The BCM Pep Talk

Preface

I have read a series of historical fiction books about Genghis Khan. It is wonderful.  It is written by Conn (short for Connald)  Iggulden.  The Mongols would cover their faces with mutton fat to protect their skin from extreme cold.  When I was riding in the cold last winter, I thought I'd try it.  I had no mutton fat on hand, but one night while finishing off my third skin of airag, I got the idea to substitute Vaseline for mutton fat.  That is why I call Vaseline mutton fat.    

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After thanksgiving of 2012, I started riding more regularly again [ Obligatory: But this time, it’s personal, blah blah blah ].  We had nice weather until the first snow storm on the afternoon of December 19.  It was a lot of snow.  Wow.  I had really had a pretty good thing going for about 4 weeks.  Now it looked to be interrupted for at least a few weeks.  Possibly longer if the sun didn’t come out and do a little snow melting. No way I could get a ride in with all that snow and ice on the ground.  Who does that?

Turns out, lots of people.  At least 11 every weekend.  But of course they switch from road bikes to cross bikes.  They ride on wonderful gravel trails around the area.  They have lots of fun out there while I sit on my rollers.  Bored.  Miserable.  Yeah.

But I have a cross bike.  In fact, last year, I somewhat resurrected my old LeMond Poprad for winter riding.  I cleaned it all up, got new tires, etc.  Then I barely rode it at all. See, I was afraid to ride on anything other than mostly dry streets.

I always see people out there, doing the gravel, snow packed ride thing.  But I’ve never done it.  I didn’t actually understand how it was possible.  I have very few hours (minutes) riding anything other than a road bike.  Road bikes don’t work at all on anything other than the road.  Intellectually, I understand that a cross bike with cross tires would give you “more” traction.  But I had no idea how much.  I still tend to coast over icy patches the same way I would on a road bike. 

Now – don’t misunderstand – You will slip and fall over hard if you hit a sheet of ice on your cross bike.  I think studded tires are your only option at that point.  But you really don’t want to ride around on studded tires most of the time because in the words of Rene Descartes, “It sucks balls.”

Studded tires suck zee balls, zerefore Je suis

But for nice crunchy packed snow or chunky ice, mixed with gravel, “Pas de probleme." 

But I didn’t know that.  It was only my desire to “stop being such a pussy” and also “get some use” out of my “winter cycling boots” that I decided to “take the” plunge, go for “it”, just “do” it and join the winter ride.  It made sense.  I’ve been dropped in the Summer for years.  I needed a good Winter dropping.  “Winter dropping” as many of you know, was actually my nickname in high school.

So, armed with extreme fear and trepidation, I did what I always do when I’m looking to go on a group ride.  I texted Brady to see if he was going.  I prefer having Brady there, especially when I’m unsure of a situation because no matter how bad my form is or how uncomfortable I am in the pack, I can always count on Brady for two things. First there will be a humorous anecdote about SHIM or Charlie Burton and Shim or Munson and Zach Somebody or Pirates who ride bikes and have a profound Pirate sense of Pirate fair play.

Yeah – that’s the first one.  Next, whenever I’m feeling insecure or scared, I can count on a healthy dose of what I call the BCM pep talk (BCM stands for Barry Conald Murphy). What kind of a name is “Conald,” I can hear the people shout.  Um, Irish or something.

So after some action packed texting with Brady, I decided, what the hell.  You only live once.  I’m doing it.  I’m going to go ice biking.  No worries.  Yeah!  Effin A!  You are the fuckin man, dude.  Oh – I should mention at this point that I was evaluating just how incredibly manly I was for making the decision to go on a studly ride in the horrible conditions.  I was using a big mirror for this evaluation.  Yeah, there was a lot of finger pointing going on. 

The next morning I woke up invigorated. I’d been living in fear my whole life for no reason.  What’s the worst that can happen?  Yeah.  The worst.  Hmm.  Let’s see.   Slide on some ice into traffic and die, leaving my 2 young sons fatherless.  Must text Brady immediately.

 

“Chickening out.  Too much vaginal pain to ride today.  Goodbye”

To which Brady replied, “Ok, but I already smeared mutton fat on my face.”

