Who do you call when you've got a 250 lb large format printer that's too big to manhandle up a flight of stairs and shoehorn into a home office... Rapha Large Format Moving and Storage (aka my pal Brendan and his friend Navjeet). A day earlier I'd been standing in the garage staring at the imposing size of the Epson 9890 watching my plans for a painless installation go out the window before it hit me... the window, it needed to go IN the window.

A few measurements confirmed the printer cross section would fit, with the added advantage it would arrive within inches of it's final destination in one ballsy move. As luck would have it the good folks at United Rentals immediately across the road from our community had just the right forklift for the job and one of the service reps just happened to be a neighbor. Jennifer, her husband and son Sean dropped by that evening for a sanity check and gave me the thumbs up. Time to call in Brendan my heavy equipment specialist and perennial conspirator in these kind of plans.

Not wanting to let the opportunity for a little fun while the $4000 printer was suspended 12 feet above the ground I painted up a construction helmet in Rapha colors for the occasion. Came out looking rather sharp as modeled by the big guy I think.

I engineered a cardboard sled between the printer and palette so two of us could simply pull it through the window once Brendan had the forklift in position. It all worked like a charm... twenty minutes later we had it safely pinned to its stand, mission accomplished.

Many thanks to Jennifer (her husband) and the United team for their help. The rental made all the difference. I highly recommend them, if you need to go vertical. Brendan and Navjeet, thanks boys and Juli, well none of this would ever happen without your indulgence and support. Let the printing begin.

While discussing Dromarti's latest gloves in an email thread with Tim and Brendan, Brendan comes up with this classic little vignette.

Wanted to share a good one with you guys while we are on the subject of high priced cycling goods and getting slapped. I bought a pair of Rapha Cyclo-Cross bib knickers from Competitive Cyclist that went on sale for a measly $155 or roughly 1/3 of my annual cycling budget.

Right after I placed the order I got the UPS note as to when the delivery would arrive and it happened to be on Valentine's Day. I also happened to be working from home on V-D because I am such a fine example of a supporting and caring husband. I offered to pick the boys up from school at 3PM.

On my way back I round the corner to our street and what do I see? The UPS truck parked in front of our house. Wife must be looking for a vase and a spot for what should be 58 dozen roses.... she is wrong. I power slide into the driveway and dive in mid-air as the driver is reaching for the doorbell and slap his hand away. It's my Rapha... not roses.

It's Japanese codename is Kemono (in English Brute/Beast). This menacing, snub nosed monster is an 85mm f1.2 IS. Rumored to have been a stealth project of the Utsunomiya design center, the 3.9 lb medium telephoto marries the sublime optical quality of the 85mm f1.2 L with the lightening fast AF and best-in-class IS of the 200mm f2.

Canon had to solve some significant optical problems to create this piece of glass but it's going to quickly find its way into our gear bags. So who's going to use this beast. Team lead Unoji Notru sees this as a sports lens for commercial photographers, particularly well suited to dynamic portraits, practice, and outdoor lifestyle action where the shooter can position him/herself at the appropriate range. So much of the print collateral and feature photography out there is done with athletes in controlled situations. We wanted to bring the power of our "White" lineup to a shorter focal length.

With superb low light performance, and the convenience of the same drop-in polarizer and nd filters as its longer reach brethren, it will find plenty of support from those who'd like a little more prime performance than the short end of the 70-200mm IS II can deliver.

Wedding and event photographers should snap it up. No price information has been released yet, but expect this to land in the neighbor hood of $4000. When it starts shipping I'll be first in line to get one. How about you?

The lens is shown without its hood. A new design featuring a bold graphic designation of the focal length is in the works according to Notru. This is clever marketing but I like it because it may cut down on the number of times I have to answer the eternal question "what's that lens" Now I can just point at the hood ;-)

Dark Helmet lives. Growing up there was a neighborhood kid nicknamed pin head... it wasn't a commentary on his lack of smarts but rather an accurate description of how small his head was. I bet he looks good in a cycling helmet now.

