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...

Thank you for reading.