RAPHA from Dave Christenson on Vimeo.

The beer itself is an ESB, or Extra Special Bitter, which means lots of hops. If you like hoppiness you’ll like this. Also has some coffee thrown in almost as an after-thought. All in all a meh beer in comparison to other ESB’s I’ve had such as Dogfish Head.

The brewing of beer requires a microorganism called yeast, that is responsible for the processing and conversion of a sugary liquid called wort into alcohol.  The most basic differences between an ale and a lager is the temperature and area of the liquid that the yeast works in. Ales ferment at a warmer temperature (around room temp) and its yeast ferments from the top down. The yeast inside of a lager, on the other hand, works at colder temperatures (near freezing) and the yeast prefers to work from the bottom up.

Ales are the oldest variant of beer brew as it requires less strict control of its brewing temperature- a cellar is sufficiently cool to produce an ale. Ales have been around (according to Wikipedia) since the time of the Sumerians, ~3000 BC. Since ales have such a long history, there is a plethora of different varities available and different ones for different times of the year. European countries such as Britain, Germany, and Belgium and small breweries in the US produce the best variants of ales- according to me at least. Some popular styles of ale include: pale ales, red ales, and dark ales. Well known examples include: Guinness, Newcastle, and Coopers Sparkling ale (a favorite of mine from Australia).

Lagers, I have to admit, aren’t exactly a first pick for me when I get a choice. Yes I know, this makes me sound like a snob but hey, who’s writing this thing? Now, I’m not saying I dislike all lagers, in fact there are some that are my favorites . Okay, onwards. The first lagers ( again according to the WIki entry) were introduced sometime during the Holy Roman Empire- which was neither of the three but that’s a different story. My guess as to how this stuff got started was that one day a guy (we’ll call him Mr Von Trapp) who owned a bar was storing beer in a cave beneath his shop. He gets called of to battle some barbarian hoard and forgets about his beer. He returns (minus and eye and an arm) and decides to relive past glories and finds a barrel of something in his basement that, although clean tasting, is less than strong. After finishing said barrel, and still being less than intoxicated because it’s such weak brew, he decides to sell this new tasting stuff to suckers and passers-by. So I have no idea where I was going with that but the basic point is that lagers haven’t been around that long in comparison to ales and there are fewer variants by far. The only main example I can think of is a Pilsner introduced by the Czechs. Some examples, and some of my favorites are: Red Stripe (yum- go Jamaica), Sam Adams, Peroni, and every frat boys favorite Bud Light and Natural Ice (shudder).

This all might sound complicated but have no fear, check back in about a week or so for another part of this series and above all, don’t be afraid to try new things because of my advice. Hopefully one of you will find a rare gem and send me along a tip. Thanks.

Some further reading: Ales on Wiki- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ale#Varieties_of_ale

Lagers on Wiki- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lager

This is a balanced, sweet beer, rich and malty and not at all for the faint of heart (or liver)

The abbey fermentation process leaves behind a lot of residual sugar and aroma and coats your palette quite nicely.  Before long, your cares will dissolve in its syrupy deliciousness, don’t plan on being very productive for the rest of your day. (Did I mention I just consumed one of these?)

Get one where you can, it comes highly recommended.  Rating: Campy/SRAM Red

Wow, 10.5% and my new favorite. Even though it feels like I’m kind of cheating my readers to include my favorite in the first review, I just couldn’t help myself. This dark ale is produced in Belgium where most of the good beer I’ve had is made. Its got a strong alcohol smell that masks its true flavor of brown sugary sweetness (just the way I like it). So if your looking to cuddle up by a fire, read a good book and pass out into a nice slumber make sure you do it with this thick, dark beer.

Rating: 5 out of 5 cogs

Of all the actors to play James Bond, Daniel Craig is my favorite. This is partly because, me with my father’s blonde hair and mother’s father’s receding-hair-line-potential, I can’t help but feel that I might somehow look like that when I am 40 if I start working out now. I mean, I admittedly don’t think I have the potential to survive a fall from an airplane or save Bolivia’s water supply (was that the movie was about?) or even shoot a gun, but a boy can dream right?

The thing about double “O” agents and actors and people with muscles and pro cyclists is that they while we (read: “I”) imagine them to be complete balanced people, they in all probability have sacrificed a fairly large amount of their day to day existence in order to achieve these goals. I mean, i don’t really know how much time Daniel Craig spends in the gym or in acting class, but he probably doesn’t end his night at Dunderbox, and as he has made the necessary sacrifices, he now gets paid a pretty penny to keep up the good work. The same goes with cyclists, the more immersed I find myself in this sport, the bigger the gap seems to get between me and the front of the peloton.