As discussed last week finding a helmet that looks good on larger heads isn't easy. Here's five worthy of consideration and a larger gallery examining the problem from every angle. Captions welcome.

Somewhere on a secret test track in Germany, Apple engineers are putting the final touches on an application that didn't make it to yesterday's iPad launch. Rumor has it that Jobs was uncharacteristically restrained from pressuring the team to deliver the project, code named Colossus for the main stage presentation. Charles Forbin Jr. who heads the Colossus team is part of Job's trusted inner circle and a good friend of Bradley Wiggins.

This rendering leaves little doubt that Apple is about to dramatically change the landscape (or portrait) of cycle computers; its a frontal assault on Garmin, who Jobs has been annoyed at ever since his Garmin eTrex malfunctioned during a lunch hour hike to Hidden Villa.

Details are starting to emerge about Colossus and at least two pro teams have been seeded demo versions of the iPad and Colossus in recent weeks. Sky is reportedly one of those teams. With the iPad's public debut, expect to see the test unit on Wiggins Pinarello very soon.

Wind tunnel testing has shown that the low profile iPad has impressive drag numbers despite its size. Deda has fabricated several prototype stems with a revolutionary vacuum mount that channels low pressure behind the headtube via a specially ported fork. Amazingly the vacuum is strong enough to secure the unit on the worst pave Belgium has to offer. Perhaps we'll see it make it's first race appearance at Paris Roubaix if it passes the UCI's technical review.

So here's the lineup of features slated for a release late March. As the world's largest bike computer by a factor of 20x, the iPad's 1024 x 768 pixels can display an astounding amount of data. In other words why wait to analyze ride data until after your ride, when you can do it all, "so simply and easily on the iPad" while you are riding. All the basics are covered: speed, distance, time, vertical speed, vertical distance, grade, and power of course. Colossus goes much further, leveraging the iPads accelerometers to provide critical data about acceleration and deceleration vs. power in the peloton. With the potential demise of team radios riders will increasingly be left to their own devices to decide race tactics. Precisely what Job's engineers have in mind.

With an iPad running Colossus mounted on the bike, that device will provide an unprecedented flow of decision support data... data that may mean the difference between getting in the move of the day or getting back in the team car. Complete local weather, rendered in stunning detail on the touch sensitive screen, including critical cross wind alerts (Alberto will order three). And it will respond to several cycling-specific gestures being developed by a disgraced former member of the Italian national team.

Is the picture getting clearer; the iPad and Colossus are going to change cycling forever. Need to know how much water, exactly, you are carrying back up to your team, Colossus will calculate weight to a tenth of a gram. Imagine a journeyman pro having this data available when his contract comes up for renewal.

Cycling specific iPads will indeed have the back mounted camera expected by so many pundits. By projecting an image of the road and front wheel on the screen with a data overlay (Apple refers to this as a heads down display mode), much of the unit's apparent mass is rendered invisible. In the interest of safety an emergency zoom mode is automatically triggered in the event of a front tire blowout, giving a rider precious extra seconds to watch the tire come off the rim. I'm going to reserve judgment on whether this will make the iPad's bezel look even bigger.

Expect to see three accessories during the second quarter. iPans, an ingeniously designed set of front panniers that connect to the iPad, the iProw mount that allows the iPad to be mounted vertically on the front of aero bars (the camera now fires directly forward meaning a rider can stay tucked longer); and finally a rear mount compatible with Fizik's ICS system so that team members in the draft can see exactly what gear and speed their lead out man has dialed in.

Given the fantastic video capabilities of the unit I'm already imagining Cavendish running his iPad behind the saddle. Visualize an afterburner animation as he lights it up... it's sure to scare whatever crap is left in the peloton every time he gets out the saddle.

