3 elusive cats, finally found...

Monday morning at 6:55 a.m. with tired eyes and strained consciousness I roll over, sit up and open up the laptop. It had been another long weekend, topped off with falling asleep on the couch...again. Lovely. I check my emails, check the weather, log onto Face Book and contemplate posting something silly and witty, with just the right amount of cynicism/sarcasm about my weekend, but reconsider, and refrain. I log onto my Twitter and hold the same internal debate about posting...I'm tired. I'm drained. I need coffee, but don't feel like making any.

Sunday morning started insanely early. Up at 4 a.m. Shower, wake up AJ, make coffee, load the car, wake up Dawn and roll out for Chico. Again, we're running late. I mean really!?! Waking up at 4 a.m. and still running late!?! Gimme a break! The Jr's race starts at 7 a.m.!?! C'mon! Gimme a EFING BREAK! Luckily, AJ's not signed up for it. But, we are trying to get him there in time to do the E4/5's which is the very next race that starts at 7:40 so we're pushing it. Hopefully they're running late.

I'd sent in his CAT3 upgrade request first thing Monday morning following the Folsom Cyclebration weekend and hadn't heard anything yet. According to everyone I'd spoken to, including my own experience, I should have heard back by now. It was Thursday. There were a few Jr's races where they'd raced the 15/16 together with the 17/18's but scored them separately. I'd combined the fields when sending in his upgrade giving him the best chance at earning the most points. If they were going to be fickle about it, then AJ only had around 18 of the required 20 points. If not, then he was sitting on around 23. Being that I hadn't heard anything, I decided to go ahead and sign us up for the Chico Downtown Crit. The last race of the season and the last chance at earning upgrade points. I went ahead and registered both of us for the E3/4's because if he didn't get it, I'd be able to race with him and hopefully have the opportunity to lead him out for a podium finish or at least a top 5. Since I was there anyway, I also reg'd for the 35+123's. It would be a perfect encore performance for me. Knowing that I didn't have any teammates heading up, it would also afford me the rare opportunity to race for myself as well.

We roll into Chico at around 7:25 after I'd taken the long, short cut by driving in to Sac from Davis, only to then take I-5 up through Woodland. "I know where I'm going!" "Ieeeeee know where I'm going!" Duh! We park, take AJ's bike down, Cody's there and helps air his tires up, and we make a mad dash to registration to find that they are in fact running late, about 15 min late. Whew! We get AJ rag'd, pin his # on, and send him off to get in a warmup. Neither of us had done the race before so there was a bit of added nervousness to it. I run back to the car, grab his spare wheels and get them over to the pit. I hate signing him up for any 4/5 races due to the fact that there's always a bunch of newbies that just don't have a clue yet pulling stupid moves. Not their fault, we've all been there before, but it's just a little different when you've got to sit on the sidelines watch your son have to deal with these idiots.

3 laps to go. I'm sitting in between turns 2 and 3 as they round the corner. AJ's sitting around 15th wheel or so. I yell out for him to move up and before hitting the corner for turn 3 he jumps up about 5 wheels. Looking across the park I could see him coming through the Start/Finish sitting around 8th wheel. Good, but bad in that the group is all together. Not a good thing in a 4/5 race. I hear a "BANG!" echoing off the buildings and through the streets. I ghasp. Holding my breath I watch as rider after rider rounds the corner of turn 2...but no AJ. "F&#%!"... "F&#%!" I'm yelling as I run full speed up and around the corner to turn 1. Rounding the corner, I hear, "Medic!" "Medic!" The shock of a full on Cortisol dump hits my body as I look up to see my son sprawled out across the sidewalk.

I've had my EMT-1A certification, I've done ambulance ride along's, and I've done ER internships, not to mention being raised by a cop, so I understand the importance of keeping a level head and emotions in check. But when you're standing there, looking down at your child who's writhing in pain, bleeding from several locations, and may have serious, even life threatening injuries, for me at least, it's one of the hardest things I've ever tried to do. I've never really been good at it. Even when he was little, I'd get so upset.

I run up, and right off I notice that his helmet is securely fashioned to his noggin and is in place. I exhale. I put one hand on his chest, the other on his knee and ask if he's O.K. Before I could tell him not to, he yanks off his helmet and sits up. I give him a quick once over as I grab his helmet and closely inspect it. Not a scratch on it. Cool. He's complaining about his lower back. I pull up his jersey and see that he's got a pretty nasty raspberry, but no deformity. I'm watching him breathe and listening intently. He tells me that some dumbass cut the corner and took out about 8 guys. I yell out as I'm glaring over at the other 6 or 7 guys laying in the gutter and on the sidewalk in pain, and bleeding, "When the F*** are you IDIOTS gonna learn not the cut the F****** corners!?!" They just look up at me and say nothing. Yeah, nice, just what they need right? Like I said, I've never been really good at reeling in the emotions when it come to my boy being injured. I immediately regret yelling at them and turn my attention back to AJ. I ask if he's hurting anywhere else. "My elbow." He's got a pretty good gash with a steady stream of dark Burgundy blood flowing out of it. "Anywhere else?" I ask. "No!" I start to breathe a little easier. Just then another rider pulls up and says he saw the whole thing and that he was a medic. He'd pulled out of the race just to lend a hand. I think he was either a Sierra Nevada guy or a Chico Velo. I'll know him when I see him for sure and will do my best to help him out in any way I can in the future. He starts to give AJ a full assessment. An ambulance rolls up and the medic takes over. I watch as AJ responds to all the questions and seems to be doing fine. They patch up his elbow and turn their attention to the other riders. The organizers don't have any medical personnel what so ever. These guys were just eating breakfast and heard the accident and immediately responded without being called. Awesome!

We get him up and on his feet. Cody and Dale are there, along with Freddy and Dawn. I'm holding his bike as we're checking it out trying to make sure it'll at least roll. Busted handlebars, both wheels are bent, and just when Freddy says, "Lets get him on it and just roll him back to the car," Cody looks down at the chainstays and says, "Whoa, what's that!?" I look down and can see that the frame is broken right at both chainstays...damn! AJ completely deflates and almost looses it. "It's alright!" I say. "Don't worry about it!" "It'll be just fine!" "The good thing is is that you're O.K...it's just a bike!" It takes me all of about .30 seconds to realize that our day is done. We get back to the car AJ sits on the back of the car, looks up at me and says, "Dad, you should still race." Dawn agrees and I start to entertain the thought. But quickly snap out of it. "The only reason we're here is so that you can earn enough points for your upgrade bud." I say. "That's the only reason I even registered." "No, forget it...we're done." There's no way I could let AJ sit on the side of the road, all banged up, being forced to watch as his Dad races his bike. Having to explain what happened a hundred times over to concerned people wondering why he wasn't racing. Having to dwell on the fact that his frame was broken, that he wasn't able to get his CAT3 upgrade before the end of the season...I don't think so.

We roll over to Riteaid, spend $50 on first aid supplies and head to the park so that we can properly patch my boy up. Bandaid has this wonderful new antiseptic wash that has Lidocaine in it. The gash on his elbow is fairly deep and I've got to look and make sure there's no debris in it. The wash has a little hole in it which allows you to irrigate wounds really well. I squeeze and proceed to deep clean the cut. It's pretty deep. It might need a few stitches. I finish cleaning and patching him up and we hit the road. I call JB who lives in Yuba City to say hey and tell him what had happened. Without skipping a beat he asks, "How tall is AJ?" "6' 2"" I reply. "Me too!" He says. "AJ can use my Orbea that's just been hanging in my garage." Sweet! Man...we've had the good fortune to come to know some pretty wonderful people in the past few years, and J and Diane are two of them.

We're just about home and I look back and ask AJ, "How would it have felt, sitting there, watching from the side of the road as your Dad raced his bike?" He sat there for a few seconds looking out the window, turned to me and said, "It would have sucked Dad."

So, I'm sitting there, first thing in the morning, the sun wasn't even up yet, blinking, trying to open my eyes and up pops this little email;

Your upgrade request has been approved and the USCF database has been updated to reflect you are now a Cat 3 on the road. Since the road season is almost over and I will not send you an upgrade sticker but when you go to renew your license it will show you as a Cat 3 on the road. If you will be racing again this season you can use a copy of this message as proof of your category

Casey

Sweet.....but a little bitter too...if we could have only got it a day sooner...oh well...he's got it...finally, and I'm proud of my boy.

Thanks for reading.


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Folsom Cyclebration 09 (AJ)

"This is the song I want reverberating in your head whenever you feel the wind on your face!" We were on our way to the Folsom Circuit race early Sunday morning, the third and final day of racing in this years Folsom Cyclebration Omnium. The song was "Use Somebody" by the Kings of Leon. In an effort to get him to understand the importance of conserving his energy, I told him, "Today, I better not see you at all!" Meaning that he'd better be tucked behind a wheel and out of the wind. It's something that both of us have a problem doing. We love mixing it up and would rather have our face in the wind forcing something to happen than sitting in, bored to death. However, doing that can have a detrimental effect on ones attempt at finishing well. "Today, we practice hiding." Referring to him of course. For me, it was no doubt going to be another day of pressing my face into the wind, chasing, covering, and sacrifice for the team. It's been a season full of scrubbing, lotioning, and flossing for me. It's hard work keeping this 25 year old face looking this pretty. ;)

AJ was competing in the Elite 4 category and trying to earn his last few points for his CAT 3 upgrade. It was a last minute decision really. We didn't have a TT bike so I figured I'd just register him for the crit and circuit races. He came to me and asked if he could do the Omnium, I couldn't say no. With just a few hours to spare, I reg'd him then immediately posted to both my team and the DBC list serve's asking if anyone had a TT rig he could borrow. The response I received from the DBC list serve was unexpected, and amazing. In the end, EOB (Eric O'Brien) a teammate of mine came through with the bike, and local Pro Paul Mach came through with a set of wheels. AJ was in awe. "There's 3 World Championships on these wheels!" Paul said as he handed the wheels off to AJ. He was enchanted, as if he'd had some sort of pixie dust sprinkled on him, he didn't walk back to the truck, he floated. He didn't say a word the entire drive home, just sat there, smiling. We got home and he disappeared into the garage.

