Road Weary, a novella, chapter 1

Road Weary, a novella

Chapter 1

Today was not the day for this to happen.  Chris was already 10 minutes late to work and he knew they would be waiting for him as soon as he got out of the complex.  He had unwittingly used up his monthly allotment of Victory SMRs a few days earlier on a high-speed run to Walgreens for batteries and Milk of Magnesia.  And today was shaping up to be one of those awful days he hated the most. 

They seemed to come out of nowhere.  Every single time.  He had tried everything to evade them, or at least to stay ahead of them, but to no avail.  Even on the rare occasion that he could get out of the gates with a clear left-side view, they would inevitable be there as soon as he reached the next entrance.  Their behavior was both shocking and vexing.  But most of all it threatened his very sanity.  And it was for this reason that he had signed up for the SMR program. 

The problem he was facing, and he had been warned of this, was that he was constantly tempted to use an SMR on a sometimes less than eligible target.  He knew from the start that this would be a problem, though, as he was an impulsive person by nature…a FM in truth and action…and it was widely known that SMs and FMs are natural and mortal enemies.  They simply cannot coexist.  “Dammit,” he muttered as he feverishly scanned the road ahead for movement, “buggers are out there in force today…I just know it.”  The big V-8 rumbled along, quickly gaining speed as he approached the first neighborhood entrance just 400 meters down the road from his own entrance.  He hated the fact that he was gaining speed.  Hated it because he knew that the faster he went and the more time he gained would attract them even more.  SMs feed on efficiency.  They eat it.  They eat freedom and shit impedance.  “Miserable nits” he thought as he continued to scan the road ahead.  He had made it past the first entrance but that act, in itself, was progress and he knew…he could feel that they were somewhere up there waiting to roll out. 

Both he and the SMs were intensely selfish.  He knew this full-well.  The war erupted because both he and they were convinced that their selfishness was warranted and was, according to each party, better for mankind in the long-run.  He thought of the whole concept as a sort of Time Marxism.  After all, wouldn’t a society which was faster and more efficient, by law, be more free to pursue more creative and enriching endeavors instead of wasting away life driving around slowly and creating congestion in general?  Of course he had created his philosophy in a purely subjective frame of mind.  He was practically incapable of empathy or tolerance.  And he could no more understand the mind and motivation of a SM than they could him.  And in a nut, that is the reason why he was out of SMRs on this day.

Letter to Al--Hammerfest Report--Floss for Dummies

9/6/11

Open Letter to Al Standley

Dear Al,

Your pals and teammates wonder what has become of you.  We understand that you are dating someone.  We understand that you are probably happy at the moment.  We are worried about this.  It is a well-known fact around these parts that your muscles derive energy not from carbohydrate, but from rage and personal angst.  We are worried that your muscles will therefore atrophy and become like those of a moss-tooth carnival worker.  We wonder how we may aid you in this horrible situation, while sparing your dewy new relationship the awful display of your terrible bike-anger in an up-close and personal manner.  We know that you are probably lacking in real motivation right now but…

…hang on I have to review the rental car I picked up this morning while my truck gets Ziebart.

200something Chevy Malibu.  This is a horrible car.  The interior is so bland it makes me depressed.  The exterior looks like the pine box derby car I made when I was ten.  The stereo is like angry dwarves screaming into a steel drum.  When I press on the accelerator I feel a grinding sensation as the thing groans desperately for sixty in under thirty seconds.  In fact, the whole thing just makes me feel awful…like watching old reruns of Barney Miller or something.

So back to Al (I have my truck back now, complete with paint-protection and hood-film).

You know what?  Nevermind Al.  If he wants to have a relationship and get a huge beer-gut, let him.  But I don’t want to hear any complaining next spring when we are all having fun playing paceline punch-out at top speed while he’s dribbling away at the back like an old man trying to piss.  I guess our little baby’s all grown up…he’s FOUND that lovin’ feeling, whoooah that loooooovin’ feeeeeeling.  No matter…can’t fault him.  I found it also a couple years ago and married the chick.  But my riding style is such that I ride better when things go well in my life, unlike our hop-addled hero.  And so much for all that…

So, Al, cheers buddy!

