It rained earlier this week. The air smelled strongly of dog shit and I frequently checked the soles of my boots to ensure that I hadn't inadvertently stepped in a pile of the disturbing substance.
No, it wasn't me...just Georgia.
Since returning to Fort Gordon, life has been just like WLC, Army. I've had slightly more responsibility at work forcing me to work a few extra hours during the week and put the needs of others before my own. I even got to work through a weekend by moving all my personal belongings from one barracks room to another and attending an M16 qualification range.
Fortunately, I was rewarded the next weekend with a 4-day pass which I took full advantage of by flying to Chicago to see The Trish and her feline companion, Mr. Neville Thatcher. Chicago was piss cold, but beautiful nonetheless. We opted to be tourists on a Sunday and rode a rocket of an elevator to the top of the Sears Tower to catch a glimpse of the city from 103 floors above ground level. The sky was clear and the city lay below us in all its urban majesty and glory. After our return to Earth, The Trish coughed up five bucks to a bum and we ate lunch.
Good times.
The riding of late has been somewhat scant. I did ride on a weekend who's date I cannot remember and was able to muster enough strength to break the chain off of my single speed on a down pedal two-thirds of the way into my ride. The walk back to the truck was long and I lazily have not ordered or purchased a new chain. Today, I showed up for the 0830 Warehouse ride and got in a wonderful spin with about eight other riders. One rider, who I spent most of the ride talking to, had just moved to Georgia from WVU where he had been attending grad school for the past five years. We swapped war stories from our life and times in the great state of West Virginny and I promised him a smorgasbord of trail information in regard to his new home in the durrrrty south. The ride itself was tough as Nate led us up four significant climbs that dropped me to the back of the pack and left my young body in confusion and fatigue.
Seven solid weeks out of the saddle is not good. Not good.
In other news, I will be flying to Fort Meade, MD on Sunday to attend a job related school for the next three weeks. I will also seek out various bike shops, trails, and pubs in the area to shake hands and prepare for my unofficial change of station to my new home.
Reality or fantasy...hopefully we will know in a few short weeks.
Get Riding!
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Journeys: Ending With A Crash (Bang)
Two weeks of classroom instruction, a week long field exercise, and a final week of sitting on my ass. The warrior leader course (a.k.a. sergeant school) is now over, and yes readers, I am now a warrior leader. I even have an official looking diploma.
The atmosphere at the graduation ceremony was one of jubilation and glee. "Hell" was over and we were finally allowed to return to our respective homes and booze things up with our respective drinks of choice. After the ceremony I hopped into a van with a few other Soldiers of the 513th, grabbed lunch, and set sail for Fort Gordon. My belly was full and my eye lids were heavy. I unbuckled my seat belt, laid down in my seat and promptly fell asleep.
The crash was mostly subconscious for me. I was dreamily flung forward into the back of the seat in front of me, creating a hasty mold of my sleeping form in the gray material, before falling in a heap on the van floor. I wasn't entirely awake at this point, but the screams from the front seats grabbed my attention. I opened my eyes and then the situation finally became very real. At first I wasn't sure of, well, a lot of things. Was the van upside down, was I dead, was I upside down, was I paralyzed, am I still in WLC? Fortunately, I was uninjured and sat up ready to react to the possible destruction in front of me.
After an initial "freak out" session we discovered that everyone was alive and it appeared that the only injuries were a busted lip and a sprained ankle. We Soldiers exited the van and took note of the results of the event from the side of the interstate. It appeared that we had rear ended a large truck while changing lanes in preparation for our exit from I-285 to I-20. The front of the van was accordioned back to the front of the frame and the windshield was shattered. I was informed that we had struck the truck while we were traveling at approximately 60 miles per hour. The van was totalled.
We stood in the cold staring at the destruction that now blocked two lanes of traffic waiting for emergency personnel to arrive. When they did they determined that I, for one, was free of injury, but the sprained ankle would have to be transported to the hospital for further evaluation.
The adrenaline had finally subsided and I could now feel the cold of the air seeping into my skin. As we prepared to leave the scene in various other vehicles I took a moment took look into the wondering eyes of motorist goose necking past us in the open lane of traffic. I recalled multiple occasions where I had been seated in a safe and secure vehicle my eyes glued to a traffic accident and its victims.
