bikefitting level 2: part 1

And so I find myself in Portland OR, getting picked up by Michael Sylvester (bikefitter extraordinaire) and dropped at Stephanie Edelman's house (PDX commuterchick) as part of the plan to develop the next phase of a bike fitting protocol for both Trek, and the greater cycling public. Since it it 3am east coast time when I hit the pillow, I am pretty shattered, though excited to be here. zzzzzz... Bright and early, Stephanie and I hit the road, by bike of course, and she thanks me profusely for assisting her in her "car-free lifestyle" ! We cruise (on her singlespeed commuter bikes) to her local java joint for a coffee bomb, high octane++ to get us to our first meeting. Buzzing with caffeine and enthusiasm, we meet at Michael's house for a breakfast of champions then ride downtown to his bikefitting studio. All the way, I am amazed at the number of cyclists out on the streets, the bike lanes and bike routes blending with cars seamlessly, the bike "blocks" at the intersections, the painted bike route markers on the roads.. all part of a greater portland alternative transportion plan that seems like heaven for cyclists and motorists alike.. So in attendance: Chris Pieck: Trek manager, facilitation, dream builder, cyclist Tyler (Trek) product development manager, head honcho in pushing new ideas forth, cyclist Warren: Prosthetist and Orthotist: works hand in hand with Michael fitting extreme cases, lower extremity biomechanic specialist, cyclist Lee: genuis, Ph.D student, engineer: specializing in cyclists, cyclists with amputations, P+O also, cyclist Michael Sylvester: one of the founders of the Serotta bike fit system, yoga instructor, fitter of 300+ per year, developer of level 2 bike fit program, owner of bike fit studio, ex-national cyclist / runner Stephanie: Massage therapist, bike fitter for Michael, scholar of human function, developer of bike fit level 1 program, cyclist Pattie: bikefitter, bike sales, developer of level 1 program, cyclist Jay, PT in VA, university research PT, incredibly talented clinician in ortho and sports PT, cyclist MTB and road Mark Timmerman: MD, family practice, sports medicine, developer of level 1, cyclist Doug MD, family practice, sports medicine, cyclist and me, PT, cyclist, enthusiast Oh Boy: what a group..I am honoured to be here amongst so many brains, all with the same purpose of improving bike fit for medical professionals, for shop fitters, for the industry: Mission statement of sorts: more happy asses on more bikes, for more years.. (I am in Lake Tahoe, mountain biking with Dennis, and travelling to Moab / Salt Lake region today, so this will be in a few parts.. THEN we get onto the MTB trail ride descriptions..suffice to say for now, 4 days, 4 rides, all 3 to 5 1/2 hours long, 2 crashes, one bout of tears, several beers, ice pack and perma-grin: Oh My GAWD if you ride mountain bikes, you must visit this place..)

new hampshire horrible 100

So here we go, rising at 5am in the dark, crawling from our damp tent into the cool New Hampshire air for the preparations to our race..Dennis and I have camped with a few of our fellow East Enders (Long Island EE) in the Greenfield State Park for the princely sum of $25 a night, slept fitfully on lumpy ground, tossing and turning as the local owls tried their best to freak us out, and then dragged our arses out of the tent to begin stuffing our faces with whatever we could get down before the 6:45am start.. One banana sandwich, one vanilla smoothie, one egg and one bottle of HEED later, we roll to the start in the field across the road. Southern NH is a long way from anywhere, and it feels like a long way from the 70.3 Ironman triathlon world that I inhabited this time a year ago..200 racers in the pre-dawn, 1 minute apart in waves of 20 or so, and starting "gun" goes.. actually really old school.. "ready, steady, go!"

Dennis is on a new Gary Fisher superfly, and dumbo here, down to one mountain bike, is on her Gary Fisher Rig, single speed: 32 x 19..

(Insert "girls" for "men" :) )

Recovered from my failed attempt to score in Pennsylvania the previous month (bailing with severe GI issues at mile 62 of 100 miles), I am determined to do better this time. Cooler weather, more single track, suits me fine.. last minute course alterations mean the course is 66 miles not 62 (100k), but on the start line, we are fresh and foolish enough to think this doesn't matter much! Little did we know how we would feel 8 hours later..