Now in other news:  Hammerfest is all but done for the season, there are no more road races or crits of any consequence left, and silly cross season is looming.  This past Tuesday, there were all of eight of us at the start of Hfest and we decided to just go north and do echelon practice into the most awful cross-headwind I have felt in a long time.  I named it “Leviathan”.  This was a very difficult ride…difficult in a different way than normal Hfest.  Don, Damian, Mikey, myself, Jose, Ryan, and Court were all there.  Everything is harder when Court shows up.  With Court, it’s “no quarter asked for, and none given”.  We simply took turns pulling really hard for a minute or so at a time.  It was tremendously difficult just to hold your line and try to hide from Leviathan.  Mikey is the best at that.  He can literally shrink himself down at will and find shelter behind the tiniest of riders in the fiercest of winds.  I have seen this dozens of times.  Makes me laugh.  The weird thing is that he provides absolutely NO draft benefit to anyone behind him!  I don’t exactly know why this is because he rides pretty much the same as any of us…but when I try to catch a draft from him…nothing.  It’s like he’s a natural airfoil or something.  One notable comedic moment happened as Court was pulling at around 26 into a BLOC headwind and Jose tried to actually pass him and start a HERO-pull from second position.  He may as well have slammed into a sand-pit because we dropped 5 MPH instantly and all I could hear was a terrible gasping sound and cursing in Spanish.  He pushed furiously on the pedals, trying in vain to keep his cadence above 50 and his ass on the seat but it was no use…he was a goner.  I chuckled to myself as I passed him and took us back up to 26 until we got to Strawtown Road, where Damian and Ryan had the misfortune of taking us to Cyntheanne and the journey home.  The return leg was pretty much 30 to 32 MPH all the way.  I did the lead-out at the end and Don and Court sprinted it out.  Good ride. 

UPDATE:  It is now about a week after I started this screed.  I could not figure out how to go from Hammerfest to something else…and I really didn’t need to but I wanted to give a shout-out to my dentist.  So here is my transition to that:

Transition

So I went to the dentist today (Grin Dentistry, by the way—good people, a team sponsor, very hi-tec equipment, and Dr. Rick’s wife, Dr. Mundy-Burgett is the Chief.  In less than an hour I am scraped, polished, fluorided (not really a word), and x-rayed.  Very efficient and comfortable with massage dental chairs and TV in each room.  I was told, for the hundredth time to floss more.  I said I would.  But I will certainly not.  If everyone who said they would floss would actually floss, the people who make floss would be very wealthy.  And I know EXACTLY what that means… The floss industry would explode.  We would have floss-IPO millionaires, or “floss barons” if you will.  They would marry dimwitted and tanned young coeds and fly about the world behaving like the internet billionaires of the Twentieth Century, all drunk on power and gin but with healthy gums and Maseratis.  There would be marketing campaigns with high-powered celebrities looking glamorous and tan in exotic places with bikinis on…flossing.  MTV would create a reality show based on the ex-wives of the floss barons with lots of ruthless bickering about alimony and inflatable lips and all of them would passionately hate floss and their ex-husbands and cheap chardonnay.  But Snookie would love floss because it tastes “hot, bitch”.  Proctor and Gamble would buy Oral-B and create exciting new flavors and maybe even floss infused with green tea or acai berries or even laudanum.  Eventually there would be mergers and acquisitions of the various floss companies and antitrust lawsuits and the now behemoth floss conglomerates would begin to profoundly affect the US and world economy.  A congressional bailout would surely follow and it would cost us all a lot of tax money.  Finally it will be discovered that floss causes mesothelioma and cervical cancer and possibly rabies and pregnant women or women thinking of becoming pregnant will NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES be able to touch floss or they may experience nausea, irregular heartbeat, and possible birth defects for their as-yet unconceived babies.  Then there will be many lawyers and class-actions and the floss companies will be investigated in Congress and 99% of the floss on the market will be recalled until a safe alternative can be investigated.  Then floss will be considered a Schedule II narcotic, which is the same class as morphine, oxycontin, and amphetamine.  Now the drug companies will take over the industry and floss will have to go through many phases of trials with animal testing before it can be placed on the market.  Prescription floss will be very expensive and highly controlled because of the potential for abuse. 

So as you can see…nothing good can come of this ridiculous floss thing.  And I REFUSE TO PARTICIPATE and make the world any worse than it already is. 