I am not what most think of when they think of a “fast” cyclist. I have, however, been in many a thinning peloton. Because I am a dreamer at heart, I spend a lot of time in the saddle distracting myself with views of the landscape, once the land gets boring, I look to see what kind of bikes everyone is riding. Once I have found that one steel Pegoretti and carbon Orbea, I then often judge the rider. “Are they worthy of this machine?” “How strong do they look?” “Their legs aren’t even shaved!” “Iis today I will drop the man on the $8000 bike?”

The one thing I have noticed, and have since been investigating, is the difference between the man and the machines on my weekend group rides. Take a look around the peloton at different stages of your next Greco ride. The group is huge in the 10 minute warm-up. About half way through, some guys in “Simon Says” jerseys take off, but they are doing their own thing, so everyone lets them go. Then there is that turn, and that first hill. It is here the true observations begin. Those who are destined for the chase group wrap their white knuckles around their drops and use up any excess glycogen, dooming themselves to ride on borrowed legs for that one extra mile in the pack. Those who know they will be pushing the pace all through Thonotosassa look a lot calmer, and don’t even seem to notice the pace increases. Everyone else is either falls somewhere between these extremes, or has already dropped, not even attempting to stay with the group.

Upon further observation, everyone can be classified in one of two camps, “the average joes” and “the PROS.” (thank you www.Belgiumkneewarmers.com for the unapproved use of the word PRO, you have the best blog in the world) In case you have never paid attention to the details of the riders around you, the “PROs” are the ones in the pristine kits, white bar tape and carbon wheels. If you want to really see their PROness, look for signs of wear on the saddle, scares on the knees (from crashing, not shaving) and the wear on the hoods of their shifters.]

This is not to say that the PROS will forever dominate the ride. You see, what distinguishes the PROS form the JOES has actually little to do with speed. The average Joes have their fast guys too, and I opt to call them “hardmen.” These are the guys who have ridden the same aluminum frame with Tiagra components for 10 thousand consecutive miles because they have yet to have a problem with it. A hardman may avoid shaving their legs, unless it is for their safety in Crit season, and they would rather die than claim they like the way their hairless legs feel. These guys are the ones who show up to ride even when the weather drops below 40 degrees, and do so in only knee warmers. Think Belgium 1990, Paris Roubaix, cyclocross season, Daniel Craig.

In my opinion, there exists one major distinction between a PRO and a joe, and that transcends anything that can be proven on a group ride. It has to do with dedication. If I may use myself as an example, I sometimes feel I can hold onto a peloton when I am in more pain than some of those around me, that I can push myself beyond where others are willing to push. When it comes to my personal dedication, once a ride has started, there are few who can surpass it. But I am now to a point where things outside of the ride itself need to change if I want to get better. You see (dammit, i used that transition twice in one blog), I missed the horrible hundred because I was out drinking the night before. Now, I have somewhat mastered the art of the hungover bike ride, and while, I feel that even on 4 hours of sleep, I may have had another sub 5 hour ride, and that in and of itself would have been an improvement over the 0 hour ride I had instead. But, I have decided that if I want to really improve, I need to cut out (some of) the beer, and staying up late, and Mi-Ma’s Alaskan tacos, and little Ceasers pizza, and 7-11 Kiamichi flavored ramen noodles I pollute myself with on a weekly basis.

Now, I probably won’t come out of this looking like Jimmy Page or Antony Astrab. I do however, hope to be a couple watts stronger, to ride further and faster, maybe loose a couple pounds. Tom Boonon is 6′4″ - 180lbs, Rock racing’s Rahsaan Bahati is 6′1″ - 158 lbs, these numbers are achievable if I only started eating right, and took the plunge into full fledged PRO attitude.

This is not to say I am going to give up my status of “Hardman.” If any of you ever catch me shaving my arms or hear me say that “my shaved legs feel AWESOMe when I am lying between my blankets on a cold night” please shoot me. It’s just, those Belgian riders are fast, and only PROS race in the Paris Roubaix (and in Collegiate nationals), and for all of you guys on $8000 Pigorottis, watch out.

