No more Chewbacca legs for me

Not my legs

Not my legs

Here's the blog post you've been waiting for: The story about how and why I shaved my legs.

Let me explain. In this new era of manscaping, about half of men partially or fully shave their legs. And most serious cyclists fully shave. But why me?

After all, my legs are bowed, porcelain white, and covered with scars from five knee surgeries, and multiple falls and bumps. Why oh why shave off the shrubbery and reveal the ugly landscape beneath?

Well, a nurse started it. I had surgery on my right knee a few weeks ago to remove torn cartilage. Before surgery, a nurse shaved me from mid-calf to mid-thigh. As a result, I looked like I was wearing a hair boot on my right leg. Horrified at this odd look, I shaved the entire leg.

Once I had done this, I realized quickly I had to shave my other leg.

As I said, this is also a cycling thing. Real cyclists shave their legs, they claim, for better aerodynamics, to make it easier to get a massage, or to make recovery from skin abrasions -- road rash -- from crashes less painful. Knowing cyclists, I'd say it's really more about showing off their sculpted legs. 

Anyway, I want to be a real cyclist so shaving seemed like a good idea, until I did it. Here are a few things I didn't think of:

I went too fast on my right shin.

I went too fast on my right shin.

  • I had no idea I needed to use shaving cream. I went into the shower and just started shaving. My wife later diagnosed me with a bad case of "razor burn."
  • I didn't know you had to do this at least once a week. I thought like, once a month. How do women do this all the time?
  • You can't possibly get every hair. 
  • Warning, graphic content to follow: Ingrown hairs. 

As for my legs, they now look like your grandfather's legs when you visited him in the hospital or nursing home. They are so shiny and white that they could replace the beacon in Hudson-Athens Lighthouse. Plus, it hasn't made me faster on the bike. Still, I plan to keep shaving for the rest of the summer.

I have to go now. I am going to have a bath and shave my legs.

Spokesman makes a connection


Life is about networking, building relationships, connecting the dots...

"Whoa, tap the brakes, Spokesman. Is this blog some low-rent version of the Harvard Business Review's Management Tip of the Day? I thought it was about cycling."

This is about cycling. In my insane quest to ride every single inch of Columbia County highways (meaning roads built and maintained by the county), I found making connections was essential. By the way, "Tap the brakes?" Really? That sounds like some sad "master of the universe" conference room trash talk (actually, someone once said exactly that to me in a conference room). 

Columbia County Route 18 in Claverack and Greenport is a great example of a connector road. It is known to most people as Fish and Game Road because the Hudson Fish and Game Club is located there. It is only 3.8 miles long but from my home in Livingston, it allows me to get off State Route 9H (a terrible riding road) and brings me east to State Route 217. A quarter to half mile northeast off 217 near the village of Philmont is the southern terminus of Columbia County Route 9, which is one of the best riding roads in the area (more on 9 in another post).

By the way, connections were how I first became acquainted with the county highways. When I was in college, someone who knew someone got me a summer job doing highway construction for the county. Not every day was construction. On rainy days, the foreman would send us out in a truck to pick up road kill. But that's a story for when you aren't eating. 

I will write about other "connector" roads in postings about the best county routes to ride. But I thought I would feature 18 on its own because it is my favorite connector and gets me to challenging riding in the northern Columbia County. It's like the booster rockets on the space shuttle that get you off the ground before the real trip begins.

18's terrain is rolling. It is lined with orchards, ponds, and crop fields. If it were repaved, it would be a top 20 county road on its own because of the scenery. Heading west toward 9H on my return home, it offers some of the best views in the county of the Catskill Mountains. 

So use 18 to connect to Ghent, Chatham, Austerlitz and other points north, where it is hilly and you will definitely need to tap the brakes. 

County Route 18:


Remember my 1-to-5 rating system for highways: "COws ("Cows" + "ow") for pavement quality; "Churches" (as in Frederic) for scenery; and, "Ventouxs" for hills (as in Mt. Ventoux in France).

COws: 1 -- watch for potholes on downhill sections

Churches: 4 -- the view of the Catskills riding west is worth stopping for

Ventouxs: 1 -- a couple short hills


Hail Yes! I rode Columbia

One of my hand-drawn maps used when my phone's GPS was useless.

One of my hand-drawn maps used when my phone's GPS was useless.

Near the northeastern corner of Columbia County in the Hudson Valley of New York is County Highway 30. It hugs Queechy Lake, which is nestled gently against the Berkshire Mountains. Columbia County Highway 30 is only 1.4 miles long and flat, not remarkable by cycling standards. But in my case, it was the end of my two-year cycling quest. 

During 2015-16, I rode solo on Columbia County's highways. Every inch of every one. I estimate that I biked more than 1,000 miles, including 200-plus miles of county highways plus state and local roads to get to them.

It started on half-mile long Columbia County Route 12 that goes by Abby Rockefeller's, Churchtown Dairy, and ended a year later on County Route 30.

I am not sure why I decided to do this. Maybe because I helped build some of these roads in college as a summer laborer (my role consisted solely of throwing shovels-full of hot asphalt where someone told me). After I started riding, I admit it became something of a white whale ("You don't understand. I need to go riding today because I still need County Route 25!") 

I developed a plan on a county map and then crossed off highways as I "collected" them. I took photos of every five-sided blue and yellow county road sign. I stopped at about every convenience store in the county for Builder Bars, Gatorade, and biology breaks. I drew paper maps for areas where my GPS failed.

