CRCX - be good

 My first day walking into junior high, through the front doors I pass the office. On the right, a glass wall to look into.  The office.  Hanging on a wall was a beautiful paddle. The word "good" was painted on it in olde English lettering, it had a waffle 9 holes. I suppose to reduce air flow on the swing, on the way, to smack righteousness into your ass. 

My days at school seemed like as long as you did wrong, respectfully, outside the boundaries, clandestine, nonchalant, you got away with it, no one looked too hard for it.  Maybe no one had the time to deal with it.

In public, wrong was made an example of, swiftly and sometimes unjustly, and it made its point.

Cooper River cx racecourse is a long narrow ground along a river, straights, turns, some steps, a little sandpit of fun.  It's not intimidating, and somehow, it seems, people let down their guard, dropping a bit, and blend together, socialize. 

I dropped my chain twice during the race, once in the beginning of the first lap and once, in a collision coming out of the sandpit, with a long hair single speeder, on the last lap.  Finishing 12th.  Definitely my own fault.

I had good battles, I got a homerun compliment, that "I guiled" the corners impressively (Podium!), from one of our groups members.

I road up to the longhaired single speeder, post race, a younger class rider, the dude who chopped corners, and I chopped his corner and dropped my chain on the last lap.  And smiled, "good racing" I said.  I think it is important, for your opponent to get a compliment for beating you. To show, let him get a look at a 61 year old, bit chubby, foe.  That despite his eye blinder desire to be ahead of me, that after the race we are all just crossers, staying out of the eyesight, over the fence behind the baseball field, sitting on milk crates sharing one can of beer lifted outta someones garage, warm, breaking the rules, together. 

Cheers, 

dlowe

Thx for the fine, in the grid photo, Gorka!

Be In - Crossasaurus

   Some say cross is dead, nil. 

Canceled.  Reeling and reeking of an ugly stench.  A disgusting beast, of swill, drooling, machoistic, the soul of the most honest to the bone internal self-abuse every invented.

I find it comes easy, and to me, quite normal.  And from the first pedal stroke, my heart rate is beating as hard and as fast as it can. I steer a bit wide into this corner and punch it quick to pass on this small patch of dirt. 

Cross is a conscription.  Cross looks easy and fast, as I watch others race.  Cross is a family, after your first race.  It is a secret handshake, a beer clandestinely poured into a Dunkin' Doughnuts cup.

Cross is hard nipples in the cold for everyone.

white lips, pruned toes

Truth be told, it is just another check box of a world of extracurricular actives to choose from.

I can't give it up. 

and right now I am dreaming of the times when I "was fast" fitter, thinner, naive.

Dreaming again of standing atop the top box.

but for now, 

and who knows, how forever long, I'll be chasing you

chasing you to the line. 

Cheers!

dlowe

Luft

There is a jawnty style, a swagger that is a non swagger. a free floating confidence, happy, loved, strong, alive.

       photo: Brian Biggs

A spirit that floats, made up of the tinyest specs of life that moves through the air, through us.

If a small breeze comes along it lifts the balloon and the short cord slips through and released from the hand of a child,  we float, for a bit lifting up, but not away,  looking down at, and decided to return to the child's hand.

A funny thing about luft, is you can't rule it, but that it has rules.   And luft only lives, with others around you.    Sorta like if you had an instagram account and posted the most outstanding selfies, but you had no followers. 

I love a world where you don't need rules, and people are good, and you don't think about why you are smiling.  

I have memories, of people and their luft, and saddly they are not around anymore.

That one moment, of saying cheers! and looking into the others eyes, and the beer tasted Tasty!

Paintings have luft,  songs, birds on the birdfeeder, their early morning chirping, coming in an open morning bedroom window.  Things like bikes in general don't have luft,  maybe their are a few, that have acquired that spirit, but it was the spirit of the ride, not the bike. 

You really can't count on what life is going to give or take from,  you definitley don't control when. 

but it does seem like, you can even be strangers with someone, and for some common reason, there is luft.  For that short event, maybe working in a break-away together, or just stopping to help fix a flat, and ending up with an interesting conversation. 

I've always applied, a spit polish, to my bike, not literally, ...but I know, and respect, how that machine has put me place, and made me meet peolple, and symbolicly whatever bike that I pull out of the shed, for whatever ride to where ever, I know I'm lucky, and try to shake my anger, not take to serious the workout, and definetly know that what ever happens, that the luft is important. 

Cheers!  

Thanks for coming out and, ride after ride, never let me down, Here is a big toast to you, Cheers!

Water Ice CX '21 "Harry Horray!"

david

Pin-up

I just want to write like old days, like a garden hose left on, and the water gushing out, on a hot day. a Niagra Falls on dopey 4 year olds, in underwear, and smiles. Flowing free, un-restricted, and cold. I've had so much other stuff on my mind. but today, I pinned up, clicked in, and raced. Not a smart race, like most of my crits, but a dreamy race, and pretty good legs, feeling like there is lots of potential. At a recent Thursday evening GV30 training crit, a rubber band snap I was right where I always was again, closing a gap, big gap, unfathonable doable gap, and behold a rider is with me, on my wheel, and I'm a bit spent, and my hearts apound about 200 beats a minute, and I ask, "can you pull?" as I look at him, and smell spent cap gun bullets. That smell....is good, and the break went away and we sat back in the field. I pin-up every race to win it. It's nice to fall asleep after a bit of nervous tossing, to the imagined story, of somehow a miraculos outcome, legs never giving up and going off the gile at the only correct second that the universe gives, and I cross the line, to stand atop the box, winner. I respect honesty so much more today. I want to make sure to feel the joy of every catastorphy racing could every bring, if I never win ever agin, that's ok. Just as long as I have the dreams, as I pin-up. Cheers! dlowe