Now is the time to get out of bed and get faster. I challenge all of you to join me.

ps. check out www.belgumkneewarmers.com

Check our “Uniform” tab on Monday. We have just received t-shirt and window decals we will be selling!!!

An image of our kit is below.

Check photo’s section also for some Ironman and TT photos.  Ethan Copping, team member, competed in the Ironman and tore it up….Congrats!!!!!

7 mile TT (warm-up)

6:34 : get up.

6:42 : meet up with Hildoer, drive to the Pasco Hernado community college.

7:15 : arrive at PHCC, put on heart rate monitor, unload my, bike talk to Dana and Hildoer about the talk about the weather, our likely food intake and other pre race pleasantries

7:20 : register

7:25 : use facilities

7:30 : roll up at start to hear the end of the race instructions. (While I didn’t think anything of it at the time, I should have realized that I had no idea where the course went or what the arrows on the pavement looked like).

7:32 : race begins.

Mile 1-5: Anybody who wants to be in the front group attempts just that. We had the usual Spaniards ( a group of very talented, very thin riders who sometimes have a very cool habit of whistling to the tunes that the police escorts do in European stage races, I don’t know where I first heard the nickname, but its fairly common and clever enough), several super strong riders, and a fair share of people who were riding way beyond their means.

Mile 6: the neutral roll out area officially ends, the whistling ends, the work begins.

Mile 8: Jimmy Page passes me through the pack; it looks like I am not the only USF racer in attendance

Mile 12: A man I internally refer to as “Simon” motions to the large hill before us and informs me that the fun part is about to begin. Shortly after, a younger rider in USF shorts says hello as he slides by me. He looks familiar.

Mile 16: After 40something minutes at a 25 mph pace with several sprints in the low thirties, I decide that to follow this course of action is a poor investment, and I let the 29 cyclists in front of me pedal into the distance. The man on the white and Blue Ridley informs me that he too finds it foolish to follow the breakneck pace of the main group. We form a pace line, moving at a more manageable 22 miles per hour.

Mile 18: We pick up our first ad-on: “Simon” on his red Colnago.

Mile 20: I look at my computer and realize that I have gone almost an hour without eating or drinking anything. I devour some vanilla power bar gel gu and start work on my first water bottle.

Mile 23: another add-on adds on. This time its another guy in a Citrus cycles jersey.

Mile 23-30: the four of us each take turns pulling in a relatively uneventful manner. Our pace is somewhere around 20 miles an hour and each time I do the math (distance/time), I find that we are exactly 7 minutes ahead of 5 hour pace.

Mile 26: We pass a man in a logos jersey standing beneath a stop sign. We ask if he has everything he needs, and he tells me he does.

Mile 30.5: On a climb, something weird happens. A group of 18 or so riders approaches us, and instead of joining on the back of our existing line, or passing us completely and allowing us to attach to the back of them, they instead pull beside us and the groups fuse together laterally, in a most chaotic manner. Also, two of them are on a tandem bike.

Miles 31-38: We work relatively well together as a team. Since the race began, the weather has become perfect in that the arm warmers are not needed, yet the wearing of arm warmers is not uncomfortable. We drop the tandem, and it seems as though we lose one rider every mile. After 2 hours of complete silence throughout our peloton, a lady tells me how a rider spit on her in the first 10 miles. I am not sure if she is suggesting that it was me, but if she is, I am pretty sure she has the wrong man. “Simon” and I talk about the weather, our food intake and other mid race pleasantries.

Mile 40: We pass a SAG stop, our group dwindles down to 9. There is myself, Simon, this gentlemen in a “Simon Says Cycling” jersey, a guy in a Logos/Georgia cycle shop jersey, a lady on a pink cervelo, a man on a black bike with carbon rims who evidently forgot/decided not to change his brake pads and, because of his choice, his bike sounds like it will slide out of control whenever he slows down, the blue Ridely guy, the citrus cycles jersey guy, and the lady who thinks I may have spit on her.

Mile 41: I eat a Vanilla Crisp Power Bar. We are still 7 minutes ahead.

Mile 42-49: I notice that the guy in the logos shirt has been pulling for 7 miles. damn.

Mile 50: I realize that somehow half the ride has already passed. I eat some coke flavored cliff blox and something else weird happens. I begin to get claustrophobic. I realize that if I slow down, I will surly get dropped and be forced to spend the race alone, and a lot longer than if I just stick it out. (This is not a need, but more of an observation). If I speed up, I will not be able to hold the pace, and find myself sucking wheel in the same position I am now. I also realize that as I have no control of my speed, I have no control of my heart rate, and as I have no idea where I am going, I have no control of my destination. all this time without conversation is making my bug out.