How did I feel to be on the receiving end of all the stares?
Lucky.
The atmosphere at the graduation ceremony was one of jubilation and glee. "Hell" was over and we were finally allowed to return to our respective homes and booze things up with our respective drinks of choice. After the ceremony I hopped into a van with a few other Soldiers of the 513th, grabbed lunch, and set sail for Fort Gordon. My belly was full and my eye lids were heavy. I unbuckled my seat belt, laid down in my seat and promptly fell asleep.
The crash was mostly subconscious for me. I was dreamily flung forward into the back of the seat in front of me, creating a hasty mold of my sleeping form in the gray material, before falling in a heap on the van floor. I wasn't entirely awake at this point, but the screams from the front seats grabbed my attention. I opened my eyes and then the situation finally became very real. At first I wasn't sure of, well, a lot of things. Was the van upside down, was I dead, was I upside down, was I paralyzed, am I still in WLC? Fortunately, I was uninjured and sat up ready to react to the possible destruction in front of me.
After an initial "freak out" session we discovered that everyone was alive and it appeared that the only injuries were a busted lip and a sprained ankle. We Soldiers exited the van and took note of the results of the event from the side of the interstate. It appeared that we had rear ended a large truck while changing lanes in preparation for our exit from I-285 to I-20. The front of the van was accordioned back to the front of the frame and the windshield was shattered. I was informed that we had struck the truck while we were traveling at approximately 60 miles per hour. The van was totalled.
We stood in the cold staring at the destruction that now blocked two lanes of traffic waiting for emergency personnel to arrive. When they did they determined that I, for one, was free of injury, but the sprained ankle would have to be transported to the hospital for further evaluation.
The adrenaline had finally subsided and I could now feel the cold of the air seeping into my skin. As we prepared to leave the scene in various other vehicles I took a moment took look into the wondering eyes of motorist goose necking past us in the open lane of traffic. I recalled multiple occasions where I had been seated in a safe and secure vehicle my eyes glued to a traffic accident and its victims.
How did I feel to be on the receiving end of all the stares?
Lucky.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Nonsense: Is This What A Computer Looks Like?
Ok, ok, it's only been two weeks. I really do remember what a computer looks like. I'm still capable of typing too.
So, here I sit, daintily, at the Fort Benning Library paying bills and getting denied access to myspace.com. The atmosphere outside is cold. Cold and damp. Freezing cold and damp. A light drizzle has been in effect all day and now street lamps cast quivering dashes of yellow across the tops of parking lot puddles. The sight reminds me of a painter's brush of water color.
"The library will be closing in 12 minutes", a voice calls to my right. I turn to see an older woman with a baby blue shirt looking in my direction. The greenish stains down her front are amusing. Was she busy painting up the scene outside when she accidentally spilled the yellow of the street lamps down her shirt. Is she really the goddess of inky nights who has taken up hiding in this small library? Or are the stains simply that of a toddler vomitting his recently emptied bottle onto her toddler blue shirt?
Sergeant school has been interesting. I was extremely bitter about the prospect at first, but upon realizing that I must accept those things that I cannot change I decided that a more positive attitude would be better suited for overcoming these four trying weeks in my life.
Life is routine. Life is Army. There are no fantastic bicycles to ride, no snowboards. Just 0430 formations and Airborne school standing proudly across the street. February 2nd will be a good day.
The library is closed.
So, here I sit, daintily, at the Fort Benning Library paying bills and getting denied access to myspace.com. The atmosphere outside is cold. Cold and damp. Freezing cold and damp. A light drizzle has been in effect all day and now street lamps cast quivering dashes of yellow across the tops of parking lot puddles. The sight reminds me of a painter's brush of water color.
"The library will be closing in 12 minutes", a voice calls to my right. I turn to see an older woman with a baby blue shirt looking in my direction. The greenish stains down her front are amusing. Was she busy painting up the scene outside when she accidentally spilled the yellow of the street lamps down her shirt. Is she really the goddess of inky nights who has taken up hiding in this small library? Or are the stains simply that of a toddler vomitting his recently emptied bottle onto her toddler blue shirt?
Sergeant school has been interesting. I was extremely bitter about the prospect at first, but upon realizing that I must accept those things that I cannot change I decided that a more positive attitude would be better suited for overcoming these four trying weeks in my life.
