Three Tracks: 2020

Three pieces that I kept coming back to in the (first) year of Covid-19.

Nine Inch Nails: The Worriment Waltz

Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross said “the current [pandemic] crisis was the reason they completed the two records in the first place, ‘as a means of staying somewhat sane'” (Pitchfork). While my neighbourhood was boarded up in the spring, this track in particular seemed the pitch-perfect soundtrack; but both albums — Ghosts V: Together and Ghosts VI: Locusts — helped get me through that initial strange, disconnected time.

Apple Music · Spotify

Kelly Lee Owens: On

A Hopkins– like perfect balance of melody and electronics; her second appearance on these lists of mine (see 2017). The outtro, hinted at through the verses, is crowning. “And so / Let go of the hope / That it could / That it could be.”

Apple Music · Spotify

Phoebe Bridgers: Garden Song

That processed guitar sound on the classic changes! “No, I’m not afraid of hard work / I get everything I want / I have everything I wanted.”

Apple Music · Spotify


No real honourable mentions this year; I am starting an equivalent “Three Albums” list that mostly takes care of that. My Jazz list also moves there this year.

See also 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2021, 2022, 2023.

Three Albums: 2020

I’ve posted a “Three Tracks” list for a number of years (2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020), but have always run into a bit of a problem: single cuts versus album tracks. A lot of the listening I’ve done has always been album-oriented; this has only increased for me in the era of Apple Music and HomePod (“Hey Siri, play the latest album by …”). So this list represents full-length works from which I have found it difficult to pull a single song — though I’ve done so for the videos below, largely randomly.

Fiona Apple: Fetch the Bolt Cutters

A masterpiece. The album that convinced me that I needed a separate list for complete works, not just songs, every year.

Apple Music · Spotify

Waxahatchee: Saint Cloud

A pleasure from beginning to end, over and over.

Apple Music · Spotify

Nine Inch Nails: Ghosts V: Together and Ghosts VI: Locusts

These two ambient albums got me through the early days of the Covid-19 pandemic.

Apple Music (Ghosts V, Ghosts VI) · Spotify (Ghosts V, Ghosts VI)

Honourable Mention

Live Forever, Bartees Strange (Apple Music, Spotify) — must get back to this one; it’s really struck me the few times I’ve put it on.


I’m not as much of a knowledgeable or dedicated or focused jazz fan, though I listen to it a lot; here are a few albums I played many times in 2020.

SOURCE, Nubya Garcia (Apple Music, Spotify); Suite: April 2020, Brad Mehldau (Apple Music, Spotify); Blue Note Re:imagined, Various Artists (Apple Music, Spotify); Gogo Penguin, Gogo Penguin (Apple Music, Spotify); Rythme De Passage, Emie R. Roussel Trio (Apple Music, Spotify); Life Goes On, Carla Bley, Andy Shepperd & Steve Swallow (Apple Music, Spotify); Essais, Volume 4, Pierre de Bethmann Trio (Apple Music, Spotify); Dance, Tingvall Trio (Apple Music, Spotify).

See also: 2021, 2022, 2023.

Three Tracks: 2019

Three tracks that satisfied my ears in 2019.

Sharon Van Etten, “No One’s Easy to Love”

True. “Don’t look down, my dear, don’t be surprised […] Don’t look back, my dear, just say you tried.” Bonus points for striking perhaps the most musically interesting note of the year: the second note of the second “love” in each chorus’s “No one’s easy to love.”

Apple Music · Spotify

Vampire Weekend, “This Life”

Song of the summer. “I’ve been cheating through this life and all its suffering / Oh Christ, am I good for nothing?”

Apple Music · Spotify

Patrick Watson, “Here Comes the River”

Pathos for a difficult year. “Well Mary kept sewing / Holding on to her TV / Even if the water was rising past her knees.” I believe this is the only one of my yearly “Fall” playlists (all songs I’ve gathered in the last few years are here on Apple Music) to make it to this list so far.