Some features that were part of earlier prototypes will not make the initial launch, most notably the fish finder. The unit will ship with an ebook entitled, the Rider's Guide to French Brothels. Now that's an immersive experience. I'll be lining up to buy one, unless Steve reads this and sends me one for evaluation.

My New Year's Day pilgrimage to Mt. Hamilton is normally a solitary affair but this year Brendan, Tim and Willy toed the start line for the climb to the observatory. Willy on his mint green Vanilla, Tim on his white Cervelo RS, Brendan astride the steel Soulcraft and yours truly on my Enigma. We rolled out just past seven on a cool but windless morning looking like the Rapha Continental second stringers... Tim and I wearing the cream rain jacket and Willy wearing the gray. We all like that rain jacket. Brendan had on the softshell gilet under that wind breaker.

Willy and I pressed ahead on the first climb from Alum Rock towards a small patch of fiery red sunrise that disappeared almost immediately into gray overcast. We slowly heard Brendan and Tim's voices disappear behind us as we passed groups of deer and one unimpressed bobcat. On the last seven mile stretch to the observatory Willy was holding back and with under a mile to go off he went to be the first to the top in 2010. Somewhere along the way he mentioned he'd put in 5500 miles riding long distance events alone; I'd guess his total mileage must be North of 10,000 for the year and it showed. He was the class of the field.

I was tired on those last couple of pitches and my feet were ice cold despite two pairs of socks and overshoes (which I put down to cinching my shoes too tight and not any thermal deficiency of the Rapha overshoes). Happily the observatory was open and warm inside. I liberated my feet and set about warming them on the heating vent. Tim appeared shortly and plunked himself down to do the same while we waited for Brendan to complete the foursome.

When the big guy arrived he was wearing a look that said "thank you very much for that New Year's present" or something to that effect. Ten minutes in that warm vestibule and some snacks improved his mood to where he was talking to us again ;-) We all were anticipating a cold descent with some sketchy sandy corners, so we lingered and chatted as one by one more riders appeared.

Eventually we took a picture, zipped up and headed down. As it turned out the day was warming and we weren't cold at all. Willy and Tim rode point and soon after Grant Ranch they disappeared, leaving Brendan and I to catch up on the holidays and important world events like Tiger's admission that he's been riding a dozen different beater bikes for years while a Colnago (insert your favorite brand) was waiting at home. Idiot. We then had our dessert on the buttery smooth pavement of the final descent, made the left onto Alum Rock and prepared to coast down to our cars on McKee Road. We'd almost made it but...

No ride with Tim is complete until he has a mechanical. Outside of organized centuries, he's flatted every time we've ridden together. To preserve his perfect record he'd picked up a rear flat with less than 1/2 a mile to go. While he and Willy fixed the tire, I held his bike and Brendan curled up in a mock fetal position on the curb.

Secretly Brendan and I feared another Tunitas sequence but Tim was back on the road quickly for the two minutes back to the cars. One last picture finished the ride and made a fine start to another year of cycling. Thanks boys.

I couldn't sleep Friday night thinking about the first vicious pitch of Coleman Valley Road. It's been in my head since I watched it put the hurt on the Occidental Continental riders (except for Ira and Jeremy). Add to that I'd been out shooting cycling and not riding for much of the preceding two weeks, so deep down I knew I was in for a beating.

I expected the beating would come on Coleman Valley Road and with any luck my body would roll down the hill and be washed out to sea, but Levi's nefarious plan put the boots to me sooner. Tim, Georges and I rode from our hotel over to the start and instantly realized we had no chance of finding our fourth, Murali, among the thousands and their bikes. We settled for getting in line well back in the pack and keeping our eyes peeled for him. Miraculously I spotted him and our group was complete. It took about twenty minutes after Levi rolled out before we crossed the timing mat. Any longer and I'd have cramped pushing myself along on one leg in the stop and go traffic. Two minutes after that we lost sight of Tim and Georges and never saw them again for the duration. And here I was agreeing with Michael Barry about race radio today.