AJ's never been on a true, bona fide TT bike, neither have I for that much, never been able to afford one really. He hasn't even had his clip-ons on since last year so I was worried he'd trash himself. The Time Trial is such a different animal all together and he'd spent ZERO time working on it this year. I was worried he'd do more damage to his psyche than anything else.

I walk into the garage after a few hours. AJ's focused. He's oblivious to everything around him. Cleaning, lubeing, coddling his new toy, a loaner, but his, if just for the next few days. I sit there for a moment, watching, smiling. "Hey bud." He looks up, the resolute look on his face quickly changed to a warm, lighthearted smile as he seemed to exhale every ounce of intensity and anxiousness and breathe for the first time since escaping to the garage some 2 hours earlier. It was as if I'd caught him doing something that he new he shouldn't be, but, at the same time, knowing I wouldn't be mad at him for it. "Time for bed bud." "I'm almost done." he replied. "It's late bud, don't worry, it'll be ready by tomorrow." He quickly wipes the bottom side of the downtube running his rag from the bottom of the head tube down to the bottom bracket giving a few extra scrubs to the bottom bracket housing. Looked back up to me, smiled, then threw the rag to the work bench and walks past me and into the house. Usually we just exchange "Goodnight's" and that's it, off to bed. But this evening, he catches me completely by surprise, startles me really. He walks up to me and gives me the biggest hug. It felt foreign.

We stopped hugging and giving "see ya later kisses" back when he was 12. I used to drop him off at the bus stop before heading to work. One day, instead of a hug and a kiss on the cheek, he sat in the passenger seat, looked at me with an uneasy look on his face and said, "Ok Dad, I'll see you later." and waited for my reply. Time stood still. It too took me by surprise. I looked at him, focused on his big blue eyes and over his left shoulder I could see his friends watching. I smile, he smiles back. He understands, that I understand. "Ok bud, have a good day. I love you man." In relief he says, "Love you too Dad." Opens the door, gets out, and closes it without looking back. I was a little devastated to be honest. Took a deep breath and drove to work. Cat's in the Cradle started playing in my head. The day was a bit darker.

His arms wrapped around my shoulders, I felt so small. I wrapped my arms under his and after a second, remembered. "There's my boy" I thought to myself. "There's my little buddy." My heart smiled as I chuckled over his shoulder, "You're excited huh?" "Hyeah, I am." he chuckled back. "Me too." "I love you." "See you in the morning." "G'night bud." "Love you too, g'night Dad."

Off to the garage I went.

I take his bike off the trainer, put the talismanic disc on the rear, and off he goes to the start line. I frantically throw everything in the truck, lock it up, and jump on AJ's bmx bike and pedal my ass off trying to make it to the start line before he goes off. In flip-flops, sweating my butt off, I ride by, offering words of encouragement to my teammates who are warming up, as I pass them. "AJ looked sick in the Rock Kit!" a teammate says. AJ doesn't have a skin suit and was going to borrow one from Cody, his teammate. When we picked up the suit, we both noticed it was ripped. He'd gone down in it. Bad Mojo. I could see AJ's eye's fill with anxiety. I grab my skin suit from behind my seat and throw it to him. Grinning from ear to ear, "Awe coool Dad!" Felt like Mean Joe Green throwing that kid his jersey for giving him his coke. I was stoked. I secretly wanted him to wear it anyway, which is why I brought it. He did look sick!

I fly by the registration table, field a few comments from friends a acquaintances in reference to my geeked out TT ride and hammer my way to the start line. I'm pedaling frantically down the right side of the canal, must have been averaging about 150 cadence, hugging the shoulder so as not to interfere with people warming up. A fellow cyclist comes up along side me and says, "NOW THAT'S THE WAY TO WARM UP!" Absolutely scared the living shit out of me and sent me flailing into the ditch. "OH SHIT!" I reply as I careen down the trough of the ditch from one side to the other before regaining control and easing my way out of it. Frazzled I look up and see AJ thundering off. "F#&%!" At the time I had no idea what had transpired before they released him. I ride up to the finish line where I wait, impatiently. After about 20 minutes and 10,000 strained looks up the road, there he comes. I run about 30 yards up from the finish line and scream, "DIG!" as he flies past me tucked, every muscle in his body straining to get as small as he could possibly get. He grips the aero bars, his legs crash down on the pedals with every rotation, his knees brushing the top tube, fully adorned in his Haka face, he crosses the line.

I jump on the bmx bike and off I go, again, spinning so fast I'm bobbing, trying to catch up to him. I ride up beside him, he wants nothing to do with me. He ride's up ahead, glancing back at me, avoiding me. He's upset. "Hey!" I yell. Nothing. "HEY!" again, nothing. "AJ!" He finally looks back. "Slow down!" We get back to the start line, ride passed everyone before he slows enough for me to ride up next to him and starts to tell me what happened.

Apparently, as the guys at the bike shop gave him a last minute fitting the night before the TT, they locked out the rear deraileur effectively giving him Jr. gears, or so we thought. Well, when we put the "Talismanic" Paul Mach rear wheel on, it had different gearing which made him over geared. Not by much, but enough for him to be deemed illegal. They've let him race with similar gearing in the past, so I was more than just a little upset. Well, they just kept him there, not really sure what to do. His # came and passed. He sat there shattered, as the seconds ticked by. Finally he asked what the heck was going on. The officials looked at each other and said, well, we might as well let him go. So, a full minute after his official start time, they release him. I went to the official, who was listening to no one. Asked him what was going to happen. After my 3rd attempt to get an answer or even be acknowledged, he said, "Well, his time is his time and there's nothing we could do." "But you held him a full minute and a half before releasing him!" I said. "Yeah, well, we shouldn't have released him at all!" Can't argue with that I guess. I had AJ roll his bike over to the official taped rollout line for Jr's, and sure enough, he was over...barely. So, I looked at AJ and said, "Don't worry about it bud!" You can't use Omnium points towards your upgrade anyway, we'll just focus on Crit and the Circuit. It did little to ease his frustration.

We arrive in plenty of time for a good warm up for the crit the next day. I've got 6 teammates in the top 10 of the GC's in 2 different categories, so I register for the Elite 3 crit as well as the Masters 123's, but that's a different story all together.

AJ spends the majority of the race no less than 4-5 wheels from the front and most of it, in the wind closing gaps and chasing the whole pack back on to break attempts and primes. As a result, he comes in somewhere in the top 20 for the sprint. After sitting there watching him work, I had a feeling that this was going to happen judging by his body language and the look on his face throughout the race. His mom was there making matters worse. It's not often that she comes to watch, and when she does, he wants so badly to do well that often times he goes out too hard, too fast and overcooks himself. This day was no different. Oh well, all we can do now is hope for a good showing at the Circuit race the next day.

I made the mistake of not signing him up for the Jr's Crit and I wasn't going to make the same mistake this day. Though it was a much harder race I knew that AJ wanted to redeem himself for the previous days performance. It was going to be a long day. His first race was at 10:20 and his last race wasn't until 5:15. We make our way through the traffic, surprised that there's so much so early in the day. We're lucky. As soon as we pull into the jam packed parking lot there's a huge SUV just leaving. We're just across form the Start/Finish. AJ bolts out of the truck and over to registration. He's already signed up for he E4 Omnium, so the Jr race will only be $10. We're rushing, trying to get him ready. We both know that he's running late, but we purposely avoid mentioning it so as not to freak him out. Just then, Cody rides up, "Dude, are you doing the Jr's with me!?!" "You'd better hurry!" We both turn and snap at the kid, basically telling him to shut up! In stereo it comes out much worse than either of us intended. Poor kid.

Have I told you how much I love watching this kid race? I'm watching from about 50' away. Far enough to be unattached, yet close enough to still see the expressions on their faces. They're all sitting at the start line waiting for the whistle. They're announcing the top 3 kids in the Jr's Omnium and AJ's applauding and congratulating the younger riders as they make their way to the front. Most of the older Jr's are registered in their respective Category Omnium's so they're just doing this race as an add on like AJ and Cody. I sit there watching, still amazed at this young man sitting on his top tube looking all grown up, all serious. He looks familiar, he resembles the little boy that I used to know, that used to be full of questions and used to look up to, and at me. Who used to watch and study my actions, my words, and try and emulate them. He glances over at me, all serious and focused. I give him a nod and that little boy emerges for just a brief moment and flashes a big smile. I find comfort knowing that I can still see that in him. Something that no one else can see. Often times I sit and watch others around him watching him. They can't see it...but I can.

I spend the majority of the race running from the Start/Finish line to the fence that runs along the side of the overpass where I could see the boys round the last corner after the 180 and hammer down the onramp to the bridge cheering my boy on. He sits around mid pack for the majority of the race and is doing a wonderful job of staying hidden. I see him closing a few gaps here and there, but he's looking much more comfortable today as opposed to yesterday. The pack blows through the start finish and I hear voices from everywhere cheering my boy on. Cody, his teammate is doing a fine job of stringing things out, forcing the selection to be made. They come around for the final lap and AJ's sitting comfortable right around 6th wheel. They round the last corner and all at once I see a kid in a white kit jump, then another kid jumps and AJ follows. He's a little late in his reaction but still manages to make up some ground as he throws his bike around in what seems to be a full body conniption and grabs a solid 3rd place. Saweet! I'm all welled up with pride as I realize that it's AJ's first podium in his bike racing career. I'm overcome. I run up and give him the biggest hug. I'm so proud I can't even handle it. I have no words...believe it or not. Everybody's congratulating him. All of my teammates both new and old all come through at one time or another congratulating, patting him on the back, hugging, high fiving...it's awesome!