Life is routine. Life is Army. There are no fantastic bicycles to ride, no snowboards. Just 0430 formations and Airborne school standing proudly across the street. February 2nd will be a good day.
The library is closed.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Nonsense: Warrior Leadership Course
To my readers,
I'll be leaving you until the 2nd day of February 2007. Do not expect to hear from me.
Hell is a cold place.
I'll be leaving you until the 2nd day of February 2007. Do not expect to hear from me.
Hell is a cold place.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Journeys: Preface
View from Charlie's Doom Trail (Closed to the Public), Great Smoky Mountains.
I have safely returned from my epic adventure into Tennessee for the Christmas Holiday. More details to follow.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Rides: We Band Of Warriors
After a rather dull day off on Saturday I was afforded a surprise day of kick ass singlespeeding on Sunday. I arrived at the FATS at 1030 on Sunday morning to find 10 other riders mustering for singletrack battle. I quickly pulled on my armor, mounted my steed, and joined my warrior brethern as they prepared to ride into the fray.
It would be a long morning of battle. Many would fall and blood would be shed.
We started off with Deep Step Trail, my least favorite, for our warm up. It was really cool to be out with such a large group. I think this had been my first true group ride since riding with the MORE group back in May. After we finished Deep Step I got to chat with most of the riders and find out who I was riding with. There was Todd from Pisgah Forest who helped build the FATS, Bill from North Augusta who also helped build the FATS, Alan from Augusta who was out for his first ride on a brand new singlespeed, and another Todd (I think) who was back in Augusta from Seattle to visit and ride with the old crew.
The next trail we assaulted was Great Wall. It was Great Wall that slew the bulk of our warriors. It was also on Great Wall that I discovered that Todd from Pisgah Forest rides like a bat out of hell. Steve would say that, "I couldn't carry his lunch". When I finally caught up with Todd at the next trail intersection he was calmly drinking H2O while I panted heavily and plopped down on a tree stump. When the rest of the group rolled up I was pretty well cooled down. Someone had flatted so our break was somewhat extended. Before we started riding again six riders decided to bail out to the parking lot. The tide of the war was turning.
Anyway, Todd continued to bury me on the next two trails and by the time we had finished the entire 25 miles of the FATS I was cooked. We returned to the parking lot victorious.
We few. We proud. Todd said we all earned a stamp on our "man" cards.
I shook some hands around the parking lot, stretched, and left.
I was so hungry I had to stop at Fazoli's and eat a huge plate of Fettucini Alfredo and Chicken Parmesan.
As hungry as I was it was a privilege to get to ride with some other riding fanatics, especially ones that had significantly contributed to the building of the FATS, thanks guys.
It looks like I'm headed to Gatlinburg, TN for the Christmas weekend...so...yeah.
It would be a long morning of battle. Many would fall and blood would be shed.
We started off with Deep Step Trail, my least favorite, for our warm up. It was really cool to be out with such a large group. I think this had been my first true group ride since riding with the MORE group back in May. After we finished Deep Step I got to chat with most of the riders and find out who I was riding with. There was Todd from Pisgah Forest who helped build the FATS, Bill from North Augusta who also helped build the FATS, Alan from Augusta who was out for his first ride on a brand new singlespeed, and another Todd (I think) who was back in Augusta from Seattle to visit and ride with the old crew.
The next trail we assaulted was Great Wall. It was Great Wall that slew the bulk of our warriors. It was also on Great Wall that I discovered that Todd from Pisgah Forest rides like a bat out of hell. Steve would say that, "I couldn't carry his lunch". When I finally caught up with Todd at the next trail intersection he was calmly drinking H2O while I panted heavily and plopped down on a tree stump. When the rest of the group rolled up I was pretty well cooled down. Someone had flatted so our break was somewhat extended. Before we started riding again six riders decided to bail out to the parking lot. The tide of the war was turning.
Anyway, Todd continued to bury me on the next two trails and by the time we had finished the entire 25 miles of the FATS I was cooked. We returned to the parking lot victorious.
We few. We proud. Todd said we all earned a stamp on our "man" cards.
I shook some hands around the parking lot, stretched, and left.
I was so hungry I had to stop at Fazoli's and eat a huge plate of Fettucini Alfredo and Chicken Parmesan.
