At Least You Suffered

So it has begun. Cyclocross. Lapping the course –

1) Full gas, all out, keep up with the front;
2) recover, stay where you are;
3) battle self doubt, why am I here? Quit. Just Quit.
4) Repeat No. 3.
5) After this, the bell lap.
6) Full gas, again.

September in NorCal Cyclocross means Livermore. The course is flat, fast and can be dangerously hot. Mark braved the first race of the season, lining up with fit roadies coming off their peak season to take a solid 10th after a late in the race crash. Last week saw rain showers dampening the coarse, teasing the racers of muddy dreams while still delivering dust, just less of it.

Mark got off with the Bs, racing to a strong 5th place taking vertical pandas’ second podium spot of the season (Alex battled back from a slow start to take second in the K7-10!) Mike and I started 30 seconds back, now Master 35+ Bs. I raced well, despite a hacking cough taking 18th. I felt good in the first lap, staying with the tip top boys, but faded. I needed to turn on the gas a bit more, and push a bigger gear if I want to get results that will impress Directeur Sportif Van De Bobke (VdB). After the race, all VdB could say was, “At least you suffered.” True that.

As powered by STRAVA -

http://www.strava.com/rides/35501

Are You Ready?

Summer is nearly over, the kids are heading back to school and for a hardy few the change of leaves means cyclocross season will soon be here. Vertical Pandas is looking forward to a strong season of beer and podium spots, perhaps even a win. New kits (blanca) are in store, as well as a few new riders on the team.

The official racing begins in Livermore next weekend, September 5 followed by Central Coast on September 20. BASP starts October 4 at McLaren Park. Are you ready?

La Ruta Loca Randonee

A Tale Of Love And Betrayal In Three Parts

I. Morning

When your day begins before sunrise and involves smearing a healthy schlock of homemade embrocation to your legs you know you are in for something interesting. Today, July 11, 2009, I ride La Ruta Loca Randonee (aka LRLR, aka “The Crazy Route” - http://bike.duque.net/invite-to-2009-200k-LRLR.htm). What began three years ago as a smidgen of riders tackling Marin’s toughest roads has grown into a smattering of riders still willing to tackle those same roads. As one described, “dedicated cycling enthusiasts with a nose for pain.” Perhaps one day the ride will equal D2R2 (see www.franklinlandtrust.org/randonee.htm see also www.rapha.cc/d2r2 ) in notoriety and rider participation, but for now it is only for a brave a few. Nevertheless, LRLR certainly shares the same pedigree = 126 miles, 15,000 feet of elevation gain. Oh, did I mention most of the climbing occurred on Marin fire roads. That’s dirt for you layman. My ride: Soulcraft, red. My kit: vertical panda, black. My story, simple:

The roll out was foggy and wet, the joints holding the Golden Gate Bridge together were slick. We climbed together as a group up Hawk Hill (Conzleman Road) and made a cautious descent into the valley below. However, the day’s second categorized climb up Bobcat Trail began the weeding out process: three strong - three stronger. After another cautious descent into Tennessee Valley, we turned our bikes toward the mighty Pacific and began the day’s work.

II. All Day Riding

Coastal Fire Road – it's dirty and steep and the reality of our day’s task set in. A climber’s tool box is equipped with different tools to help him or her up the climb. For a large majority of the day, we were without an essential tool – out of the saddle climbing. A combination of gearing, gradient and grit would cause a spin out if one attacked. As such, simply sit down and pound it out no matter how steep, how long or how loose. Easier said then done, but done nonetheless. Another cautious descent into Muir Beach with Ernesto taking the lead to take some pictures of Charles and I descending to the sands below. The fog was lifting and the Pacific called, “come, relax by my calming waves. Stick your toes in the surf and sand. Read a book, sip a cool drink. Ahhhhh, be happy, don’t worry.” No. Not for us, not today, we turned our back to this temptress and headed inland. And up.

Mount Tamalpais. We started our first ascent of Mount Tamalpais from the east, Deer Park Fire Road. The cue sheet said “loooong climb.” Although the gradient was more relaxed, the first real rays of sun saw a split in the three strongmen and the day’s order was decided before it really began. Charles rode away leaving Ernesto and me to fight for last place (“Onthouden als u niet eerst uw laatste” roughly translated “Remember if you are not first, you're last.” Ricky van de Bobke.) We arrived at the first “control” (Pantol Station) at 8:25, making the official unofficial cutoff time (8:32). Given the nature of the ride we were simply a few happy chappies satisfied with just riding our bikes.