Mile 54: Simon gets dropped, I remove my arm warmers.

Mile 55: we pass a left turn, and only the man with the crazy sounding brakes decides to turn. This causes the group to splinter in several directions with all of us on the side of the road asking each other which is the correct route. The self proclaimed group leader (the guy who pulled us all for 7 miles) treks back to the arrow to check its validity. He claims that it is “just some old shit” and we press on turnless. Simon catches back on and after casually thanking all of us for waiting, shows us a map, pointing out that we first must pass 52 and then turn at “that old motorcycle shop”. I have no idea why the old arrows are inaccurate, what the correct arrows look like, or where in the world 52 is, let alone the motorcycle shop.

Mile 60: We pass a sag stop and pick up the guy with USF shorts. I learn his name is Mike. Shortly after I eat another Gu, this time it is green apple flavored. We are now 6 minutes and 35 seconds ahead of pace.

Mile 61-73: We make a right hand turn onto a road that can only be described with a history I made up while riding on it:

While stupid road was a very nice road when it was paved in 1989, it is very sparsely used. Because it is never used, there is no noticeably pot holes or destruction to speak of, however, the top layer of the asphalt as worn off, leaving a very abrasive gravely surface.

This road lasts for something like 15 miles. After the first 200 yards my aching hands leave me to wishing the tarmac beneath me was a Roubaix. If this were not bad enough, the road is riddled with “false flats”: areas where no matter how hard you pedal, you cannot go faster than 19 mph. And there is a head wind, a really bad head wind. Also, for some reason, we get passed by something like 400 motorcycles, likely on their way to that old motorcycle shop.

Mile 65: I take a look around, on the stupid road, and realize that our group has dwindled down to 3: myself, the guy with the “Simon says” jersey and mike. I learn that the guy in the “Simon says” jersey has a name and it is Joe. Me and Joe have a conversation about our standings in the 100 mile fun ride. He informs me that the guy in the logos jersey told him a while back that he was with the lead group when they approached the split for the 60 mile route, and for some reason only 1 third of the pack continued for the full 100.

Mile 70: Despite stupid road, we are still 5:15 seconds ahead of pace.

Mile 71: The guy in the logos jersey catches back on the group (I learn his name is Joel) and the lady on the pink Cervelo is riding his wheel. When he resumes his position pulling us through the ride, I ask him how he has been, and he informs me he had to go back and find his wife (presumably on the pink Cervelo). Damn.

Mile 76: I realize that the lady on the pink Cervelo is in fact riding a Cannondale system 6. How did that happen? [This is a side note. For some reason, Microsoft word’s spell check recognizes the word Cannondale, but does not recognize Cervelo. I find this Interesting]

Mile 80: We are now 4 minutes ahead of 5 hour pace. I eat a cookies and cream power bar.

Mile 80.2: To occupy my time and keep my legs turning, I decide that every 5 miles, I am going to see if 15 full minutes have elapsed.

Mile 81: I ask Joe if this hill is the infamous college hill and where on earth this “Trilby” is I keep hearing so much about. He informs me both are still ahead of us. Even though we are finished with 86% of the race, it is clear we have a lot left.

Mile 81.7: We interrupt our screaming 36 mile an hour descent to take a very sharp left hand turn across 3 lanes of traffic. Despite the fact that we all triple checked the fact that there are no cars on any of these roads, my knuckles are left a ghostly white.

Mile 82: The race is still not over.

Mile 83: We turn onto Trilby.

Mile 83-90: Trilby is a bit overrated. Sure the hills are rough, but they are “power hills.” at this point in the ride, I have no problem standing up and grinding over them in a 53-16. Because I make a point to keep momentum down the backsides of the hills and sprint at their base, I find myself gaining a couple bike lengths on my pack. This obviously doesn’t last, but it’s fun.

Mile 88: I eat an espresso flavored power bar gel. I hope its “2x caffine” is enough to carry me to the finish.

Mile 90: We reach a SAG stop, there is only the three of us. By the time we fill up one water bottle and grab a small pb and j bite, Joel and his wife are there, waiting for us, informing us we only have 38 minutes to finish in under 5 hours. My watch says 32.