So we're sitting beside the truck relaxing after his first race when Justin and Chad walk up. After racing with Chad in the E3 crit the day before and moving him from 3rd to 2nd in the overall standings I was undecided about a 2nd day of near back to back efforts. My legs were still tired. In the end, I let Justin talk me out of doing the E3 Circuit, a decision that I'd later regret. But again, that's another story.

His 2nd race also happened to be the last race of this years festivities. Most people had left, but there's still a fairly large crowd. My race had just ended so AJ was going to have to get warmed up and be to the line without any help from Dad. I wasn't worried. Dawn had come out with Isabel so I knew that she'd make sure he was good to go. Not that AJ couldn't take care of himself, but making sure that every things put away and locked up so nothing "walks off" is another thing. It's nice having someone there to help with all of that.

He managed to stay "hidden" for the most part in the Jr's race which is why he was able to podium, but being that it was his 2nd race of the day in a faster, larger field he wasn't expecting anything spectacular. I'm standing at the Start/Finish cooling down with Judd, Eric, Carol irving, and Heather, Judd's girlfriend. It's so cool listening and watching all the people who've come to know my boy fairly well these past few years cheer him on every time he passes. It's a little overwhelming to be honest with you. Looking around at not only all of our friends, but many folks who know him that I've never met. I realize that AJ's had a lasting effect on lots of these people. Some are parents of kids he's helped mentor, and some are parents of kids he's raced against all season. I can't tell you how many times I've been approached by perfect strangers asking me if I'm AJ's Dad. "Yes, I am" I say with a smile as they proceed to tell me about my son and the impression he's made or the effect he's had on their child. I'm telling you, it's times like these that really afford me the opportunity to appreciate the things that matter the most. All of the trials and troubles that life brings seem to pale and, at least in that moment, fall by the wayside and are in fact inconsequential. Just as he did in his earlier race, I watch as he stays right around mid pack and easily rolls by lap after lap. In fact, he's doing such a good job of "staying hidden" that I don't even see him a few times, causing Dad's heart rate to spike unnecessarily! Dang it!

I hear them announce "One lap to go!" My heart's pumping, adrenaline is off the charts. I run to the side of the road, about 60 meters up from the Start/Finish line and wait. I've chewed a hole right into the inside of my lower lip from all the excitement. All bunched up, they round the last corner and explode towards the Start/Finish line. At first I can't see AJ, but all at once, I see him. He's huge! He fire's out from behind a wheel like a chained Rottwieler, not looking anything like that little boy I used to know. He's a Beast...a rabid animal, sweating, spitting grunting, foaming at the mouth hunched over his bike violently throwing it from side to side pouring himself over the handlebars. I'm waving my arms in the air like a crazy chicken screaming, "DIG, DIG, DIG!" as he fly's past me. I hear the sound that we all hate to hear. It's worse than nails scraping across a black board, worse than teeth grinding, worse than utensils scraping the bottom of a plate over and over again. It's the sound of rubber, precious metals, carbon, and human flesh impacting the ground at an accelerated rate of speed. It's happening right in front of me not 8" away and misses be by less than that...but I can't be bothered, every ounce of my attention is focused on my son as he hurls his body and bike down the road. It's not until I see him cross the Finish line unscathed and at the front of the pack that my attention goes to the young man laying just 10 ft. from me. I rush over, pick his bike up, reattach his Power Tap computer, lay it to the side of the road. He's already being attended to by a few others and I hear a gentleman proclaim that he's his son. Been there, not a happy feeling. It's down right frightening in fact. It's not until I make my way across the road and to AJ that I find that he missed the top spot on the podium by just a few inches.


Again, I'm absolutely overwhelmed, not only by the fact that it's his 2nd podium of the day, but by the amount of people that are approaching him, congratulating, hugging, high fiving him...it's a feeling that I could definitely get used to. JB's there, Judd, EOB, and Mike Jacques, a new teammate comes up, gives him a huge hug, grabbing AJ's shoulders coming out of the hug, turns to me and says, "Dude, I don't even have kids, but this so awesome, I'm so proud!" Totally cool man! Tow-ta-lly cool! Good thing I've got glasses on. They can't see my eyes well up with tears. With the amount of people hollering at AJ, you'd have thought he won it. He looks at me with the biggest smile I think I've ever seen. We embrace each other squeezing and not wanting to let go. After the podium ceremony he comes up and pats me on the back so hard that my Blackberry goes flying out of my hand and into 4 pieces once it hits the ground...I don't even care. Not only did he grab 2nd in the race, but managed to pull himself into 4th place in the Omnium...3 podiums in one day. Perspective? If that doesn't give you a little....I don't know what will.

Thanks for reading.




















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Winters Road Race

"I love my bike...I just don't want to ride it anymore!" These words started as a whisper back in the deep crevices of the vast emptiness of my mind about a month ago but have recently become more of a motto, more of a mantra that I've begun to try to put to music during my last few races...have yet to strike that perfect cord though...so, I pedal on.

Hey Bud...talk to me!" I say as I ride up in my flip-flops. He'd just crossed the finish line. I throw my right leg back and over the saddle while lifting up on the handle bar with my left hand. Pushing down on the saddle with my right hand, I hop off as I hurl my bike to the left, letting go of it completely, sending it into orbit. My natural satellite much like the moon is to the earth. I reach up, grab the stem, rescuing it from it's moment of suspended animation, seemingly sending every other moving object back to it's natural trajectory. In a movement as natural as brushing the hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear, it comes to rest at my side. For some reason, the instantaneous snapshot of that very moment is branded into my memory. How, I don't know, because my eyes never left AJ's face.

The man standing over him turns to me and asks, "Do you know him?" "He's my son." I reply. He looks at me with a befuddled look. Never turning my attention from AJ I kneel down to get a closer look. He's sitting in the shade, slumping. His elbows resting on his knees, his head, heavy, bowing between them. I say, "Come on, get up!" as I stand up. This time with a tone that was less concerned as it was demanding. Still looking at me, I could see the expression on the man's face turn from befuddled to one of contempt. "Come on! Get up Bud!" I grab his bike, and forcefully hold it out to him and say, "Come on! Use your bike to steady you...let's go!" He was struggling, but he hadn't puked or shite himself and I needed to get him across the street to the sprinklers. He's too damned big to carry so I had to get him up and moving. Besides, I knew my son.

My race started 10 minutes after his. We'd arrived in plenty of time. Got his #'s pinned on and made sure he was all set. He'd wanted to get in a bit of a warm up, so off he went while I continued to get ready. I walk down to use the restroom one last time and when I return to the truck, I noticed my bike was missing. The 3 guys that were parked right next to me had been there the whole time. They hear me say, "Alright, who took my F'n bike!?!" They all turn and say something along the lines of, "Oh shit man!" "You've got to be kidding me!" "We never saw a thing!" They were serious. Goes to show you how fast and easy it is to have your stuff taken. Even in a parking lot with hundreds of cyclists mulling around and getting ready. I see something out of the corner of my eye...It's Fonseca, hiding behind his car, laughing. There my bike was, sitting in the gravel across the parking lot behind his truck, relieved now that I'd finally found her. I walk over, "Very funny guys!" We chat for a few minutes about how much I love my Nago, guess it's the bike they're getting for next year. I head back to finish getting ready. It put me about 10 minutes behind schedule and rattled my nerves a bit. Nice.

So the "plan" was to let the "Grimpeurs," or "climbers" go and reel them back on the flats and to basically work to bring back anything that got away while keeping JB tucked safely out of the wind, saving him for what should have been a podium finish. Since Judd wasn't with us, he was by far our strongest teammate in the race. Having raced with him all year, I knew how strong he was in comparison to the rest of the team. It was an easy decision to make. Well, having a well thought plan is one thing, carrying it out is something all together different. The truth is, you never know what you'll have to give, let alone your teammates. Not only that, but how much of it you, or they are willing to give to "The Team." It's a common problem on teams both new and well established from what I've gathered. Even those that seem to have it together share in this jostling of team members, all vying for their shot. Individuals who have personal goals that are not exactly in line with what we're trying to do as a team. We've all been there. We feel good, we feel that if we were the one sitting in, we'd be just as likely to podium as anyone. So, we sit in, or we do just enough to look as though we're doing our job, while at the same time, saving just a little bit for the finish. Or, we disagree with the overall plan so we remove ourselves from it all together. I know, I've done it, and I've also learned that it's just no the way to do it. What's good is that we're all hungry. We all strive to be better, stronger, faster. We all train hard and deserve our shot just as much as that "next guy". The only thing is, more often than not, that "next guy" is a teammate who's just flat out stronger than we are. It's a tough pill to swallow for some of us. Tough to accept. We'll get it. We've already proven that we can pull together as a team so I'm not worried. Some days are just better than others.

Like me, AJ tends to get a little emotional at times. Though unlike me, he's a little better at "not" wearing them on his sleeve. He'd given everything he had. He was completely spent. He was also...disappointed.