As hungry as I was it was a privilege to get to ride with some other riding fanatics, especially ones that had significantly contributed to the building of the FATS, thanks guys.
It looks like I'm headed to Gatlinburg, TN for the Christmas weekend...so...yeah.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Rides: Ummmmm
This week has been somewhat dull in regard to writing inspirations.
Tuesday I opted not to ride at the Warehouse so that I could run and swim. On Thursday I turned one 48 minute lap on range road and then ran. I'm focusing on getting my two mile run time back to the low 11's for sergeant school in January.
We will see.
Tuesday I opted not to ride at the Warehouse so that I could run and swim. On Thursday I turned one 48 minute lap on range road and then ran. I'm focusing on getting my two mile run time back to the low 11's for sergeant school in January.
We will see.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Rides: Last, The Week In Riding (Dammit)
I am reminded of 10 white frozen toes clipped to a bicycle as I sit here daintily enjoying a deliciously chilling blue ceramic bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.
The toes were mine and it was Tuesday night.
I was out riding with Andy Jordan and others in North Augusta, SC with bright headlights and uber winter riding gear. We rode a 20 mile loop that took us zigzagging through neighborhoods, across I-20, and up the constantly underestimated Bergen Road climb. Near the end of the ride as we rode down the Greenway, a paved recreation path that follows the Savannah River, the somewhat colder than (hell) 40 degree farenheit wind whipped and tore at those 10 toes. It was my first true night road ride and it had been fun. Even in the southern wintry conditions I learned something very important, pros don't walk Bergen.
That was for Drew and, yes, it's an inside joke.
On Thursday I was out riding in the dark again with Andy Jordan and company. We were like patchy alley cats bobbing and weaving throughout indiscriminate side streets and back alleys etched into downtown Augusta. Somehow we piled on 20 miles without leaving the city and even ascended a surprisingly tough climb to Augusta State College and the old Jordan homestead (as Andy puts it(not a curse)). It wasn't quite as cold as Tuesday, just (damn) blustery.
There is something about riding in the cold night that is almost...poetic? I'm not sure how to explain myself.
On Sunday I somehow managed to con my buddy, Zack, into breaking out the Trance for a ride at the FATS. I took my singlespeed, of course, and we took a pretty easy spin out Deep Step and Skinny Trails. Zack doesn't ride much so the pace is always significantly in the decrease, but I enjoy his company, plus, it always makes me feel special inside when I can get someone else to ride.
What else do I always do on Sunday? The Sundaily!
This week it was Radiohead's hypnotic album "Amnesiac" which I've always been a huge fan of, but never owned. Well, now I'm owning (that shit).
And that's not all the music that was had.
Oh, yes, Dan Gescheider and I lit up the storage space music scene on Jimmie Dyess Parkway on both Saturday and Sunday. We now have two (kick ass) tracks solidified and Dan also has at least two more pieces of material to be developed in the near future. I just need to come up with some ideas for my drumming on those two tracks and we will be set.
(Holy shit) We still need a vocalist!
Mom, what is it about this late night jazz music (shit) on NPR that makes me feel so mellow? It makes me feel so mellow I feel inclined to curse to balance my yin with my yang (see parentheses).
The toes were mine and it was Tuesday night.
I was out riding with Andy Jordan and others in North Augusta, SC with bright headlights and uber winter riding gear. We rode a 20 mile loop that took us zigzagging through neighborhoods, across I-20, and up the constantly underestimated Bergen Road climb. Near the end of the ride as we rode down the Greenway, a paved recreation path that follows the Savannah River, the somewhat colder than (hell) 40 degree farenheit wind whipped and tore at those 10 toes. It was my first true night road ride and it had been fun. Even in the southern wintry conditions I learned something very important, pros don't walk Bergen.
That was for Drew and, yes, it's an inside joke.
On Thursday I was out riding in the dark again with Andy Jordan and company. We were like patchy alley cats bobbing and weaving throughout indiscriminate side streets and back alleys etched into downtown Augusta. Somehow we piled on 20 miles without leaving the city and even ascended a surprisingly tough climb to Augusta State College and the old Jordan homestead (as Andy puts it(not a curse)). It wasn't quite as cold as Tuesday, just (damn) blustery.
There is something about riding in the cold night that is almost...poetic? I'm not sure how to explain myself.
