Tweaking

(The TrySports team compound at 24 Hours of Booty)

It is 2:00am and I am riding in a fundraiser called 24 Hours of Booty. It is a fundraiser dedicated to cancer research and support http://www.24hoursofbooty.org/. We have been riding, more or less since 7pm so going on 7 hours. For the past 7 hours I have been listening to a suspicious 'creak' that occurs with every revolution of my pedals. I'm not sure what it is but I have moved from being concerned about the noise to being embarrassed at the obnoxious sound to my current state, a perturbed annoyance bordering on anger. I cannot help but notice that my teammates riding next to me on their carbon framed, carbon wheeled wonder-bikes are not experiencing the joys of the 'creak' as I am. Their machines are silent, smooth, and sexy. It goes without saying that had I a bike like that I wouldn't be in the mental state of mind that currently vexes me. It is dark, so humid it feels like I have been riding through a sprinkler, my rear hurts, my back hurts and this 'creak-creak-creak-creak' is now threatening to make this bike-riding pastor misrepresent his religion to those within earshot (as if our religion needs one more example of this). Time to turn in and get a few hours of sleep.

I went on vacation this week, spontaneous and oh so necessary. I didn't take my bike or my guitar; only one book and my family. What I rediscovered was that simplicity breeds a quietness of spirit. In the quiet, the 'creak-creak-creaking' of the broken machine is discernable from the roar of the white noise that usually drowns it out. And so I was on vacation and in posession of that rare commodity called stillness of spirit and what I heard was the noise of my heart clamoring for the smooth, sexy bike that I don't need. Ultimately the noise begs for a moment of gratification and trancendent joy in the vacuum that is our common experience. When this 'creaking' is satisfied, something else will start to make noise, only because the greater need for trancendent joy and meaning remains unfulfilled.

I'd love a new bike. I love the one I have. The exchange of one machine for another is pretty insignificant. The reason behind is everything.

Why Suffer?

A year ago this past weekend I learned a lesson. It is one I have been learning in ever area of life over the past several years but one whose importance was demonstrated in the mountains of North Carolina a year ago. It was my first 'century' (a 100+ mile bike ride/race). I had enjoyed cycling as a hobby for years but decided to stick my toe in the water of competitive cycling by racing in the appropriately titled 'Blood, Sweat, and Gears.'

Standing amidst 1200 people and bicycles at the starting line, the early morning rays of sun provided an ethereal glow to the mist still lingering in the valley. Five weeks of intense training and anticipation, at times leaning toward the obsessive category, had left me with a confidence I was soon to test in the 13000+ feet of climbing that lay before me. The first 50 miles went by relatively quickly; my body feeling good, my mind feeling sharp. I was on target to finish inside of the 6 hour mark, my target for the day. I spent the first part of the day unsuccessfully looking for a group of people with which to work. I found a group that I rode with for 4 miles that had promise. I could stay with them and reach my goal!

Mile 53 our group overcame a much slower group and, in the confusion, I fell and tumbled across the concrete into the ditch at the side of the road. The adrenaline took over and I began shaking. My body was hurt with what turned out only to be a bit of road rash. My mind was shot and my confidence shattered. I collected my water bottles from the weeds, got back on my bike and continued ahead. I was alone. I was hurting. I was trying to catch my group who was now strung out on a big climb in front of me. I pushed myself too hard and, for the first time on a bike, I felt the crippling pain of leg cramps. For the next 50 miles I experienced a personal hell that was produced by dehydration, isolation, self-doubt, and cramps in every conceivable leg muscle I had. It was agony. Alone I carried this cross along the endless valley roads. Constantly looking behind me for another rider, all that was in me cried out for another person for company; someone to help with the physical suffering and emotional torture in which I was mired. No one came. Four hours passed until, alone, I crossed the finish line.

