This was before everyone except @bgmiller53 blew up.


A ride back in time with fluidcadence.

Willingness to ride in the wind rewards. 

Ten Things to Know Before Going on a Bike Ride with Me


  1. I‘m not leading a ride. I’m going riding. You’re welcome to join me, or not.
  2. Know what you’re getting into. Ask questions if you have them. If it doesn’t sound like your kind of ride, don’t go.
  3. Don’t hate me if I’m slower or faster than you. We can ride our own paces, especially on climbs, and regroup as needed. But if either of us can’t hang that day, then that person should bail.
  4. There is no shame in bailing. For me or you or anybody.
  5. Don’t get mad at me if we get lost. I sometimes get lost, and I’m alright with that. If you don’t trust my route finding abilities, and you shouldn’t, then come prepared to help navigate.
  6. If it’s cold or rainy or hot or windy, blame Mother Nature, not me. If you failed to prepare accordingly, blame yourself.
  7. When in doubt, bring more food and water. Some routes have refueling points, others don’t. I don’t always plan routes around bakeries, only sometimes.
  8. If you don’t have fun, that’s your fault. Fun is an attitude; it can and does coexist with suffering. I pretty much always have fun.
  9. I’ve gone on rides that weren’t awesome, but I’ve never regretted going on a ride. Every ride is a valuable experience.
  10. If you have a mechanical, or wreck, or bonk, I’ll be there for you. I only ask that you come prepared, take responsibility for yourself, have a good attitude and help me as I would help you.

Cool. Let’s go ride.

Battered, not broken. 

Cold but awesome. #cycling #gravelgrinder 


Christmas break kids camp #5. #palousebicycleracing #gravelgrinder #unpaved

One of my photos on the blog I built for our local cycling club. My son Henry (9) on the left.

“I would think of the world that waited for me outside, the frozen hills, the slippery descents; the cold surface water that would creep its way up my calves, and bore so deeply into the bones in my ankles. I would think of taking my espresso at the café on the other side of Monte Santa Maria Tiberna, and how the waitress’ eyes would narrow when she would see the puddles of dirty water that followed me into the café, and marked the terracotta-tiled floor.”

Where the gravel ends the mud begins.