But great to see the tail still waggin! Goooooodddd DAWG~
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Monday, July 16, 2007
Road Trippin w. the Leipheimers
As a car less (and careless actually) 25 year old kid, I would do the group rides out of Dave's Bike Sport in Santa Rosa on Wednesday mornings because to train with Peters, Sayers, Levi, Odessa, Nancy Vallance, Roemer, Divine, Hagenlocher, Julian Dean (love the way he delivers Hushovd), Roberto Gaggioli and the occasional Julich, was about as much fun as was possible on the bike. I also would forage around to look for rides to the races. Sayers and Levi were always, shall we say, a bit uptight on the rides, they basically liked to go hard and would chew you out if you didn't pull through as hard and long as they did. "Sorry Mike," I throw out sarcastically, "we all can't be big pro Mercury studs like you." We'd do the Tuesday night twilight's and tell stories of horror and glory on our long endurance days. Those were the days.
So Nancy and Odessa, neither very shy, get to voting on who has the nicest ass and legs (separate vote) and I begin to overhear. Any guesses, tallies on who was the top vote getter were? Have you seen John Peter's legs? I am getting away from myself here, but if you ever get a chance to overhear cycling chixs talk about guy's bodies... take it, pure entertainment.
Turns out Levi and Odessa are driving down to Visalia that weekend and have room in the Nissan.
Odessa, "Awesome, come with us!" Me, "Super, what time we leaving?" Levi, "What? Why to do we have to take him?"
I get picked up on Friday, Blondie is at the wheel. I toss my bike on the rack and we're off, all the way down I-5. Beautiful country. Uneventful trip, except when we stop for gas and baldy takes over the wheel. The rest of the way we are doing 55, his hands are at 2 and 10, and Blondie is constantly on him about how he can possibly be going so damn slow, on a four lane highway, two lane road, cars stacked up behind us, no matter. 2 and 10. If you can believe it, and I know you can't, I just sat in the back and stayed quiet. A bike racer driving to a race like a grandma, slow and barely able to see over the steering wheel.
We get to the Holiday Inn at Visalia and the Saturn team whisks baldy away for his massage. So that leaves me and his hot girlfriend...
"Well, let's get a room and go for a ride," she says with a huge smile. Words I'd been wanting to hear (still want to hear) all my life.
Me, "Um er, ok, I am down to share a room, I couldn't afford one on my own anyway, not here."
We get our room, one of the last ones and we're in, shackin' up. She calls up skinny, and says, "Hey, Peter and I are in 206."
Baldy exclaims audibly through the phone, "WHAT, you're sharing a room with him????!!"
Blondie, "What's the big deal, it's just Peter... besides, what are we supposed to do, fork out over a hundred each and have rooms next door to each other? Come on, relax, we're going for a ride and we'll be back so we all can eat."
"Just" me, hmmm, flattering. Stories follow from both her and me about riding, racing, training, and sex - she brought that last one up.
Ride was fun, although I don't remember any of it. We get back, shower up (she went first), towel off, and end up in the prone position, each of us on our own concaved, well used queen
beds 10 feet apart and here it comes... "Levi trains so hard, and when he gets done, all he wants to do is eat and go to sleep. He never wants to have sex. And when he does want to, it's over so fast i don't even get anything out of it." (sorry buddy - but you have bigger fish (sausage?) to fry, go get 'em in the TT and Pyrenees, just stay with Moreau, the Chicken, or Valverde - quit marking Vino, he's got nothing this year)
Me to self, "Oh my god, please, please, don't ask me to help this situation." I turned out to be a good friend, faithful, consoling... offering, "Hey, look on the bright side, he trains less in the off season. Try him then... or you should throw yourself at him early in the week, before interval Tuesdays. Besides, he's all big on getting to Europe, doing the tour, but so are lots of guys, he'll probably only race a few more years and then you can take him out to pasture, the stud." We talk some more and doze off, in our own beds, dreaming of... yes that is it, the Rocky Hills RR the next day. Nothing else.
So Nancy and Odessa, neither very shy, get to voting on who has the nicest ass and legs (separate vote) and I begin to overhear. Any guesses, tallies on who was the top vote getter were? Have you seen John Peter's legs? I am getting away from myself here, but if you ever get a chance to overhear cycling chixs talk about guy's bodies... take it, pure entertainment.