We rode easily to Occidental and caught the back of a four-man express train to Cazadero (Khazad dum in dwarfish), from there we began the climb of King Ridge Road. Lulled by the gentle beginning, this is where Levi sprung his trap. Up and up we went, over several false summits, cheered along by dozens of accomplices disguised as residents; they monitored every pedal stroke. Convinced we'd reached the summit we binged on sandwiches, fig newtons and bananas in preparation for the descent to the coast. Not so fast, between mile marker 30 and 50, the accomplices perpetrated an elaborate subterfuge. First we plunged down, on roads too steep for goats, till we reached a sufficient altitude where the climb back threatened to bring lunch right back up.

Disoriented and slightly nauseated we actually rode in circles for an extra hour as road signs were switched and we were shunted back and forth on secret spur roads, most of which were false flats until we'd been sufficiently punished. I estimate there were forty miles between markers 30 and 50. Clever Levi, very clever.

When, at last, his minions allowed us to get off the ridge, we descended into a freshening gale that whipped a picturesque coast into a white foaming lather. We struggled to stay upright on highway one as 35 mph gusts pushed us about. Ironically I was actually glad to see the left turn onto Coleman Valley appear when it did. My lower back was a constricted disaster but Murali was climbing strong. He pushed ahead as I struggled to find the right tempo for the intermediate approach. I kept looking up and to the left for that ramp; the one DWP described as a headboard. Then it loomed above me and there was no escaping it. I put my head down, focused on my breathing and climbed the bugger. Above the tree line, the wind actually was quartering behind me and that helped. I rounded the first big right hand corner and knew I had it. From there Murali and I rode steadily inland like polar explorers as the wind howled through roadside fencing... riders above and below us strung out like pickets on that god forsaken hill.

Back in the trees the road continued to angle up and down with the promise of a sharp short descent to Occidental one or two turns away, always one or two turns away. Eventually we passed the clapperboard-sided buildings on main street and began the final rush back to Santa Rosa. With the climbing over I found my legs again and actually ripped it when we hit the dirt for two miles of bike path at the last. It felt great to spend the last bit of energy drilling it on the rough stuff.

Murali and I shut it down and rode casually up the drive and across the timing mat to end our day. We chatted with a few people including John of Family Cycling Center who'd done the Specialized Vegas ride, the sun was shining and it was great to be done. I needed a shower and just wanted to get home, so I said my goodbyes and rode back to the hotel. Unfortunately it never occurred to me that I shouldn't ride back through the timing gate, which reset my finish time 35 minutes back. Not too bright.

I rejoined the bike path over to the Hyatt. The wind was gone, the temperature perfect, as I rode alone in complete silence. The enormity of the ride was setting in and I'm sure I was smiling to myself. Levi definitely has a mean streak ;-), and his ride took me to the edge of my abilities and stamina where ultimately I found a peaceful sense I'd given it my all. And that was his plan all along.

I washed the Mad Alchemy off my legs, spent ten minutes in the steam room and dressed for the drive back to San Jose. Quite a course and quite a day. I'm sure I'll sign up for punishment again next year Levi.

OK, so I didn't get to carry a gun or sleep with a hot girl named Heavenly Rider but getting a chance to see a new PRO bike months before its official debut at the Tour de France was pretty cool. After swearing I hadn't been tailed and signing an electronic NDA in the lobby, I nervously put on the S-Works blindfold and let myself be led by a circuitous route to a holding cell deep in the bowels of Specialized's Morgan Hill HQ.

A bug sweep and polygraph administered by a heavily embrocated Belgian named Wout seemed to satisfy the watching security cameras because the test abruptly ended, a heavy steel door opened and I was welcomed into a brightly lit locker room to shower and put on the red overalls I'd be wearing for the duration of my stay. "Can I keep these", I inquired? "Afraid not, they're paper and they contain a special accelerant that flash incinerates when it comes in contact with outside air. "Oh, it's too hot to go outside anyway"... I offered looking down at my crotch and nervously zipping up.