On Sunday I somehow managed to con my buddy, Zack, into breaking out the Trance for a ride at the FATS. I took my singlespeed, of course, and we took a pretty easy spin out Deep Step and Skinny Trails. Zack doesn't ride much so the pace is always significantly in the decrease, but I enjoy his company, plus, it always makes me feel special inside when I can get someone else to ride.
What else do I always do on Sunday? The Sundaily!
This week it was Radiohead's hypnotic album "Amnesiac" which I've always been a huge fan of, but never owned. Well, now I'm owning (that shit).
And that's not all the music that was had.
Oh, yes, Dan Gescheider and I lit up the storage space music scene on Jimmie Dyess Parkway on both Saturday and Sunday. We now have two (kick ass) tracks solidified and Dan also has at least two more pieces of material to be developed in the near future. I just need to come up with some ideas for my drumming on those two tracks and we will be set.
(Holy shit) We still need a vocalist!
Mom, what is it about this late night jazz music (shit) on NPR that makes me feel so mellow? It makes me feel so mellow I feel inclined to curse to balance my yin with my yang (see parentheses).
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Nonsense: This Should Have Been Posted Last Sunday
We all want things. As humans we will always want.
I have a friend named Jorge who wants something. He wants electricity, or better yet, a new place to live.
Sometime two weeks ago, Jorge’s room mate, who is in charge of paying the bills, uprooted and moved out of the shared apartment. Not only did all of Jorge’s room mate’s clothing, furniture, and his general bodily presence disappear, but so did the electricity. When Zach and I arrived at Jorge’s apartment on Friday night to begin a period of voluntary inebriation we found ourselves thrust into a universe running parallel to our own, one without electricity.
In the dark, we gingerly picked our way around the numerous Uhaul boxes littering the living room floor. Jorge was seated in a corner of the room in one of five dining chairs encircling a dining table that was not there. A Maglite stood on the counter its beam aimed at the ceiling above it. Next to the Maglite a lone candle flickered silently like a candle in a house with no electricity would.
“Five days. Fiiive days. No power.” Jorge raved. “No hot showers. No heat or air conditioning. Nothing for five days.”
Jorge went on to tell us how he lost his mind on the first night, because he had to sit in the dark with nothing to do, but by the third and fourth nights he began to find it quite relaxing to come home to the darkness, away from work and the world. It was something of a sanctuary in which he could spend time reflecting on his life or he could peacefully sit and read a book by the tongue of flame licking the dark atmosphere of his apartment. We were even bold enough to start a group discussion regarding voluntarily living without electricity for a given period of time, say a week, just to see what it would be like. For me the whole concept was a trip down memory lane to times when the wintry wonderland of West Virginia would come crashing down on the power lines of the Spencer community, halting modern life as we knew it. Evenings were spent around the dinner table playing cards our shadows cast by our hurricane lamp centerpiece. As our modern commodities faded around us we were brought together as a family on the Bolte farm in those harsh times simply enjoying each other’s company, just as Zach, Jorge, and I were.
Trading off electricity to better enjoy the company of those around you?
A blessing in disguise?
Continuing, Jorge isn’t the only person that wants something. I want something too. I want to feel good about riding again. Since my participation in the Tour de Fort on October 22nd and the completion of 180 miles of nonstop road “fun” I have not had the desire to get on one of my aluminum ponies and do what I do best. I now find myself slightly into December and still have not touched a bike. This is a disturbing lapse of time that leads me to honestly feel like a poser within my precious cycling community. Even with this knowledge I still found it impossible to overcome my guilt and just get riding. What was wrong with me? In November I had my four impacted wisdom teeth surgically removed from mouth. For six days after the surgery I was essentially bedridden and was involuntarily prohibited from physical activity. It was in this painful and depressive state that I suddenly found myself wishing I was outside enjoying the weather on one of my multiple cycling contraptions.
Was this my humbling blessing in disguise?
By the end of the weekend Jorge found a roof to sleep under and promptly moved in and began enjoying his return to the world of power. I even helped him move a piece of furniture to his new residence and afterwards we went out for dinner in a restaurant lit by electricity. As we talked about life, relationships, and the future I began to realize something. Whatever capacity you are enjoying the company of friends in, whether it is by candle light or electric light, friends are more important than electricity or anything else will ever be.