Apple Music · Spotify

Honourable Mentions

“Terminal Paradise” (Apple Music, Spotify), or pretty much anything from either of their two great 2020 albums, by Big Thief. “Venice Bitch” (Apple Music, Spotify) Lana Del Rey. “Sisyphus” (Apple Music, Spotify), Andrew Bird.


I listen to a lot of jazz, but I’m not knowledgeable enough and my listening is not sufficiently comprehensive to produce any kind of narrowed best-of list. I put some of my favourite albums into a Recent Jazz playlist on Apple Music.

See also 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023.

Three Tracks: 2018

Three tracks that defined my year in 2018.

Low, “Always Trying to Work It Out”

Hard to pick a track from my favourite album of the year, but this is a standout. “Everybody says that the war is over / It isn’t something you forget so easily.” Can’t wait to see them live in March. I hadn’t seen the video until I put together this post.

Jon Hopkins, “Singularity”

The wait was worth it. Moves in a melodic/rhythmic way that seems unique to him. Great live, as well.

Lucy Dacus, “Night Shift”

Women seem to be making the best rock music these days. “Hooo-oo, woo-oo-oo oooo-oo, whooo-ao-oo waaa-yyy-yooo, ya-aa-yoo i-yoooo; oo-ii-yaaaaaaaa, i-yaaaaaaa, aa, aa i-yaaa-yoo, oo-waaa-aa-aa.” Best lyric of the year, makes me tear up every time I hear her wail this.

Honourable Mentions

Snail Mail, Stick (“What is it about them / They stick around”); Thom Yorke, Suspirium (“Is the darkness ours to take? Bathed in lightness, Bathed in heat”).

See also 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023.

Three Tracks: 2017

Three tracks that defined my year in 2017.

Big Thief, “Shark Smile”

Ah, the sound of this track makes me move, makes me tear up. This is my music. “And she said woo, baby, take me. And I said woo, baby, take me too.”

The live performance on KCRW is worth checking out, though the mix is poor.

Kelly Lee Owens, “8”

Epiphany jetting up into the sunrise south out of Whitehorse. “See it, oh.” The video below is the whole album, which is great; the individual track is available on Bandcamp.

Aldous Harding, “Horizon”

“Say again, this place.”

The live performance on KEXP is worth watching.

Honourable Mentions

I didn’t realize until I was done choosing that they’re all female artists. Some of the other candidates were perhaps too obvious, and not because they’re mostly men: “The System Only Dreams in Total Darkness” by the National; “I Ain’t the One” by Spoon (saw an incredible live performance of this song in September at Malkin Bowl); “Soak” by Zola Jesus; “HUMBLE.” by Kendrick Lamar.

See also 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023.

How I Dramatically Improved My Fondo Performance in Just a Year

In September 2016 I rode my first Whistler GranFondo. I’d only participated in one other fondo before this, the Fraser Valley, in July; in that event, I had struggled in the last 30km or so. The Valley is a long ride, over 160km, much further than I’d ridden before. While Whistler was 40km shorter, I had the Squamish to Whistler ascent to deal with, an unknown quantity since I had never cycled it before.

I finished in 4:33, which according to my coach was pretty good for the first time out. While I found the climbs after Squamish easier than I’d feared, I bonked with about 20km to go. There were three main reasons for this:

  1. Poor nutrition. I hadn’t learned how to pace my drinking, but especially my solids and gels. I simply didn’t eat enough, forgetting what I’d learned from the Fraser Valley ride [link to blog post], and figuring I felt pretty good through the first couple of hours. As they say, if you start feeling hungry, it’s too late.
  2. Not enough training. I had been doing just a ride or two a week, and I’d had a total of three weeks off in the summer, during which time I had not been on a bike much. It isn’t necessary to train as hard as I have this year—see below—but I just wasn’t in the condition required to do as well as I might have.
  3. Riding solo. Even if you’re not part of a team, you can find a group with an appropriate pace that will save you a lot of effort. In 2016 I just wasn’t confident or experienced enough to do it.

