First Fixed Fifty

I am really enjoying this whole "fixed" riding experience. I didn't think it would be as fun as I am finding it to be. I mean, there is literally nothing to it. No shifters, no suspension, no exotic materials, no knobs on the tires... hell, not even any brakes. I just don't know how a bicycle could be made any more plain or simple... and I am pretty much considering myself addicted to the sensation at this point in time.

Riding the 18 or so mile loop to and from work just wasn't enough however, so I decided to see what a longer ride might feel like. With rumblings in the mental void that was once my mind of possibly trying to ride 130 miles from Prescott to Scottsdale with some other fools, I mean friends of mine this March, I decided to set out on the Grand Canal and see if I could figure out some better routing. With the Presko Epic I had some problems with more surface streets than I expected. I just knew there had to be a better way and used this lack of knowledge as a general excuse to do my first fixed 50.

With no computer mounted,  I stuffed the GPS into my pack and headed out. The ride was smooth right off the bat and the "wide" 32C tires were just cruising along the initial dirt section of the canal. I was hoping to take a pic or two of something original. Something unique, easily missed, amazing.

In short, I failed. But I did start off with a pic of the canal in it's empty state... which is somewhat rare I suppose.

Drained:

I had woken up a bit later than I had hoped so skipped breakfast. Well, skipped is not completely accurate. I did eat several wheat thins and despite that nutritional overload I was starting to feel a bit peckish. Luckily for me, I knew that salvation was a mere 13 or so miles away in the form of a hardy breakfast at Scramble.

Spinning along, the symbiotic mesh of man and machine was undeniable. Even quieter than my SS, this new found glory just rolls along. Each upstroke helped through the momentum of the rear wheel pushing against the pedals. Only when each pedal revolution is close to perfection does this sense of feedback just melt away. Believe it or not, I have found that's a fairly simple sensation to achieve.

One final underpass and I was rolling towards breakfast perfection. At the highest point of this whopping 375 feet of overall climbing for the day I placed my order. One three cheese omelette with a side of rosemary potatoes and three buttermilk pancakes.

If this pic doesn't say "Fuel for 50" I don't know what does:

Bike waits patiently to roll out:

Back on track, I somewhat gingerly approached the downslope leading back to the canal. Still getting used to the whole slowing and even stopping thing. Back on the bike path, I continued my journey westward. Soon enough I was in an area less familiar to me and not as obvious as to which route to take in order to avoid the surface streets. Across a small bridge and through a large, grass covered wash.... I was back on track. This time taking the North side path option through a series of parks.

There was a Frisbee golf course and some basketball courts along the way. Soon enough I went under the road I had exited on last time I was heading by bike to Wickenburg. The canal at this point rounds down to the South, but I figured I'd just keep going for a while and see where it might lead me. Eventually I reached yet another park with a long bridge spanning the creek. This seemed as good a spot as any to turn around, so I snapped a few pics and did just that.

A bridge just far enough:

What else am I gonna take a pic of?:

Spin local:

Not sure if the fixed influence of simplicity was getting to me or not, but for some reason I decided it would be fun to procure a citrus from a field I had passed a mile or so back. This was a strange thought indeed, as for those who know me realize I do not eat fruit... unless of course it has been thoroughly processed and simulated to the point that is completely unrecognizable. Regardless, I decided to grab one.

The treasure grove:

Over I was, through the field with the entire selection of citrus at my fingertips. It was only then that I realized I had no idea how to select fruit, be it on a tree or on the grocers shelf. If only Micki was around, she'd know what to do... but alas, work had taken her time this day. Tentatively I grabbed a big yellow something or rather.  Just then a pinkish red globe caught my attention. With a swipe it was off the thorned branch and in my vest pocket. I was clipped in and sprinting away from what I imagined a large pack of hounds with snouts pressed to the ground fresh on my trail. Crusty farmer with shotgun cradled in hot pursuit at their heels. Me and Huck Finn up to no good what so ever.

Such power that of the imagination. The mind bringing me this chase just as it was envisioning the soon to be taste of this magnificent fruit I had just pinched. Pulling over, I began to slice open the prize only to realize reality was never as sweet as dream. It was just a dumb, dried up red and odd colored citrus. Basically useless and far from appetizing. How was this stupid thing going to bring me any joy let alone the vital nutrients I would surely need to make it some 20 miles back home?

Un-eatable:

Well... that sure didn't work out like I had planned. No matter, the task itself added a little bit of adrenaline to this all but flat ride at the very least. I filled up my water at a drinking fountain and continued on. Eventually I made it back to dirt just in time for a SS roadie to come screaming by me. This was not to be tolerated of course and despite my weariness I decided to make chase. Much to his dismay, every glance back over his shoulder I was not to be shaken. I must admit, he was more skilled than I had anticipated and pushed his skinny tires hard through the loose rock and debris.

He was too strong and I realized it was only a matter of time before all was lost. Just then I remembered there was a trailer parked very awkwardly around the next corner. It couldn't be seen, but I knew it was waiting there from my trip earlier. I also was aware he was taking the wrong line and heading straight towards it. I kicked it up a notch and closed the gap just in time to see him get stuffed. Looking back at me fast approaching, he struggled over the curb that separated his line from mine and was off again.

Men sure are silly. I didn't know this guy from Pete, nor did he knew me... but we both somehow new this was now a race for glory. Not just any glory mind you, but "Canal Glory"... which for all I know might be the best kind ever realized.

Basically in a flat out stand up sprint now my new found nemesis was hauling ass. I stood up for a second or two, but my legs weren't nearly as inspired as my ego. I was forced to watch him slowly fade away in front of me. The only small redemption was being close enough to watch him pop out of his cleat in a hard corner and seemingly just save himself from disaster at the last moment. Victory was definitely his... but I smiled none the less.

Almost home now I was getting tired. I realized that my legs were not used to being strained to slow down. In fact, one long hill I had some difficulty dropping my pace. A side effect I hadn't really planned on, but with caution I kept things in check until I pulled into the driveway. It's funny that 50 miles anywhere was something that Steve Version 1.0 never had much interest in. In fact, such distances were probably at the edge of ability at the time.

I still can't tap into the true enjoyment of road cycling, but on the fixed I find a sense of simplistic joy that I'd be happy to duplicate again.

The Stats:

Riders: just myself, Elvota
Distance: 52 miles
Elevation: 375 feet climbing
Time: right around 4 hours