hell, YOU'RE not old!

Putting time to the test
Cyclist sets time-trial record for 90 and older
By Don Norcross STAFF WRITER
April 12, 2008
As the sun crested the horizon yesterday, 18-and 19-year-old collegiate rowers logged their early-morning workouts on Mission Bay.
Not more than a couple of hundred yards away, 89-year-old Gordy Shields of El Cajon pedaled his bike around Fiesta Island. Almost 45 minutes after shoving off, Shields accomplished his goal, shattering a national record in the 20-kilometer time trial.
The previous record for cyclists 90 and older: 57 minutes, 6.89 seconds.
Shields' time: 44:53.98.
In cycling, riders' ages are determined by how old they turn that year. Shields turns 90 on April 20.
“He's our hero,” said 64-year-old cyclist Gary Devoss of Mission Hills. “We all want to grow up and be like Gordy.”
Shields already held the national time trial record in the 80-84 and 85-89 age classes.
Asked how it felt to add to his athletic résumé, Shields, still seated atop his bike while accepting congratulations from spectators, leaned his head back and, sounding like Tony the Tiger, said, “Grrrrreat!”
Shields is a retired educator who worked as a teacher and counselor at Grossmont High School and Grossmont College. He served in the Navy during World War II, transporting military personnel in the South Pacific.

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Pedal powerby the numbers
Gordy Shields' national 20-km TT records by age group and time
80-84: 33:59.62
85-89: 35:10.81
90-older: 44:53.98
(By comparison, the 65-69 age record is 26:58.57)

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He began cycling at 50. A former tennis player, he switched sports after developing bursitis in his back.
On average, he rides five or six days a week, logging about 500 miles a month. Last year, though, his riding was curtailed considerably.
He spent a couple of months helping his wife of 62 years, Olwyn, recover from a hip replacement. He underwent cataract and hernia surgery, and he battled spinal stenosis, a narrowing of the spinal cord that causes the nerves to pinch.
“It was a helluva year,” Shields said.
Still, he rides.
“Why not?” he said. “What else is there to do?”
Shields, who is 5-foot-5 and weighs 152 pounds – “I've shrunk; I used to be 5-8” – said there's no secret to his good health.
“There's no magic bullet,” he said. “It's just keeping active physically and mentally. It's what I do. It's a discipline.”
Advertisement Shields is a tireless cycling advocate, spending more than 30 years pushing for cyclists' rights and working to improve the Bayshore Bikeway, a five-city, 24-mile bike route around San Diego Bay. A $5.2 million bridge that crosses the Sweetwater river was named in his honor.
Shields' biggest issue yesterday was the cold. When he pushed off at 6 a.m., the temperature was in the low 50s. Minutes after completing his record ride, Shields' fingers were gnarled and curled as if still gripping the handlebars.
“Oh man, it's cold,” he said. “Your body's telling you, 'You've got to say warm.' ”
The time trial, a bike racing staple, features cyclists leaving a starting point one at a time, attempting to record the best time across a designated distance. Yesterday's time trial was put on by the San Diego club Cyclo-Vets.
Shields and the previous record holder, the late Jack Pardee (not the longtime NFL coach), are the only cyclists to attempt the 90-plus 20K time trial. There is no recognized world record.
“Some people say, 'Gordy, you don't have any competition,' ” Shields said. “I say, 'So what. I show up and race. That's the point.' ”
As Shields straddled his bike at the Fiesta Island entrance after his record-setting performance, a 69-year-old fan told him he expected Shields to break the record by two more minutes the next time.
“Well,” Shields said, “you have to have goals.”