I was still pretty happy with my effort. But I started thinking about 2017, and what I could do to get faster. The first problem would be relatively easy to solve; #2 and #3 required some work.

A few weeks after Whistler, my coach Paul Moffat took his Velosophy group to Bowen Island for an end-of-season ride. I’d been with Paul since the spring, but something finally settled into place for me on the island climbs. Squamish to Whistler had gone fairly well, but this reinforced it: I’d finally started to overcome the psychological hurdle of hill climbs; and I was getting stronger.

Finally (almost) keeping up with Eric Purtzki. Photo: Paul Moffat

But where could I go from there? The season was over.

I’d purchased a Wahoo KICKR earlier in the year, mostly to do some FTP tests. So I set up the small room at the entrance to my place as a cycle room/pain cave. I bought an industrial-strength fan along with a tool chest and wheel storage hooks, and I was ready to go for the winter.

I’ve written previously about my indoor training experience: see A Winter of Indoor Cycle Training. I worked through a few of the TrainerRoad programs: Sweet Spot Base Mid-Volume I and II, and Sustained Power Build Mid-Volume. I was interrupted for a few weeks by a slight Achilles tendon issue, but overall put in about 100 hours from November to February. This was more work than I’d done outdoors during the summer season, and I was feeling some gains and also improvements in technique. Unlike some, I don’t mind the monotony of indoor training rides. I mostly focused on the TrainerRoad coaching text, and listened to podcasts during some of the longer sessions. As spring approached, I tried a couple of Zwift races and enjoyed them.

In February, the Velosophy group was invited by the Pender/Dopo Bici club to participate in their training rides and the subsequent GranFondo in Malibu. I was excited about this; I had started to consider doing a cycle trip like Haute Route or Trek Travel; but this was closer, cheaper … and right now; I was on a flight to California within a couple of weeks.

The indoor training paid off: although I’d only had one outdoor ride to that point in 2017 and felt a bit shaky being back outdoors—you have to steer when you ride?—there’s no way I could have kept up without the training I’d done over the winter. We did a few training rides during the week before the fondo; the area is amazing for cycling, with great climbs and twisting descents. The fondo itself went fairly well, though it was only my third such event; and after twice working in small groups to get back to the lead peloton, I was finally dropped for good about 85km in.

Malibu training ride. Photo: TLBVelo Photography

It was hard to come back from bright, summery California and start spring training in the cold and rain. But just a week after Malibu, during the first Velosophy ride of the season around Richmond, it was obvious that I’d made significant progress. It was the same ride we’d started with a year previously, which had been my first real outing with a group and a coach. (I had trained with Team OvCare for the Ride to Conquer Cancer the year before, but that was very casual, with no drafting allowed.) In areas where I’d struggled to keep up a year prior, I found the level of effort to be moderate or low; and noticed that a couple of the new members were struggling as I had in 2016. The flip side of Rule #10 is that it gets easier at the same speed.

I’d met a few of the Pender riders in California, of course, and joined the club for some extra training. I wanted to ride more than a couple of days a week; and although I enjoy going out solo, I was sometimes missing the social aspect and wanted to develop better group riding skills. Starting in early May, I attended the weekly Thursday night rides coached by Laura Brown. I rode rain or shine, and on June 15 it was pretty wet; I left my Cervélo R5 at home and put fenders on my Opus Allegro, and for the first time met Assaf Yogev, the Pender men’s team coach.

