Training log 3/9

I am self-employed, as a freelancer, I drive a lot, all over the place, to work.  I never remember those drives, other more than I went up 95, or out the turnpike, across the Walt Whitman.  I'm sure that along the way, I felt emotions driving; about the ass tailgating, or a to slow in the left lane car,  but all those occurrences disappear, there is no need for them taking up memory space in my head.

Saturday, I turned left onto Bryn Marw ave. and picked up speed, it is damp and still cold,
and the wonderful dunking my head into a large pail of ice water hits me.

The frozen ground of Belmont's trails is already getting slimey, and as much as I enjoy the cx feeling, of drift, and float, sinking into the ground and leaving a deep tread hole is bad for us.

I stayed in a steady state work zone, on the mountain bike slogging along.
I'm always amazed but never surprised by how I roll up to my home finishing a loop, I can come in at a target, 3hrs,  or very close, a 10 seconds, or 3 minutes off, but pretty much right on time.

There is an self satisfying gratification of keeping it moving forward, towards a challenging end.
and I train to be faster, for racing.

Parachute hill was empty, none of the malarkey drunk cheers from the CX single speed worlds crowded along it, in the way, celebrating, pushing, enjoying the unexpected heavy snow fall.

up Summit climb, not on my ss cx bike,as I rode on a water ice loop,  just getting on top of the pedals, turning, up to speed, and smiling big a bit at the young Featherman, who's working on getting his pedals to turn, the suffering youngster.

I'll turn right,  down the cobbles, up Barren Hill, past where Lafayette made a stand so Washington could get away, Past the abandoned property on Andorra road, where I'd build our house if we won the lottery.

Back onto the spraying mud of Forbidden drive,....onward I'm rolling my bike, every second an embedding memory.

Bikes are grand!



I had a grand training ride today, fitting for cross, damp, chilled.

following strict coaching instructions, I stayed to the plan.  I  road from the door of my house, down the cynwyd trail across the old Manayunk bride.  Up Krams Ave. to pass my favorite house in philly, the most grand and special place, Beautiful, the old William B. Stephens x-public library.
Then up to also on Kram Ave, the original home of Yard's beer.

I hope the residents in these tiny places, smell the malt history. 

I love the days of pedaling, misty cold magic days!

the 1.5hrs of Z2, nothing but a base building day,  passing the regular places, the Boxers trail, Coltrane's, up the steep incline behind the Phila art museum, just a tad urban cutting from behind the zoo.  I counted 3 hobo home's, I've got nothing but admoration for those who live off the grid, in the city. 

I love the days, of riding, AROUND!

Cheers to good coaching, and Z2 riding,
good training racers, take it easy, and be Swift!



I'm lucky if I get to grow real old,  I will try to do it, with elegance, keeping a bit of the stubborn
obnoxiousness, I have, and  maybe a win or two sprinkled in there.

all the pictures, thanks to Kelly Cline

I can't but not help it, I'm a bit like the mud. 
the fantastic feelings
even so however so brief
glow forever on. 

Cheers CX '18
and '19, more, please. 



The Specials

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.