Fuel

There's another CycleDog out there somewhere. But it's not an old bicycling dog like me. It's dog food. Do a Google search and you'll find it quickly.

Now it would be nice if there were a CycleDog energy bar, a sports drink, and maybe some other products proudly emblazoned with that cartoon of my face. I won't hold my breath, though. And I was going to say that it would be doubly nice if the products were suitable for both people and dogs, but I know from experience that dogs view most 'people food' as a special treat. Mollie, my Springer Spaniel, liked chocolate chip cookies, Italian bread, and even sauerkraut! I tried to understand her fascination with Milk Bones by trying one. Believe me, Milk Bones will never be a popular supplement for cyclists. They're only a little harder to chew than a Power Bar, but at least a Power Bar can be used for an emergency tire patch.

I'm fond of telling people that my bike runs well on beer and Italian food. And although I write about beer a lot, I really can't drink much of it. Years ago, I was diagnosed with pseudo-gout, a condition aggravated by the proteins found in beer, red wine, red meat, and cheese. Trust me, pain is an excellent behavior modifier! If I over-indulge, my hands, knees, and big toes provide some truly excruciating pain.

Welcome to middle age. If you get here without an 'interesting' medical history, you haven't lived enough.

Getting regular exercise provides one bright spot. My body needs more protein, so that allows me to eat just a little more of the things I love. Still, a week or two off the bike due to bad winter weather, and my knee swells up like a football. Or at least that's how it feels.

My doctor says that having a drink at my age is actually a good thing. The alcohol is a diuretic, too, and that reduces my blood pressure. I certainly don't need the calories, but there's no way I'm going to drink 'lite' beer. If I have to limit my intake, I want good stuff! Diet beer need not apply.

My beverage of choice these days is coffee. I’ll have two strong cuppas in the morning, and sometimes another in the afternoon. When I get home, it’s usually a cup of decaf after dinner or after an especially cold ride. Again, the doc told me to limit my intake of caffeine, so just like beer, I want the good stuff. Lately that’s been French or Italian roast because I like the intense flavor. And one side effect of the longer roasting is that these coffees have less caffeine.

Our bodies run on carbohydrates. Sure, the latest diet fad is 'low-carb' everything, but for cyclists, carbs are like gasoline. We can eat pasta, rice, and potatoes as basic fuel. They're the long-burning sort. Sugars are short-burns. Most of the sugars found in fruits are the quickest energy sources. If I recall right, glucose can be used directly and fructose almost as quickly. Common table sugar is sucrose and it takes just a little longer to kick in because the body has to do some chemical tinkering first. Regardless, it's a faster energy source than the complex carbs in a bagel, for instance.

I'm fond of Italian food, but I like Mexican and Chinese too. Actually, I like pretty much anything, and that was one of the problems. I ate entirely too much. One reason for getting back into cycling was to lose some weight, and I've done that mostly through mild exercise and watching the portions on my dinner plate.

For instance, Mary made King Ranch Chicken tonight. It’s chicken, veggies, and cheese over tortilla chips. Granted, it’s probably off the chart with sodium and fat, so the best approach is to limit my portion. But I don’t WANT to do that! I want to eat and eat and eat until I’m full and sleepy.

And that’s exactly how I got up to 245 pounds.

In the kitchen just now, Jordan was getting himself a large second helping. At fifteen, he can afford to eat like that. The kid’s a bottomless pit for food! But he’s growing rapidly too, so I can’t complain. He offered to put more on my plate, but I controlled my greedy little appetite.

I can hear the ice cream singing from the freezer. Was it Odysseus who had himself lashed to the mast so he could hear the Sirens song? I could lash myself to the couch, but Mary would probably think I was getting weird again.