, I unzipped the tent fly slightly to confirm what I suspected from the shape of my tent: We were under several inches of snow. That pressure on my face was my cheap tent collapsing under the weight of the snow. (An imaginary "polar" bear of sorts, you might say.) I had just survived my first bear-less bear encounter.

The roads were all covered in snow, so we didn't get to ride that day. We did have the first and last snowball fight of our summer ride that morning. My cheap tent gave me one of the scariest [albeit short] and most memorable experiences of my life. Just like ghost stories, bear stories don't necessarily require a real bear.

Footnote: This bear "encounter" took place quite a few years ago, but I thought I'd finally write it down. It's a quiet morning after Halloween. The house is quiet, I'm up, I can't ride (collar bone still healing), and won't finish putting my office back together (after re-arranging it to accommodate some new furniture) till after I finish this delicious cup of coffee. I've told this story to a few friends, but now–after my latest crash–I figure I should write it down while I still have the brain cells to remember it.

Forgetting Pain

It's been exactly a month since I smashed my head and collar bone. Thank God we forget pain. I'm still not allowed to forget it for long. Several times a day, I either move my arm in a way that causes pain, or a shooting pain comes out of nowhere and hits me in the shoulder. I'm guessing that's just a normal part of a bolted-together clavicle trying to be whole again.

I have a stationary bike, which I prefer over a real bike on a trainer because of its massive weight and stability. I can get a little dopey, which I'm inclined to do when I train hard, and not worry about tipping the bike over if I start to lose my balance. (That would get my friends and family laughing behind my back…breaking a collar bone by falling off my indoor bike.) A couple friends, when they heard of me getting hurt, asked, "Did you fall off your bike again?" That sounds so retarded, so I don't even answer the question. Yes, I guess I "fell off my bike" when a cat jumped into the tri-spoke front wheel of my bike a few years back. And yes, I guess when I lost control on a mountain biking descent last month, I "fell off my bike." I may be retarded, but I prefer a phrase like "I crashed."

Anyway, today is worth celebrating, not just because it's exactly a month after the crash. I'm celebrating the fact that I was able to stand on my stationary bike and put both hands down on the handlebar. Yes. The law of gravity has been repealed. If I can stand in that position, I can train hard. In fact, since I can't really reach the handlebars with my left arm when I'm sitting down, maybe this phase of my recovery will be good for my hill-climbing training.

I'm still looking at a few more weeks before I try this out on the road, but at least I can start to dream good dreams again. Being able to REALLY train will help me forget the pain, too.

Tomorrow? I see the surgeon for the first time since the surgery on the 8^th. I just might get these 26 staples removed, since the 6"-long wound seems to be staying shut on its own now. Wow…all kinds of things to celebrate!

Clavicle Construction Calendar

It's October 13^th. Let's see, it's been only 16 days since I screwed up on September 27^th. (And I mean REALLY screwed up. See my previous blog.) My routine is highly modified. I feel like an amputee twice my age. (That's pretty freakin' old.) I won't be back on the real bikes for quite a while, but I did spin on the stationary bike for a while yesterday, sitting straight up. Then I felt sick and tired…and my ass hurt like hell since it had to support 100% of my weight. (The sick part may be from taking my first peek at the new 4-in-long opening in my shoulder, crudely stapled shut.)

I'm not nearly as depressed as I was for the first few days after the crash. In fact, I'm in decent spirits. I have a lot to be thankful for. But when I was doing my retarded, one-armed, don't-get-the-bandage-area-wet shower routine an hour ago, I suddenly got angry. I got angry that this whole thing happened. I got angry that I was knocked out so I don't even know exactly what went wrong. It makes no sense that I got angry. After all, it was an accident. I wasn't being "reckless" as one of my brothers accused in a thoughtless, scornful e-mail. It just happened. It's like when another brother of mine broke his hip after he hit a speed bump that blended in with the road in the filtered light through the trees. He wasn't being reckless. Accidents happen. I need to get over this now. I can't turn back the clock. I need to think ahead, not backward in time.