As for me, other than having corny revelations about the world around me, I also got what I wanted. My friend Drew invited me out to the FATS for a trail ride on Sunday. Now I had to ride whether I felt like it or not. Would my inner feelings change or would I still feel burnt out?
On December 3rd my six week riding slump ended. As the cold rain sprinkled down on my windshield as I left Fort Gordon on that Sunday morning I was unusually impassive toward the occurrence. On a normal day I would silently, or vocally, curse the sky for trying to ruin my forthcoming ride in the forest. Instead, I found myself looking into my rearview mirror at the dark green frame of my single speed that was latched to my tailgate. Yes, he knew what was coming and was just as excited as I suddenly found myself to be.
As Drew, Jason, and I pedaled through the rolling woodland terrain of FATS our tires crunched the remnants of the blazed autumn leaves, serenading the return to nature. As the tempo of the crinkling and mashing symphony increased so did the happiness. A smile spread across my face that would not fade for many hours afterward. I thought of this as I rode.
A question was once posed to a group of WVMBA riders by an IMBA representative at an event that I cannot recall. The question was, what has mountain biking done for you? At least two individuals stated that mountain biking had saved their lives. Riding rescued one man from the bowels of obesity while the other was turned away from a dark period of his life and turned on to a reason to live a better life. The IMBA man was shocked. He had never heard such a serious response.
Mountain biking did not save my life. Mountain biking and cycling are my life. It brings me an inner happiness that nothing else can. I’m here to ride.
So, if you feel like you are in a slump or don’t have the desire to ride, but know you should be, grab a friend, saddle up, and get riding.
Finally, there is yet another person that wants something from this cruel heartless world. Drew Jordan wants a sticker that says “I (heart) blogging”, and I hope he gets it, because I want that shit too.
I have a friend named Jorge who wants something. He wants electricity, or better yet, a new place to live.
Sometime two weeks ago, Jorge’s room mate, who is in charge of paying the bills, uprooted and moved out of the shared apartment. Not only did all of Jorge’s room mate’s clothing, furniture, and his general bodily presence disappear, but so did the electricity. When Zach and I arrived at Jorge’s apartment on Friday night to begin a period of voluntary inebriation we found ourselves thrust into a universe running parallel to our own, one without electricity.
In the dark, we gingerly picked our way around the numerous Uhaul boxes littering the living room floor. Jorge was seated in a corner of the room in one of five dining chairs encircling a dining table that was not there. A Maglite stood on the counter its beam aimed at the ceiling above it. Next to the Maglite a lone candle flickered silently like a candle in a house with no electricity would.
“Five days. Fiiive days. No power.” Jorge raved. “No hot showers. No heat or air conditioning. Nothing for five days.”
Jorge went on to tell us how he lost his mind on the first night, because he had to sit in the dark with nothing to do, but by the third and fourth nights he began to find it quite relaxing to come home to the darkness, away from work and the world. It was something of a sanctuary in which he could spend time reflecting on his life or he could peacefully sit and read a book by the tongue of flame licking the dark atmosphere of his apartment. We were even bold enough to start a group discussion regarding voluntarily living without electricity for a given period of time, say a week, just to see what it would be like. For me the whole concept was a trip down memory lane to times when the wintry wonderland of West Virginia would come crashing down on the power lines of the Spencer community, halting modern life as we knew it. Evenings were spent around the dinner table playing cards our shadows cast by our hurricane lamp centerpiece. As our modern commodities faded around us we were brought together as a family on the Bolte farm in those harsh times simply enjoying each other’s company, just as Zach, Jorge, and I were.
Trading off electricity to better enjoy the company of those around you?
A blessing in disguise?
Continuing, Jorge isn’t the only person that wants something. I want something too. I want to feel good about riding again. Since my participation in the Tour de Fort on October 22nd and the completion of 180 miles of nonstop road “fun” I have not had the desire to get on one of my aluminum ponies and do what I do best. I now find myself slightly into December and still have not touched a bike. This is a disturbing lapse of time that leads me to honestly feel like a poser within my precious cycling community. Even with this knowledge I still found it impossible to overcome my guilt and just get riding. What was wrong with me? In November I had my four impacted wisdom teeth surgically removed from mouth. For six days after the surgery I was essentially bedridden and was involuntarily prohibited from physical activity. It was in this painful and depressive state that I suddenly found myself wishing I was outside enjoying the weather on one of my multiple cycling contraptions.