--Richterissimo

August 15

Wrap-up: State Road Race—Tuesday shmoozeday—Trigonometry for Bikers (or Mass Ave if you prefer)—and Thank God the 7 comes before the 9 now…

So the state-champs road race was possibly the greatest turnout (hang on…Patrick Cox from Taxmasters is on TV right now and I must stop and watch for 30 seconds because he is possibly the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen).

Sorry…anyway the state-champs road race was possibly the greatest turnout the Heroes Foundation team has ever had for a single event! (crap…sorry again but I can’t help but wonder if bed bugs have eaten off the left side of Patrick Cox’s face. Is that why he is always in profile on those commercials?)

So we had a bunch of dudes and my wife up in the Fort for the state champs. It was very hot and very sunny with a not-so-pleasant breeze blowing in from the west. Total elevation gain for the race was two feet per lap. Those two feet are an aggregate of the several inches we gained every time we went over potholes. Other than that…not much going on but lots of maize. (you call it corn, we call it maize…remember that commercial?) So like I said, we brought lots of people to race and many of them had never raced before which means we pretty much had like 10 guys racing 5s. I believe the only reason we did not WIN the 5s is that most of our guys simply did not have any experience with actual race tactics. They are all strong enough to win a road race…just not as tactically astute as the others. For this reason we are considering devoting the rest of the Hammerfests to teaching race tactics to those who want to learn. We decided to do this because anyone who can do Hammerfest and stick it for all six laps is fit enough to compete in their respective categories. And it is at that point where tactics determine how successful you will be as a racer. And THAT is when it gets fun! I will explain: someone who is barely fit enough to stay in the group during a race will expend most of their mental energy worrying about whether or not they can hang on when the pace goes up to 30, and for how long. This is NOT fun. Worrying like that depletes your adrenaline and turns you into a Piggy. BUT…when you are fit enough that you don’t have to worry about hanging on, you can focus on when and where to attack or what break to go with or how far back you want to be when the sprint begins or even when to eat your turkey sandwich, Damian. And when you can focus on those things instead of your fitness, you turn into a Roger…and Roger sharpens a stick at both ends.

So what does all that have to do with the Cat 5 race up in Fort Wayne, Indiana? I’m not completely sure but it was fun to think about. And that’s all that really matters to me. But the POINT! The point is that most of our guys can win races…they just don’t know HOW. Now I can remember when I started racing bikes back in 1993 I did well just by riding as hard as I could for the whole race. That was mountain bike racing. When I started doing road races, I learned really quickly that I might be faster than most of the guys I was racing, but they were all beating me. So I learned how to measure my efforts and make them count when it mattered most. That took about ½ of one race. I quickly learned who was fast, who could win solo, who could initiate a solid break, and who the gnats were. I learned NEVER EVER EVER to follow a gnat attack and never to allow a gnat to be in a break with me because their pulls are weak and their confidence is like soft butter. And speaking of confidence…it is muy importante. It is maybe the most important thing after basic race fitness. Someone who has no real confidence will attack and then immediately look back for reinforcements. This is not the guy to go with. The guy to go with is the one who attacks strong and does not care if you come or not. He knows full well that he is capable of starting something and simply HOPES that someone else will come up and help out a little. And if no one does, he does his best to stay away. If he gets caught, no big deal…at least he had the Pelotas to do something.

Right…I am spending too much time on this. The point is to go with that last guy and not the doucher.

So we could have won the 5s but we didn’t. But I believe we will next time if we spend some time teaching our less experienced guys how to race. Good stuff…

So we did well in the other categories on the whole. Jacob K, who has too many consonants in a row in his last name, got 6^th in Cat 3, I got 4^th and Langan got 6^th in Masters 35+, Ryan Tragesser, who races for Matthews but who we have adopted for road events, got 7^th in M35+, and Damian got very upset at the spare tire truck. Oh and Steve Down placed 15^th, Greeney 16^th, Tim Konrad 27^th, Jose Cisneros 29^th, Lee Jackson 30^th, Jeff Hess 31^st, and Ryan Nolting 34^th in Cat 5. I hear they tried to run a train several times but they created such a powerful draft that my Grandma Richter could have kept up on her adult trike. So next time we’ll get a better plan together.