Mile 90.001: Jesus Christ, are you kidding? The route goes back through Trilby. I start humming the words to “hanging on the telephone” to keep myself distracted.

Mile 93: Mike makes a wrong turn, and while nobody actually waits for him, we yell at him and he turns around in time to meet us with a guy on an old red Pinarrello. [Microsoft does not recognize Pinarrello]

Mile 95: According to my set-up, we have 17 minutes and thirty seconds left till the 5 hour mark.

Mile 96: I take to checking up on our time every mile. I do this because I cannot imagine how this race can keep going. The graph of my perception of time vs the actual length of time is that of x^2. I don’t even know what I am going to do when I get off my bike, there appears to be no relief from my leg discomfort. 14 minutes and 39 seconds, we appear to be moving faster than the average rate necessary to meet our goal. This is not comforting for some reason.

Mile 96.8: We appear to be in the middle of a neighborhood, where on earth is this community college?

Mile 97: 11 minutes, 41 seconds.

Mile 98: 8 minutes, 45 seconds.

Mile 98.5: We start a very gradual climb, almost a false flat. I think this could be the beginning of the end.

Mile 98.9: The grade gets steeper and steeper; we now know we are climbing.

Mile 99: I completely forgot to look at my watch; I am having fun killing this last climb.

Mile 99.1: the climb takes a fairly sharp turn, and keeps going up, at an even tougher grade.

Mile 99.3: Because I have been riding my bike for way too long, I try and change into my little chain ring on a climb, my cadence seemed fast enough to do this, but sure enough, cat C style, I drop my chain. My comrades ride off in the distance as I hop off my bike and fix the problem in 9 seconds, I go racing after them.

Mile 99.5: I crest the hill and can finally see the entrance to this illusive community college. I can see from here that there is no finish line, no dj, no free food, but I am still so happy that it is finally here.

Mile 100: I coast down the backside of college hill and stop my watch as I pass the entrance to the school. My odometer says 100.78 and my watch says 4:58.45.

Post race:

12:38 - So Hildoer did the 30 miles, and he is long gone, which makes sense. My organized ride home is likely still asleep in Tampa, so I figure I will chat it up with those from the race and see if I can’t hitchhike back. I remember my friend Thomas lives in San Ann, so I could just hang out there for a while if need be.

12:40 - I circle around the parking lot and run into Joel and his wife talking to Joe in the “Simon says” jersey. We all agree the ride was fun, but hard. We talk about the weather, the hills and other post race pleasantries. According to Joel, the official time was 4:53. Either way, I will take it.

12:42 - Joe tells me that this race was actually way harder than 6-gap, the September century through Dahlonega, GA, covering most of the mountains featured in the tour de Georgia’s roughest mountain stage.

12:47 - the general consensus among the 5 of us is that nobody who was dropped before me and the guy in the blue and white Ridley passed us. As Joel claims that he held on till the split for the 60 and 100 route, his claim that “at most 15 of those riders went on to do the whole 100” seems fairly valid. Using this logic, I place myself in the top 20.

12:52 - I run into mike and we talk about his wrong turn, and his ride in. We both agree that the course was rough, but the weather was great

1:00 - Simon rolls up. We talk about the race and the course and the weather, and he tells me of his Bonk on trilby and his lack of food intake. I formally introduce myself and learn that his name is not Simon, but because I am so blown away by my misconception, I completely forget to pay attention to his real name. I want to say its Angus or something, but that is probably wrong.

1:03 - Simon, err, angus(?) also tells me that this course was harder than Six Gap. This is especially interesting as he did not hear Joe make that same observation.

1:15 - hitch hike efforts are unsuccessful, I call Thomas and mentally prepare to bike over to his place.

1:20 - I run into a guy in a USF jersey from the inaugural year. We start talking about the course and the weather and, interesting enough, the Alafia mountain bike race that is also taking place today. Turns out that he is primarily a Mountain biker, and met Josh at Santos. At last, somebody brings up what must have been on everyone’s mind all day.

1:30 - After helping Ruben load some coolers and tables into the trailer, several other volunteers show up, and when Ruben gets a phone call, I wave, disappear and ride my bike in the general direction of Thomas’ house. The guy in the USF kit passes me and then offers me a ride. After checking to make sure he lives near campus, I accept and we listen to the Bucs game on the ride home.

2:15 - I get home, take a shower and drink a RECOVERITE- Ibuprofen cocktail before falling asleep while watching Shawn of the Dead on cable.