The mountains taught me what I have been learning in other areas of life; to venture alone is to struggle more than is necessary. I have been pushing myself this year to earn the right to race with my team, my community. They are all more experienced with me so there are hoops that must be jumped in order to reach them. They are worth pursuing. The team is worth suffering for. Early Friday morning I received notification that I have been recognized by the USAC as a Cat 4 racer. It is an improvement over my Cat 5 designation and the major goal of my season. I have earned the right to race with my team and look forward to being there for the guys; together avoiding the needless solo suffering that characterized this weekend one year ago.

NC State Games

Racing should be fun, right? I had a bit of fun on Sunday at the NC State Games. I had my fan club out (see the happy, flushed faces to the right). I gave a kid a five mid-way through the race. I won a pair of socks by winning a 'preim lap' (kind of like a race within a race. FYI, I left without the socks and remembered about them at the pool later that day-slightly frustrating). Me and one other guy led pretty much the whole race but I beat him in the sprint at the end, winning the race. I had a judge call me to the judges booth overlooking the finish line and show me the photo finish. I won by 6 inches. It was a very cool shot and I should have taken a picture of it so I could post it here, again, I didn't think about it until after the race was over. I stepped up on a podium and had someone put a gold medal around my neck. It was a pretty cool day...not in temperature, mind you-it was crazy hot. Anyway, it was a nice father's day afternoon. Now I set my sights on Greenville SC this Thursday evening. One more...

Wanting

When I was 11 or 12 I wanted a remote control car. I remember the car exactly. It was called a 'Turbo Hopper,' had knobby tires, and a body like a Baja racing vehicle. Here was the commercial that hooked me. Looking at it now I know why.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=gUh5YTcQIgg
Believe it or not, this ridiculous toy was $50 which, to a kid with no concept of a job, was an insurmountable amount. I entered into a dark compact with my parents and grandparents where I became what was, under modern labor laws, probably indentured child servitude. I agreed to do any dirty job I could to begin earning my right to turn the corny tire and pull the ridiculous 'turbo' button that would control the dream machine. I earned that right 6 months later and, as I walked out of Toys'R'Us that afternoon vigilantly guarding the plastic bag that housed the dream realized, I experienced the first taste of hard work's fruit.

Saturday's race was brutal. I was pretty demoralized after my legs cramped and even more so as I pulled across the finish line after everyone else. As it turns out I placed 19th in my age group. Sunday was a miraculous race in the sense that I was able to finish. Thanks to Saturday's beating, Sunday was spent just barely hanging on. I was on the edge of cramping the entire race to the point that I couldn't even warm up. By some freak act of nature I finished in 3rd. I face a criterium on Sunday and another crit a week from today in Greenville SC.

In some ways I feel like I did as I was working so hard for my Turbo Hopper. I frequently ask myself, 'why am i putting myself through this?' I push my body 6 to 7 days a week, watch what I eat, and pay to suffer like I did this weekend. Why? As strange as it sounds coming from my mouth, the answer is community. I will expound on this in another blog post. This week, I focus on the solitary work of suffering to gain the prize.

State Championships-Sat

Move along

Horse farms dot the way (left)



I have to deal with some traffic (below)

Downtown Huntersville (left)

Another kind of road (below)

Horses, goats, corn, wheat all within
1 mile of this spot. One of my
favorite stretches of road (left)

I like to camp. Not the car-camping type mind you, although I will do it if it is the only kind available. I like to follow a trail leading somewhere I have never been and enjoy the views along the way. When I find a spot with water and a beautiful view I will sometimes decide to stay for the night. I am one of these people who is easily overtaken by the beauty of creation so when an opportunity comes along that affords me the option of staying and drinking in the beauty, I will take it.

As much as I like to camp, it is important for me to remember that it is not the end-state. I find much truth in the cliche, 'life is about the journey and not the destination.' As I look back over some of the biggest disappointments in life and some of the most challenging times it is typically because I became so absorbed in the beauty of what was around me I wanted to camp out longer than I was supposed to. I easily forget the concept of pilgrimage.