Off we go.. I am in a wave with a couple of guys and a couple of girls: the single speeders all in front of me for some reason, and Dennis with the Montaukers (Marty Ross and Danny Farnham) a few waves back. Within minutes, we are off the dirt road, onto rickety rail tracks along the shores of a lily-covered lake, and covered in mud. I settle into a single speed pace, being limited by gear lack, I cannot jump onto the trains of bikers that blew by me in their big rings.. so I spin happily, passsing the other girls (on geared bikes..) by mile 10, and settle into my own rhythm. The Montauk monsters power on by, arse slapping as they pass, and cheering me on.. I never see Dennis until the finish line, despite him being a couple of minutes off my wheel the whole way. The course has aid stations every 10+ miles, though it feels like much farther between stops: I have a full Camelbak and 2 bottles with me, so I only stop 2 times, mainly to pee in the trees, but also to refill with Gatorade or some cold bevvie from a jug on the side of the mountain. The NH weather has been unkind this past 4 days, with consistent rain and thunderstorms, although race day was 78-81 degrees and clear blue skies: however the puddles had turned into troughs, and the small stream crossings got successively deeper and longer as we ground through the course. The trails were pretty technical after the intial flat-ish start, and soon we were heaving and gasping as we hit the ski slopes and powerlines that climbed towards the heavens. I took solace in the fact that as I was doing my hike-a-bike sections, I was still passing guys on their geared bikes, on foot also! In this length of race, their comes a point when you are no longer racing to beat people, as you constantly swap places with them on sections, passing, then giving way, but in the back of my mind, I was still keeping my eye out for the other lasses on the course..6 hours into the race, I was slugging through a 100 foot long "puddle", up to my mid-thighs, and carrying my trusty steed overhead when I spotted Jennifer, the second lady, behind me. It was at this point that I had quit the PA race, bloated and exhausted, but I was in a different state here, cool in the trees, fed and watered appropriately, and I was AHEAD! I got a surge of energy, and was able to pick up the speed, through the newly cut 10% gradient scrabbley inclines, over the granite slabs and drop-offs on the top of some mountain or other, through the remaining rivers and mud gulches that swallowed men's derailleurs and ground V brakes to a halt. I even stopped to fix one guys chain with my CONEX links and took a moment to feel like a bit of an Amazon-warrior-racing-repair-woman..8 hours and 20 minutes later, with a surge of energy, I pulled into the field for a lap before the finish line, spotted the Montaukers already home and dry, albeit muddy and sandy, and finished proud, first female in expert division, first (and only) female single speeder, proud owner of NH EFTA (eastern fat tire association) windchimes and a cool medal, proud owner of at least 2 spoons of sand in my chamois for 6+ hours (eeek!) and proud owner of a sore backside.. Well worth it. Dennis roared across in 8.40 and had had a terriffic ride, no trouble with his new bike, more importantly, no cramps, no injuries, no (major) crashes..As we pack our muddy bikes away in the van, and I squirmed, raw, in the passenger seat anticipating 6 hours drive home, I resolved to call our sponsor Louis Shih at Champion-System clothing to see if he has a waterproof version of our bike shorts. Maybe it doesn't rain like this in China..

We will definitely be back to do this one next year.. except with 32 x 20. and faster!

Next stop, Vermont 50, then bring on the cyclocross season!

fourth weekend

And finally we sit still at the end of the "fourth" weekend, our feet aching, our backs straining, our hands puffy and dry: I slather on some peppermint foot cream, pour a glass of South African Chardonnay and reflect on the events.





Glad to have ridden my bike in to work on Thursday, on account of the village resembling the site of a bake sale with 5 minutes to go and all the goodies 75% off..the hoardes have descended on us for the weekend, possibly the season. There appears to be an inverse relationship developing between the numbers in town and their ability to do it in a mannerly fashion: I swear it gets worse annually: so I loaded my backpack up with some mesclun, mustard and chocolate soymilk and headed for the hills. On arriving home, I switched my commuter CX bike out for the singlespeed and cruised the woods by the house for an hour, then headed into town for dinner with Matt and John. John, the woodsman from NH, had taken it upon himself to nourish the bare-ish patch of grass outside the house with some compost in April: and now in early July, the side of the busy road is thick with the bodies of some 50 or so tomato plants, who wintered happily in the compost heap, and now find themselves on the side of route 114, open to assault and theft from passers by. I vowed to defend the patch, and will come daily at lunch time to check.and munch.. on their status!