We walk across the street and rest the bikes up against a tree. I'm watching him closely. His respirations were shallow and rapid. He leans his bike gently against the tree, it begins to slip, I grab it and tell him to walk over to the sprinkler and stick his head in it. He slowly walks over. His steps are short and focused. He leans over, fills his bottle and pours it over his head. He takes a few deep breathes and begins to settle down. After a few moments of drenching himself and drinking, he's completely gathered himself. To make sure he's ok, I tell him to rinse his cleats off which by now had become caked with mud. Testing not only his motor skills, but mental capacity as well. Wondering how long it'll take him to realize that there was no way he could effectively get all the mud off because he was in fact, standing in a mud puddle.

You know that scene in Jumanji where the kid runs to the wood shed for the ax, finds the woodshed locked and picks up "the ax," the very thing he was looking for, which was leaning up against the shed, and just as he's about to break the lock to the shed, realizes it? Well, that's the look AJ gives me after trying to re-rinse his right cleat. We both smile. He's good. We jump on the bikes to head back the the truck and he begins to tell me what happened.

His race started 10 minutes before mine. I'd just returned from a quick 20 minute jaunt down Putah Creek Rd. and was already dripping with perspiration. My gloves were already soaked through. I arrive just in time to see his start. He's calm, looking poised and confident. He had about 5 other members of DBC Elite squad racing with him...I liked his chances. I watch as he clips in. Relaxed and looking like he was born to do this, he easily rolls by, glancing my way for a quick nod. He's so damned mature now.

The whistle blows and we're off. First lap so no one is expecting anything to happen, at least nothing of any significance. Well, within the first 5 miles, 4 guys manage to get off the front. I'm sitting about mid pack and watch as they roll off, taking a peek every so often by standing on the pedals and "Giraffing" is what I like to call it. Stretching as tall as I can get out of the saddle without letting go of the hoods trying to see what's going on up the road.

First time through the feed zone. I'd started with 3 bottles so I slam down the remainder of my first and drop it. I didn't grab another since I had 2 full one's and wasn't at all thirsty. I roll up to Justin on the first roller and he offers me a bottle holding it out for me to grab. "I'm good bro, don't need it!" "SHIT!" he replies as he's diggin' deep to get up the hill. The first time over Cantelow is...tame. The group pretty much stays together. Justin chases back on. JB's been close to the front and I see him start looking around after a few miles down PV Road. No doubt wondering where his teammates were. Chad heads up to the front and takes a quick turn at the front before I pull through and begin to ratchet it up. I flick my arm and pull left to allow the next rider to pull through to continue the rotation, but there's no one. I look back and see Greg Anderson smiling at me with another of his teammates sitting on his wheel. I see JB back there around 5th wheel and Chad a few wheels behind him. Greg's got a teammate up in the break and isn't pulling through. I turn my attention back to the front, lower my head and start turning it up believing that shortly there after, one of my teammates would rotate up to help. I pull for a solid mile and a half before Justin comes up just before we turn right on Putah Creek. I'm thankful. He and I take turns at the front, rotating through, we find a smooth rhythm when Mike Jacques comes up to lend a hand. Mike's new to the team and is already proving to be a huge asset. He joins in and we press on. The 3 of us hammer for a few miles rotating one after the other, smooth, flawless. I feel myself well up with pride. After a few miles I tell them to throttle back a bit and allow someone else to come up and take a turn. I pull wide right and wave back to the guys to see if anyone would come up. Nothing. I float back to see what was going on and see JB sitting on Metcalfe's wheel. I lower my right hand and signal to J. "Go ahead Jas" he says as he slows just enough, opening a gap allowing me to slot in. I figure if Metcalfe was going to go, I didn't want JB to have to work to get back up to his wheel so, there I sat for the rest of the lap up to the rollers. Justin and Mike completely crucify themselves for about 10 miles, giving everything they had to bring back the break. I'm proud of them. I watch as they take turns with a few other guys at the front, sacrificing themselves for the good of the team. I want to join them, but I want to make sure I've got something for the last lap to give to JB figuring that the rest of the team must have been feeling a bit sub par since I hadn't seen any of them come up to lend a hand.

The 2nd time up the climb was a bit harder. I found myself finishing the last of my 2 bottles and grabbing 2 more. EOB was awesome in the feed zone. Producing bottle after bottle, feeding his famished, depleted teammates. Rod Fernandez, an ex teammate of ours with DBC was also there lending a hand. Cool. I've definitely got to get better at that. I was gapped the first time through the feed zone and had to hammer hard to get back on. This time was no different. Only this time, I wasn't able to get back on before the decent. Off the back baby! I pass Chad on the second roller and say, "Let's go big guy!" He jumps on my wheel as we hit the first decent.

Back before hitting the feed zone, just before Steiger Rd. we'd passed the 30+ field...actually, we flew around them like they were standing still. Well, just before we hit the steep part on Cantelow, I'm starting to pass 2 guys on my right and just before clearing both of them, the 30+ field is starting to pass me. Some A-HOLE pushes on my left hip. It takes everything I've got to prevent from slamming into the guy to my right while screaming at the A-HOLE to keep his F'ING hands off me. He flips me off and tells me to fall back if I'm not with his field. What a DICK! As I'm re-gathering myself to hammer up the road and give him a piece of my mind, I get a huge shove from behind. The guy pushes me right up next to the A-HOLE and I crank hard and bump his bar with my left hip as I fly by him. I look back to see him freak out and struggle to stay upright. I slow allowing him to catch back up expecting some sort of exchange. He keeps his head down and says nothing. Once again I let my temper and emotions get the better of me, I dump the adrenaline all over my bike as I summit. I'm gasping for air and gears at the same time trying to keep my momentum up and over the top setting up for the decent.

I've done this decent hundreds of times and know it like the back of my hand. Only difference is, we've got the whole road and don't have to worry about oncoming traffic. I hammer. I'm passing riders one after the other. Cutting corners at 40+ miles an hour, reaching 45 at the base. I love my bike. Chad catches back on about a mile down Pleasant Valley. "Ouch, that hurt!" he says as he pulls up to my wheel. We're joined by a group from the 30+ field. One of the guys says, "Hey man, I was the one that helped you back there, that dude was being an A'HOLE!" "Yes he was." "Thanks man!" I replied.

I'd just passed Rick Bradley who was with the lead group up over Cantelow but had flatted. "C'mon Rick, let's go!" I say as I passed by. I'd slowed a bit to allow him to catch on knowing he'd be a huge help in getting back to the main group. We spent the next 8 miles or so trying to chase back on, but saw no light at the end of the tunnel. My stomach had started cramping as well so Rick and I decided to call it a day after about a mile into the 3rd lap. I hated dropping out, but didn't think I'd be much help to the team at that point and was wanting to see the end of AJ's race.

Turns out, Chad was able to chase back on but popped hard going into the feed zone. He'd pulled off to the side of the road and was grabbing a few bottles when AJ passed through looking strong heading up the hill for the 3rd and final time. Shortly after that, AJ flatted. He was sitting 3rd wheel with 3 of his fellow DBC elite's in a 7 man break. Now, I'm sure, or at least I'd like to think, that if they'd known that AJ was just a few points from achieving his CAT 3 upgrade, at least one of them would have offered up their wheel. But that wasn't the case. AJ was dropped. He was walking back to the feed zone when Chad rode up. Of course, AJ was absolutely distraught, after having been plagued by flats all year long and being forced, yet again, to watch, as his race left him standing at the side of the road. Chad asked, "What's wrong!?!" "I flatted!" Chad, being the cool-ass "Uncle" that he is, selflessly gave up his wheel and sent him on his way sacrificing the rest of his race. Everything happens for a reason...gotta love the Diesel.

As AJ and I rode back to the truck, he began to explain what had happened in his race. I could tell he was trying hard to keep his voice from cracking. Pausing, taking a drink from his bottle, clearing his throat and trying to compose himself. My heart started to hurt. I apologized for raising my voice and seeming inconsiderate. I explained to him that I knew a lot of it had to do with the fact that he was disappointed in himself. He wanted to do well and I knew that he had it in him to win it. I told him that I knew he was a strong cyclist and that he'd just had some bad luck. That he didn't have to finish in the top 10 to impress me. Just finishing after a day like that was impressive enough. "I dropped out a mile into the 3rd lap!" I said. His head snapped around. Looking me right in the eye, he asked, "Really?" "Why?" "What happened?" "I was trashed man...done!" I replied. "So you're stronger than your "Old Man," that's for sure!" Still hoping that hearing that would somehow give him a sense of accomplishment. Not sure if it holds the water that it used to...I guess that's a good thing. No, I think he's reached that age where I just don't have all the answers anymore. The look on his face is one that, I'm sure, all of our Dads have seen at one point. A deep, despairing look. It was hard to look at him. It took me back to when he was just a little boy. His mom and I had been separated for only a short time. He missed his mom dearly. He looked up at me with those big blue eyes one night as I was tucking him in for bed and asked, "Da-ee, why doesn't Mommy live with us now?" I just sat there. How could I explain it in a way that he'd understand. I gently placed the heel of my left hand to the side of his forehead and softly let my fingers find there place as I brushed back his hair wiping the tiniest remnant of a tear with my trailing thumb from under his eye. I turned his head and cupped his little face with both of my hands being careful not to look too deeply into those eyes. I knew that this time would come at some point, thought about it often, and still, I didn't have the answer. At least not an answer that I thought would help him understand. I kissed him on his forehead and offered my explanation. The look he gave back then, is the exact look I was seeing some 13 years later. I felt empty, unworthy, inadequate. I wondered when my Dad had seen this look and what he said. Then I remembered, I was 22, AJ's Mom was pregnant with him. I was thinking about asking her to marry me. I drove over to the house. My Dad was in the garage, as usual, and Mom was in the house making dinner, as usual. Dad was working on one of the vehicles, I walked up and started helping. He knew why I was there. We shot the shit for a while, just small talk. Then, after a pause that seemed like 5 minutes, I asked him. "I'm thinking about asking Michelle to marry me." "What do you think." Without turning his attention from what he was doing, without looking me in the eye, he offered up his answer. "Well, it could be a lot worse." and turned and walked over to his workbench and went about his business. Did he feel the same way I did? Is that why he couldn't look me in the face? Did he know at that point that he didn't have the answers to my troubles?