Whether literally or metaphorically, my life is about following roads. On two wheels or on four, in darkness or in light, by myself or surrounded by a group of people journeying the same direction, I follow roads and pay special attention to the landscape I am passing through as it has much to teach me about life and myself. These pictures are a few of my favorite spots on some roads that I ride several times a week.

This week my road leads me to the NC state road race championships. I have a race on Saturday, 80 miles that I hope to simply finish with the main group, and a race on Sunday, 41 miles that I pray I will have not worn myself out for during the race on Saturday. I am simply passing through these spots and am not sure what to expect. I know the next big camp site is just beyond. I hope to move from Cat 5 to Cat 4 by the end of the month. I will camp there for a while and then go in search of what is next.

The meaning of it all

Ever been around someone who takes something way too seriously? Of course you have and, if you are honest, you tend to head down that road on occasion yourself. I have a nose for people like this, probably because I live on that street myself. It is always an interesting moment when I catch myself there. It is kind of a mixture of embarrassment and self-loathing, like when you were in high school and your friends caught you in a lie. Man, it is awkward.

Last week I was on a ride with about 50 people, most of whom I do not know. It was a leisurely ride down one of Charlotte's busiest corridors at rush hour. There were several people who clearly took themselves way too seriously. One guy started getting on my case because I was riding too hard. That is always funny to me; funny, at least, in a way that ticked me off. I responded by trying my best to point out that I was a stronger rider (as if that is something of great significance). The whole ride builds to one grand moment when the whole field sprints for the same line, the NC/SC state line. The first person to cross that line is able to wear the mantle of being the bad boy of the day on that ride. My team worked hard to get me across that line first and I blew it. I felt horrible about myself afterward. I had the emotion of a kid caught in his lies. For what it is worth, I still beat the mouthy guy.

Such a strong reaction over something as insignificant as a bike ride prompts the question, "What is wrong with this picture?" I like to read a lot and something I read last week poses a painfully clear answer to this question. In the book, the author states "'Performance' - in art or sports, for example - creates the illusion of meaning for a magical moment, if the performance is successful." This is why it is so appealing. When people have a void of significant meaning in their life, they try to create it by performing. The cruelty of this reality is no matter how often or successful a performer you happen to be, any meaning created by your success fades before you are able to extract satisfaction from it. It is like eating a side salad when you are ravenously hungry; it tastes good but serves only as an appetiser until the real food arrives.

So there I was, clad in spandex, pedaling away, chasing after meaning to fill my life but finding that I ended up with not even a side salad instead. I get cranky when I'm hungry. It is funny what we consume to fill our belly.

Rhythm anyone?

Have you ever been around someone who struggles with rhythm? I mean someone who really tries but, in spite of their efforts, it seems as if the beat they are following is one all their own? I was employed for years as a professional musician and so I probably have an overdeveloped sense of rhythm, although you would never know were you to observe me on a dance floor. Still, I have this anal ability to detect when someone is following a beat that is not quite in sync with the music.

I am learning a lot about rhythm right now. I am learning that there is a rhythm to life, one that includes sleeping and waking, working and resting, training and recovering. In my cycling, I have found the critical importance of recovery following periods of intense interval training. Recovery provides opportunity for the mind and body to rest and become stronger than it was before. In my life, I have become aware that the past three or four years I have been tapping my foot to the rhythm of my own drummer, as most of us do. My metronomic tendencies bring this into relief in the form of an unsettledness in my spirit; an intuitive urging deep in my gut.

The difficulty of it all is that I find myself wanting to follow the rhythm of our culture; a rhythm whose tempo is unsustainably fast. If I follow this for too long, I find myself weary with busyness, irritable to constant noise, resentful to incessant demands, and longing for simplicity. I can only follow this cadence for so long before I look like I am on the dance floor, completely awkward and out of place-an illustration to all observers that something is desperately wrong.