This led on to a few things. I decided to try racing, and the next week began Escape Velocity’s “Learn to Race” course; I got my UCI license. I started attending the Pender team skills clinics; unfortunately, I had a crash in mid-July and threw my shoulder out. This delayed my first attempt at racing, though I still rode the Valley Fondo the same week and it was my best fondo to date, 53 minutes faster than 2016. I switched over to Assaf for coaching, and going forward he scheduled six sessions a week for me in TrainingPeaks. These varied from intense hill repeats to skills sessions and recovery rides. I had no troubles handling the work, even though it was far beyond anything I’d done before. It was a big time commitment, but I really enjoyed all of it.

In August I participated in the Cypress Challenge, and took eleven minutes off my 2016 time. I also rode the last few World Tuesday Night Championship criteriums of the year. I started in Cat 4 at the suggestion of Bill Semrau, the very supportive Pender team captain, from whom I learned a lot in just a few races (his wife Tammy L. Brimner does excellent cycling and other photography, including a couple of the photos in this post). I generally did pretty well, not placing, but handling the pace and learning strategy and technique.

WTNC—that’s me in Pender red. Photo: TLBVelo Photography

And then it was September. I’d put in over 300 hours and about 8,500km of work by this point in the year, 6,000km more than I had leading up to the 2016 event. I did one last “hill smash” on Belmont out near Spanish Banks on the Tuesday before the event, then tapered.

I was given the choice to ride with the lead group, or support the mixed team. I agonized over this: I knew I could improve on last year’s time, perhaps dramatically; but the lead group was going to finish in about 3:30, an hour faster than I did in 2016. I take a while to warm up, and feared being dropped on Taylor Way and riding without any Pender crew. Just a few minutes before the start, I decided to go with the mixed team, which was aiming for four hours.

It turned out that Taylor Way was the biggest challenge of the ride for me; I registered my highest heart rate there. After we spread out some, the team came back together on the Upper Levels. It started raining earlier than I had expected, and it was a pretty wet ride, though we were working hard enough that the cold didn’t register until we stopped in Whistler.

We worked well together and maintained a good pace. We had one flat, and lost two riders to that. By the last 20km or so, it was just Bill, myself, and two of the Pender women. Unfortunately, we didn’t win in the mixed team category—but we were not far behind. Next year!

I finished in 3:50:29 (chip time), 43 minutes faster than 2016. I placed 14th of 330 in my age group, 96th percentile; and overall 191st of 2,937 riders, 93rd percentile. I sacrificed some time to work for the team, but I don’t regret it at all. The overall pacing was excellent, and riding in a group was key; I never felt I was working particularly hard. I ate several bars and one gel; and drank about two and a half bidons of Roctane Gu and Vega electrolyte hydrator, largely through the first two-thirds of the race. That worked well for me.

Nutrition; dedicated training; and group riding skills got me to the finish about 16% faster. It’s worth noting that I reduced my alcohol consumption to near zero, and I suspect this was a component of my success. See “Is Alcohol the Reason You’re Not Getting Faster?” on the TrainerRoad blog.

I am pretty confident that in 2018 I can take another ten to twenty minutes off my time, and place near the top in my age group; and hopefully play a part in a Pender team victory. I’m largely back indoors on my KICKR now, and will be meeting my coach soon to plan for the 2018 season.

Bring it on.

Yukon-Alaska September 2017

A random encounter, an invitation, a whim, a ticket. Excepting great circle flights I’d never been north of Prince Rupert, which seemed to be the waterlogged, depressing and depressed end of the road. I was on a flight to a place that makes that feel decidedly southern; to a town where a couple tens of thousands of souls, for months in the winter, brave almost around-the-clock darkness and cold, and appear to spend at least some of the rest of their year desperately girding themselves for it.

The Yukon in September is a beautiful calming salt and pepper mix of yellow deciduous and green coniferous. In the south, these two tend to exist separately, the fall colours confined to stream beds. Breaking through the clouds and coming in over Grey Mountain, I didn’t know yet that the scattered coexistent pattern appears to be the norm for a large expanse of the northern landscape.