Ernesto and I continued on and up Mt. Tam, turning onto Rock Spring Lagunitas Road. We would ride together, split, pass each other and ride together some more. Ernesto was kind enough to stop every so often to allow me to catch up as he picked up his water bottle that had shaken loose from the long descent to Lake Lagunitas. I felt like the turtle chasing the hare. We arrived at our next control at Five Corners intersection at 9:40 – off by four minutes that could easily been made up if we didn’t stop a couple of times to check the map (or pick up water bottles.) This was the only control that I did not make the time.

The rest of the morning provided a series of times and places - heading to Alpine Damn, passing all the roadies coming from Seven Sisters; struggling with the ups and downs of Bolinas Ridge Trail; working together on the smooth asphalt of Hwy 1 to motor into Point Reyes Station for lunch. At Black Mountain Cycles ( http://blackmountaincycles.blogspot.com/ )(59 miles) we checked in at 11:52 and learned that Charles was about 30 minutes ahead. Mike (from Black Mountain Cycling) was kind enough to offer a drink from his fridge, and happily I grabbed a Coca-Cola (though I really wanted to kick up my heals and help myself to a cold beer.) Instead, I had lunch at Bovine Bakery (www.savorcalifornia.com/template1.php?id=196&img=2 ) a well stocked carb shop for bikers in the need for that sort of thing. Eating right outside the bakery on the raised cement sidewalk with about 35 other bike riders I felt good. I looked around and realized how dirty I was compared to the other cyclists. Double fisting ice teas, a bite of cookie, a bite of pizza, a gulp of air, breathe and repeat.

It should be noted that Point Reyes Station provides a perfect turn around spot for San Francisco cyclists looking to put in some miles. There are a number or routes (out and back, loops) that will take you there and return. Aside from the refreshment factor (baked goods a plenty) the roads to and fro are choc full of cyclists. A nice 80ish mile loop. But for me, I had another sixty plus to go.

I pretty much rode solo back to civilization via the Cross Marin Bike trail and Sir Frances Drake. Chipping a way at a steady clip I rode up on a familiar kit – Team Ramuzzi! (When cycling near Greve, Italy I discovered Ramuzzi and my yellow cap was acquired. If you go, make sure you ride the bianca strada www.eroica.it/index_en.php ) Bidding him good cheer I tipped my yellow and blue chapeau, “Forza Ramuzzi!” And just like that he was gone. At Fairfax I made my way through the Marin hamlets – San Anselmo, Ross, Kentfield, Larkspur. And then a Paradise loop.

Yup – a full Paradise loop. Enough said about that.

I arrived at Café Acri in Tiburon at 14:30 (93 miles). I ordered a ham and cheese croissant and two Italian sodas – one orange and one lemon – and enjoyed the sidewalk seating (La dolce vita?) The tourists (or Marinites?) were stylishing sipping their afternoon coffees, nibbling on a little something sweet as I, sweaty and grimy, macked on a ham and cheese croissant while guzzling soda. As I was leaving, a lady visiting her son was nice enough to point out that I had a piece of napkin stuck to my face. Huh –I used a napkin? Fancy that. I thanked her, wiped my face with my dirty leather gloved hand thinking about the futility of the act. Pulling away I saw Ernesto, however on a ride of this length and difficulty there is no waiting. All I wanted to do was finish. Get on your bike and get your ass up the last two climbs of the day (I had purposely told myself that the last climb should not be counted because I would be so relieved once I got there.)

I rode onto Mill Valley and started the second ascent of Mt. Tam for the day – this time from the west. Around half way up Old Rail Road Grade I started to tire. That is to say, I struggled. Struggled with my hand position, struggled to keep a reasonable cadence, struggled to think about something other than my legs. But wasn’t this what the bike ride was all about? Struggling?

I passed West Point Inn at 16:13 (106 miles) and made my way home. The descent from Pantol is one of my favorites, not too technical and spectacular scenery. Despite my fatigue, the descent still did not fail to please. I passed Four Corners and continued down to the stop sign. A quick right and then a left back onto Miwok Trail.

III. Morte

Fuck. There I said it. Its one thing to grind your way up a mountain, its another thing to turn right into a dirt wall. I pushed, strained until I stopped. So I walked, no big deal. I have learned through cyclocross that whatever it takes, it takes – just keep moving. So I did, I kept on moving.