I should feel nothing but glee. I no longer feel like someone is driving a big drill bit through my shoulder. That's what it felt like about 24 hours after everything was bolted together and stapled shut. That Percocet just couldn't kick in fast enough, so I was thankful that no one else was home. I literally screamed in pain. (You know what, it's nice to let it out!) I guess I had reached the "10" that the folks at the hospital mentioned when asking me about my pain level on a scale of 1 to 10, which was always at a 2 or 3 when they asked. I think we pass out from shock when we hit 12 or so. I've been off the meds for days, and I'm really glad I opted for surgery, because I know those bone shards would still be jostling around in there if I didn't have them put back together with a plate and screws. That jostling hurt like hell.

OK, let's look forward. I've been giving loving, helpful advice to our niece, who just dropped out of UCLA for the quarter. She's living with us for now, trying to figure out how to get her mind and her life in order. She said I seem to "get" her. (I don't know how I could begin to "get" what she's going through. I'm 50 years old and my mom is still alive. Hers died when she was 5 years old.) Maybe I can relate to what she's going through just a little since I just had a physical catastrophe that parallels her psychological catastrophe. We can both recover. She's younger, smarter, and much better looking than I am, but I'm still giving myself a fair chance at a full recovery. We're going to think good thoughts. And someday, I'm going to be able to apply any "depressed" or "angry" energy to the pedals, turning it into the joy of competitive cycling. I can't wait.

Collar Bone Pile

It's been three days since I smashed my left clavicle into pieces. I guess my confidence outgrew my rusty mountain biking skills as I followed more experienced riders down the Anderson Truck Trail. I don't remember the crash, but I do remember some parts of the trail being sketchy enough to warrant walking, rather than riding.

Anyway, we're out on the trail having fun, riding hard, breathing heavy, and the next thing I know I'm walking on a relatively smooth, flat road with my friend Dennis, chatting away. (This is when my "LOC" or "loss of consciousness" passed me back into a reality that would later plunge me into the Great Depression of 2009.) It appeared that we were trying to find help…for me.

We didn't spend much time talking about what happened, as far as I can remember. It was clear enough that my head got banged again. (I think this was the fourth time I've been knocked silly, but who's counting.) It was pretty clear that my shoulder was also messed up, but it didn't hurt too badly, so how bad could it be?

Indeed. Let the x-ray show you, buckaroo. See that pile of kindling? That's all supposed to be ONE bone. It's called a collar bone, aka your left clavicle. You're now officially a true cyclist. One day, cycling parents will decide whether to order the "combo" circumcision plus flexible clavicle replacement to avoid this inconvenience. In the meantime, it seems that many–if not most–serious cyclists fall and break a collar bone at some point in time. It was my turn now, right when life was so beautiful and I was in possibly the best shape of my life. C'est la vie.

Upon seeing the matchsticks x-ray, I immediately realized that my "active lifestyle" plans would need to change. I would NOT be racing in two weeks, and I would NOT be riding in a month with George Hincapie around his hometown in South Carolina. I didn't realize how depressing it would be to plunge from the best fitness of my life to being an invalid in pain, waiting for days just for the initial surgical assessment.

But look at the bright side… If this hadn't happened, I wouldn't be up at 5 AM jotting my thoughts down in my new blog. OK…there's more to the bright side: My helmet probably saved my life. I'm alive and my family is fine. No more whining for the moment.

Why buy a cycling jersey with a full zipper?

Today's club ride was a bit hot...literally. I don't remember sweating that much in a long time. Fellow riders pointed out the pool of sweat left by a guy who was sitting near me at our usual coffee shop stop (Java Depot in Solana Beach).


My own sweat-soaked jersey reminded me of how nice it is to have paid the extra few bucks for the "full zipper" version of our club's racing jersey. I'm a slow learner, but I've finally realized that there are good reasons to buy that full-length zippered version of your next jersey. Ponder these situations...

1. Days like today. It was about 186º F (and Celsius) outside, with unusually high humidity. By the end of the ride, your jersey may have about 3 liters (that's 200 gallons) soaked into it. Ask yourself: Do you really want to lift this washrag from hell over your head? Also, the full-zip jersey can hang wide open if the heat really starts getting to you. And if you're a female cyclist and you follow this style tip, you'll make all kinds of friends with old creepers on your local club ride.