In actual fact Specialized's Design/Tech center does bear a certain resemblance to James Bond's Q Branch, with all manner of apparatus for testing the two-wheeled weapons coming out their labs. My assignment was to photograph a brand new Tarmac SL3 build, smartly dressed in Saxo Bank Team livery, as it got its final adjustments and tweaks. This was the culmination of another two year project to improve and refine Specialized's flagship road racing platform; a few weeks later the bike would be under the Schleck's, Sparticus and Boonen, front and center in the peloton circling France.

At this rarefied level, every piece of carbon in the Tarmac's composition and every gram of resin that bonds the SL3 layup had been optimized through countless prototypes, machine tests and rider feedback. With so many accomplished riders on staff, and a daily hammerfest on the back roads of Northern California, they've got the equivalent of a Formula 1 test program even before sponsored riders provide their invaluable feedback.

In a well lit "build room" bustling with activity, engineers and mechanics, Andy Schiffer, R&D Shop Supervisor, took charge of the final build details: fine-tuning Red shifting; trimming/crimping cables; and wrapping the bars all the while fielding a constant stream of questions and requests from Product Managers looking for project builds of their own. Luc Callahan and Brad Paquin, lead engineers on the SL3 project joined in the discussions and I got some photos of them inspecting the headtube of a second SL3 frame with a fiber optic camera.

Using the tool Brad and Luc got an accurate picture of the FACT (Functional Advanced Composite Technology) details inside the frame that contribute to its exceptional stiffness to weight ratio. While we've all come to appreciate the benefits of optimized tube profiles and graceful transitions in advanced road bikes, Specialized has made significant advances further contouring, ribbing and gusseting the internal surfaces of the Tarmac's four monocoque sections to improve performance. Inner Space, the next frontier.

I kept shooting and pretty soon the bike was complete and ready for some glamor shots. We had about an hour before the lunch ride ritual when everything, and seemingly everyone stops what they're doing, kits up and rides out for an hour of high stakes (as in bragging rights) pedaling. If I were to sum up the experience of visiting Specialized I'd highlight three things.

Science. If you ride a Specialized bike you can feel confident there's real science working in the machine beneath you. Bikes like the Tarmac are not the product of tinkering and accident. There's enough pseudo science in sports equipment to put a man on the surface of Arizona if you know what I mean, but the engineers behind the stylized "S" really know what they're doing.

Creativity. This is a cool place to work, and the building is full of beautiful bicycles, many of them one-off creations and prototypes, not to mention cycling photography and art. You could definitely spend several days in the building and not run out of interesting things to discover.

Legs. The Specialized crew has the legs to rip most of ours off. They all ride and its a wonder any of them have cars and houses because I get the impression they're the first in line to buy the bikes they're designing and building. Happy addicts, every single one of them.

Oh, and the car. It's the creation of Robert Egger, who heads up the Specialized Design team. It was parked a few feet away from where Robert was working on a helmet prototype. Makes a very nice background doesn't it.

Fast forward to the present. I've got a matte black 54cm SL3 sitting in the garage for the next couple of weeks. SRAM Red, Zipp 202s, and trick TRP brakes add up to one super light rocket. It's more lethal than a flame throwing fountain pen. Thanks Sean.

Saturday morning Brendan and I parked at Lucky's and set out for our first long ride together in some time. As usual, our plan to take it easy early was disturbed by a tailwind and some fast company on Foothill. Neither of us said anything of course, we just raised our speed to keep the wheels in front. I suppose when we stop doing this we'll be dead.