I rolled back through Miwok stables and up over Marichello Road to Tennessee Valley. Another climb, the Golden Gate Bridge and then ... Well then I stopped. 12 hours and twenty minutes after I started I stopped.

Epilogue

There is a certain mentality to racing and people seem to understand it. Being competitive is a characteristic trait that is accepted, and even admired by many. But when you are not “racing” your reasons for suffering begin to be questioned – both by yourself and others. I do not have the answer yet, but will keep asking and hope you will to. Keep riding, keep struggling and keep living.

RIDE DETAILS (per Strava - http://www.strava.com/rides/6273 )

Location San Francisco, CA
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Stats: 126.7 miles, 11:04:16 riding time, 14965 feet total climbing
Speed: (avg/max) 11.4 mph / 40.8mph
Performance: 134.3 watts, 144 bpm

I'll Have What He's Having ...

The cyclocross racer enjoys many advantages over his more indolent peers. With beer in hand or scotch underfoot, the cyclocross racer takes pleasure in gobbling up the fistfuls of eye candy (bikes not racers) making the laps to the tune of the cow bells. One piece of eye candy of particular sweetness found here in California is the cyclocross rig from Hunter Cycles (http://www.huntercycles.com/ ). Now I have never ridden a Hunter, but they appear to be a beautiful combination of form and function. The slender and curvaceous wishbone stays not only purr “I’m sexy …” but also scream “I’m gona kick your ass.” With that said, it appears that the boys from Rapha agree. Check out the Hunter built for Rapha’s Continental:

http://www.rapha.cc/continental/index.php?page=787

Oh my.

Time to "Shake and Bake"

Ricky van de Bobke's stunning win at the velodrome of Paris Roubaix

Controversial cycling superstar extraordinaire – Ricky van de Bobke – has come out of retirement to take over the reigns at vertical pandas as the team’s new directeur sportif. As with other 2009 comeback kids (Lance Armstrong, Ivan Basso, Floyd Landis), Ricky van de Bobke said his return to cycling is all about the bike. The directeur sportif told the press, “As long as my riders are suffering, I’m happy as a frite in mayo.” Although Ricky van de Bobke will be posting on the team’s blog, he has so far refused to join the twitterati, tifosi and other schmenge.

Ricky van de Bobke’s competitive drive and aggressive style of racing was legendary in the pro peloton. “Remember,” Ricky van de Bobke said, “if you’re not first, you’re last.” Expect to see the influence of the “shake and bake” next season as pandas look for multiple podium spots.

Riders whereabouts could not be located and as such could not be reached for comment, despite the race program’s firm support and participation of UCI’s biological passport.

Sumpin for Nubbins

photo credit: http://www.veronikalenzi.com/index.html

[A Conversation]
From a conversation between Vertical Panda team member Jeremiah (VPJ1) and himself (VPJ2) during a March 7, 2009 “training ride.” This ride, Grasshopper No. 2 - Chileno Valley, was part of the Grasshopper Adventure Series, a noncompetive bicycle race similar to jumbo shrimp. The ride is about 65 miles with 5000+ feet of climbing starting from Occidental, CA. The ride attracts racers of every ilk including members of the pro peloton, Cat 1-4s, Cyclocross A,B &Cs and general all around NorCal hard men and women. This year (and last year) winner was Levi Liepheimer of Team Astana. Unless in quotes, the conversation occurred exclusively in Jeremiah’s head during the ride. KD is the “official” time keep and a race organizer extraordinaire.

VPJ1: You recently placed 73rd in the overall standings of the Bay Area Super Prestige cyclocross series and a top 98th finish at Old Caz. So I guess my question to you is why?
VPJ2: Why what?
VPJ1: Why are you here today? Racing? Why all this pain and suffering for well, to put it rather bluntly – for mediocre results.
VPJ2: Hmmm. That’s a good one. I guess I am here to fulfill my dreams. This ride - this race, or whatever you call it is the stuff of my dreams - not the “I wish upon a star” type dream and certainly not the “what I dream of as I lay my head down on the pillow at night” type dream. Rather, this ride is the stuff of my daydreams – the “at the office typing on the keyboard and looking out the window” type dreams. Out here I get to leave my day job and live my daydream. Out here I am a bike racer.

