a body in motion

sitting in a coffee shop in the manayunk neighborhood of philly, making a quick post on-the-fly, while i have a few minutes. petar and i have been up and down through the mid-atlantic a couple of times over the last two weeks... it's definitely the high season for the race service. i love being on the road, but i have to admit that i'm looking forward to getting home and having a bit of time for my own bike and moto and to get together with some friends over pints. time's up. back in motion, for now.

lovely scars

I'm getting deep into The Dharma Bums, but I figure I owe it to some people (like six of you, or so, who actually read this) to keep the updates coming. The fodder to fill this blank, white rectangle is something that is difficult for me to find, at moments. At other moments, I'm straining my seams with bold ideas and tales of adventure and deeds done, but I'm miles away from the keys. The whirling torrent of nonsense that is my psyche does not have the patience nor the amabition, despite my own best intentions, to keep anything meaningful or coherent for the amount of time it takes to get tab A to slot B. So I'm left with this blank, white rectangle. Its soft glow is maddening.

Conversation turned, the other night, to recurring dreams, so I've been giving mine some more thought and it occurs to me that I've had many in my lifetime - and still do, from time to time. In fact, a new one has cropped up in recent weeks. I am still drawing new details each time I wake from it. Putting the whole thing together is a painstaking process, but even once I understand it for myself - or at least have a clear picture of it in my head - I don't think I will share any of it here - some things are meant only for one's self. We all have our faults, shortcomings, and regrets in our lives; I'm just not ready to strip myself bare for all to see. Some claim doing so is a cathartic process, but I'm not even clear enough yet on what it is that has ailed me for these decades to begin any sort of healing. For now, I'll carry on, taking comfort from every scar and callus, knowing that each is tougher than the flesh it replaced.

don't honk at cylists unless you're sure you can back it up

This afternoon, I ditched work a bit early to get a ride in with ThomP,his fiancee Miriam, and a small crew that met up at International in Newton. The ride was short and sweet, about an hour and a half around Cutler Park, which lies just down the road from the shop. It was shaping up to be the perfect end to the day - a ride in the woods with some good friends on a sunny, April afternoon.

However...
As we were making our way back on the road at about 7:30pm, a driver laid on his horn as he passed our group. The road at this point, you may be interested to know, is three lanes wide with a center, turning lane, yielding plenty of room for a car to safely get around cyclists, even riding two or three abreast. Well, to make a long story short, I gave the driver a salute, which he returned in kind, to which I responded with a bark reserved for such occasions. "Come on!", accompanied with a two handed wave, beckoning back to myself. Really, my language got no more blue than that. What was stirring inside was much more serious.

I'm usually pretty good about bridling my rage. In a case of driver v. cyclist, though, that cool quickly unravels. I should continue to preface by letting you all know that I'm actually pretty ambivalent toward a lot of cyclists on the road, but let me explain this. Cycling, I believe firmly, has a place on the streets, without question. The problem I have is with many cyclists, not with cycling. Living in a large city for as long as I have, I've seen plenty of riders who eschew prudence and ride in an entirely lawless manner, without regard for any road user but themselves - cyclists, cars, pedestrians included. These people irritate me to no end because they are often also most vocal about their 'rights' on the road.

With all this constantly in the back of my mind, I ride respectfully, while taking advantage of my size on the road and clear view of my surroundings from which motor vehicles don't benefit. When I come to a line of stopped traffic, I'll ride through until things get moving again and merge back into the flow. I'll stop at an intersection, but if it's safe for me and won't interfere with other traffic, I'll slip across. I am, however, constantly cognizant of the fact that there are other users on the road, and I don't ever do anything deliberately to impede their own travel (Critical Mass, THAT is aimed directly at you). That behavior only broadens the rift and elevates the tension felt between motorized- and non-motorized- road users.

What this all comes down to is: When someone is inconsiderate enough to make an aggressive gesture of any kind toward me or the people riding with me, I take it personally. Very personally. As in: I lose it. Completely. It's a David Banner moment, for sure. And as I think back on it, it's probably best for me that the driver of that black Camry didn't stop. I like to believe I would have only given him a piece of my mind, but at that moment, I was thinking with my clenched fists.

i came back here for something, but i forgot what that is

So here I sit, thinking I'd like to go for a ride today, but instead of collecting my shit and getting my bike out of the basement, I find myself noodling on the computer and thinking about how much I really don't want to do anything outside when it's 39 degrees and windy. Having just come home from a week in Texas and the week before that in Southern California, this weather seems straight-up unreasonable.

Funny. This trip did one other thing to flip my perceptions. There was a time when I thought that, if I could afford it, it'd be nice to live somewhere in Southern Cal - not anywhere near LA or the Inland Empire where I was two weeks ago, but somewhere down the coast, near San Diego. This trip, though, I really fell for Texas.