Trying to turn his focus to something else, I continued to explain why I was so stern with him earlier. I told him that we all have a choice to make when we reach that level of exhaustion. We can either sit there and allow our bodies to systematically start shutting down, or we can get up and do something about it. I told him that by simply getting up and moving around it allowed his body to start cooling down by evaporating his sweat. Getting to the sprinkler was just the carrot, at first, then of course, drenching himself probably saved him from having to have medical attention.

It's been a tough year for AJ. He's had some terrible luck with flats. That, combined with a few selfish teammates has made it a very difficult year to stomach for both of us. It's tough when there's nothing you can do but sit back and watch as your son continues to learn that there are some things that you just have to accept. Things that you have absolutely no control over. I envy his strength. His ability to deal with each obstacle as it presents itself and put it behind him amazes me. His resilience. His patience. He's teaching me.

As for our race...JB ended up grabbing 9th overall...and that's about all I have to say about it. A learning experience I'm sure...for all of us.

Onward and Upward!

I love my bike...I just don't want to ride it anymore...

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Dunnigan Hills/Thrills/sans spills

"This isn't what I had planned for the day!" I say to Jason as I pull through right smack into the cross/head wind for my 3rd rotation just 5 miles into a 90 mile road race. Was it experience, or lack thereof, maybe a bit of both? I dunno, but Rick Bradley and Chris Baker were with us, so you decide. First break attempt of the day, I was close enough to the front to react, didn't see any of my teammates in it and we were one of, if not the biggest team out there with 8 guys. So, I covered.
It was great to see so many members of my "Wolf Pack" out there with me. For the majority of the season we've never had more than 2 or 3 guys in most of our races so it was cool to have some company for this slugfest. We had Judd Van Sickle, Jason Boynton, Robbin Van Valkenburgh, Eric O'Brien, Chad Demasi, Sean Smith, Stephen Janke, and myself.
So there I was, red lining just 5.5 miles into a 90 mile road race. I just couldn't get those little friggin' #'s on my computer to drop below 185 bpm. I keep reminding myself that my max is 196 so I've got it in me. It does little to quiet the screaming voice in my head...or was it my body, at times like this, they tend to come at me in Dolby Surround Sound so it's hard to tell who's saying what. I take a peek back to see that we've got a pretty good gap so I lower my chin to my chest and drill it.
I think one of the problems of being such a new team is that we really haven't figured out our abilities, both as individuals, and as a team. Being a Masters team it's even tougher. Life sometimes has a way of redirecting priorities what with family, work and such. Only getting to race but once a month with most of my teammates makes it difficult to gauge on another's fitness level. Up to this point, we've pretty much let the races dictate who's "The Guy" through attrition. Working for one another when the opportunity presented itself. This was one of those races.
I guess everyone was feeling the same way I was. That rush of adrenaline and feeling of urgency and excitement that comes with being off the front had left us as I look back and see why. Kevin Metcalfe is hammering at the front and we're brought back. Just before the peleton envelops us, Rick comes up and says, "Be ready, the next time we hit this section it's gonna go!"
Well, I'm warm now! I fold back into the shelter of the pack and attempt to recover. The winds were forecast at 8 mph but, as usual, they were way off. I drift back about 15 spots as we hit the overpass at 505 and it's immediately guttered. We're pummeled by the cross/head wind that seems to have gained another 10 mph as it smears the peleton across the road. Centerline rule is strictly enforced so it slams everyone against the yellow line. Like pieces of driftwood in heavy surf, the wind hurls us against it. A wall of desperate, diminishing riders, crouching, trying to get as small as they possibly can while struggling to find the slightest remnants of a slipstream from the wheel in front of them. I'm sitting about 20 wheels back. I know I've got to make my way up the wall and into the wind or risk getting gapped. So, I go. I jump up about 4 spots to Robin's wheel and let him know I'm there. I ask him to give me a little room. He moves 5" to the right, giving up what little draft he's getting to give me shelter. I tell him we've got to move up and without hesitation he jumps to the right and into the wind with me glued to his wheel. He delivers me toward the front as I pull up next to Judd. Again, I ask for a brief respite from the wind still feeling the earlier effort. Judd hesitates, then graciously, or maybe reluctantly gives up his sweet spot. Either way, he takes it on the chin for me. I sit for just a few seconds, enough to catch a few breaths, and jump to the front and back into the rotation giving Judd back his spot.
By the end of the first lap, we've lost over half the field and half of our team. A few were able to catch back on, as we hit the first cross wind section for the 2nd time. I was told by Judd and Chad to stay in the rotation or risk getting guttered, then gapped so I do just that. Only thing is, it's me, Chris Baker, Stephen McCaw, and one other who are doing all of the work, rotating through, pulling everyone with us. At first I'm a bit frustrated. I wanted to do well and possibly place in this race so I thought I'd have at least one other teammate rotating with me to help keep my nose out of the wind or to help get another break established. After a few minutes, I'm over it as I realize that I've got Judd, JB, Robin, and Chad back there who are all riding just as strong, if not stronger than I am and we've got a great chance of winning this if we keep it tight and play our cards right. I start to ease into realizing that it's going to be a looong lap.
Somewhere along the way Craig Roamer had gone off the front. We kept him within sight and let him dangle out there for a while. Then J goes up the road with Scott Fonseca and a few others. I rotate to the front and start thinking about jumping. I drift back a few wheels and nonchalantly move to my drops so as no to alert anyone of my intentions. I gently feather my thumb against my right shifter. I'm stealthy, I'm a tiger ready to pounce his prey, I'm a Ninja seconds away from launching his attack on his unsuspecting enemy, I'm....I'm...I'm too late! Judd jumps wide to the right with Chris Baker on his wheel and up the road they go. I watch as they throw their bikes from side to side, pouring themselves over their bars, powering away from the pack. I let out a silent scream, "NNNNOOOOOOOOO!" and reach my hand out, stretching in front of my bike in that despairing pose that we've all seen in those cheap, if not predictable movies where the hero or heroin has just lost a loved one and can't imagine another breath without them. Figuratively speaking of course. I can't go now. I'm stuck, left behind, a domestique once again. So, to the front I go with Chad and we proceed to slow the chase and allow the break to establish. There were a few flyers, but nothing serious. With all of the major teams represented in the break, controlling the chase wasn't that hard, but since we had 2 up, it was left to us to do it. Chad and I are on the front in the longer cross wind section and strike that all too familiar pose...the lean as we impale ourselves on the proverbial sword and heave our bikes and bodies into the unforgiving cross wind effectively doing what's expected of us.
By the time we turn right onto Old Hwy 99 the break is long gone. With 10 miles to go, Scott Cole, the only Morgan Stanley rider in the break was dropped and falls back to the chase. The 2 MS riders who'd been sitting in for the most part jump to the front along with Metcalfe and start drilling it. I jump with them and in an instant, the chase group goes from 15 or so, to 8. Chad's still with me.
Earlier, on our second trip through the feed zone I completely missed out. Daryl and his wife were cool enough to come out to work the feed zone for us. He and Chad had agreed to use make shift musette bags and have 5 or so bottles in them. As we roll up to the 1st feed zone I ask Chad, "Is Coach (Daryl) here, or at the 2nd feed zone?" "I'm not sure" he says. I start making my way to the right side as Chad yells, "He's here, he's here!" I'm not in position but I see Chad grab a bag from Coach two wheels up. I jump to the right and go to grab the bottle that Coach has produced with lightning quick speed and miss it. DOH! That's ok, Chad's got a bag full. I ride up to him and just as I'm about to ask him for a bottle, he's throwing the bag to the side of the road...empty. Robin, Sean, Judd, and Jason were with us and needed bottles just as bad as I did. Good thing I brought the 3rd bottle. I was still running low and knew I'd need a refill. "No problem bro, I'll share mine with you" Chad says. I was able to grab a bottle at the 2nd feed zone but ran out about 2 miles before that. In an instant, I was down to half a bottle.
Metcalfe is an animal and takes monster pulls. I'm on his wheel as he flaps his right elbow. I pull through at 32 mph and the rotation continues. Only 4 of us are rotating though and I can't seem to get out from behind him. I know he's going to go, and I know that I'll be the one who has to respond. He hammers on and keeps flipping his damned elbow. I have to oblige. It must be some sort of Hammer Head code or something. I know I just don't want to be "that guy." You know, the guy who just sits in and does no work at all. Too much pride I guess. So, I pull through, again trying to silence the voices and am purposely NOT looking down at my computer. Besides, I've got Chad back there to respond if anyone goes. All at once, Rick and 2 Morgan Stanley guys attack. I'm on the front I wait for just a second hoping that someone else will respond so I can jump on their wheel, but no one does. I stand on the pedals and slam it to the right of the road looking to catch their draft, but it's too late, there's nothing there but wind. It snickers at me. It laughs at my futile attempt. It's NO friend of mine. I turn myself inside out in rebellion. I rage against it. I'm emptying myself and feel my body as it starts to systematically shut down. Again, I'm forced to sit and watch as they pull away from me. I've done the math. There goes 9th, 10th, and 11th. I fall back. I'm reduced to embers as I'd lit what I thought was the last match in the book. I slip to the back looking for Chad and a drink of water. Before I knew it, I was 2 bike lengths off the wheel in front of me. I look back and see nothing but the moto ref. Damn, something must have happened to Chad. Turns out, he'd hit a pot hole and cracked his carbon wheel. So it's down to Metcalfe, Cole, McCaw, some lame ass who's sitting at the back shaking his head saying he's got nothing left, and myself. I've got a mouth full of cotton, can hardly breath and we've got about 3 miles to go. McCaw goes and all I can do is watch. Then, the lame ass who had nothing left back about 2 miles ago drills it. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who was bothered by it. Metcalfe looks over at me and says, "WTF man!?!" "I know bro!" I reply. "F that!" he says as he puts his forehead on his stem and drills it one last time. I pull through @ 30 mph as we catch him and set my sights on McCaw who's 100m up. As we hit the overpass for the final sprint I light the book with the last match and completely regurgitate my very essence all over the front of my bike. I cross the line, it's over...finally. I'm an empty shell. I can feel my skin flaking off in the wind as I'm completely reduced to ash.
I see AJ and J off to the side but can't even lift my head to acknowledge them. I stop and almost fall over. I look up and see Judd. He's holding up his hand. I have to blink a few times to clear my eyes that have a sticky film of sweat, grime, and sunblock smeared thick across them. I squeeze my eyes and try to focus. Squinting I barely make out what he's trying to tell me...he's holding up 1 finger and trying his hardest to smile. He looks like I feel. Saweet...