VPJ1: I’ve heard that inside each “racer” there is a little something (a voice? a little “sumpin sumpin” if you would) that tells you that you could win. And I mean win - actually come in 1st place. Is there a little “sumpin sumpin” in you?
VPJ2: Yes and no. Sure I thought about crossing the line No. 1, but the sight of 150 other racers pulling away quickly squashed any little something I may have had. However, that squashed something is not what’s important; rather what remains after the squash – that wishy goo, smashed up and crumbled “sumpin sumpin” is what’s important to me. That “sumpin sumpin” I do have.
VPJ1: What does the post squashed sumpin tell you?
VPJ2: For starters, it tells me I am not going to win –let’s be real - so don’t even bother. But then the sumpin goes on, suggesting that I could place in the top half. Wow, better than half the racers out here, now that would be sumpin. Sumpin also tells me that I could look respectable, ride in a pack, take turns pulling a pace line, and descend in an aerodynamic position. Basically I want to fit in. I want to be considered a rider. A racer.

***

VPJ1: “Turkeys!” [hand raised, pointing to the far ridge]
VPJ1: Whoa – wild turkeys. Did you see that?
VPJ2: Sure did. In college I use to drink wild turkey, and up until recently I would drink it at Thanksgiving.
VPJ1: What made you stop?
VPJ2: I think it was the taste, or that I no longer fit into the silly costumes I would don on after the 8th or 9th shot. Nothing like waltzing around the holidays in an ill fitting costume to make one swear off the Turkey. Now where were we – back to racing?

***

VPJ1: Ah yes – racing. You took that descent like a pro, how fast do you think you were going downhill?
VPJ2: Yeah, thanks for noticing my mad skills. I think I was going at least 40+ mph.
VPJ1: Wow, that’s faster than the devil’s number [the speed in kilometers one can obtain when traveling down a very straight hill in Tuscany.]
VPJ2: Yeah, you bet. I am not good with converting miles to km numbers but I’ll give it a try to take my mind off the pace and pain … Let’s see 3.5 = 5, and if I multiply by 40 and … uhhh … carry the 3? … ohhh, I think I may have a cramp coming on. Change subject please.
VPJ1: Ok, Ok … How did you find this group of riders on Hwy 1?
VPJ2: Not sure you can say I “found them.” More like they were here and I am here. So we are here together until they drop me ...

VPJ2: Ahhh, a new group! We are working together until they drop me. And now I am on my own, fighting for the scraps again – fighting for the nubbins.
VPJ1: Don’t get so down, you must have made some friends along the way. Did you talk to anyone?
VPJ2: Sometimes. For example, one person commented that I did a good pull. That felt good. There was also a time when we talked about going counterclockwise in the rotation. That was useful. Another racer indicated that beside water in his bag he had brought a ray gun on this adventure series. Hmmm, a ray gun? I guess it makes sense.
VPJ1: If it makes sense, why didn’t you stay with them?
VPJ2: Just didn’t. No more groups; just stragglers like me. Stragglers, gagglers and bragglers.
VPJ1: What is a gaggler?
VPJ2: Someone who may throw up.
VPJ1: I see, and what is a braggler?
VPJ2: Someone who may throw up but still pulls hard in the front to show he is not weak. So he can tell his friends he is not weak but strong.
VPJ1: Are you weak?
VPJ2: No.

***

VPJ1: Let’s play a little word association – Marshall Climb.
VPJ2: Courage!
VPJ1: Wilson Hill.
VPJ2: Nice cowbells, whoop whoop!!!!
VPJ1: Muur de Carmody.
VPJ2: Steep. Can we get off the climbing stuff?
VPJ1: OK, lets see here – how do you feel about headwinds?
VPJ2: Am I pulling?
VPJ1: Yes.
VPJ2: Uhhnhnhn … I think I want to get back to climbing.
VPJ1: Come now, really? This is not that bad.
VPJ2: OK – then you get up here and pull.
VPJ1: Fine, fine – back to climbing.

***

VPJ1: Leading up to the Burnside Burn, you seemed to be taking it easy. Almost enjoying yourself. What gives?
VPJ2: I knew the flat road of Bloomfield was a perfect place for eating and resting up a little before the Burnside Burn. Although it may have seemed that I am taking it easy, I am in the big chain ring. Oh yeah! Big man in the big chain ring! How you like me now?
VPJ1: Not for long though?
VPJ2: No, not for long – the big chain ring is for people that can best be described as monsters. They don’t just ride their bikes, they mash them. They dominate. The big chain ring is for big Belgium, freaky type stuff. Me, I struggle.
VPJ1: Speaking of freaky stuff, you must have seen some freaky stuff on Burnside.
VPJ2: Oh yeah – Freakshow! For starters, racers zig zagging across the road to cut the steepness. Another rider fell completely over with his legs in the air forming a “V”. Normally I would ask a rider who is down if they are OK and if they have everything they need – but I wasn’t prepared for this. I didn’t know what to say to this chap so I said nothing. I passed by, pushed a little air out between my lips and gave a grin to say yeah I’m with ya and I know its bad, but just a little more pain and then it will all be over.

