I sat on the couch last night and thought about how much life is in a 45ish minutes of a cross race.
Then, it's much More, from the minute my alarm goes off on race day, and I lift my head off my pillow, eating, poops, music for the ride. The course pre-ride and finding good lines, rocks, segments that I know I'll have to fight getting dropped on.
Twisting the pedal up a hair, in the grid, and knowing that the offical starting ya has quick lips to the whistle so be ready.
This mud, these last races, it lets you know, how you respond, and judge yourself, does'nt it? It does for me.
One race weak, next race strong, and both I finish in 5th place.
Of all the seasons of racing, loud mouths hecklers, weeded out, training mates, strong. Blogs dead.
and what I feel out there, I work for it, earned, and it never seems easy,
To you, a pat on the back, well done.
It is a small boat, but we all seem to fit in.
I know that on a Sunday a few weeks into September, I want nothing more, than have some good racing done. Some memories, maybe it'll be of sitting under the pop up tent on a little sandy ground, by Sunset Lake, that will last. That when you wheel me out drooling for a soft food dinner, that don't require much chewing, I'll smirk. and you'll think it's a burp. I'll roll my eyes up, and look at you from under my bushy brows.
Sunday, I got a good bruised knee, on an enjoyable, slippery, great course, with some great new bits, Euro-ish, for a rare battle for me,
where I had 5th for a bit, but lost it, slid out just near the end of the finale lap, and rolled in for 7th. I wasn't even going to race, but knowing how much I like Bridgeton, I tought I'd just go, maybe a tad easier, and enjoy the Sunday.
Got into it, went way harder, and got a great result. The mud, rain.
The day befor, a jam band of two, were playing track side, at a course by the Black River, I wiped out, snapped the hanger, just in front of the band, with a limp chain I ran for a long way to the pit, got on my bike. spit, cussed, sped, and caught the back of the suffering pack, for a 16th. Good old Townhall.
or will the memory just end up being, following Kelly back to our cars,
in the spray, and Jersey trucks blowing, with the pit bikes, and a couple of pictures snapped at the steep run up,
whatever the memories are, I'm sure they will be grand.
I'm five races into this season, I've already retired from cross twice, sat in the penalty box for a foul, stood on the podium, some mud, some beer, fog, cx practice, drama, and tooling like a warrior on the run, about the local parks around my house tonight.
I've got a plus ten number of 50+ riders in front of me to a win.
a recycle bin of empties, a many of cx indoor trainer intervals done
I'm not quite deep enough into the season to have any hugs
but I am a work on my handshake grip, and
silent nod listening,
mind blown post race listening
I went out on my bike tonight, by myself, for a pick up game,
Hop the curb, make the fence cut out, around the tree, sprint.
a Behind the school, fish tail the playground mulch pit, zipity do dah, 500 yard full on dash.
Muscled up a too steep of a climb and shot back down it in the drops, knees knocking,
cause,that's what I need to get better at.
I'll be up early tomorrow to do some core, and off the bike work,
an easy spin, a stretch out, even got some breathing/meditation in there.
Friday, ...openers, Townhall, Beacon...
maybe a new blog, sunday.
into the land along the brandywine
I love the feelings I feel driving up the road,
the people I will see,
Granogue was the first race for me, of this cyclocross season.
the tower standing looking down on me from on the top of the hill
another out come
is a privilege to me
something to work for
I was in bed, thinking, about the biting flies of Granogue,
and hoping I did not bring any of them irritating bastards home with me trapped in my van.
Over the years, unpacking, I have noticed some crickets stowed away in my gear.
and many of them are now living with us, some out in our shed.
That night I noticed, in the other wise quiet, while not being able to sleep. The sound of those crickets, and I wondered how many of them are related to those from Granogue.
A lot of stories of the days started playing in my head.
Thoughts, little snipettes scenes, from racing the Madison Saturday, to being in the grid Sunday, to post race sitting under the pop up tent chatting, and getting nipped by those Granogue biting flies.
and they blended with the others from over the years,
sitting under pop up tents,
with others, getting dropped in a climb chasing and losing a spot
to a attack this year, in the climb to gain a spot
then losing it mindlessly at the line for 12th.
and having things fresh, new, it did help to invigorate the words
but to write
after many visits, to the same race
I could not fall asleep that night.
Boxing those memories again.
If I came back in life as anything, I'd be a few stakes and tape to an off-camber line,
no one thinks they'd make
the line takes you faster and I don't touch the brakes.
the tops of the tire treads seam up against the post,
I take hold, faster, onward I go.
Cheers, well done again, Granogue 2018.