I spent the first couple of days mountain biking on Grey Mountain in Whitehorse and Montana Mountain near Carcross. I’m a dedicated road cyclist, and had never been on a trail, never mind fat tires and suspension. It was odd to feel like a beginner on two wheels, a combination of exhilaration, frustration, and some fear.

This was my first experience of the Yukon outdoors. Around Vancouver there is almost always the sense, if not the sounds, of nearby human activity. But here, more than 70% of the population lives in Whitehorse and there’s the suspicion, and probably the reality, that there’s not much beyond the town but wilderness. So it’s quiet and seems even quieter. I heard one jet fly over in the four days I was in the north.

I got up a couple of times after midnight and despite clear skies, there was no aurora.

The third day my new friend drove me and her 12-year-old Greenland dog west along the Alaska Highway to Haines Junction and then south towards Haines, Alaska. Having left behind the treed area of the Yukon, we stopped at one point along a stretch reminiscent of the Scottish moors, although part of the reason for this assessment was that the high mountain peaks were obscured by fog and cloud. We walked for an hour or so into Tatshenshini-Alsek Park, which is actually in the upper northwest notch of British Columbia. This is a landscape barren with low-lying life not apparent until the mosses and lichens and heather are underfoot and you start scrambling through stunted brush. It’s almost ghostly: there are no birds, and no sounds other than the wind—and my guide occasionally calling out “hey-oh” to warn any nearby bears. We never saw one, or any evidence.

In Haines we stayed at the Hotel Halsingland, an historic building with a charming little bar, one of those that seem to encourage camaraderie among strangers. Northerners in both countries are quick to say hello, or at least give a nod, and open to conversation. One of the things that repeatedly surprised me is that by September, much has closed down for the winter. Like the hotel owner, many are off to places like Israel or Florida for the off-season. Many or most seem to be from elsewhere, whether long-time residents, passing through, or running a seasonal business. Maybe there’s a recognition that along with the light, human presence itself is fleeting, and people are not only few but literally far between. Bulletin boards, rather than the web, are the primary means of advertising events and services. There appears to be a community of small communities reminiscent of that of the Pacific islands I saw when in Kauai, gathered together over distance by common remoteness.

The next day was clearer than when we’d arrived, and the coastal mountains were sharp and stunning. We drove up Lutak Inlet towards Chilkoot Lake. This was going to be a good place to see grizzlies, but there were none. The scene of salmon spawn and seagulls in the fall sunlight was beautiful.

We took the ferry to Skagway, and drove up through yet another distinct geographical and botanical landscape, almost a moonscape but again packed with low growth. We tried scrambling down a cliff to, I believe, the Taiya River. It was too steep for the dog, and probably for me; although I mostly managed to keep up with this experienced hiker, we never went very far or very hard. We went back over the highway and had a short walk in a haunting landscape with numerous pools and rocks and stunted trees whose roots were completely out of proportion to their height. I thought about how the whole area would soon be completely snowed in; the highway was bordered on both sides by thousands of white-out markers.

We got back to Whitehorse a bit too late to see the movie we’d planned on, Dawson City: Frozen Time. Instead, we went to a house concert—no, not house music, but an actual performance in someone’s living room. A duo from Winnipeg, whose names I don’t recall, played some beautiful guitar with enjoyable but slightly clichéd country-ish singing and lyrics. Beforehand, I spoke with a couple of people who had given up city life, and had definitely compromised to do so. After four days, I was only just beginning to understand why.

That was my last night.

My host, a long-time resident of the northern Territories, was one of the more fascinating people I’ve met. Senior in government, volunteering much of her time, and spending the rest almost obsessively hiking, camping, and biking, squeezing in every possible outdoor activity before the winter—though she has a fat tire bike ready for that, too—I wondered how much of this lifestyle is common to the area. She has a quiet confidence and expertise in being in the remote wilderness, and on our long drives pointed out numerous places she’s hiked. Yet she’s still considered, or considers herself, a cheechako after some years in Whitehorse. Her friends seem equally occupied with outdoor and other social activities. Counterintuitively, my city friends seem to have more downtime.