Turns out Levi and Odessa are driving down to Visalia that weekend and have room in the Nissan.
Odessa, "Awesome, come with us!" Me, "Super, what time we leaving?" Levi, "What? Why to do we have to take him?"
I get picked up on Friday, Blondie is at the wheel. I toss my bike on the rack and we're off, all the way down I-5. Beautiful country. Uneventful trip, except when we stop for gas and baldy takes over the wheel. The rest of the way we are doing 55, his hands are at 2 and 10, and Blondie is constantly on him about how he can possibly be going so damn slow, on a four lane highway, two lane road, cars stacked up behind us, no matter. 2 and 10. If you can believe it, and I know you can't, I just sat in the back and stayed quiet. A bike racer driving to a race like a grandma, slow and barely able to see over the steering wheel.
We get to the Holiday Inn at Visalia and the Saturn team whisks baldy away for his massage. So that leaves me and his hot girlfriend...
"Well, let's get a room and go for a ride," she says with a huge smile. Words I'd been wanting to hear (still want to hear) all my life.
Me, "Um er, ok, I am down to share a room, I couldn't afford one on my own anyway, not here."
We get our room, one of the last ones and we're in, shackin' up. She calls up skinny, and says, "Hey, Peter and I are in 206."
Baldy exclaims audibly through the phone, "WHAT, you're sharing a room with him????!!"
Blondie, "What's the big deal, it's just Peter... besides, what are we supposed to do, fork out over a hundred each and have rooms next door to each other? Come on, relax, we're going for a ride and we'll be back so we all can eat."
"Just" me, hmmm, flattering. Stories follow from both her and me about riding, racing, training, and sex - she brought that last one up.
Ride was fun, although I don't remember any of it. We get back, shower up (she went first), towel off, and end up in the prone position, each of us on our own concaved, well used queen
beds 10 feet apart and here it comes... "Levi trains so hard, and when he gets done, all he wants to do is eat and go to sleep. He never wants to have sex. And when he does want to, it's over so fast i don't even get anything out of it." (sorry buddy - but you have bigger fish (sausage?) to fry, go get 'em in the TT and Pyrenees, just stay with Moreau, the Chicken, or Valverde - quit marking Vino, he's got nothing this year)Me to self, "Oh my god, please, please, don't ask me to help this situation." I turned out to be a good friend, faithful, consoling... offering, "Hey, look on the bright side, he trains less in the off season. Try him then... or you should throw yourself at him early in the week, before interval Tuesdays. Besides, he's all big on getting to Europe, doing the tour, but so are lots of guys, he'll probably only race a few more years and then you can take him out to pasture, the stud." We talk some more and doze off, in our own beds, dreaming of... yes that is it, the Rocky Hills RR the next day. Nothing else.
Monday, July 9, 2007
Tailwinds and Tail waggin'
I often say "the wind is your friend, it's either making you stronger or getting you there quicker." I hope this weekend it's both.
So looking forward to the long hours with just the Pacific off to my right, the occasional riser, the weighted descent, the rig between the legs and of course, my whole world for four days in a couple of panier bags, half empty. Not a care in the world outside of getting enough tasty calories and a little bit of car dodging.
Merckx, the new menacing, cat-eating, untrained-peeing all over himself-barking-whining-lanky-barfing-running around the hood, into the street and through the park as I write this (what I am supposed to do? he doesn't come when called - and he's faster than me by several orders of magnitude) - is beginning to win my heart. He loves freedom, more than birds, more than food-which he can do without, and who can blame him? He's built to run, has the endurance of an iditarod dog and has never been off leash. So I am saying f-it, freedom first, nose to the ground my friend, go! Sniff away, chase that bird, run, run some more, but be alive. Live your life the way it was meant to be lived, the way your evolutionary biology dictates. He is no longer a basement bound hound, and he loves it.
If he gets hit, I'll hate myself. But it's a calculated risk (and I love calculated risks), and he does come back, eventually. But I figure, give some one, even a dog, too much of what they cherish, and it becomes passé. As the door is always open, running free becomes less novel. Thus, a "trained" dog emerges, one who knows what hand feeds him, and rather than looking longingly out the window - barking at what moves or passes by, he simply trots out with confidence from time to time, returning happier, and with less urine than when he left. He gets to know the neighbors, and he does so much more sincerely and avidly than any of the humans on the block.