2. It's race time, or the start of a long ride. You have a bunch of stuff in your jersey pockets. You're wearing bib shorts, only because all the serious cyclists say it's the only way to go. Now you need to go...#2...badly. And the only place to "go" is that Port-a-Potty that has already been used. (With the bib shorts, you must take off your jersey to quickly get those straps down...unless I'm missing something. Help me out here.) Do you really feel safe lifting your jersey with full pockets over your head in that small stall with the place-from-which-one-never-retrieves-anything? Wouldn't it be easier with a full zipper: Unzip, carefully remove like a priceless jacket, and hang or hold clear of the mud pit. Better?

Gosh, another priceless tip from an old cyclist! Given the option, all my jerseys will have full zippers from now on.

Celebrity Cycling Sighting Today

After spending entirely too much time at my desk today, I escaped for a late-afternoon ride from La Jolla to Moonlight Beach in Encinitas and back. As I rode north on Torrey Pines Road, I came up on a rider who looked pretty tall for a cyclist. In fact, he looked tall for anything. It was an older fella ("older" like me), and he seemed to be working pretty hard. He was sweating a good bit, and had a back brace on that one doesn't normally see on a cyclist.

Seeing the back brace made me think of how fortunate I am to ride relatively pain-free, despite all the things that are "wrong" with my aging body...tendinitis, rotator cuff mess-unknownitis, deteriorating disks, spinal stenosis, blah blah blah. When I ride I feel good. And for the first 50 miles or so I can feel pretty darn young.

Anyway, after I pass this guy, I stop at a traffic light. He catches up and slowly rolls through the red light. I saw trouble coming...and was certain of it enough to say "whoa!" out loud. He spins around in time to avoid disaster, and when he turns back toward me I think, "This guy looks familiar."

As the light turned green and I had a chance to look at him again, I asked him, "Are you Bill Walton, or just somebody who played him on TV?" He gave this funny "deep thought" look for a second and with a smirk he said "both." Bill Walton is a home boy in San Diego. I've seen him at the airport before, but never out on the road. If you know a little bit about the injuries and pain Bill Walton has been through, then you can appreciate what an effort he was making to get out and ride the coast.

I remember meeting Robin Williams on the road when we were climbing Torrey Pines Grade a couple years ago. Even Robin Williams gets quiet when working the hills. So I didn't bother launching into a diatribe with Bill Walton. I could have told him how my son is now going to UCLA where Walton was such a star. Or how fun it is to see such a basketball legend (a UCLA, Trail Blazers, Clippers, Celtics) cycling around the neighborhood. I just said, "It's great to see you out here, have a nice ride."

It's nice to see everybody out there. (You, too!) Have a great, safe ride.

Why male cyclists shave their legs: Serious Answer

Now that the suspense of the Tour de France is over, we can resolve another mystery. "Why do male cyclists shave their legs?" There are plenty of answers to be found on the Internet--many of them facetious or insane--but these are the reasons you MIGHT consider if your wife or girlfriend doesn't object. (My wife won't let me shave mine because she says it freaks her out when she feels smooth legs under the covers. I can't say I'm terribly disappointed, since it's a pain to shave them anyway.)

1. Massage -- Your massage therapist has an easier time (and you get a more comfortable massage) if there's no hair reducing the skin-to-skin contact. Even if you massage yourself, massage tools like "The Stick" can catch leg hair, which is an unpleasant feature of the furry massage.


2. Aesthetics -- Most men generally continue to grow more hair as they get older (and beyond when they die). Really furry "Sasquatch" legs just look ugly. When the hair layer gets thicker than the legs, it can cause nausea in younger people around the bigfoot-like creature. I use a hair trimmer to "butch" my legs, but never shave them smooth anymore. A smooth shave also allows the most definition of your hard-earned muscle ripple show through. This is why professional bodybuilders shave their entire bodies. They just don't take as much flack for it as cyclists do for obvious reasons (e.g. compare typical body weight and wrestling skills between the two sports).


3. First Aid -- Most (if not all) cyclists crash sooner or later. Road rash has a tough enough time healing nicely without the complication of long hair flowing through the "hamburgered" flesh. We still have to pick out the chunks of asphalt, but a clean shave before the crash makes the job a little easier. A fresh shave of the face and legs--and even the arms if you like--help you feel you're ready for battle and the repercussions of high-speed battle.