So Rocknasium takes it with Judd 1st, J grabs 6th, I end up 13th, and Chad, 20th. Yeah baby!

The next day at Suisun. Judd grabs 2nd in the Masters 123's and 5th in the Pro 1-2's earning his last point for his CAT 1 upgrade. Awesome.

As I'm walking back to the course with AJ to watch Judd in the P1-2's at Suisun, we're stopped by Chris Baker and Rick Bradley. "Bro, you were killing it yesterday man! You looked strong!" Chris says with Rick shaking his head in agreement. "Your team chemistry was awesome bro. You guys Rocked it!"
Cool...

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(8/16/08) Winters Road Race

It's a beautiful thing to witness a well thought plan unfold just as we thought it would. Even more beautiful to be a part of it, not only a part of it, but the focal point. I gotta say that after following Mike Pugh, David Huang, and Karen Spores up Cantelow for the past three Tuesdays before the race rides and trying to stay on their wheels, made todays effort seem almost easy! (almost)
After all the traffic on the list serve yesterday and seeing my name
bounce around, I was more than a little taken aback to be honest. I
just couldn't believe every one chiming in, offering to support me and
do whatever they could to get me a shot at a win. Something I never
expected being a newbie. A true display of selflessness. Then, as I sat
there reading all of the emails and being overcome with a feeling of
brotherhood and companionship...it hit me. I felt the blood rush from
my face. I saw that candid camera that everyone has on their entire
life zoom in for a close up of the look on my face. Then, at the speed
of life, zoom away. First to me siting at the table staring into my lap
top, then to the house, then to the city, then the state, then the
country, and finally stop at the moons eye view of the entire
planet...and the weight of it sitting squarely on my shoulders. "OH
SHITE! WHAT IF I CAN'T DELIVER...WHAT IF I DON'T HAVE IT!?! That
overwhelming feeling of brotherhood and companionship was quickly
covered by that ever daunting cloak of self doubt and fear. Thanks
Justin! :0)

The phone rings and I dare not answer it. I let it go to voice mail.
It's Karl..."Dude, you'd better have your race legs on tomorrow, 'cause
if you're with me at the top of Cantelow for the second lap, you're
getting on my wheel and I'm protecting you the whooole way man!"
"Alright brutha, see you tomorrow...lets do it...Rock N Roll!" Or
something to that effect. The pressure cooker just jumped up about 200
degrees. I start hydrating immediately. So much so that I must have
woken up a dozen times during the night to pee. Needless to say...not a
very restful night.

Race day ~ I pull into Steady Eddy's around 7:30 (late again) to Justin
saying, "Dude I'm glad you finally got here, everyone was driving
through the parking lot giving me the "Stink Eye" for saving you a
spot!" Get registered, get AJ reg'd, pin #'s on, get a quick warm up
and hit the staging area. Guess the stress must have been written all
over my face because everyone kept telling me to relax. Chad walks up,
puts his arm around me and in that calm "Uncle Chad" voice tells me,
"Dude, just breathe...relax and let your team do their job...it's gonna
be just fine!" That's something I have yet to master...the ability to
just relax before a race. I really never do until around 20 minutes into it.


We're off, and for me, "Class Is Now In Session!" Nice easy pace for
the first few miles. Then Nelson launches along 505. Lee and 2 others
bridge up and manage to stay off the front until about half way up
Cantelow. I'm on Fred's wheel for the majority of the first lap...then
Darin's, then Justin's, then Rod's, then Hal's, then, right before the
base of Cantelow I hear Chad yell, "Snovel, move up!" Just then, Karl
makes his move. I jump on his wheel and proceed to ride it right to the
front as he sets the pace up Cantelow. We're 1-2 as we crest and begin
to rail down the back side. Justin manages to catch back on along
Pleasant Vly along with about 10 others and tries to ramp it up and
make the break we have on the rest of the field stick, but no one seems
dedicated to the effort and the main field catches on. Justin stays on
the front and drills it down PVR. I'm toward the back at this point and
hear a familiar voice from my left say, "Lets go!" as Fred and Rod
hammer to the front and manage to string things out. As we approach the
turn off for Putah Creek Karl begins his mentoring. Instructing me to
check the mileage as we make the turn and start to pick out a few land
marks in prep for the finish.

2nd lap pretty much follows suit. Then Tim launches along 505 to
relieve pressure. I hear Fred talking to Justin and Rod up ahead of me
giving them their assignments. Karl continues to tell me that we need
to be up towards the front as we approach the rollers right before
Cantelow to be able to cover any attacks. We make the left to stay on
Timm Rd. at Peaceful Glen, make the right hander and start to climb up
the roller before it drops down to Cantelow. I look up from the back of
the pack as the road begins to rise and see patches of bright orange and blue
as my teammates rise out of their saddles in unison. That strong
feeling of brotherhood overtakes me once again. I breathe my next
breath and begin to feel every cell in my body charge in preparation
for what's to come. I begin my self assessment and find that I'm
feeling GREAT! For the first time I start to believe that I can
actually win this. With the speed at which Karl and I floated up
Cantelow, I figure whoever is there this time around, will be there for
the end game.

Just as we approach the feed zone, Karl and I have been able to make
our way to the front of the pack and sit 4th and 5th comfortably. Just
as we round the bend after descending the rollers Fred makes his move.
He drills it on the front pulling Karl and I along and lays the lumber
on the rest of the field. The break begins to form. He's looking super
strong and all of a sudden, he raises his right hand..."Flat!" Crap! As
Karl and I roll past he yells out, "Karl...Jason...DO IT!" Karl must
have felt the same thing I did as he surges and sets the pace up
Cantelow. About half way up, the guy from Touchstone kept trying to
bull me off of Karl's wheel. "Yeah right!" I continue to deny him all
the way up. I give him one last "nudge" letting him know that his
effort is futile. He finally gets the hint and offers up a whimpy
comment like, "Dude, you've been bumping me the whole way up the
climb!" and pushes my back in submission. I reply, "Well then drop the
F*#% back!" I reply. I hear nothing from him for the rest of the race, aside
from an apology afterwards...accepted.

We crest the climb and once again are 1-2 heading down the descent.
Hitting 42 mph we roll onto PVR with a huge gap and 6 other riders, two
of which are Rio Astrada guys. The selection has been made. Karl and I
don't even have to pull through for the first 2 or 3 rotations, I think
out of respect for pulling everyone up Cantelow. Karl instructs me to
conserve my energy and stay on the back, but I just cant. It's just not
in my DNA. We hammer down PVR at about 32 mph and I begin to feel it.
"Careful" Karl says, making sure I don't over do it. Making the right
on Putah Creek we continue to paceline. Karl and I pretty much control
the break and offer up words of encouragement and instruction. Luckily
our pace slows to about 26 or so. I tell Karl to ease up as I pull
through and he does. I slowly begin to recover a bit and prep for the
sprint.

With about 500m to go Karl looks back and tells me to sit on his wheel.
We round the corner at the 200m marker in 3rd and 4th. I watch the body
language of Karl as he begins to twitch in anticipation. I match his
cadence, and wait for what seems an eternity. Finally a rider launches
up the right side. I can almost read Karl's mind..."Not yet, wait...too
soon...F*#% IT!" In what looks to be a full body conniption, he
attacks up the left side with me 2 cm off his wheel. We're absolutely
on fire as we drive it toward the finish. Karl's laying down a text
book lead out and with about 20m to go I move left and make my way
around him pumping my fist as I cross the finish line for the win. Karl
takes second. Perfect!

Justin ended up 9th overall taking the field sprint. 1-2-9!?! A GREAT
DAY FOR DBC! One after another guys from the other teams were coming up
to me saying that DBC totally controlled the whole race from start to
finish. What a display fellas...what a display.

You guys...there isn't an adjective out there that could adequately
describe the heartfelt emotions that I have for this team. Seriously.
You guys ROCK!
Read more!

(4/15/2008) Madera Stage Race.