Tailwinds
The feeling that the wind is at your back, or better yet has changed direction and whipped up, is something to relish. Things are, despite the long days and short nights, despite the stress, the workloads and the commitments, really seeming to come together. Work is flowing and facilitating, racing and relationships are getting easier, and becoming more of who I want to be seems to actually be happening. Great people are in my life, and others seem to be strolling in. Perhaps above all the "life is good" crop, I am actually living and loving all of my days and dreading few. How we spend our days, after all, is how we spend our lives.
When I want to laugh, I go see Trac-Trac
or MADam's.
And none of us know anyone who doesn't read Olaf's. But "blogs that suck time" is right... This one I barely visit, once a week, and it kills my time. I should be asleep. I am supposed to be prepping a machine not babbling to no one about nothing. So off to do that machine prep since pedro really will be pedaling here before long, for a long while, and no tailwind can blow you down the coast if your biciclette is not rolling due to improper service or care.
Oh the new dog, after I let him roam with "freedom" (he's a terrorist from where Tinker Bob sits across the driveway, all hunched and hissy, ready to strike or more likely, climb a tree. So not funny how the line between terrorist and patriot, murder and freedom fighter is so damn thin) and posted for the world to see that he wasn't coming back, possibly hit by a car, etc... I got out to work on the bike and behold, curled up in his house he lays. Very cool, substantial progress. One day, we all hope, Merckx can be like Eddy. Heck one day, I hope I can be like Eddy. And true achievement would entail becoming the human being she thinks I am.
So tales of tailwinds forthcoming, coffee shop stops, and meeting new people pedaling in my direction. Tails of cetaceans are a possibility in sight, and trails blazed by millions of other Californians just might lead me to exactly where I want to go. A place where few of them have been, a den of kitty propinquity where I can crawl on all fours with scapula rising, pelvis swaying, and crouch down before lunging forward and pouncing upon a light dose of deep thoughts and adventures taken.
Adventures awaiting.
So looking forward to the long hours with just the Pacific off to my right, the occasional riser, the weighted descent, the rig between the legs and of course, my whole world for four days in a couple of panier bags, half empty. Not a care in the world outside of getting enough tasty calories and a little bit of car dodging.
Merckx, the new menacing, cat-eating, untrained-peeing all over himself-barking-whining-lanky-barfing-running around the hood, into the street and through the park as I write this (what I am supposed to do? he doesn't come when called - and he's faster than me by several orders of magnitude) - is beginning to win my heart. He loves freedom, more than birds, more than food-which he can do without, and who can blame him? He's built to run, has the endurance of an iditarod dog and has never been off leash. So I am saying f-it, freedom first, nose to the ground my friend, go! Sniff away, chase that bird, run, run some more, but be alive. Live your life the way it was meant to be lived, the way your evolutionary biology dictates. He is no longer a basement bound hound, and he loves it.
If he gets hit, I'll hate myself. But it's a calculated risk (and I love calculated risks), and he does come back, eventually. But I figure, give some one, even a dog, too much of what they cherish, and it becomes passé. As the door is always open, running free becomes less novel. Thus, a "trained" dog emerges, one who knows what hand feeds him, and rather than looking longingly out the window - barking at what moves or passes by, he simply trots out with confidence from time to time, returning happier, and with less urine than when he left. He gets to know the neighbors, and he does so much more sincerely and avidly than any of the humans on the block.
Tailwinds
The feeling that the wind is at your back, or better yet has changed direction and whipped up, is something to relish. Things are, despite the long days and short nights, despite the stress, the workloads and the commitments, really seeming to come together. Work is flowing and facilitating, racing and relationships are getting easier, and becoming more of who I want to be seems to actually be happening. Great people are in my life, and others seem to be strolling in. Perhaps above all the "life is good" crop, I am actually living and loving all of my days and dreading few. How we spend our days, after all, is how we spend our lives.
When I want to laugh, I go see Trac-Trac
or MADam's.
