I went to Pittsburgh, to see my family. and I went to race. on a course that goes across two bridges, downtown. A nice short square 4 corner, .08 miles, with a slight rise and drop on and off each bridge.
Out of corner two and up and over Andy Warhol bridge. into a headwind, and down into a corner three you'd could hit as fast as you could ride. I did a couple of races, and held my own, but not placing well.
I think too much when I drive, stuck in the car by myself. time just goes slow.
I am trying to talk myself into from being from Philadelphia, lived here now since '86.
It's new to me, the years passing, the older than me growing even more older.
Some of my family is not blood, but is family by law, and that don't matter, not a bit.
I visited my "step" grandfather. The first time I met him years ago, he reached out with his right hand to me.
To shake, I grasped, and his grip, firm, fingers pulled tighter, and I gripped back, he looked in my eye.
In his room was sitting one of those hand spring exercisers. He look me in the eye and held out his hand, and I mine, and we shook again, firmer.
That first handshake, that grip, the look in the eye, that did change me.
I ride a lousy crit. I pay money, but I never finish well, well not as of late.
my best regard, d.