Friday (the fourth proper) saw us varnishing Aisling, our beautiful wee boat, getting a coat on before a planned late weekend launch. We are tardy this year, in part with D-lo getting his new company builing underway, but also with the major renovation on the whaler taking priority. Styling now, we will have two very shippy boats to mess about in, and it will be worth the late evenings and early mornings for the past weeks..A quick 90 minute MTB ride with D before heading into Sag Harbor for the main event of the day..participation in the village celebrations at the Whaler's church. This year, I was invited to be one of the readers of the declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights, as a fundraiser for the Walter Reed Fischer House and commemorating the life (and death) of Jordan Haerter, a local kid from Sag Harbor who died while serving in Iraq in April.





The celebration was wonderful, an ancient church, quiet and cool on this muggy day, the simple white wooden interior a possible reference to the interior of the whaling ships from the village's past. A collection of 15 of the villages sundry members, and a congregation of 100 or so from town. Beginning with some historical perspective before launching into the D. of I., I truly felt part and parcel of this little town on the other side of the Atlantic (where I have my other home). Some patriotic songs, (for which I am still scouring the pages for verses) while I feel a little unsettled, coming from a warring nation and growing up pained by its sufferings, I haven't quite reconciled myself to the fact that my adopted nation is steeped in blood and has still such a militaristic culture. I find myself singing, no, belting out the verses of "this land is your land", an old Woodie Guthrie folk song from ths 30's, and wishing that this was the national anthem, not a mention of god, or fighting, purely a celebration of the topography and physical beauty from coast to coast.





...This Land Is Your Land
This land is your land This land is my land

From California to the New York island;

From the red wood forest to the Gulf Stream waters

This land was made for you and Me.



As I was walking that ribbon of highway,

I saw above me that endless skyway:

I saw below me that golden valley:
This land was made for you and me.


I've roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps

To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts;

And all around me a voice was sounding:

This land was made for you and me.


When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,

And the wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling,

As the fog was lifting a voice was chanting:

This land was made for you and me.


In the shadow of the steeple I saw my people,
By the relief office I seen my people;

As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking

Is this land made for you and me?


Nobody living can ever stop me,

As I go walking that freedom highway;

Nobody living can ever make me turn back

This land was made for you and me."



The reading of the Bill of Rights followed, with audience participation in the form of clapping between the serene comments, especially when referencing such current notions such as limitation of government intrusion into reading material, government seizing of property, government acting without the will of the populace. I deepened my understanding of how great and good ideas are universal and timeless, as relevant to the Irish struggle with Britain as the the American struggle that I was celebrating, as relevant today as we see our constitution eroded in the name of a game that is not the will of the people. As I join in the group readings, I wonder if the Bill of Rights was more well read, for example in the weekly paper: would we have even the 28% support for this administration..A jolly good read it was, and I look forward to re-reading it, to better familiarise myself with the great ideas and ideals of the old boys of this nation, and those espousing these ideas today, just imagine, freedom, justice, equality, pursuit of happiness... How radical!


Saturday: 2 and 1/2 hours on the SSPD, alone: (Dennis is varnishing coat #2), I work on turns, particularly my right turns, the not-so -vanilla side.. and minimizing the braking. Definitely a good tactic, taking corners only as fast as I can handle the bike, the terrain, the balance: getting better at this stuff, I only dab once in 25 miles or so.
FIREWORKS:sponsored by Sag Harbor Yacht club: need I say more? This event gets bigger every year: we rode into town then went out in the harbor to watch the spectacle.

30 minutes of beautiful, gaudy, startling sparklers, then the most amazing finale, with a 30 second sinister militaristic component.. phew.. I am sure it was in memory of the young Haerter boy...very impressive, very moving sight..

Sunday, group ride, out east by Amagansett: 3.5 hours, the legs are nearly ridden off me but the hours working on the technical stuff pay off; On the return ride, I have more energy, better climbs, sharper corners, smoother descents. No crashes, oh except when I broke a chain on a nasty climb. Bang, straight into the stem as my chain exploded into the woods, as I hit a root while climbing hard at hour #2. D to the rescue with a new masterlink,nd we are underway in less than 5 minutes. What a hero. I resolve to learn to carry these things, looking ahead to the PA (100 mile MTB) race with a new, non-Wipperman chain. Lessons in life.