The Masters race was really fun and Scott Moon took off from the gun in a throwback breakaway from the 90s that lasted all the way to the finish. I felt very good that day and attacked numerous times and finally got across with Court and a couple others. We stayed away and I cramped very badly but managed to stay in it until the end for fourth. Mikey got 3^rd in the field sprint which gave him 6^th in 35+ and Ryan T was right behind him. Good enough for a beer, brothers…

So the Mass Ave Criterium was a triangle. That’s about all I can say about that. I started the 1 / 2 race and pretty much immediately dropped out. My head was just not into it. This is the time of year when I start to get bored with riding all the time and the ol’ motivation just goes away. That race started at 32 MPH immediately with bumpy pavement and super tight corners and I just suddenly realized that I was not having, nor would I have any fun at all that night. So I pulled out and Hans bought me a beer and I thought that was a much better way to spend the rest of the evening.

Damian and Court did well in the Masters race and little Tommy Cox won the day. I saw him in the parking lot with a bouquet of flowers and a half-empty (or full if you are optimistic) bottle of champagne…which I think would have been the BEST way to spend the rest of the evening…but champagne must be earned, whereas beer can be bought, and I had friends with money but my competitive spirit has waned. So thanks, Hans.

I think I’m pretty much done racing now unless I get a wild hair and decide to do Z-ville, which is right down the street from my house. Yesterday I went out with Beth on cruisers and pedaled around JUST FOR FUN and it was great! We got about 10 miles in and my heart rate never rose above 120. I never felt any lactic acid. When we hit a headwind, I simply geared down and rode more slowly. When we had a tailwind, I tried my best to coast for as long as I could. I wore flip-flops and a t-shirt. I did not take a water bottle. We stopped at a friend’s house and said howdy and I didn’t worry about my legs getting “cold”. If we saw a cool neighborhood, we rode in and checked it out. We smelled barbecue and heard kids playing and birds singing. We talked about stuff without having to take a breath every four words. And best of all, my wife and I enjoyed riding together without me worrying about how much time I got in for the day and generally being a brooding, neurotic mess. I’m looking forward to that type of riding for a while. It’s not so hot these days, although it’s August and I know that can change. Today I have both doors open at the shop and there is a fine fresh breeze whisking itself around in here and telling me to loosen the screws a little…at least until cross season shows up and those weirdos start calling…

--Richterissimo

August 2

When I drove home last night I was cross-eyed. Hammerfest was terrifically brutal. Here is the way my mind remembers it:

Chaos! Lap 1: Gunshot and burning legs, too fast, very hot, Al and Court and Don go too FAST every freakin’ time on the first lap. No time to properly prime the engine. Al has his legs back. SW wind makes 238 very fast. Don’t like taking my pulls but stubbornness prevails. Swollen legs and who the hell is on the front?! Might quit this one after a couple laps and just ride slow by myself. 97 degrees or something close. Measure your ENERGY, MAN! ...and no hero-pulls. One, two laps done in record time and where in burning Hades is everyone?! Drop half the group in three laps. Long pulls down 238 on the false-flat going 27 up the hill and my torso is rocking left to right, right to left already...forearms parallel to the ground, hands hanging over the hoods, head cranked up as far as I can with eyes fixed hard and steady two guys up...don’t look at the wheel in front of you, just sense it and don’t overlap...but definitely stay close...no more than an inch or three. Echelon snakes right to left with tremendous wind and it’s really hard to hold a line. Huge rocky minefield all along the shoulder on this stretch and the noise in my ears is thunderous. Snipers firing from all directions...razor sharp boulders everywhere! Someone has booby-trapped this thing...they are hunting us with wind and heat and terrible, terrible speed. Across the bridge at 32 and hit the hill full-force and why the hell does it always have to be ME that gets stuck with the damned hill?! Stay in the saddle and drop a gear and pedal hard and keep the cadence above 90 and now there’s only like six of us left and it’s SO FREAKIN HOT! Around the corner onto 136th and you finished the hill, stud, so you have to start the 136th run so do your best to get back up to speed before you blow up and can’t get back on because Don and Court are next up and there you go...you made it. Down the hill and across another bridge before the double-tier hill past the rock-garden where Logan fell (Logan’s Run) and son of a B you get the hill again but it’s okay because it’s lap 4 and your systems are coming on-line now and the snipers have all gone home for dinner and a pull from the jug...get this thing in the books before they come back with worse aim but more aggression and blood-lust. Up the hill and through the S-curve and back up to 32 with a cross-tail wind and we are lapping people and some of them get back on and then they get back off and I think there are just four of us left now...Damian and Don and Court and Chris. Now on to Cyntheanne where we have headwind all the way but a little bit of a windbreak on the right side of the road. No matter...still fast and hard and HOT but it’s smoother now because we all know how to rotate well and that means a faster average speed.