The open and desolate expanses of West Texas, well, they are what they are and there's no arguing that. But on this trip, I discovered bits of Texas that no one ever tells you about. Austin (okay, so most of you know about Austin) is now one of my favorite cities in the world, thanks to the amazing music scene, great bars, crépes(?! Flip Happy!!), interesting landscape, and the generally relaxed and welcoming feel of the place.

Dallas is a genuine, big city that is way more cosmopolitan than anyone I've ever met is willing to tell you (Well, except Chris and Ann), and the rolling, green, tree-dotted landscape that surrounds it is nothing like the Texas we all think we know. Drive south on I-45, out of the city and toward the Sam Houston National Forest, and it becomes just plain stunning.

And then there's the people. I learned that Texas' state motto is "Friendly", which a group of us joked about when we first dug up that bit of trivia. After a few days, though, it began to occur to me - it's true, and not in a weird way, but in a very genuine way. As a lifelong Bostonian, I'll openly admit I have some preconceived notions about the nature of people - most of them are not flattering. Seven days in Texas made me question every last one of them. Now, I can't get the place off my mind.

with trowel and mortar in one hand, discarded shoelace and torn scrap of paper in the other, and after too long, i find myself ready again for battle

I once proudly wore the moniker “wordsmith” – a dirty, red brick on my shoulder that was equal parts chip to be knocked off, cornerstone to build great edifices of conversation, and missile to carry argument through window pane.

As I rove a distant corner of the vacant lot that has been my creative self - a barren place of decay and rubble and dull throbbing and grey - I shuffle my feet through the dust and watch the cloud billow and swirl and settle. My mind is at once everywhere and nowhere until the flash of brilliant white that accompanies pain as a toe meets a corner in the dark - the corner of a dirty, red brick.

The dry earth surrounding it, packed hard with neglect, chafes and leaves my knuckles bloody, but it feels good. It feels good to be down low and raw and rough. It feels good to claw and dig and tear away at the debris. It feels good to have my brick back.

slacker

Okay, so I am. There's no way around it.

It's been a miserable January with weather that's gone a bit like so: bitter cold, snow, shovel, melt a little, more cold, ice, more snow, shovel again, cold again, a little more snow, rain, flooding, ice, more chiseling, more shoveling, more cold. Through all this, I haven't been able to get out on the bike and that makes me a bit cranky... just a bit.

On the work-front, things are moving along slowly with prep for Tour of California. We got our wheels weeks ago, but we've been waiting until today for the rubber to show up - not Michelin's fault, we completely dropped the ball. But, to make matters worse, as we're unpacking the boxes we discover that we're short by one - and that one is filled with our entire order of 700x18-23 tubes. FedEx blew that one for us. "It's probably on the truck here, somewhere, but I don't see it." Fuckers. Of course, the truck needs to roll on Wednesday, so I hope our driver manages to "see" our box of 200 tubes on Monday, preferably before he drives away this time.

All of that is really inconsequential when held under the harsh light of reality shone by a couple of other things going on in my personal life. The brightest of all (by being the darkest) was when the doctor discovered a malignant tumor in my father's right lung. Early detection is the key, here, and as the tumor was very localized in the upper lobe, they were able to remove the entire mass and he was released from the hospital yesterday. He's still (obviously) got a long road ahead of him, but the worst is over.

Now I can return my focus to spending a day on Monday, blistering my thumbs, then loading and sending the truck on its merry way across the country. I'll follow a few days later with Nate in one of the Saabs, picking up another in Milwaukee along the way.

I never believed, even for a moment, that this thought could ever pass through my mind, but I can't wait to get to Sacramento.

misery loves company... or sometimes just being left alone

I was glad to read on ThomP's blog that I wasn't the only one having trouble finding motivation to go for a ride today. I've been fighting this all-around disgusting depressed feeling for the last few days and I still can't put a finger on why. The upshot of this is: I end up having a terrible time getting myself to even set foot out the door.

I had promised, last week before the holiday, to arrange a group ride with friends and coworkers who have part or all of this week off and had subsequently come to dread the very idea of pulling it all together. An overactive sense of duty pushed me to make it happen, despite myself, and so the email fired away last night with the invitation for a Monday morning ride. Although I expected he would not have the day off, I included ThomP on the distribution, as I always do. That crucial decision would prove to be the ultimate unraveling of my plan to be a lazy ass and drink coffee and mope on a 60-degree day in December. Thom replied to my message with regrets, but asked whether I was thinking of riding today. I had been, of course (I'm always thinking about riding... but mostly I was thinking about not riding). After another volley of emails back and forth (I assume Thom, like I, was sitting at his computer with a cup of coffee, wild hair, glazed eyes, and still wearing the clothes he slept in - at noon or so) I decided this would be a lot easier over the phone (and that way I could be employing both of my laptops and my phone, all at the same time... gawd I'm a dork). On the phone, I prodded Thom to update his Flash Player and watch the final laps of the Superprestige - all the while my own resolve to do some heavy-duty not-riding began to wash away.