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[apparently, i'm not going to get any taller, and i might have to trade my 50cm frames for 48cm ones in 25 to 30 years.]

got bikes?

carl works his magic brush to make the big stains disappear!
a good day's bounty--can you see the like-new 1976 free spirit?
john does his job, and i do what i do best.
terry adds the finishing touches. if you need to get stuff done, this guy is great!
if you don't want them to work, don't bring them down. joseph helped his photographer mom clean up a winter's worth of salt from the front sidewalk.
we still have some t-shirts. get 'em while you can.

obama to visit race like a girl series

Barack Obama a cycling fan?
By Mark Zalewski, North American Editor in Bloomington, Indiana
Obama shook every rider's hand Photo
While there are many different types races happening around the world, from cycling to auto, the race to become the next President of the United States is usually at the top of the news. But Friday, cycling and campaigning came together at the Indiana University Little 500, when Barack Obama made a surprise visit for a photo op and to shake hands with all of the racers in the women's race.
When asked which was more exciting, meeting Obama or winning the Little 500, Delta Gamma sprinter Jess Lander had trouble coming up with an answer. "I'm not going to lie... but winning the race is better!" she said, reluctantly. "But it's pretty damn close – it was great that he came and shook all our hands."
Obama was in Indiana to campaign for the upcoming primary. He also reportedly visited Nick's English Hut, an infamous pub next to campus, before heading out to the track.
Obama did not make any public comment, but did circle the entire quarter-mile track, with security entourage and photographer mob in tow, to shake the hands of every racer as they warmed-up on their trainers. This alone set the race start back 25 minutes. And as it is the only cycling race in the U.S. that is televised live nationally, this is quite a feat. from cyclingnews.com

ya don't HAVE to walk before you run, do you?

i'd heard from a friend about these strider bikes last week, and when i visited kyle's new bike shop on oralabor road in ankeny today, i saw they had them, and i bought one--in red. this thing is SO light weight! they have "solid" foam-filled tires, a very low saddle, and no pedals. jabari, my stout little grandson,is about 8 1/2 months old. we've warned his crazy, spindly sister nyla, who is approaching four years old, that soon her little brother would be her size; she outweighs him by only five pounds now. i play grandpa with them every thursday, and just last week, we managed to get him to crawl forward, instead of reverse only. this past thursday, having mastered crawling, he started working on "assisted walking" with me holding his little forearms. he's getting pretty good at it, but this balance thing is going to be an issue. so i got this strider bike for him to see if it's possible that he can just by-pass the whole walking thing, and go directly to riding. the little dude has arms like popeye, and his legs are so strong, his thighs have a waistline. i'm not going to tell addie about it, and just try to get him onto the thing while they're at work, and nyla's at school. i'll keep you posted. and thanks, kyle. nice shop.

thanks, folks

i remember when the odometer on my '67 deluxe rolled over...i had just returned from the tour of kansas city, and was cruising down university avenue to the bagel shop, 41st and uni, and i rolled to a stop, just to admire it--00000--and to quietly wonder how many times before that old speedo had seen all 00s, and how many times it would see it again. i bought that particular vw bus--the quintessential hippie bus, split window, walk-through front seat, seven-passenger with a 1600 dual port and a two-barrel webber carb, and a slightly lowered stance--in 1992, after my 76 bus caught fire, also shortly after a trip home from the tour of kc during which the accelerator cable snapped [that one was a handicapped van with an automatic transmission--not a good vw combination, by the way]--and over the course of two full race seasons i put on over 60000 miles, driving to superweek twice, to new york, arkansas and oklahoma several times, and all around the midwest in that sweet old bus, to superweek and ragby in july and cyclocross in rockford, illinois, in cold december--never with any heat, but always with really loud music, and generally two or three dogs, several friends, lots of bikes, and countless road stories. here we are, the ordinary racing team, stopping for a smoke on the way home from another successful weekend of racing somewhere in middle america. we fucking COOKED, that team. rock racing has NOTHING on us: bentleys and escallades? who needs 'em? we had a style and class that money couldn't buy, in a manner of speaking.

thanks for visiting, you hundred thousand people.

jack and the magic bean bus

chapter 27 – too drunk to notice, too tired to care, or all that glitters might just be shiny shit