I vaguely expected northern lights and bears; instead I think I got a tentative sense of the north and the people who choose to live there. Home in my Gastown apartment, with only rain, barely cooler temperatures, and slightly darker months on the way, I look north now with an awareness and appreciation and a bit of longing. It’s great to be back on my road bike, on pavement. But I hope to go north again.

Three Tracks: 2016

Three tracks that defined my year in 2016 (I’m late again this year):

David Bowie, “Lazarus”

A brilliant swan song. “This way or no way / You know I’ll be free / Just like that bluebird / Now, ain’t that just like me?”

Radiohead, “Present Tense”

Another year, another breakup. It’s difficult to pick just one song from A Moon Shaped Pool. I wrote back when In Rainbows was released that I couldn’t think of another band which, ten years after its acknowledged masterpiece (OK Computer), came out with something arguably comparable. Well, here we are another nine years later and they’ve done it again. “This dance is like a weapon of self-defence against the present tense.”

Daughter, “How”

I struggled to choose a third song for 2016. But this one struck me initially and powerfully in concert.

See also 2013, 2014, 2015, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023.

A Winter of Indoor Cycle Training

I’m heading off to the Malibu GranFondo soon, which will be my first significant outdoor ride of the year. 151km followed by a time trial—my first ever—may sound like starting off the year with a bang: but the ride is preceded by a training camp; and I’ve put in a lot of work indoors over the last few months. It’s my first season of training inside, or even riding consistently at all over the winter months. I bought a Wahoo KICKR a year ago, with all of this in mind, but as I started group rides shortly after the purchase, all I used it for at the time were a couple of FTP tests.

This year I was determined not to let my fitness drop off. I began with the TrainerRoad Sweet Spot Base Mid-Volume I plan in mid-October, a couple of weeks after my last ride with Velosophy. At the end of that plan, I developed an Achilles tendon issue and took four weeks to recover, with a few light recovery workouts during that time, about eight hours in total. Then I proceeded with Sweet Spot Base Mid-Volume II, which went well until I fatigued a bit in week five. I skipped a couple of the aerobic rides that week, then finished off the plan and went straight into Sustained Power Build Mid-Volume. After two weeks, of that plan I’m going to do a taper week preceding Malibu.

I’ve spent almost ninety hours on the trainer from October to February, and I think I’ve learned a lot. The coaching text in TrainerRoad may sometimes seem repetitive, but it’s excellent reinforcement. (Without my glasses, which I have to shed during intervals, the text can be difficult to read; but in an effort to do so by leaning closer to my bars, I have developed and reinforced a slightly more aero default posture on the bike!)

Setup. Two things I figured out very quickly were clothing and air movement. For clothing, wear as little as possible: I only have my heart rate monitor, cycle shorts, open-finger gloves, and short socks. I found the gloves critical both for comfort, despite the lack of road bumps, and to protect my tape from sweat and resulting bad odour. For a fan, I initially bought a fancy Dyson. Don’t bother; something like that can’t move enough air and you’ll end up with pools of sweat on the mat or floor. Go for an industrial fan like an Air King.

Pedalling technique is critical. I went to physio for my tendon issues. Ultimately, what solved the problem was a combination of some specific exercises provided by the physiotherapist, along with adding better support in my walking shoes—apparently I have slightly fallen arches. But more than these, I believe, what corrected the problem for good was a revised pedalling technique. This is a benefit of indoor cycling: the focus that is possible without the distractions of roads, cars, other cyclists, and weather, and the ability to develop good habits. Even after having done six weeks of training at five to seven hours a week, it took an injury for me to realize that I was flexing my left foot slightly more than my right. I corrected that, and have since moved on to plans with a higher weekly TSS at a higher FTP and have had no issues.

