my trainer is set up, upstairs, facing out, I look out a wall of windows, like a tree house, the branches of the birch tree my wife had planted close to the house, years ago, many of the leaves rub up against the second floor window screens.
Its dark often when I get on the trainer, and I listen to music, earbuds, illumination starts, very monotone, till its all lit up. and its day. A shower, to work.
after sly fox I talked with Diane, about our races. she lead me to make a conclusion about myself ....my second days are my better days, my first often seemed I can never catch my breath, I never get deep into that groove, of going hard.
My second day, Sly Fox, I had a grand race, I slapped an ass again, my second of the season, as I rode down the backside behind the brewery, a course marshal was on the course side of the tape, he saw me coming and turned to exit, I got a nice ass slap to send him on his way.
I dug deep, up the long start straight, real hard with I think with two to go, f'n this chum was alive today, and not going to get caught.
I battled my foe, I'm not sure who he was, the bike line rider, I put screws to him, and cajoled him, pressured him,
We sprint up the road to the line, I on his wheel, and I don't think he sprints road much, he tried to shift in the full force of standing and pedaling, and me on his wheel in his draft.
His chain didn't like that, the bike bucked him, the back wheel coming up, and we both were quite startled. I said hold on, you got it. It wouldn't of been good if he went down for ether of us.
He got going again, and I never came around him, after that.
It was a grand day. A very good course. good beer.
I like those memories, the single ones that define,