First off, I've got to send a shout out to Steve W.
for convincing me to race with the kid instead of the
"O.D's." (Old Dudes).
I struggle to find the words to describe the
bitter sweet feeling I had throughout the weekend. I
couldn't quite put my finger on it. I was dueling with
my emotions. One minute I was as happy as I'd ever
been, feeling like that teenage kid back in 1988
riding my motorcycle, leather jacket, hair flowing in
the wind, weightless and untouchable. The next, I was
as angry as my Grandpa, after having been a truck
driver for the majority of his life, being told
that he could no longer drive his own vehicle. I
couldn't figure myself out, couldn’t make sense of it
all, until it happened. It was during Sunday’s road
race. In two pedal strokes and one strong, seemingly
effortless move, I saw a little boy, become a young
man…Damn.
We pull into the Days Inn parking lot at 10:50 p.m. Friday night. Unload the gear, shower, and pass out. I
get a text just as I'm waking up. It's Rod, a.k.a.
"The Cuban Missile!" "You up yet?" "Yup!" I reply.
"What room are you in? I'm in 114.” “I’m walking the
dog.” He replies. A few minutes later my phone rings, it’s Rod again. “Dude, where you stayin’!?!” He asks with a slightly
higher pitch than usual and sounding a little short of
breath. “We’re at the Days Inn!” I say. He says,
“Dude…I thought you were at Super 8 with us! I walked
down to 114, the door was wide open so I step in and
almost get my ass kicked by this big ass
trucker dude…WTF!?!” I almost crap myself from laughing
so hard.

We arrive at the crit for our 8:50 start.
Being that
this is our first year of road racing, I’ve yet to
upgrade our wheelsets so we don’t have a spare set for
the weekend. As the season progress’s you begin to see
a lot of the same faces and become familiar with their
riding styles, strengths, and weakness’. So it was
cool to hear Russ, a guy from another team tell his
teammate to "stay on those guys’ wheel, they’ll keep it
clean and in order". Russ worked with me at Bariani, both
Brisbane’s and a few others that I can’t recall at
this time. We’ve been able to form a solid alliance
and look out for one another. Like Rod, and I’m sure
all of our other Masters teammates, he’s become an
“Uncle in the Peleton” to AJ and has on several
occasions let me know how he’s doing or where he is
when noticing me craning my neck looking for him. Russ
asks if we have any spares and tells us where his are
if we need them. Cool man!
I’m sitting at the start line and catch myself smiling
as I watch Nelson, Brian's Dad. He’s trembling with nervousness and
anticipation making sure that Brian has everything he
needs and letting AJ and the rest of us know that
he’ll be right there if we need anything. He looks at
me and I see the excitement and concern, “I got him
Nelson, we’ll do just fine.” I say. “Right on Jase,
good luck guys!” and we’re off. So, it’s an E5 crit,
we’ve all been there, done that, so you know how it
goes. You’ve got the usual, guys swerving to miss the
bots dots, squirrels all over the place, so, as usual
I’d offer a few kind words of advice. I decided, after
hearing others say that this things won in the TT,
that I was going to take it easy and just try not to
over exert myself too much, but I just couldn’t stand
sitting there just cruising, waiting for some dude to
swerve and take my front wheel out so I jump to the
front. There comes Rod and the boys right with me. We
control things for the most part, then, the bell rings for
the first of the primes. I just couldn’t do it. Just sit there while
guys sprint off the front. It must be a primal thing,
some sort of hunter/gatherer instinctual reflex to
pounce. I let them go for a few seconds, then give
chase. End up 2nd on both of them, but feeling none
the worse and figuring those that came with me will be
the ones to watch for, which proved to be true later
on. Right around the 5th lap or so, I roll by the
start finish and see AJ off the side being restarted.
He’d punctured over the RR tracks and sure enough,
there was Nelson running over to give AJ one of his
spares…ride on Nelson! Way to be there. After working
at the front for a while, I decide to drift toward the
back and out of trouble which affords me the
opportunity to watch the boys work together. They’re
smooth. Taking turns like they’ve been doing it for
years. I’m watching them power out of corners and
gaining position working their way in and around the
pack, watching the respect that they’ve earned from
other riders having raced with some of these same guys
in past races, when it begins to happen. I feel the
blood rush from my face as the reality of what I’m
witnessing slaps me right across it. The smile
that was there just moments before, gone. I angrily
dismiss it. I cast it away in denial and stand on my
pedals, charging my way to the front.


“2 laps to go!” I look up to see AJ hammering on the front,
Brian on his wheel pulling all of us with him. 26…28
mph…do I ride up to the front to tell him that there’s
one more lap, or do I sit back and let the kid learn
all on his own. I choose the latter and watch as he
hits the start finish line at the front of the pack to
the sound of the bell ringing. His head bows,
shoulders slouch as I ride by and say, “Nice pull
buddy…now lets go!” Rod takes the first pull,
hammering like a man possessed. We hit the second
turn, I stand on the pedals once again knowing that
AJ’s right on my wheel. My back tire shoots out from
under me as I round the turn and catches about a foot
to the outside, I regather and lay it down. I end up
coming in 6th, with Rod in 9th and AJ 10th. Not sure
where Brian came in, but he was right there.

Now, the TT.

After lounging around for a few hours, chatting it up,
cheering on the Masters as they roll by warming up, I
decide to put my clip-ons…on. Now I know, I know,
carbon bars and clip-ons go together like Bush and the
ability to construct a proper sentence, but I play it
safe and wrap my bars with some thick rubber tubing
before throwing them on. “Ere’ you go…at’ll do!” I
tell AJ to grab his arrow bars and set his bike up on
the trainer so that I could get to work on it. A few
minutes go by and I notice AJ sitting in his chair,
visibly upset. I rush over to see what’s up. He’d
forgotten his bars and thought that he’d miss the TT.
I explained to him that that wasn’t the case and that
it was no big deal. Nelson to the rescue once again!
He rolls by on his warm up and I tell him that AJ's
forgotten his bars, and without hesitation he makes
a B-line toward his truck. He brings back
a spare set that Jason B was going to be using and
said just be sure to get them to JB before his TT.
Beautiful! Back in business! Nelson, beers on me!

AJ’s set to go off 30 seconds before me. I jokingly
tell him not to get all “Butt hurt” when his old man
passes him 35 seconds into his TT. “That’s NOT going
to happen!” “You’re NOT passing me!” “10 seconds!” “Go
get ‘em AJ!” Russ yells from a few riders back.
“5-4-3-2-1….GO!” “GO-GO-GO!” I say as he thunders off.

My turn. Now, for those of you who don’t already know,
heat causes rubber to soften, and since I didn’t
bother to get a thorough warm up, it didn’t even come
to mind. “10 seconds!” “5-4-3-2-1…GO!” I release,
feeling a bit like a Greyhound chasing after that
little freakin’ rabbit, but more than likely resembling
a Labrador lumbering through the brush.
25…27…29 mph as I relax into the
aero position. I give the first hard crank from the
aero’s and almost crack myself right in the forehead
with my bars…SHITE! The rubber was as soft as a
teething ring from the heat. They were loose, but not
that loose…I press on keeping my eye on AJ, who
strangely appears to be getting smaller. I look to my
right as I approach the first turn. There he is,
looking stronger than ever not resembling my “Little
Buddy” at all and about to pass his second rider. I
thought for sure I’d catch him by the third turn…well,
here comes the third turn…and there he goes. We come
to the 2 mile marker and I begin to wonder if I’d
catch him at all. Diggin’ deep now, I roll up on him
with just under a mile to go. I catch myself sitting
just off his left hip about 5 yards back watching
him. I'm grinning from ear to ear when it begins to creep
up on me again like an ominous, black rain cloud, I
shake it off and power up trying to convince myself
that I could out sprint it. He glances to his left as
I roll up, “Damn!” I hear him say as his head drops to his forearms.
“Don’t stop now Bud!” “Dig deep!” “Let’s go!” I watch
over my right shoulder as he snaps himself out of it,
grits his teeth, grips his aero bars and digs.
Yeeaaah! I roll in at 26:39. He rolls in 5 seconds
behind me with a 27:14 I think. He rides strait over
to Nelson’s truck and I help J with the bars. Brian’s
there, and for some reason, looks bigger than he did
this morning. These kids are growing by the minute. I
forget to ask him how he did though. We pack up, get
back to the room where I’ve left the air on, hit the
showers, slam down 2 large sub sandwiches, and crash.

Now comes the RR.

No need to set the alarm for this one, though I’m
still up by 5:30…I haaaate that. Eat, pack up, and off
to the Races. Now, for some reason, it seems I
wouldn’t be able to find my own ars if it wasn’t
connected to my back. I’m all turned around. After a
few phone calls…we get there. Not really needing a
warm up, we head on out, pass the start, turn left and
contemplate climbing the hill…nnnnnNNNo thanks. I ask
AJ how he’s feeling. “Pretty good, sore though!” I
tell him that everyone else is probably feeling the same way
and that seems to calm him a bit. I notice him riding around,
taking it all in. He has this stoic look on his face and a calm
demeanor about him that just says, "I belong here." That feeling
comes upon me again, only this time, instead of angrily
dismissing it, I let it bathe over me for just a brief moment as I sit
and watch my son, almost disconnected, an outsider looking in.

So we start off. No big deal, just spinning, relaxing,
loosening up. Make the left hander and off we go. What I
haven't bothered to tell you up to this point is that
I injured myself on Saturday morning before leaving
the hotel. I was up early, and hadn't had the chance
to change our cleats. Both AJ and I had been riding
on broken cleats and I figured now was as good a time
as any to slap on our new, fancy rubber bottomed Time
cleats. So, out comes the awl. An awl, for those of
you who don't know is a sharp pointed tool, not much
different from an ice pick. The one I have resembles an
old wooden skewer. I was using it to pick out the dirt and
grime from the old cleats so I could unscrew them
when...ooops, I stab myself right in the left palm.
Not too bad, just a tiny hole, a little blood, it
hurt, mental note taken, won't do that again. Three
seconds later, oops.