Posture is also important, as is learning to let go of tension. It took a lot of hours to get there, but I think I’ve managed to relax my grip, shoulders, and face, and keep my sit bones grounded on the seat, while working at high watts. I’ve also increased my cadence, to where I’m comfortable in the 95-100 range; I got a 50-34 chainring for climbing this year.

Incidentally, as I’ve become increasingly lean, I’ve found that I’ve had to think about new saddles. The Specialized Toupé Expert Gel I used last season now seems too hard; I’ve switched to the Fizik Antares that came with my R5.

Proper breathing can make the difference between powering through an interval and dying. And I’ve found that focusing on efficiently expelling breath after a difficult interval can greatly reduce recovery time.

Focus. With the exception of a few of the longer aerobic workouts, especially those few without instructions, I do not listen to any music or podcasts on the trainer. I figure that I won’t have them out on the road; they can be distracting and a bit of a crutch, and I think affect heart rate and, especially with music, cadence.

Wahoo sensors can be problematic. I’ve been running TrainerRoad on my iPhone. Rather than buy an ANT+ adapter for my Garmin cadence and heart rate sensors, I have been using Wahoo’s Bluetooth sensors. Their cadence sensors work well attached to the shoe, but seem to have significant problems when on the crank; I’m not sure why, but when the sensor rotates around a different axis, it can produce erratic readings. I got a replacement from Wahoo, whose service is excellent, and the problem persists. Keeping it on your shoe doesn’t always make a lot of difference until you are doing single-leg drills, but still. The “TICKR” heart rate sensor seems similarly unreliable: I’m currently waiting for a replacement. Fortunately, the KICKR itself has been very reliable.

Be aware of the location of your screen. I have attached my iPhone to my bars with a Quad Lock, which is excellent. I’m probably looking down at the app, rather than ahead at the “road,” too much, but there’s not much I can, or at least for now want to, do about that. However, be conscious of the left-right orientation of your device. I spent the first few months with the iPhone to the right of my stem; at a certain point I realized that as a result I had started leaning right a little bit on the bike, so switched it to compensate. Changing things up periodically is probably a good idea, unless you can rig something to centre-mount your device.

Conclusion: The real test of all this work will be how I do outdoors this year. I’ve been on one short ride recently, and as a result there’s little question in my mind that it’s all going to pay off. One thing I did notice out on the road is that, despite all the work on quadrants, my downstroke is slightly emphasized at certain power levels and cadences; this requires some further work.

Thanks for reading. Follow me on Strava!



A request for 2017

There has been much discussion about how 2016 was rough: mostly because we saw Donald Trump elected President of the U.S. People talk about a “post-truth” era, and shake their heads.

And yet, many of these same people, those I know, are posting stuff from charlatans like David Wolfe and Deepak Chopra; anti-GMO memes; and other unsubstantiated or demonstrably false nonsense. I have encountered, just in the past year, someone who works in the fitness industry who believes that the topical application of a cream can cure gastro-intestinal issues; people who read and believe horoscopes; and even a couple who question climate science or where and how our species originated.These people all believe themselves to be liberal, even sometimes radically so. But they are not: their beliefs are deeply conservative, stubbornly and religiously resistant to even the simplest check against current, and often longstanding, knowledge through a bit of reading or even, in many cases, a quick (well-informed) web search. In many or most cases, and I’m tempted to say particularly when it comes to GMOs, the level of knowledge is essentially zero.

This has always concerned me, but in the current climate it worries me even more. I think that if we don’t do the work of finding the truths “we” collectively actually do know—which often takes no more than a few minutes—we are, and I don’t use this word lightly, literally doomed.

I am not saying I’m perfect or an expert in all areas. But that is precisely the point: I am open to new information. I want new information.

I’d like to challenge everyone, and I include myself, to question everything and stop making assumptions this year. It’s more critical than ever.