Thom, apparently, has recently taken an aversion to getting dirty, so he blathered on and on and on about riding his Sweet Fixie instead of his mountain bike so he wouldn't have to get dirt under his carefully trimmed fingernails by cleaning his bike afterward. There was something in there about a recent manicure and ruining the rose appliqués or something, but I had stopped paying attention at that point. But in that moment, I lost all control of myself and began unconsciously collecting my riding gear from around the room. Once off the phone, I caught the dramatic final lap of the Superprestige, put on my stretchy things, and bolted for the Jeep (The "J" is pronounced like an "H". Say "Heap").

Parker, when I got there, was still a snowy mess. The rain showers of the last few days had cleared the trails some, but the going was still quite slow and sloppy. In fact, I'd say about a third of the loop I took was unrideable or nearly-so. I couldn't take much more than about an hour of that torment, but it still felt good when all was said and done. And there's not much more to tell than that - no dramatic crashes, no helicopter rescues - just a bike ride (walk ride ride ride walk ride ride) in the woods. But I suppose tomorrow is another day.

The Ice Weasels Cameth

The race that ThomP and Colin put on last week was, by most accounts, a big hit. They both, with a load of help from a long list of friends and family, put together a fun and challenging course and created a festive atmosphere on a premium of space and resources. It just goes to prove: it's not what you've got, it's how you use it. Congratulations, guys.


And then the snow cameth

Yesterday, the Northeast got hit by it's first big snowstorm of the season. To keep from getting stir-crazy, and because a man's gotta eat, I decided to mount the Nokians on the Soma and brave the storm to meet Fiona and Leah for pizza and beers in Cambridge.



It's always a good time being just about the only thing on the road, except for the obvious plows and buses, and the very occasional car. Lucky for me - because the wet, heavy snow made holding a line difficult at points. For the majority of the ride, though, where the snow was well-packed-in, the going was smooth and fast. (The photo above was not taken while going quite as fast as you might be led to believe. My computer reads in km/h. Attempting that maneuver at 30+ in this snow... yeh... that just wasn't going to happen)

boom!.. winnah!

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of this week were filled with our annual planning meetings for Service Course at Mavic for the upcoming race season. The three long days in the conference room were filled with all the minutia of the program: how things were done over the past year, how things will be done in 2009, what needs to be axed, what needs to be ordered. From cables, housing, and crimps to spokes and rims to stickers and hats to tents and tools to clothing for our volunteer corps, no detail was too small to scrutinize - and all of that was just one afternoon's worth of topics. Now we use a few days to button-up the end of the year and then relax for a week or so before jumping feet first into putting our best laid plans into action. Or so I thought.

Boom. Tonight, I get hit with an email that I want to dance in the street over, but as is life, it's not that simple. Instead of relaxing over the break, I'll be getting deep inside my own head, weighing options, priorities, wants, needs... You get the picture. It's also possible I'm overreacting. I do that. It's possible that I could juggle a couple of things more easily than I imagine and with more help and support than I expect. These are all things I'll have to explore and scrutinize before the first of the year.

So, before I get ahead of myself, I think I need to sit back, take a breath, and relax. Things are good, and if I'm not careful, it's possible they might go and get better on me.

wet and wild

The office was closed today, thanks to an ice storm that knocked-out power for an estimated 300,000 people, including the office park where Mavic's U.S. headquarters is located. For me, it meant a day off I wasn't expecting. More importantly to me, my neighborhood, being about 15 miles south of the effected area, was relatively pleasant, if a bit soggy. Okay, really soggy. That wasn't going to stop me from getting a ride in, though.

After getting a few things done round the house that had gone neglected for too long, I kitted up and hit the trail for a quick loop. The trails were a series of rivulets, making the going challenging if I wasn't to end up completely soaked-through on this 46 degree day - not my idea of a good time, so I took it easy. I do enjoy slow-going on a day like today when I've pretty much got the place to myself, save for the dog-walkers near the parking lot where I would begin and end. In fact, I only crossed paths with three others on the trail, once I had left the pooches' play group behind.



My yellow shoes have seen their fair share of abuse at this point and I've got to say they're holding up well to everything I've thrown at them. The fit is great and they're incredibly stiff and stable for such a lightweight race shoe. After today's ride, though, I've got to admit that I'm really excited to get my feet into a pair of Mantras for the softer, grippier, more heavily lugged (if a bit heavier) outsole and for the included booties that will surely keep the feet warmer than the exceptionally vented Furys.

There's not anything remarkable to report, beyond that. "That" was enough to keep me satisfied on a day I otherwise could have spent in the cube farm.