La Superica for dinner, belly bomb.. walk the vilage, hang time with Julie and Rick Laspesa from Rotations bike shop, home to write this, then to crash. G'nite, good weekend. Aisling will hit the water this week, and our summer evenings will begin..

totally bummed about work

Ok, today was the last day before the new Medicare provisions go into effect. In their infinite wisdom, our elected officials have, through their inaction, been unable to pass a bill extending continued physical therapy benefits beyind 18 visits annaully, to Medicare patients,.. oh as well as giving us a 10.6 % pay cut.. with another 5.6 % cut to come in January. Jolly. So tomorrow, my patients will either cancel, decide not to go food shopping, or just cross their fingers and pull out the credit card. I am totally bummed looking through the schedule, seeing a full half of todays list of patients are Medicare recipents, the majority of whom are juggling with the cost of driving to PT, never mind having to pay out of pocket for it..

As the 4th of July comes up, and there is a faint hope that the bill will be reeviewed upon the return of the Senate and House after the holiday, I wrote a happy holidays letter to our local rag: and just in case thy don't publish it, I am printing it here, in cyberspace, with maybe a few passers-by to glance through it. If you are the child of a loved parent, or if you are afraid of growing old in this country, pass it on. I moved to this country 12+ years ago, invested my heart and soul in it, and here I am, a few days before we all go out to wave flags, go sailing, eat macaroni from a paper plate, fill our eyes with tears thinking patriotic thoughts, while our older, injured parents and neighbors are worrying about the cost of their next physical therapy visit and how much medication / gas / food / heating oil (insert your own ________ ) can cut out in order to make it. I am totally bummed, not only because these people have welcomed me as their own child in this community, this country, but because this is a sure sign of the things to come, an ecology in peculiar imbalance where our elders are as we speak, being nudged out onto the creaking icefloes. A strange time, as I plan to take the stage in our local church, as an invited member of our broad tribe in Sag Harbor, as a still dripping wet citizen of this country, to read the Declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights (how ironic) with a flag in one sweaty hand and a desperate sinking feeling in my belly.

(to the editor @ the easthampton star)

Dear David,
I am writing to your paper, and to address my adopted community for assistance, both for my profession, but primarily for themselves. As many of your readers have passed through the doors of my business, and literally through my hands, I have had the pleasure of being able to assist many in this town to resume their physical capabilities and return to a full, functional life.

Despite the increasing stresses of annually diminishing reimbursements from the insurance industry, combined with the rising cost of doing business for everyone, my partners and I at Manual + Sports Physical Therapy (MSPT) have been able to continue to provide quality care to many locals and visitors alike. However, with this weeks decision in congress to cut payments to doctors by 10.6% beginning July 1st, and for a future cut in January 2009 of a further 5.6%, our business, and our ability to provide continuing care for our Medicare patients, is in jeopardy.
Our schedule of payments (as PT’s in out-patient non-hospital based clinics) from Medicare is directly liked to the physician pay scale, and thus our physical therapy reimbursements will also be severely cut, beginning this week. Patients receiving Medicare-covered physical therapy will be limited to a maximum of $1810 per annum, which works out to about 18 to 20 visits, per annum. Worse still, linked with this bill HR6331, is the cut to an exemptions process for the more impaired patients, who prior to this bill passing, had been able to qualify for an exemption; for example, someone who might have a knee replacement, and also suffers from a rotator cuff tear, or someone who has had balance difficulties and co-existing knee and back arthritis, an elder who has chronic back pain and also has hand arthritis... To anyone who has had ever seen their parents age, none of these conditions are surprising, but anyone can figure out that few of these complex conditions are manageable with a 6 week coverage of physical therapy. All patients will now be subject to the cap of $1810, regardless of the complexity of their condition. Following this 18 visit maximum, which many of my Medicare patients have already met, these elderly will have to self-pay, or be discharged. Some will be able to manage in a home setting or a local gym with an exercise program, most will not. The majority of our Medicare patients continue to need the skilled delivery of physical therapy care beyond the arbitrary cap, and would continue to benefit from that continued care.
I therefore urge your readers, this week, to call their members of congress and senators, and urge their support for the passage of HR6331. They will resume work following the July 4th recess, on July 7th. There is a chance that pressure from the public, in an election year, will force the reinstatement of the exemptions process, and continue to facilitate the care that I and my staff have been able to offer across the east end, from our Southampton, Sag Harbor, East Hampton (East End Physical Therapy) and Montauk offices.
As an aside, I will be participating in the reading of the Declaration of Independence at the Whaler’s Church in Sag Harbor on July 4th.. This follows an invitation from the Deacon’s committee, who each year, gather a group of citizens to represent the diversity of the area in celebration of the past with an eye on the future. As a twelve year resident and a six year-citizen, I am honored and delighted to participate in this special event. As someone who cares deeply for this community’s older, injured physical therapy patients, as well as its weekend warriors and athletes, I will be privileged to take to the stage in this event. I hope your readers will attend, and be moved to look, not just back at the dappled, colorful past, but ahead towards a country that values the health and well being of its older citizens. Please make a call to your political representatives right after the glorious fourth.
Yours Sincerely,
Sinéad A. FitzGibbon, P.T., M.S.P.T.