****

[Cresting Burnside, Jeremiah hits devil speed again into Freestone. He motors on pass the girls selling lemonade and cookies and sees the sign indicating the start of the final climb of the day. He smiles, he begins to sing out loud to the tune “We’re on the Way to Pienza.”]

VPJ2: “Cyco-camp! We’re all going Cyco-camp! Lalala, Hahaha!”
“Let’s all go to Cyco-camp!”
VPJ1: Up there, a clearing do you see it?
VPJ2: Where?
VPJ1: Up there, around the bend.
VPJ2: Yes, I see it.
VPJ1: Go…
VPJ2: Go…
VPJ1: Go …
VPJ2: Stop!

KD: “What’s your name?”
VPJ2: “Jeremiah Johnson”
KD: “Good job Jeremiah”
VPJ1&2: Thanks.

A Little Something Called Grasshopper

photo credit - nickgaetano's Flickr

We drove up to the Grasshopper as friends. We drove home as friends. But something happened up there on Old Caz. Something like this -

Before Occidental there is Freestone - a town with an Inn, a Spa and a bakery - the Freestone Bakery. We stopped at the bakery and topped off our tanks with strawberry ricotta scones fresh out of the brick oven. Grabbed some Fugasi bread for home before moving on to Occidental and the start of a little something called Grasshopper.

Bike - check. Helmet - check. Register and cue sheet - check. We were set to go, standing around the OCC recognizing other riders from the cross season and checking out the range of bikes. Nothing standing out - solid mix of road/mountain/cross. My Soulcraft and I felt comfortable here and then we were off. We rolled as a group, snaking, down the Bohemian Hwy like the first flow of water heading toward the gutter when washing the car. I assumed I was ahead of Chris, I did not see him - though I was extremely focused in front of me, still new at riding in such a large pack. We turned left onto Moscow Road, passing a cop talking to a motorist. He had a dull look on his face, and I heard him comment "You got to be kidding me." 180 friends up to something? No sir, we are not kidding.

After the group break au natural (pee stop... heeheeehehehehe) I worked myself up to the front third of the peloton, wanting to stay with the front group until the turn off, knowing that there would be a bottle neck equal to a First Growth Mouton Rothschild Nebuchadnezzar. A Muur of Belgium proportions, the Muur Van de Duncan - I dismounted last year and again I dismounted this year. However, rather than waiting around for an opportunity to remount, I simply ran up the Muur (passing some of my riding brothers and sisters) and remounted shortly before the gate (where I had to dismount again - D'uoh!). Up and over the gate and climb. Climb Climb Climb.

Not bad climbing, made good speed, pacing myself and picking up people until I reached the next gate and the descent. Still no Chris, something must have happened to my friend, and I will leave him to tell his something. But the descent, that is something I can tell you about. Cyclesport America (a British cycling magazine) contains a regular feature - Iconic Places. The magazine will give a profile on places such as Alpe Duez, Col d’Izord, Torumalet, etc.. The Old Cazadero Creek descent is an iconic place - worthy of any cycling glossy. The descent starts after the gate on an open farm/fire road. This year the dirt fire road was grassed over - just the first signs of a stubble. Chris found this part reminiscent of Switzerland - all that is missing was Heidi offering bowls of hot chocolate. Yeah - its that good. Open on all sides, smooth dirt and down you plunge into the forest. The Descent has three parts – the road, the descent in the woods and the river. This year the descent in the woods was covered in a slick swishy mud. I was passed a number of times by mountain bikes, and a couple of cross riders and still I raced - dodging tree limbs, taking turns with a foot out, and letting out a little giggle each time some mud splattered up into my face. I managed to catch one person on the descent before the river, however I probably lost 7 or 8 places. At the end of the descent is Austin Creek. I crossed the river, up to my knees and cold. The fans were out watching from the far bank, cheering us on and taking pictures. I wanted to reach into the cold clean water and pull out a can of beer - it was that kind of something.

My feet were now heavy with Austin Creek river with a little bit of climbing to do before hitting the town of Cazadero. Climbing out of the riverbed, I looked down and saw the red jersey of my friend and Panda teammate Chris.