Mind starts to wander as I think about this and realize that this is why a good break can gain so much time on a huge field...guys that know how to properly rotate and stay smooth can conserve so much more energy than the gnats that NEED to do stupid hero-accelerations when it’s their turn to pull just so they can demonstrate how strong they are when all they really do is disrupt rhythm and cause the guy in back of them to exert more energy than necessary thereby causing a chain-reaction of bad-craziness that eventually leads to a slower pace. Hero-pulls are for legitimately chasing a dangerous break or for keeping a break alive when it’s about to die. Hero pulls should be a minimum of 30 seconds to a minute...not five seconds of stupidity. Hero-pulls are NOT for just taking your turn in line when you have no intention of doing anything of consequence beside demonstrating your impotent vanity.

And enough with all that...my calves are cramping, probably because of my insistence on shoving my cleats all the way forward on my shoes because I theorize that by creating a longer lever and keeping it rigid with very strong calves, I can increase my torque on the cranks and produce more power. I am actually still convinced that this is partially true but my calves do tend to wear out when I go hard for more than a couple of hours. Jeff Frame says this is patently ridiculous and he’ll prove it to me with a 30-second Wingate test for max power with my cleats all the way back. I may take him up on it but I may not. I’m not sure I want to be proven wrong. And anyway it doesn’t matter now because it’s lap six...

...and it’s now just Don, Court and myself and Court just laid down a vicious run going down 238 to dump Damian and it took Don 30 seconds to get us back on. Thanks Don but you better grab some cover because the Billies are back and their gin-blossoms are glowing white-hot with the sort of rage that only the truly oppressed can muster. It’s all self-directed in truth but don’t get in their way...more dangerous than a starving wolverine (which will attempt to kill anything that moves, even a moose). Up 238 hill, around the corner, accelerate smooth, down the hill and across the bridge...up Logan’s Run and around the S-turn and finally on the back-stretch and headed for the last corner. Very sweaty now and I look back and we are already out of sight. I know full-well that I can usually out-jump Court or Don but I am full-on knackered and cross-eyed and I vow to take every last pull until the end because that’s what this ride is for...hard training. Headwind hits hard around the corner and we march down Cytheanne toward the church and the little bridge-hill and the 1K to go line and I JUST CAN’T GO ANY FASTER and the terrible screaming wind sounds like banshees chasing us to our doom. Then the anticipation as we get to 500 to go. I just go to the front to avoid any confusion and do my best to lift the pace to at least 27ish. We all sprint at once and my right sartorius snaps like a rubber-band and ends up somewhere in my chest cavity near my liver and I swear it would have been a photo-finish. I honestly don’t know who “won” and I don’t care. I am in oxygen debt for about five minutes and my tongue is weirdly stuck to itself on the underside because I have no moisture left in my mouth. Court’s eyes look like Schwarzenegger’s in Total Recall when they used that machine to generate an atmosphere and it took a little while and Quaid and that girl fell down the side of the mountain and couldn’t breathe and their heads almost blew up with their eyes the size of bloodshot oranges. Yeah...bloodshot oranges. And we call it a day.

Back home to a protein shake and bed. My awesome wife made dinner but I could not eat it because my stomach digested itself to feed my quads and hammies. She also made triple-chocolate brownies which were just coming out of the oven when I got home. She then took them ALL to work today to give to SOMEONE ELSE! (she promised to save me...two)

-Richterissimo

August is Hot

So I am almost comfortable calling myself a bike racer again. I have been out twice now and feel pretty strong, except for the last two days because lots of riding. Tuesdays are almost a race also and it’s always hard. I am going up to FW Saturday to do the state champs and if I can recover in time, I should do well. Then it’s Mass Ave and whatever straggler races I can think of this fall…maybe even Franky T’s Cyclocross extravaganza.

Training has been consistently good this year. My skin is very brown from the constant exposure and I have been clinically dehydrated for three months straight now. It is at least 90 degrees every day and tonight I am going to Tractor Supply to see about getting a salt-lick. I eat ten thousand calories every day and drink five gallons of water. I am proud of my ribs and linguini arms and I hope to get down to around .5% body fat soon. I believe this will make me faster and hopefully I will be able to ascend the many long climbs around here with gusto…and aplomb.