And none of us know anyone who doesn't read Olaf's. But "blogs that suck time" is right... This one I barely visit, once a week, and it kills my time. I should be asleep. I am supposed to be prepping a machine not babbling to no one about nothing. So off to do that machine prep since pedro really will be pedaling here before long, for a long while, and no tailwind can blow you down the coast if your biciclette is not rolling due to improper service or care.
Oh the new dog, after I let him roam with "freedom" (he's a terrorist from where Tinker Bob sits across the driveway, all hunched and hissy, ready to strike or more likely, climb a tree. So not funny how the line between terrorist and patriot, murder and freedom fighter is so damn thin) and posted for the world to see that he wasn't coming back, possibly hit by a car, etc... I got out to work on the bike and behold, curled up in his house he lays. Very cool, substantial progress. One day, we all hope, Merckx can be like Eddy. Heck one day, I hope I can be like Eddy. And true achievement would entail becoming the human being she thinks I am.
So tales of tailwinds forthcoming, coffee shop stops, and meeting new people pedaling in my direction. Tails of cetaceans are a possibility in sight, and trails blazed by millions of other Californians just might lead me to exactly where I want to go. A place where few of them have been, a den of kitty propinquity where I can crawl on all fours with scapula rising, pelvis swaying, and crouch down before lunging forward and pouncing upon a light dose of deep thoughts and adventures taken.
Adventures awaiting.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Stop off at Home
On line journals abound. I haven't really kept a journal, at least while at home and not exploring a foriegn land, ever. But thinking in writing is healing, soothing. And I am beginning to like it.
I am stopping off this weekend, at home, briefly to feed and love the feline, put in 18 hours for the man, and to catch some good z's in my memory foam matress. I love it how my love of travel near and far helps keep home fresh, rewarding, comfy and well, like home. The racing is pure adrenaline, trying, grueling and humbling. I am just touching home really between visits to great people whom I love and admire. Showering and laundering between start lines and finish lines, between meals and mistakes, between hugs and heriones, between hours lost and wisdom gained.
And at home as on the road lately, I am meeting great people - not nearly as often as I meet idiots. But one passionate, intelligent, insightful human can make up for hundreds of their drugged out, burnt out, worn out, stretched out bretheren. Along with newbees, I am learning to appreciate and admire people long in my life for reasons that before I was too busy to see.
I once wrote, after 9 months in SE Asia mind you (without a bike), that the back roads of Sonoma County were "home." I have never felt more at home than I did in July of 1997, riding out the Russian River Valley. I got home after almost 3 days of travel across the Pacific and first thing in the morning, I put my bike together and rode out to Forestville. What a name for a town! Deserving too, if ya like redwoods and firs.
And now, for the first time, I have a new home, SLO. The trees aren't as tall or green, and the roads aren't as varied or lost. But this place feels like home. Climbing up on Bishop's peak and watching the sunset over Morro Bay and the moon rise over Reservior Canyon is a nice way to end a day, start a night. I bet you'll be with someone you like.
I am stopping off this weekend, at home, briefly to feed and love the feline, put in 18 hours for the man, and to catch some good z's in my memory foam matress. I love it how my love of travel near and far helps keep home fresh, rewarding, comfy and well, like home. The racing is pure adrenaline, trying, grueling and humbling. I am just touching home really between visits to great people whom I love and admire. Showering and laundering between start lines and finish lines, between meals and mistakes, between hugs and heriones, between hours lost and wisdom gained.
And at home as on the road lately, I am meeting great people - not nearly as often as I meet idiots. But one passionate, intelligent, insightful human can make up for hundreds of their drugged out, burnt out, worn out, stretched out bretheren. Along with newbees, I am learning to appreciate and admire people long in my life for reasons that before I was too busy to see.
I once wrote, after 9 months in SE Asia mind you (without a bike), that the back roads of Sonoma County were "home." I have never felt more at home than I did in July of 1997, riding out the Russian River Valley. I got home after almost 3 days of travel across the Pacific and first thing in the morning, I put my bike together and rode out to Forestville. What a name for a town! Deserving too, if ya like redwoods and firs.And now, for the first time, I have a new home, SLO. The trees aren't as tall or green, and the roads aren't as varied or lost. But this place feels like home. Climbing up on Bishop's peak and watching the sunset over Morro Bay and the moon rise over Reservior Canyon is a nice way to end a day, start a night. I bet you'll be with someone you like.
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