more china news

oh this is a lazy one: I recently did an interview with Cailin Brophy from the Southampton press about the China Trip: here is the online version of the interview, the paper version will be in the stands next week!

http://www.27east.com/story_detail.cfm?cat=sports&id=151068

turkey trot

Saturday afternoon, 80+ degrees and sticky, I was fed up of planting the 100 ostrich ferns that I had had delivered, and decided to go for a run in the woods. Following the recent disappearance of the inch-worms, I felt I had only to contend with my wobbly legs and 5 million ticks, so I sprayed up (tick guard, made in Southampton, NY, all natural, no DEET), grabbed a bottle, strapped on a heart rate monitor, scribbled a note for Dennis, and left.

Running from our house onto the newly cut section of the Blue trail, I marvelled at the sudden blossoming of the laurel, house height overnight it seemed, and my pace was stable but slow. I ran 8-or so minute miles enjoying the dramatic changes of the landscape from last week..Where the inch worms had eaten a hole in the canopy, the laurel thrived, exploding into lacy doily-like flowers for a spell. Heading 'round into Dry Gulch, the fescue grasses were deep green, tall and thick, the trail headed downhill and I gathered speed. Picking my way along the sandy singletrack, dodging the baby-head rocks, I was relaxing into the longer strides, not paying too much heed until I heard a squawk and a flap as I almost landed heel-strike on a baby wild-turkey, Mammy flapping off into the brush to my right, while baby, unharmed, ran to my left, under the ferns and disappeared. It took all of about 20 feet for Ma to regain her wherewithal, before turning a 180 degree U-ie, and heading straight for me..

Then it was my turn to squawk, dropping to 5:30 or so for the next 200 metres as I barrelled down the trail. The first thought in my head was of an NPR show from last winter, when some journalist was reporting about how these previously non-aggressive (waist-high) birds were now attacking humans.. My second thought referred to the previous week's mountain bike ride, when I deliberately chased one of these beasts down a trail, just for giggles, to see how fast they could run.. Well, with my fancy schmancy Gary Fisher Rig and its 38 x 19 single speed gear, this turkey outran me.. and those muscley legs were foremost in my mind as I pegged it up a hill, dodging laurel branches, hopping over fallen logs..

I listened for flapping, expecting blood and guts any second, then slowed to a jog when nothing came. Panting, I checked my watch. HR 175.. Jen (my coach, my buddy) would be delighted. I wondered how long I could have kept that up for.

Shelter Island 10k race next weekend. I think it is a road race. I hope so. I don't think my poor heart could stand the excitement of a repeat.

Maybe I should start trail running with more equipment..




(Pistol practice at Maidstone Gun club range this winter..)

back from the ranch

(a clump of joshua trees, prickly, painful)


Back from the ranch a.k.a "Xantusia" under the hospitable care of Mssrs. Dan Empfield and Mark Montgomery, I am now endowed with the title of certified F.I.S.T. (Fit Institute of Slow Twitch), have a thorn from a joshua tree embedded in my scalp and am jonesing for a dog with a rinkly face on the other side of the country..and it transpired thus..

Susan Roman, one of my trusty PTA's in our Sag Harbor office, had in March brought the course to my attention. Both of us being triathletes, one of us being a total gear head (hint.. not me), and both of us dealing professionally in physical therapy on a daily basis with our injured triathlete and cycling friends, we figured that this course would be a good match for our triathlete -therapist - 3rd decade athlete brains.