It is now tomorrow, which is to say that yesterday is today. What I mean by that is that I started this piece today (yesterday) and am now finishing it tomorrow (today). Words and time are fun. So are custom insoles. Jeff Frame, the eminent Fit Guru and physiology genius came by last night to fit my wife and I for custom insoles. I am excited. Every time I talk to Jeff I feel like my IQ goes up by 10%. He is the most natural physio/fitter I have ever met, which means that he has a supernatural understanding of the human body as it relates to cycling and is able to translate that knowledge and passion into the most amazing bike fits/shoe orthotics/workout plans that I know of. Anyone interested in Jeff’s services should contact me and I’ll get you contact info.

So it looks like there are about 20 or 30 guys going up for the state road race this Sunday. Most of them are doing cat 5, which is a good thing. It means that a lot of the guys that are only used to doing the weekend rides and Hammerfest are going to try racing. They should do quite well considering that most of our team rides are faster than most road races I’ve ever done. I firmly believe that if you can hang on at Hammerfest for all six laps, you should be a top-ten finisher in most of your road races. Road races are easier than crits, by the way. Less chance of crashing also…unless you get bored or corn-hypnosis. Northern Indiana road races are way flat and way windy. I tend to get really really bored at these things. I’ll start thinking about the store, or my tomato plants, or weird song lyrics. I may end up singing MacArthur Park over and over in my head for thirty miles. I may begin to notice little idiosyncrasies in the pack to which I would normally be oblivious…like when I saw Damien pull out a full-on turkey sandwich in a Ziploc bag when we hosted the state race in 2009. I remember it was on white bread and he ate it like any fifth-grader in a lunchroom…only we were not in a lunchroom, we were on 113^th street going toward Ringer Road. I thought that was pretty smart. Why restrict yourself to fibrous muck-bars and sugar gel?

I may also think of profound things like Amit Goswami and his theories on consciousness creating our physical universe and not the other way around. Nonlocality…Schrodinger’s cat…What is God…..memories of the panic in the 80’s when Reagan ran the government on what was then a staggering 200 billion-dollar deficit and we now routinely have over one trilltion-dollar deficits with 2011 close to 1.5 trillion. That is nearly 10% of GDP. I think it is wise to loathe politicians. The needs of the nation will never outweigh the need to be re-elected. Everyone wants job security. Very simple. No need for over-analysis. The deficit will continue to grow. We will continue to borrow. Money is cheap with a AAA credit-rating and lenders love interest. Interest is just money that goes away from us and toward a lender. This is money that has no inherent value to back it up. It is a kickback for someone being shrewd enough to recognize someone else who needs money and is willing to provide that money in exchange for a larger sum down the road. We pay for shrewdness. This is ridiculous because you cannot pay interest unless you have enough natural resources to exploit to make up the difference. We probably do but we keep too much of them here in the US where we sell it to ourselves at huge profit margins, thus weakening the lower and middle-classes and reducing our exports which could be used to overcome the interest that we pay on our foreign debt that we use to finance silly government programs like rockets to outer-space and making glow-in-the-dark mice. (I am most-likely grossly inaccurate on everything I just said but that’s okay because I am not trained in economics, just fixing bikes).

Anyway at some point I come back to the race from LaLa Land and maybe there is a break up the road and maybe I’m in it or maybe not. If I am not in the throes of terminal cramp I will position myself up near the front (this is instinctual, and I am very crabby when someone tries to bump me out of the way). Then we sprint and I finish somewhere. Langan has a cooler filled with a hundred cokes and probably some sort of Nabisco snack cake food. I just want beer now and for my wife to drive me home while I fight the Jimmy legs. And that’s a road race.

Good luck and I hope someone brings some SunKing Osiris.

Ninety-Twosday....Logan’s Run.....Langan can climb?....From Gnats to Bats.....and an Eagle Creek Wrap-up.

So the Festival of Hammers was, once again, Hot as Balls and I am now at the point where 92 just feels normal. I drink around three gallons of water a day and still don’t have water intoxication or cerebral edema so I guess I’m okay. And the weather forecast for the next ten days looks like more of the same. Joy! Remember last summer when it was over 90 for about 40 days straight? Yeah I do too. It reminds me of a Simpsons episode when Homer attached a tent to the open refrigerator in their kitchen and created a cold room where he could relax in his tight-whites. Fun stuff.