Was this my humbling blessing in disguise?
By the end of the weekend Jorge found a roof to sleep under and promptly moved in and began enjoying his return to the world of power. I even helped him move a piece of furniture to his new residence and afterwards we went out for dinner in a restaurant lit by electricity. As we talked about life, relationships, and the future I began to realize something. Whatever capacity you are enjoying the company of friends in, whether it is by candle light or electric light, friends are more important than electricity or anything else will ever be.
As for me, other than having corny revelations about the world around me, I also got what I wanted. My friend Drew invited me out to the FATS for a trail ride on Sunday. Now I had to ride whether I felt like it or not. Would my inner feelings change or would I still feel burnt out?
On December 3rd my six week riding slump ended. As the cold rain sprinkled down on my windshield as I left Fort Gordon on that Sunday morning I was unusually impassive toward the occurrence. On a normal day I would silently, or vocally, curse the sky for trying to ruin my forthcoming ride in the forest. Instead, I found myself looking into my rearview mirror at the dark green frame of my single speed that was latched to my tailgate. Yes, he knew what was coming and was just as excited as I suddenly found myself to be.
As Drew, Jason, and I pedaled through the rolling woodland terrain of FATS our tires crunched the remnants of the blazed autumn leaves, serenading the return to nature. As the tempo of the crinkling and mashing symphony increased so did the happiness. A smile spread across my face that would not fade for many hours afterward. I thought of this as I rode.
A question was once posed to a group of WVMBA riders by an IMBA representative at an event that I cannot recall. The question was, what has mountain biking done for you? At least two individuals stated that mountain biking had saved their lives. Riding rescued one man from the bowels of obesity while the other was turned away from a dark period of his life and turned on to a reason to live a better life. The IMBA man was shocked. He had never heard such a serious response.
Mountain biking did not save my life. Mountain biking and cycling are my life. It brings me an inner happiness that nothing else can. I’m here to ride.
So, if you feel like you are in a slump or don’t have the desire to ride, but know you should be, grab a friend, saddle up, and get riding.
Finally, there is yet another person that wants something from this cruel heartless world. Drew Jordan wants a sticker that says “I (heart) blogging”, and I hope he gets it, because I want that shit too.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Rides: Quickly Now
It is lunch time on Fort Gordon and I only have 24 minutes of break left.
Yesterday something grand occurred. I rode a bicycle for the first time in a month. It was also my first coordinated group ride at FATS and it all kicked the max ass. I linked up with Drew Jordan.com and Jason (last name unknown) and we proceeded to blast off on the sweetest single track in South Carolina. By the end of the ride, my month of inactivity caught up with me setting my calves and quads on fire as I struggled up the last climb. I faded hard.
Brown Wave, Skinny, Great Wall. All clockwise. All fun.
If you have a gray dog with black spots and a blue collar, Drew says your an asshole. If this is your dog and you haven't seen it for 24 hours it's at the FATS. Go pick it up and take it home.
I did make it to borders (just barely) to retrieve my Sundaily which just so happened to be Rilo Kiley : The Execution of All Things. Jenny Lewis has a beautifully pleasing and addictive voice, almost as addictive as Burt's Beeswax (don't hate!).
Sorry for the shortness.
Out.
Yesterday something grand occurred. I rode a bicycle for the first time in a month. It was also my first coordinated group ride at FATS and it all kicked the max ass. I linked up with Drew Jordan.com and Jason (last name unknown) and we proceeded to blast off on the sweetest single track in South Carolina. By the end of the ride, my month of inactivity caught up with me setting my calves and quads on fire as I struggled up the last climb. I faded hard.
Brown Wave, Skinny, Great Wall. All clockwise. All fun.
If you have a gray dog with black spots and a blue collar, Drew says your an asshole. If this is your dog and you haven't seen it for 24 hours it's at the FATS. Go pick it up and take it home.
I did make it to borders (just barely) to retrieve my Sundaily which just so happened to be Rilo Kiley : The Execution of All Things. Jenny Lewis has a beautifully pleasing and addictive voice, almost as addictive as Burt's Beeswax (don't hate!).
Sorry for the shortness.
Out.
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