Most importantly, I enjoyed some of the best bicycling in the world right here at home. Columbia County sits on the Hudson River in southeastern New York about 100 miles north of Manhattan. Its western border is the river with the Catskill Mountains in view beyond. Its eastern border is Massachusetts and the Berkshire Mountains. The county is as sparsely populated with people -- about 60,000 in 648 square miles -- as it is overflowing with dairies, orchards, wineries and a wide assortment of other farms. 

The county highways are extremely well maintained (more on that later), relatively lightly traveled, and diverse in their grades. All-in-all, the roads could be described as "rolling" with a few tough climbs closer to the Berkshires.

There is a great website that suggests routes in the county; that is not my mission. I am chronicling my rides on county rides and rating them by their beauty, grade, and road condition.

I will rate each road on a scale of 1 to 5 for pavement quality using “COws,” a corruption of “cows” and “ows.” Same for scenery using “Churches,” in honor of landscape artist Frederic Church, and road grade in Ventouxs” for the great Mt. Ventoux of Tour de France fame. I will try to group roads by theme or geography.

Alpha: 12 with Dairy Dome under construction. 

Alpha: 12 with Dairy Dome under construction. 

Columbia County Route 12

County Route 12 in Livingston is a half-mile of agricultural glory. It was the first highway I collected because it is less than a mile from our home. As mentioned, Route 12 features the Churchtown Dairy, or the “Dairy Dome” in Sheffer lingo. It also has an underground brick and stone cheese cave (I want one). Route 12 is a “connector” road, bringing you to County Route 27, which itself is a gateway to many beautiful rides.

COws: 1 cow (being resurfaced in 2018).

Churches: 4

Ventouxs: 0

At Christmas, people gather at the Dairy Dome to sing carols to the cows. 

At Christmas, people gather at the Dairy Dome to sing carols to the cows. 

Omega: 30 on Queechy.

Omega: 30 on Queechy.

Columbia County Route 30

County Route 30 in Canaan, was last on my list because, honestly, I forgot it in my planning. It connects state routes 295 and 22 and has some nice views of the Taconic range.

COws: 3

Churches: 3

Ventouxs: 0

Going Writing

My George Hincapie Gran Fondo jersey. RIP, 2016-2017.

My George Hincapie Gran Fondo jersey. RIP, 2016-2017.

My 2017 road cycling season ended prematurely on Sept. 24 when a narrow but deep washout that slashes diagonally across Macedonia Road in Chatham caused me to dismount my bike in a way I had not previously practiced.

I was going downhill, traveling somewhere around 20 miles an hour. I was 40 miles into the 54-mile “gravel grinder" on dirt roads. My sunglasses were covered in dust.  Like Trump voters, I never saw the danger ahead.

The washed out channel turned my front wheel to the right, and stopped the bike. I went over the handlebars and landed on the gravel road on my left side.  Like anyone who has fallen off a bike, I wanted to get back on quickly to avoid more embarrassment.

I started to crawl toward my bike – “how’s my beautiful baby!?” -- which was in the middle of the road, rear tire still spinning. That is when I looked down and noticed that, at its main knuckle, my right middle finger was oddly pointing right at a 45-degree angle. I remember saying  to myself, “how the hell did that happen?”

Then I felt a sharp pain in my left shoulder.  Okay, heck with the bike. I crawled to the side of the road. I was alone. On a lightly traveled country dirt road. I waited a few minutes. No one came. I started yelling “help” in a weak, pained voice.

Within 10 minutes, a few fellow cyclists came upon me. One found a mailbox and pulled out a piece of mail to find the street address. He called 911 and soon the Chatham Rescue Squad was loading me into a meat wagon.


My left shoulder on day of crash.

My left shoulder on day of crash.

On the way to the hospital, the EMT and I had the following exchange:

EMT: “Do you want a painkiller before we get to the hospital?”

Me: “I don’t know. What’s done normally?”

EMT:  “Have you looked at your finger?”

Me: “Good point. Let’s go with the painkiller.”

At the hospital, the nurses used scissors to cut off my expensive Hincapie jersey, shorts and gloves, causing about $400 in damage to the patient. What is left of the jersey hangs forlornly from the wall of my barn.

Now, 10 weeks later, I have a four-inch surgery scar on my left shoulder and a human cadaver’s ligaments attaching my collarbone to my shoulder. My bruised/broken ribs are healed, the road rash has disappeared, and my middle finger, with its gnarled knuckle, is an effective communications tool when I am angry.

Cyclists will want to know if my bike is okay. It is, and stares at me ruefully, like a dog begging to play catch. I had to cancel a week of cycling in Arizona in November. I am unable to work out. I am fat. I watch replays of this year’s Tour de France and eat peanut butter by the jar.

With my arm in a sling for the next two months but with nine working fingers, I decided I would go writing instead of riding. What about? Riding, of course. Specifically, my adventures the last two years riding every inch of every county highway in Columbia County.


Why did I do that? I am not sure but it felt like I was “collecting” roads, many of which I had worked on during college summers on county road crews. Or maybe it was a way of reacquainting myself with the county after 30 years away. Or maybe it is just one of those stupid things men do in middle age.

I mapped every ride before I departed, stuck notes in my pocket to make sure I didn’t miss a turn, still got lost, got chased by a dog named Nate, ridiculed by motorcyclists,  and nearly run down by a guy in a black Toyota pickup who must have been bullied by someone on a bike in his childhood.

I saw some of the most beautiful scenery along some of the best riding roads anywhere (except bumpy County Route 18, which my butt tells me it hates). I will write about these adventures on a new blog, “Writing About Riding,” and reserve my blog, “Spokesman,” for posts about communications and growing up in Hudson.

I hope you like my biking blog. And if you don’t, well, I’ve got this finger…