Long haul flight to Ontario CA, pleasant drive uphill to the deserts of the San Gabriel mountains and up a bumpy sandy driveway to Xantusia, the coupound of the Empfield and Montgomery duo. Greeted by several of the 8 (rescue /vagrant) dogs that live there, we quickly settled in, aided by a bike ride up the canyon (8% grade), a beer and an early night.

(dan on day one, before he was fed up of our questions)
Day one of the course began after a gruelling uphill ride into a neighboring canyon, stopping only to view the valley or snap a quick photo of the desert views. The first morning, after breakfast #2, was mostly an introduction into the FIST method and philosophy, observation of a triathlete fit process, and much discussion. Four of the course attendees were professional bike fitters from TREK, one of whom was, no joke, a rocket scientist, now in R+D for the Wisconsin company. Another, a yoga therapist from Portland who is a much lauded fitter, specializing in riders with injuries (low back pain, hip arthritis, chronic injuries, neck pain etc.) An olympic medalist from cycling track in the LA games rounded out the group, so needless to say, there was a lot of Q+A time. Comments about fitting, concerns about the details, the equipment, the technical specifications of all and sundry, the aerodynamics of helmets, the pressure testing of nether regions on saddles: all fair game during the couse, lunch and dinner. Rounding out the night was a visit by each of the dogs, in turn, for a scratch, a rub, a paw or a dribble. I fell in love with Punkin', a squishy faces boxer mix with chopped off ears and the most wonderful demeanor, whispering quietly to her, vowing to sneak her into my carry-on for the return to Sag Harbor. Monty must have read my mind, pouring another beer, warning me about how everyone loves Punkin' (and likely growelling in his head.. "don't even try it girlie")

(ooh the downhill makes the climbs worth it..)
Day 2, another early morning ride in yet another canyon , with another gruelling climb, this time with the yoga fitter, who also happens to be a billy goat. Between gasps and splutters, I gave mono-syllabic answers to Michael the billy-goat about questions we had in reference to the fit progess, and how, as health care professionals, we could modify.. and dare I say (!) improve the process. Near the mountain top, I paused to chceck out a coyote (who looks JUST like the cartoon version, all skinny and ribs with pointy ears etc), take a photo.. actually glad for a rest, then continue on to the summit. We came back to the ranch, flying downhill, snarfed breakfast #2, and took up class again, complete with 4 or 5 of the dogs. This day wsa all hands on, or rather, fingers and thumbs.. as we fine tuned our measurement methods, becoming more skilled and confident with each practice. The methodology is interesting, if imprecise, but the outcome is great, smart and helpful. The client goes through the fitting process and on completion, has a set of measurements in a "universal bike language" that can be then applied to EVERY available frame on the market, to get the optimal fit.


(click on play to see me fit at a most aggressive 81 degrees.. and COMFY I might add!)


We did more networking, more comparison measurements, more philosophising about the application of the fit to mere humans (as opposed to the Ironman professional athletes that Dan is used to working with) and then had more beer at the end of the evening, watching the sunset spectacularly from the elevated viewing deck. (valley view from Monty's house)

Rising early but not so bright the next morning, I skipped the group trail run and gathered my thoughts.
How could I apply this in my PT practice? Quite easily actually, having 60 patients a day in the office increases the liklihood that we can get more people happier on their bikes.
Would I have a target market group for this application? Absolutely. Eastern Long island is chock full with weekend warriors, tri-heads and injured patients looking to return to cycling, or take it up as an alternative to pounding the pavement.
Could we improve on the product/ process? Completely. With our evaluation, assessment and analytical skills of PT and yoga combined, we can address the positional and functional issues that prevent optimization of position, and improve tolerance of non-inured athletes to aggressive positioning. This by a system of prescriptive exercises, not unlike what we apply in our PT office lives, coaching bodies to increase the liklihood of sustaining these positions, and activities, for the long haul.

Next blog: problems with the process, how S+S can improve it, and plans to take over the world.. well, not really, just plans to set up a comprehensive medical bike fitting service. Oh yea, and the thorn..dingbat walked straight into a joshua tree while discussing saddle design and women's saddle sores with the rocket scientist from TREK.

(sinead fitting stephanie after dinner)