Sweet! Bummer...

Today was the final day of day school. Sweet! Now I have to work a full 40 hours a week. Bummer. Took the final exam and got a 100%. Sweet! Spent the rest of the day fucking off with the other apprentices. Sweet! Zip-tied one to his chair after he fell asleep. Sweet! Had to go inside when the rain came. Bummer.

Enough of that. Stopped by TBS East Sieeeeda and found out it won't be too long before 19" Ferrous' will be availible. I may have to pull the pin on one... maybe. In the mean time I picked up a sweet pair of pink grips with white stars for the Rig. It might contrast the BKB kit well when it shows.

After the exam today we had a cook-out before the rain came. Before the burgers & brats were ready, a few of us started playing baseball. Nothing serious, just keeping busy with guys half my age. One of the guys hit a bouncing ball to me out in left field which I scooped up with my Dale Murphy Rawlings glove and promptly fired to second base. Right into the waiting glove for a quick tag out. Everyone looked stunned and one of the guys says "shit! you know how to play baseball?! We thought you just rode bicycles." Later, before the movie they were talking about plans for the summer, Volleyball, Softball, Bowling(?) and other "games" these guys will try to endure without pulling a muscle or otherwise hurting themselves. I thought about my summer plans, which almost exclusively consists of dodging handlebars at the start of the race followed by trees and other obstacles. How was I fortunate enough to find cycling? An abondoned green Sekine on the corner of Bryan & Milwaukee makes it easy to remember. My Sekine was purple. I bought it used from a buddy in Menasha and spent the next few years changing the very basic SunTour parts to Campagnolo. By 1980 it was full Nuovo Record with tubulars and not getting raced. Long training rides around Dodgeville, where cycling was ridiculed, and a trip up to Reedsburg and back kept me thinking of racing. The summer between sophomore and junior year was somewhat special. A classmate had a foreign exchange student from France. When I rode into town to hang out with my classmate the french student saw my Campy equipment and thought he'd found a civilized and worldly cyclist. I'd heard of the TdF but that i had no reference for his enthusiasm. Now I understand, but then his stories of Hinault and Fignon and other French cyclists were lost on a phillistine. It wouldn't be until 1984 when I dragged out the Sekine while in the Army in Tacoma, Washington that I would feel the passion again. Again, long training rides around Mt Rainer and the Cascades would suppliment my running. While I enjoyed ripping off 10K's in 32 minutes all day long, I wanted to race the bicycle. It wouldn't be until 1987 when I would be tested. I was living in Arlington, Texas and I discovered a criterium at a nearby industrial park. Not being licensed I entered the citizens race wearing the jersey a girlfriend had givien me... a white jersey with a rainbow of blue, red, black, yellow and green. At the start an official came up to me and said "do you know you can't race in that jersey?" I didn't know, it was the only jersey I had. He chucked and said "Good luck Mr Roche" as he walked away. I did the jersey proud. Having been carless for the better part of that year I was averaging 60 miles a day just commuting to work. I didn't have any tactics to use so I thought I'd try to learn as I went. I got bored with the pace so I took off and started pulling everyone around the lap. In no time I'd ridden everyone off my wheel, but the announcer with the bullhorn was really excited when I lapped the field a second time. I got a nice blue ribbon that has been lost to too many moves, but my best prize was when the official gave me a USCF license application and a rule book before I rode home. Someone else wanted me to race. That winter I joined a team, the Mid-Cities Wheelman sponsored by Bicycles, Inc., as a Cat 4. Halfway through the year I was a 3. The next year I was asked to join a 2/3 team and I had my hands full. Weekends in 1/2/3 races for truckloads of cash and as many racers wanting the win. Weeknights in Plano doing "training" criteriums and circuit races with 150 riders for the princely sum of your entry fee if you placed in the top 10. At least I got my name in the paper a few times for placing in the top 5. More fuel for the fire. Then came the reality check. At a crit in Irving, Tx there was a young Subaru-Montgomery rider. Word was out the owner of Richardson Bike Mart would pay cash to any rider who could beat him. He'd never get to spend a dime. His bounty went unspent as Lance Armstrong lapped us solo that day. Later that year Lance would lap us twice while towing 5 other riders in a crit in Waco and still sprint to the win. The next year I would do my last race at that level with a desire to win. It was Texas District Championships. Lance would win and I would survive. My brother Dan was my soigneur on the brute of a feed zone climb. Water and encouragement were there every lap but I was easily 30 minutes back with too many miles to go. It was a matter of pride to finish TDC. On average only 25% finished a 100+ mile course in the hill country south of Austin in late May. Heat and hills took their toll on most and I'd failed to finish 3 times before. Knowing my competitive days were gone had a sobering effect when I came to that realization during a race.

That fall brought me into mountain bike racing with some enthusiasm. I'd dorked around the winter before riding the trails south of DFW airport at Hwy 360. The service manager of the shop, Butch Wells, had been Tx State Expert Champion twice so he was good to have as a skills mentor. We did group/employee rides before and after work and I was finding enthusiasm again. Butch convinced me to do the Beginner race at the Waco stop for the TX State MTB Series on my full rigid (duh, no Rockshox around yet) Mongoose with U-brake). I should have been racing a category up so the win wasn't as big of surprise as it could have been. Top 5 finishes the rest of the series brought an automatic upgrade to Sport where I found happiness in competition. Training less made racing harder and a move to Wisconsin killed training as work and school took a priority.

Today it only takes me a moment to find satisfaction in cycling. I can go out on the Seven and hammer as best I can. I can go out on the Rig and dodge trees. If I'm only able to maintain my current fitness I'll be happy at the end of the year, but I do have expectations of improvement. I would like to feel the pleasure of a win again. I'm not dilusional, I won't be keeping my wheel on Jesse's except around the parking lot...

but I do have Desire.