Now, if you hold your left hand out in
front of you, palm facing you, you'll notice the "J"
for Jason (or Jackass) that your index finger and thumb
create. You see the trough of the "J"? Thats where I
stab myself so deep that I feel the awl stick into
something and have to actually pull it out. Now that
friggin' hurt! It's so deep that it sucks in air and
gurgles the blood and air back out. DANG IT! Now, take
your palm as its facing you and slowly turn it down as
if you're going to grab the hoods on your bike...yup! RIGHT
FRIGGIN' THERE MAN! Couldn't have aimed and hit it
better. What a DUMAS' (said with a French accent) So, by the
time the road race started, I couldn't hardly grab my
left hood, let alone use my front break.

Right from the start we jump to the front. I tell AJ
to limit his pulls to no more that about 15 seconds.
He takes a pull, and sure enough, about 20 seconds
later he peels off. Now I'm not sure how or why, but
as he starts to peel, we rub wheels, I thought I was going
down for sure, I recover, barely, and feel someone hit the
back of my wheel. I look back to see Russ, who was on my
wheel, go down hard. Damn! We all slow
up a bit, regroup and slowly make our way down the
road. A few minutes later, up comes Russ's teammate
happily pedaling beside us. I say, "You know, you
should fall back and pull Russ back up to the group.
I'll jump up front and slow it down a bit to give you
guys a chance to get back on." He looks at me with a
puzzled look on his face and says, "Well, I don't know
if he even got back up!" Rod snaps back almost before
the guy could even finish his sentence and says, "He
got right back up and on his bike!" obviously as
aggravated with the guy as I was. The guy got the
message and back he went. We turn right onto the
crappy stretch of road and the pain begins. I stay
toward the back thinking that I'd be able to cruise
without braking much...yeah right! These guys were all
over the place. No organization at all. It felt like
we were stuck in a giant slinky. Up through the feed
zone and back around for he second lap. Again I jump
to the front and there's Rod, right there with me
taking over making sure I don't work too hard. The
boys stay tucked behind us and out of trouble. We come
upon the right turn and the crappy section again and
this time I know better. I jump up front, kick it up
to 22 mph and stay there. I'm on my tops the whole
time and never have to hit the hoods or brake once.
Rod yells out "Flyer" and a rider takes off up the
left side. No one gives chase, so I quickly move and
neutralize. Just after the crappy section, my stomach
starts to cramp up a bit and my mouth is suddenly
parched as we approach the rollers. I start to fall
off a bit and see AJ, Rod, and Brian crank up the
hill. Thank goodness for the neutral bottles. I grab
one, spray myself, take a few gulps and slowly
make my way up the road. I look up to see AJ cranking
around the corner with the lead group. I'm about 30
meters back by then. All of a sudden, I look up and
there's Brian's wheel. He cranks hard and shows his
potential when he unknowingly bridges me back to the
main group. So there I was, in between our two
Juniors, who by now are looking like grown men. And it
happens. This time I buy a ticket, kick back, and
watch it unfold right in front of me.

On our way down
to Madera, before AJ passed out, I was explaining to
him that he needed to be a little more aggressive and
not let riders move in and take his position so
easily. Well, here comes a guy almost twice his size
and he starts to move in on AJ. Things seemed to be
moving in slow motion as I watch AJ in one fluid
motion move from his hoods to his drops. The muscles
in his forearms flex as he grips his bar, and begins
to rise out of the saddle. His biceps strain, I see
his lats begin to tighten through his jersey as his
back arches and begins to spread like a cobra ready to
strike. I notice muscles in his legs that I never even
knew he had, and in one decisive, powerful move and two
pedal strokes he regains position and stares the man
twice his size into submission, and watches, as he fades
back behind his Dad. I watch in disbelief as my little boy
seemingly, in that very instant becomes a young man.


Choking down the tennis ball that seemed to be stuck in
my throat, and fighting back the tears, I hit the
drops and make my way back to the front. Again,
there's the "Cuban Missle" right there with me,
protecting me. We hammer hard and manage to split the
field. Our group is neutralized to allow the Masters
to pass. It's too close to the finish line and causes
a lot of confusion. In the end, they release us and I
give it everything I've got with AJ on my wheel. I cross
the line for a 3rd place finish and AJ grabs 12th. I
ride up ahead without looking back so AJ can’t
see me choking back the tears. I can't help thinking that more than
likely by this time next year, I’ll be lucky if I get
the opportunity to watch his race let alone be in it.

He’s not my “little buddy” any more.

I end up 5th overall in the GC with Rod grabbing 8th,
AJ placing 9th, and Brian 23rd. A great weekend for
DBC!


It's true, what they say, “Lost time is never found
again.” Take advantage of it now fellas, we’ve only got
about 3, maybe 4 summers left, if we’re lucky, before
they’ll be wanting to do their own thing and might not
want to hang out with Dad anymore. I’ll ask any way, and try
not to be disappointed when I hear his answer.

It seems just last year he was up on my shoulders as
we hiked up the Colombia Rock trail in Yosemite
discussing life as a Kindergartner. "Da-y," he'd say
because he just couldn't be bothered to pronounce the
other two "D's", "I really don't like it when the girls
get me into the play house and then get on top of me
and don't let me up!" I pause for a moment, take a deep breath
and say, "AJ, I want you to stay away
from the play house son! O.K.? STAY AWAY FROM
THE PLAY HOUSE!"
Read more!

(3/9/2008) Berkeley TTT

I always loved watching the TTT's in the Tour. It was
always one of the most enjoyable stages to watch for
me. The strength, the power, the speed, the whole team
moving as one, in perfect unison, floating inches from
each other, a sneeze away from disaster. Beautiful.
Now, after having competed with 3 of my fellow
compadres in my first ever...there's no feeling like
it man! Alarm went off at 4:45. I jump out of bed to turn it
off so fast I don't even think I gave it a chance to
reach it's full "I want to rip it out of the wall and
pound it with a sledge hammer" potential. So amped
about the event was I that before I know it, I'm out
of the shower and in the garage for the last once over
on the bike.
Fast forward to 15 min. to our 8:19 start. "Go ahead,
I'm right behind you," I tell Darin, Rod and Mark.
Throw on the helmet, grab the gloves, one last swig,
and head out. About a mile from the parking lot I pass
a rider heading the other way cussing and trying to
click in...I ask if he's ok, he hollers something
about my teammates, "Cool, thanks man!" I reply,
thinking he was telling me that they're just ahead of
me. Rounding the next turn I come upon the guys
helping Mark dust off and checking his bike out. I
look to Mark, who's by that time full into the ever
dreadful "Ouwee Dance." "WTF!?!" I ask. His jersey's
ripped, his elbow's bloody and we haven't even make it
to the flippin' start line. Turns out the guy had just
collided with Mark. I didn't see the accident but from
what I was told, the guy was flying, tucked with his
head down, and without warning, ran right smack into
the back of Mark who was pulling off the road to check
his bike. Mark took the brunt of the "attack" in the
"left rear quadrant"...arrow bars! OUCH! El Toro
strikes. It would be unanimously voted later that
Mark's new nickname is "The Matador!"
Mark felt pretty bad about it even though he wasn't
the one at fault. I guess the other rider fared much
worse and was screaming at Mark. Maybe it was a good
thing I wasn't there. Give the once over on the bike,
everything seems strait, without a word, Mark jumps on
and leads the way to the start line.
"10 seconds!" "5-4-3-2-1-GO!" and we're off. I take
the first pull. Perfect weather, great warm up,
feeling good as we serpentine our way down the course.
Working surprisingly well as a group for not having
ever ridden together, staying tight, taking turns,
beautiful. We fly into the first right hand turn. A
truck burns passed us, the flagger waves him through,
he stops, the flagger then tries to stop him, he
lurches, we slam on the brakes. SH*T! I let out an
expletive, Darin reels my emotions back in, and we
press on. First big climb, we settle into a silent
rhythm. I'm just starting to hum Promontory from the
last of the Mohican's (it just works for me) as we
level out, regain speed and hit the next climb.
Pushing my 25 I say, "Thats all, no more gears!" Just
then, Darin drops his chain. We slow, not sure whether
to continue or wait. Looking back, hearing the seconds
tick off, seeing Darin struggle, we look at each other
and just as we start to head back, Darin gritting his
teeth yells, "Go ahead guys, GO!" I can't imagine how
tough that must have been for him. Feeling like hounds
on a leash...we release.
Over the hills and through the woods, we reel in team
in front of us...we surge. The final stretch, laying
it all out diggin' deep, done.
High fives, back slappin', a few minutes later, Darin
rolls in grinning from ear to ear like the rest of us.
He hammered out the rest of the race solo just in case
one of us had a mechanical. Way to go Darin. I think
the "Toughest rider" award will have to be shared by
both Darin and The Matador, who HTFU'd and pulled his
share through the pain. You both rocked! And Rod, you
hammered brutha!
The best part, throwing back a few with Rod, Darin,
Dawn and the Matador over a perfect Chicago style
pizza pie and Zachary's, exchanging stories and
complimenting each other, laughing so hard that my abs
cramped up. I tell ya, every time I race with this
team, I come away saying, "What a great group of guys
man!" Any time, any place...I'm in.
Dawn was the perfect TTT sherpa, helping with all of
our #'s and just being there. She was also able to
snap a few shots of all of the other DBCers out there,
as well as a few great shots of Levi, who started
about 20 min. after us and was still unable to reel us
in! :0) As soon as I can, I'll upload them onto the
web site. I'll let you know when I do.
Not sure what our time was, i think it was
"Officially" around 49 and some change. 17th out of 24
I think. I think there were around 16 pro teams out
there though. :0) Read more!