wheezing, with a broken rib, a bit of blood, making its way into my lung?
The town, a 50mph two way street shooting down the middle of it.
smells like dryer sheets,
broken down cars, big windowed emptyed 60's shops, jacked up 4x's with black tinted windows.
I sat in the back of my small van, eating my post race sandwich. Drinking a comtemparay small batch hoppy rye beer.
Parked by the soccer fields.
Hot day, for September and each small landscaping stunted small breeded tree, it's puddle of shade had a family in it, watching the sports.
I had a good weekend of racing, up by the Black River.
on Saturday. Just again, faster, but not quite, roaring. a 3rd place, took the two up sprint, and a bit of tape as I hit the last corner really hard.
and today, I pack for a flight to San Diego in the morning.
Cleaned out the van. sent a text to Kelly on his well played win today.
but am I the last cross blogger standing?
It was never a very pure art form, ugly, poor, self centered centric.
I reach over and sip the bourbon, that Glenn and Rebecca gave me, from super-CX.
and I was never up there with the good ones, nah, I'd always sorta shake my head,
after reading, "man, I don't got nothing, and what I got, just comes in un-natural spurts"
Raced 50+ today, I got away in the lead group of 6, Man, smoking it, the sandy corners,
dis-honest lines, getting away.
I sputtered a bit, lost a spot, then the bloke sneaking up on me, he got close
And I smacked it, haymakers to the line,
...I'm not sure he was even chasing hard, but Hell, I didn't wait and see, cause, I did not want to lose another spot. 7th.
I love cross, I hugged Bob Joo's after the race, him in the pits working, "thanks Bob"
You need,.... I mean, I need that voice, Loud and Clear, not that I hear it much, but I hear it more when it's not there,
and I am standing, sure I can take a punch, and fall back on the ropes
not pretty at all by this time in the fight
not pure at it,
but sure, I want to win
real sure of it.