Jack stared at his picture caught like a fly in the Ragbrai conspiracy web and shivered. The candles provided light but little warmth. Mr. Karras sat down in a chair behind the desk and was quiet while the winter storm continued outside.
Finally, Mr. Karras leaned back in his chair and said, “I worked at the Des Moines Register for a long time. It’s basically a good paper, and I don’t believe that the Register is behind all of this. But things have changed since I retired. Ragbray started out as an innocent little adventure
and has grown into a huge event.
These days, a lot of people see Ragbray as the goose that lays golden eggs every July.”
Mr. Karras leaned forward and stared at the tangled web spread across the bed sheet. “I know that conspiracy theories are a dime a dozen anymore, so I don’t expect you to buy into this one, but here is my best guess as to what is going on behind the scenes.”
“It took the beer companies several years to notice Ragbray, but once they did,
[gratuitous tit shot]



it became an opportunity to maximize profits and advertising. It was easy to increase sales at first, but gradually the market was tapped out, and they had to get more creative. We started to see snow fences, tents, and three-dollar beers in little plastic cups.”
“Speaking of little plastic cups,” Mr. Karras reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a typical beer garden cup. He held it toward Jack and said, “Do you notice anything odd about this cup? What is printed on the side?”
“It says Budweiser,” noted Jack.
“Now turn the cup and look at the logo on the other side,” invited Mr. Karras.
“Hmmm,” said Jack. “It says Miller Lite on this side.”
“Exactly,” said Mr. Karras, nodding his head. “I found this cup in the back of a Ryder truck when I was getting my bags one afternoon last year on Ragbray. There must have been a misunderstanding at the printers, and not many of these probably made it out to the public before they caught the mistake. And who would notice? Nobody in the beer gardens reads their beer cups and checks to make sure both sides match.”
“I’m guessing that no one can even tell the difference between Budweiser and Miller beers.[guess which is served on ragby?]

They are both pale, watery, flatlander products that claim to be the best beers in the world.”
“But I believe the plastic cup with both their logos also shows that the two brewing companies joined forces at some point and have systematically been trying to take over Ragbray little by little.”
“I’ve heard through friends I still have at the Register that the new computer auditing system the newspaper is using

was actually on loan from one of the brewing companies. While the news stories talk about how the system will help the Register clean up its books, the brewing companies have actually gained control of the money in and the money out for everything the paper does.”
“Of course, all they care about is getting control of the Ragbray portion of the budget,
the goose that lays the golden eggs every July. When the brewing companies discovered that you had made off with $120,000 worth of golden eggs, they were understandably upset.”
Jack cut in, “But I didn’t take the money! And they came after me with a raccoon army? What is that all about?”
Mr. Karras seemed to have an answer for everything.
“Raccoons work for less than people, they don’t talk, and they are expendable. I suspect that they are trained on an addicting mix of barley, hops, and newspaper ink. Sinister, isn’t it?”
At that moment, the lamps flickered back on as power was restored to the house, leaving Jack and Mr. Karras squinting until their eyes adjusted. Mr. Karras blew out the candles and said, “That is enough for tonight. Let’s find Mrs. Karras and see about fixing up the spare bed for you.”
As they left the study, Jack took one last look at his picture amid the hundreds of items connected with strings that made up the Ragbrai conspiracy web, and he shivered.

to be continued... [a serial by little orphan dbax]

why i love science

Dear Dr. Science,

I have always wondered how Rocky and Bullwinkle met and how they became good friends? Do you know? --from Natascha Sells of Milledgeville, GA

"You bet I do. Not only was I there at the Moose and Squirrel's first rendezvous, but I was the one who arranged the meeting in the first place. I had been hired as a consultant on the Way Back Machine,

a device they used to prop up the largely clueless dog named Mr. Peabody. OK, so I'm somewhat bitter, having auditioned for a role that eventually went to a cartoon dog. Anyway, tensions were high on the set, what with the FBI and CIA disguised as stage hands monitoring Boris Badenov and Natasha.

I managed to diffuse that tension through some simple science tricks, making hydrogen bark, turning water into wine and back into water. And when producer Bill Scott realized that Annette Funicello

and Bobby Darin weren't going to make it as the lead characters, I suggested Rocky and Bullwinkle,
two talkative animals I had used in lab research. The rest is cartoon history."