Anyway Le Tour de Cyntheanne was really hard this week! We all rode fast and aggressive and smooth, with the possible exception of Crazy Legs Troiano, aka The Bat...who is extremely strong but who is more accustomed to doing wretched triathlons instead of bike races (or simulated races like said Festival). I hope he doesn’t read this because I don’t want to offend him, he is a great friend from way back in the day but, T, you frighten me sometimes in the line! But no matter. LIke I said, we were all riding well and on the first ascent of the 238 hill, Mr. Langan rode 30+ up the thing while seated and I really thought he was going Kamikaze Death March and his big legs were going to rip apart like that guy in the Animatrix when he figured out he was not real...but none of that was the case. He simply finished his pull and drifted back about four places and continued to rotate. I think we were all flabbergasted (sp?). Apparently Mikey is back from his sojourn to slowsville and is ready to get it on. I saw him pumping away furiously on numerous occasions the whole ride trying to make things hard. And maybe, just maybe one of the reasons he did this thing was because of Eagle Creek the Sunday before (sorry dude). In his own words...”I forgot to bring my b_lls”.

So we pretty much just rode fast for five laps without much in the way of bad craziness...just good old hard riding. Even Green Giant was riding well and rotated in sync with everyone, except for when he attacked every single time up 238 hill to get a 10 meter gap. I understand now though...he just wants the ride to be harder. And apparently just taking longer pulls is not enough. But whatever. If I’m a sprinter, I want to work on my WEAKNESSES during a ride like this (taking long pulls at LT), not just sprinting up hills at every opportunity and then drifting peacefully back to the line while recovering. But, again, whatever. What’s important is that the gnats were not too bad on Tuesday.....

.....BUT...the ROCKS WERE!!! Just ask Logan Park, who decided to stop on the side of the road on the last lap and crush boulders with his helmet and elbow for some reason. See pictures above. I don’t know exactly what happened because I was leading up the hill when I heard a loud CRACK. I immediately thought snapped fork, or femur. Then I heard someone shout “HOLD UP, HOLD UP...MAN DOWN!” So we all stopped and then everything went to slow-motion and for some reason we all went deaf and became nearly paralyzed while we surveyed the scene through the smoke and flying debris from the cluster bombs and burning tires all over the place. I saw Tom Hanks crouched down behind the remnants of an exploded tank...and he looked terrified. Damian was pacing back and forth, sort of tapping his hand against his thigh and jabbering to himself and looking for fingers and toes. Don was on his knees by the fallen youth with his arms raised toward the Heavens...tears streaming down his powder-burned face. I jammed my hand violently down into my jersey pocket looking for a morphine syringe but all I could find was a Hammer Gel...it would have to do. I swallowed the thing as quick as I could and sprinted to where the wounded boy was quivering on a pile of razor-sharp shrapnel. I asked him if he had a note for his father. He said that he didn’t but asked if I could tell his mom that “THIS THING I DID MATTERED!!!” Blood on the highway and crumpled yellow heap of teenager. I gently took his head in my arms and rocked him and rocked him and all I could think of to say was “You were good, kid...you were good, and do you mind if I strip your bike down and sell it for parts?” And then Tom Hanks conked me in the temple with the butt of his rifle and everything went black.

Well...at least that’s the way I see the Spielberg version of things. At any rate, there was blood and Logan was quite still for a few minutes but...the MOB Squad kit needed a bit more red on it anyway. I now christen 136th street between 238 and Prairie Baptist road to be “Logan’s Run”. And the rock garden into which the kid fell should be called “Logan Park”. It should also be called that because we all sort of had an impromptu picnic on the beautiful lawn there behind the rocks while waiting for the ambulance. It was actually quite nice! Gorgeous weather and nicely-manicured grass with just a hint of a breeze...and horses playing in the meadow next door. So...thanks Logan! And I’m glad you are not broken. Kid was strong the whole ride with numerous pulls and no fear. He has good potential. Mario is a genius at nurturing/encouraging/training talent with these youngsters. I wish I had had a guy like that when I was just starting to ride...instead of wasting my time pole-vaulting and trying to find more Mickey’s Big Mouths.