I conquered China, but yeah, riding on ice?  No thanks.

So it didn’t happen.  I sighed heavily and grabbed a pair of bib shorts for my appointment with the rollers.  The roller ride was brutally boring.  Even though nobody was around, it was humiliating.  Mostly because the mirror was still there.  And it was not done with the finger pointing.  The misery of the indoor trainer ride was later compounded by the Facebook.

 

One of the more expert riders in the area is a photographer by the name of Lucas Marshall.  He took a bunch of photos of the snow ride I had chickened out of.  It looked like a lot of fun.  As I dabbed at my sweaty forehead with a gym towel, I clicked through all the photos looking for one thing.  It wasn’t there, so I decided to definitely go the next week.  I was looking to see if anyone had slid into traffic, creating orphans.  If it had happened, Lucas Marshall had not put the photographic evidence of it on the Facebook, so I figured I was safe.

That was it.  Next week, I was going no matter what.  So what if it’s cold and slippery?  Other people are doing it, so it must be OK.  So [ like always ] I texted Brady and told him about it.  I asked if he was going and if I should meet him at his house so we could ride down to the coffee shop together.  His Spartan reply was “yes and yes.”

YEAH!!! PRETTY!!! GOOD!!!

I was thinking that since Brady was a veteran of the icy ride, he’d be a big help to calm my nerves.  Also, I thought he might be able to give me pointers.  What I had forgotten about was the revolutionary brand of pep talk Brady employs.

I arrived at his house plenty early, thinking the ride down to the coffee shop should take about 15 minutes on a good day and it was not a good day.  It was really cold out.  Brady wasn’t ready.  He hadn’t even put any mutton fat on his face yet.

Once we started rolling over the packed snow and ice, I again expressed my apprehension about riding on the ice and how I sort of didn’t actually believe it was possible even though I can see photos of people doing it.  This was when I got my first dose of the BCM pep talk.

I expected comforting words from the experienced.  After all, he seemed to come through last weekend unscathed, so how bad could it be?  Somehow, his pep talk addressing my fears seemed to have the opposite effect of what I was expecting.

“Oh yeah.  It’s pretty scary cube.  I literally thought I was going to die as I lost control down this one hill where there is no way to stop or slow down.  Once I got the speed going, I could do nothing but weave through the crowd of riders, saying my goodbyes as my certain demise awaited me at the bottom.  You see, There is a stop sign at the bottom of this T-intersection.  You have to just hope no traffic is traveling along the highway it spills into because there’s no fucking way you’re stopping.”  I’m pretty sure Brady sensed my thoughts.  He could tell I was thinking about just turning around and heading back home, so he calmed me with, “Don’t worry, you’ll see what I’m talking about because we’re going the same route today.”

So there it is.  The BCM pep talk.  A couple of weeks back, it was really cold, but the streets were clear enough for road bikes.  Soon to be World Champion cyclocross mens 40-44 division, Mark Savery was going to be there to "stretch his legs" before he headed off to conquer the world.  According to Mark, a few of them (probably just Mark)  had decided it was a good day to "Joe Friel" your ass up a shit ton of hills.

I had no idea there were so many climbs in this area.  I don't know how many we went over, but I was immediately in all kinds of trouble.  I was in my smallest gear pushing as hard as I could and going backward with incredible velocity.  After each hill, Brady was there to comfort me with a new and improved pep talk.  I think while he was climbing the hills, he was composing his next little "Win one for the Gipper" speech.

I'd coast on down to the patiently waiting pack and we'd start rolling again.  Brady would come up beside me and say.  "What'd you think of that pimple?  Because by the time we get to the top of the next climb, you'll be begging for that last one.  And you know what else?  You'll just think you're at the top.  The truth is, you will turn a corner to find that the landscape fooled you and you're not even halfway up.  Oh wait hang on ... What?  We're turning left here?  Oh ok.  Sorry.  Never mind.  I thought we were going straight.  And I'll tell you, if you ever get out here again and go straight.  You'll see what I mean.  That is one bitch of a hill I thought we were going up.  Nothing compared to the one we're actually going up, but still  ...

And so on for every single hill there was.  Problem is - he wasn't lying.