“Donahue …” I shouted.
“Jeremiah” he replied.

I decided to sit up a bit and wait to form a group to paceline down Hwy 116 toward the ocean. I met up with two others, and we caught a fourth and we started working together, making good time so I realized that this was my group despite the absence of Chris. I took some long pulls on Austin Creek Road and then we all chipped in on Hwy 116 – each doing their own to their own abilities. I felt strong, pulling at about 20-21 mph. About half way to Willow Creek, I peeled off from my second pull and saw a group of five behind us . A group of five and gaining. I told our group we would soon have company, figuring we could sit up a tiny bit and join this group when they catch. We were caught and their lead rider pulled straight through leaving me in third position and the rest of their train latching on to our rear. I saw Chris was in now in our group, shouted a hello and picked up the pace to follow the wheel of this rider with massive thighs, dreading the time I would be called to pull again and keep this faster pace. Turns out, the rider with massive thighs pulled the entire way. This pace dropped some riders, but Chris and I and the the two other riders I had met on Austin Creek were still intact. At Willow Creek the rider with massive thighs had gone ahead to something bigger and faster than us. We on the other hand formed a group of four (maybe five?) on the flat chipped pavement of Willow Creek, chatting in the wind. Here is where I found myself starting to struggle. It seemed more windy then last year, and the pace seemed faster than it should be. I found myself hiding, not wanting to help with the pace making or take the brunt of the wind - coward. At times I found myself three bike lengths behind, but would then yoyo back on - weak. But with one climb left, I realized that I was not dead yet, this was my group, and I would try to keep up and meet them at the top, figuring that my climbing on Old Caz did me well. If I could climb faster than these three on Old Caz, I could at least keep up with them on Willow Creek. Sounds simple enough. We continued to roll, shouting out obstacles as we saw them. “Cattlegrate!” Our tires rolled:

Bmmmmmp
Bmmmmmp
Bmmmmmp
Bmmmmmp
Bmmmmmp …. Pisssssssssssstttttttt

At the last cattlegrate, Chris suffered a flat, and for a moment, I thought of waiting and riding together to the top, as friends, buddies who just happened to be out on a pleasant Saturday ride. But then something happened. He was going to drop me on the hill anyhow and now there is a chance to build up a lead.

“Chris, got everything? [I don’t care about you or your flat, I am going to keep on going.]”
“I’m fine [Son of a ..., He's going to attack when I have a mechanical. Well I’m going to fix my flat, have a bite to eat and maybe a cranberry poweraid cocktail, wait for an amazingly fast female to pace me back up to you and then pass you. How's that for something? ]”

Secure that my friend would be ok, I rode on. I rode on and up.

Willow Creek. I was feeling OK - hoohum, somewhat exhausted desperately needing pep. I was drained, but catching glimpses of riders in front. Passing one rider, he asked me how I was feeling. I said OK. I told him I felt really slow. I don't think he really cared because he told me he was hurting bad. I started to dread each increase in pitch and try to figure out the shortest route across the little slicks of mud that suck a tire to the hill. Slow go - but at least steady go. And then I looked up to see something that could be a problem. For a second I was unsure if a bike could even get up that steep an incline. Maybe the race organizers made a mistake. Are we sure we have to ride up this? Shit. No use complaining and so I stood up and started "dancing on the pedals" as they say. Not the funky fast pace of the jitterbug or the smooth flow of a waltz; rather the awkward shuffle of an 8th grade boy dancing with an 8th grade girl. So wanting to be cool, to be a man but in reality you are filled with fear. The fear of getting too close; too close to an idea, a dream and then the smack of rejection or worse, the real smack in the face. There was a slight reprieve on this devil and then I danced some more. Painful. Burning. But no smack. I had something left. I was going to make it.

I continued to grind when a lady passed me.

"There is a stick in your rear derailleur" she calmly noted.
"What? Huh? " was all I could muster.
She replied "A stick. In your derailleur."
"Oh thanks."

I guess I should get it out. So I stopped for a second to pull it out when I heard my friend come chirping along. Chirp Chirp Chirp. He rode on, and I followed not to catch necessarily, but to at least finish close.

Once on pavement, I picked up some speed, put it in the big chain ring and motored home. Caught one more person at the turn (not Chris). The rider asked which way and I told him just a little farther, on the side of the road look for the clipboard. I put my head down and opened the throttle. This is it, this was all I had. I was purring on all cylinders when I finished.

We started the Grasshopper as friends, and we finished the Grasshopper as friends. In between it was something else.