We rolled along, passing a disturbing memorial to another fallen cyclist on an innocuous uphill stretch of Sandhill. By the time we reached the foot of Old La Honda the overcast was lifting. I pocketed my Stowaway Jacket and Brendan shed his Softshell Gilet for the climb. We rolled over the little stone bridge and into the shaded quiet of the hill. If we thought we'd be suffering alone it didn't last as a large group ride intent on getting home for lunch surrounded us with chatter and shifting gears before spitting us out the back.

With a wave Brendan cut me loose to find my own pace to the top. I picked off a few back markers and glanced at my watch to calculate how much pain was left before Skyline. The last sharp pitch came soon enough and then the mailboxes appeared signaling I'd reached the top. Brendan came along a few minutes later. We fueled up, took a couple of pictures and then put the outer layers back on for the fast descent down 84.

Flying down the smooth surface of 84, we shot past the Pescadero cut off and made straight for the coast fighting a pretty strong headwind. Taking turns on the front we made good time though. Gray mist still clung to the golden hills and drifted above us in the company of a lone buzzard. At Stage Road we pulled into the San Gregorio General Store for provisions (a mint It's It bar for me) and water. We'd caught up with the group ride and between all the bicycles and motorcycles parked out front the place was full up. Per the establishment's rules, we took off our shoes and padded about inside to get what we needed.

Flashback: the night before I'd told Brendan I'd swapped stems between my Cervelo and Enigma. He commented that switching equipment before a long ride was potential trouble and then he showed up that morning with a brand new Brooks leather saddle. Yes, I said a brand new Brooks leather saddle. A Brooks. Leather. Saddle. Have I given it enough emphasis.

By the junction at San Gregorio Brendan's nether regions and the Brooks were in violent disagreement. To make it clear just how uncomfortable the relationship had become, the saddle was creaking like an old hag with every pedal stroke. We rode up the Stage Road spur to Highway 1 then down to Tunitas Creek and the right that would take us back over the hill to the valley.

Tunitas never fails to impress, at least until the climb really starts to bite. In the cool of the Redwoods, the new asphalt put in for the Tour of California was black and velvet smooth. The stickiness of the first few months was gone. Conversation ended shortly after the smooth stuff started and we settled into our respective rhythms. I battled the hill, Brendan battled the hill and the Brooks. Someone had spray painted mile markers on the pristine surface and somewhere around 2.5 miles to the summit the worst was over. My back was tightening up so as soon as the slope eased I got out the saddle and pushed the pace back to Skyline. Brendan appeared in good time, sore but soldiering on.

Another brief pause to throw on the Stowaway and we were off down King's Mountain to Woodside. On the descent I was uncomfortably tailed by a car with a bike rack on the roof; what's up with that. Then in the middle of a tight series of S turns, a dirt bike coming up the hill wheelied past a car into our lane as we approached. WTF.

In Woodside I began a caloric binge that would last well into the evening with an apple juice, half a ham and cheese sandwich, and a piece of coffee cake. That had me stoked for the run back to Lucky's. By the time we got to the car, Brendan was contemplating riding on his seatpost sans saddle and threatening to sawzall the bike.

After driving Brendan home and putting away my bike and gear it dawned on me that I'd left my Rapha Stowaway and Cap in the parking lot at Lucky's. Panic. I jumped back in the car and blasted back to Los Altos remembering on the way that my debit card was in the jacket. Well, true to the store's name I was lucky. Thanks to the Stowaways compact size when folded the jacket and cap were still sitting next to the curb some 90 minutes after I left them.

About time I caught a break at the end of a week that saw Juli accidentally launder my Garmin 305 and a garage door opener. The opener survived the GPS did not.

"Yes, yes, I meant recumbent" as she started to laugh too.

I suppose if you were crazy enough to ride a recumbent but were considering a switch to a normal bicycle, your recumbent would be your incumbent bike. Weird.

And that reminds me of another famous malapropism uttered by my little brother years ago when he referred to his boss as "the head poncho". I replied... "You're working for the President of Mexico?"