4. Sex -- This one doesn't apply to my wife, but some ladies actually like smooth legs under the sheets. You'll just have to ask or experiment.


5. Other -- There are all sorts of psychological (e.g. "have to shave to be a serious racer") and silly (e.g. aerodynamics) reasons, but the first 4 here are the most realistic and tangible to me. Mountain bikers also say you're less likely to get ticks without hair on your legs, but I'd be inclined to use bug repellent if ticks are an issue.

If there are other real reasons, I'm not aware of them, but I've only been riding for about 45 years, and I've only shaved once, so I'm no expert. But that's one of the great things about the Internet...anybody can pretend to be an expert on everything they know nothing about.

Lonely for cycling

I'm excited to go back to the hinterlands of Wisconsin for a "cousins weekend." We haven't done this in 20 years. But I'm going to miss riding for a week while we're in Wisconsin and Chicago. The worst part about being in such a remote part of Wisconsin is that we'll probably not be able to see any coverage of the last 3 days of the Tour de France. There's a lot that can happen in these last few days as so many battle for 2nd and 3rd place. I guess the Internet coverage will have to do. I'll be scouring the links I have on my cycling page at www.LaJollaVelo.com.

San Diego: Cycling Paradise

I didn't get out for a ride until after 3pm today but it's summer and it's SAN DIEGO. Gotta love this place for cycling, especially in the summer. Summer took a long time to bloom here this year, but it's fully blossomed now. It's finally hot enough to break into a real sweat without necessarily getting a real workout.



The ride from La Jolla to Encinitas and back was fast and felt effortless. God, it feels great to feel healthy again. I'm not sure what sort of bug I caught after the Markleeville Death Ride, but it sure took me a while to get over it. YEAAAAAHHHHH!!!

Columbia over Garmin ANY day

Are you undecided on which "American" team to cheer for? Why not pick the one that takes the high road? It's the one named Columbia-HTC, owned & operated by High Road Sports. The other American Team, Garmin-Slipstream, demonstrated last Thursday that they may not always choose the "high road" in the heat of competition...

There was an opportunity to have the Tour de France yellow jersey pass from an Italian on a French team to an American on an American team. I'm not overly nationalistic, but that American was George Hincapie, probably the best-liked and most-respected American rider in the peloton. All Garmin had to do was stay in the pack with all the other race leaders. They would have lost nothing and they would have gained something by keeping Brad Wiggins fresher for stages to come. George is working for others on his team, not gunning for the GC.

But some bitter soul within the Garmin management team decided, due to their laughable "rivalry" with Columbia-HTC that they would work hard to narrow the time gap so George would not have this one day of glory. The jersey stayed on the back of Nocentini, who had been wearing it for about a week already. Way to go, Garmin-Killjoy-Slipstream. Don't look for friends in the peloton for the rest of this year. And by the way, Team Columbia will continue to crush you, with greater conviction than ever.

There are some nice guys on the Garmin-Slipstream team, and some of them probably hated the job they were asked to do that day, since many of them are friends of George. The small-minded managers at Garmin will only realize this when their star athletes decide to NOT renew their contracts.

Meanwhile, keep on cheering for the American "old man" (Lance Armstrong on his not-so-American Astana team) and his almost-as-old friend George Hincapie. I'm an old man...almost as old as Lance+George...and I dream of getting faster on the bike every time I ride. Whether they win the races or not, OLD GUYS RULE!

Should I?

Should I attempt to "blog" again? I think it's been over a year since my teenage children found my last blog and--through merciless ridicule--convinced me not to spend time doing anything that would give them such ammunition again.

Since this blog will focus on cycling (as an adjunct to my links page at www.lajollavelo.com), I suspect they'll be less interested in reading it. They know very little about the sport, and care even less.

Mickey owns a mountain bike here but won't ride with me anymore.
Maddie just did her first spin class today but is sworn to never ride a real bike again. The only thing she's noticed about pro cycling (from watching me watch it on TV) is how pronounced Mark Cavendish's butt is.
Callie likes her beach cruiser, and doesn't care about Mark's butt.