And with that whole scene wrapping up with the arrival of the Fishers Fire Brigade (ambulance and...fire truck? why a fire truck?) we decided to mosey back to the school without duking it out for the finish. Mikey had lots of Cokes in a cooler which were nice. Coke is the best first-line recovery drink you can have. Pure sugar and caffeine. I would have liked to have had (weird sentence) a nice IPA also but I have to drive to Z-Ville these days so booze is not such a good thing until I get home. Would have liked to have had--that’s like a a double past-perfect infinitive! Weirdly clumsy-sounding but I can think of no other way to do it. Oh well...

So Eagle Creek: Eagle Creek Traditional Crit went as follows: 35ish riders in 1-2-3 race go off and immediately a four-rider break goes away. No one in the field gives it any attention and within a few laps they have 30 seconds. Leibowitz attacks many times but the entire field chase him down every time and no one else (myself included) even tries to get away. Four-rider break wins the day with Joey Iuliano taking honors and Brett Stewart (who is my Zipp inside rep) rounding things out. The most interesting thing that happened, though, is that Graham Dewart, who is a Junior (I think) took a flyer with a few laps left and ended up holding the field off for a very respectable fifth place...solo. Also, I heard that with about a lap to go he projectile-vomited all the way down the finishing straight to the delight and wild cheers of the tens of people in the stands, er...grass on the side of the road. Leibowitz wins the field sprint and I get 12th, due to a Nuvo rider deciding to coast his way in on the right, blocking half the field after starting the sprint in a perfectly-reasonable position near the front. No biggie. That was my first race in like a year. I’m doing INDYCRIT next week so that should be fun and I hope to not get dropped like a bad habit.

Did you ever notice that Thomas Voeckler always looks like he’s near death? I bet he’s lost a couple of millimeters off his teeth over the years from the grinding. I wonder if he does that face when he washes dishes, or ties his shoes, or gets his mobile-phone bill in the mail.

Laterissimo

tomatoes

The maters are getting big now. They grow and grow and suck up water like Bounty. They are about four feet tall and almost too bushy. I estimate around 50-60 total tomatoes in various stages of ripeness. The goal is to make a helluva sauce one of these days. We also have a bunch of cayennes growing like mad right next to the maters. I ate one last night but they're not yet getting any heat. My impatience is legendary in these matters...I hate waiting. But these things take time. And so it goes for my farmer imitation.

I am watching the Tour right now. Very boring stage. Very flat. Very formulaic. This is why I don't pay as much attention anymore to pro racing. It just isn't very exciting. We all know what's going to happen, to a pretty good degree of certainty. On flat stages like this, everyone will ride "tranquilo" for most of the stage while a doomed breakaway goes up the road for their sponsor's tv-time. Then around 30K out, the peloton will start to ride hard to catch them. At around 10K out, the teams will be pretty well organized and the leadout trains will start to form. 5K out is time for consolidation of the trains and the sorting out of the contenders from the pretenders. 2K out is time for a crash and maybe someone takes a flyer off the front in vain, unless it's Cancellara. 1K out is full gas and maybe another flyer. Then all hell breaks loose and someone wins. Pretty much the same thing every flat stage. So it's really silly to watch the whole thing IMO. From 20K on it is good though. Right now they are at 118K out and I wonder why it's even on...

So I'll probably finish this cup and go ride myself for a couple hours. I'm gonna go racing this weekend so I don't totally waste this form I've found. I'll catch the replay later when I get to work. Hopefully no bonehead comes in and blurts out the winner while I'm watching. But no worries. Bike riding is fun stuff and I'm fortunate to have something like this in my life. It is my true church, after all.

I just saw Jens Voigt. He is great. I don't know if he uses drugs or not...probably so. I believe most of them do. But Jens at full-gas is the most perfect display of pure effort I've ever seen. That guy would swallow a live grenade if it meant he could go a half MPH faster. He is like an ostrich with rabies hunting tigers in the desert. He is a hunter who's gun jams so he just throws bullets at an elephant until it falls. He has no knees...just double-jointed ankles and four-foot quads. He practiced holding his breath until he could do it all night to increase his O2 capacity. He eats polar bear stew and drinks his own blood in his hut on top of K2...for strength. What a dude...

I think I'll go ride now. I see the sun. What a beautiful thing to go ride in the sun. Gotta breathe these days in and say Thank You to God for making all this.