For me, this season is increasingly about finding the rhythm to which I was created to tap my foot.

in the starting gate

2-21-09 'What am I doing out here?' I ask myself in disgust. In my head are ringing words that Teelo (a fellow team mate) spoke to me a few days ago. 'If you see someone go off the front,' he said to me, a rookie bicycle racer, 'let them go. If several guys go after the attack, jump on their wheel and go with them. If you get out in front by yourself you will burn up too much energy.' So here I am, out here by myself, burning energy. Dumb. I saw a rider from a rival team attack the group and didn't want him to get away. Lack of self control. I let off the gas and let the group absorb me.

Fifteen minutes later the pace has increased. We are moving pretty good now. The 45 guys in our race have shaken the cold from their bones and are focusing on this final kilometer of racing. I am surprised and excited to find myself positioned in the top 10 or 15. My goal for this race is to place top 10. To be here, positioned where I am, looking at the '1km to go' sign gets my adrenaline pumping. Guys start jockeying for position. We are moving so fast now. My brain is fully engaged, having to watch the other riders around me. I cannot even look down to see how fast we are moving. Out of my periphery, I see three riders on the left of the group go off the front, sprinting toward the finish. Next thing I know, I am going off the front from the right side of the group, chasing after the three who are now about 10m in front of me. We are at around 100m from the finish .

The finish and the start are the same line. Nearly an hour before, I was positioned for the start at that very line, ready for the start of my first race. I don't know if I have ever been this cold. It is early, early in the morning in February and, in spite of all the gear I am wearing and the miles of riding I put in to warm up my body, I am shaking. I look around at the other guys and notice the guy in front of me is shaking worse than I.

It is said that race horses in the starting gate before gun goes off tremble with the expectation of the impending competition. Racing, competing, is something bred into them. It is a trait of character bestowed by their creator with intent that His design, cultivated by discipline, will bring about some unique fruit that brings some goodness in the world and a special communion between the creator and the created.

50m from the finish I hear the wheels of a rider coming up on my left. I have nothing left to prevent him from beating me to the line (thanks to my uninspired time a the front a few minutes ago). I cross the line in 6th, pleased with my finish, having been affirmed in my belief that my creator has placed in me that thing I am to develop that will bring goodness to the world and myself. It is a good start.

Welcome

Dilworth

May 2, 2009 at 8:00am. 'Wouldn't that be perfect. I train, recover, scout the course, am first to be registered, visualize, and have a strategy to win and I miss the start because I am riding the course one more time.'

I am on the other side of the race course but hear the call to the line for all Cat 5 racers 34 years old and under. Races are divided based on age and experience/success. I am a beginner this year, the Dilworth criterium marking only the third race I have done, the first circuit-race (also called a criterium). Hearing the call to the line, I turn around and high-tail it to the line where i find my tardiness has earned me a spot in the back row of starters, not where I want to be during this race.

Looking around, I see most riders are like me, solo guys who are likely trying, as I am, to get the points to move up to Cat 4 and race with our teams. The one departure in this race is that 4 guys from a local team pull up to the line together. In cycling, like most anything else, numbers count for something. It is much harder for a solo rider to win a race when other guys are working as a team. Seeing 4 guys from one team in my race was disconcerting.

The whistle blows and we start, fast and furious. I find myself in the middle of the group for the first several laps. Suddenly, one rider sprints away from us, smoking up the road. One look at the effort he puts out convinces me he is no threat to win. He will burn out and within one lap we will catch him. We catch him one lap later. After a few more laps, another rider, a junior (under 18) jumps off the front. I predict a similar fate for him and, although he put up a good effort, we caught him after a little over a lap.

As we pass the finish the official holds up a sign telling us that we have 3 laps to go, or is it 2 laps, I forgot to look. I was too concerned at waving at my daughter who was at the finish with her brother, sister, and mom. Shoot. That is great. Again, all the tactical plans in place but I forget to pay attention to what lap I am on. I've got to go on this lap, then, and hope I only have two to go. After the 90 degree turn at the bottom of the hill, I get out of the saddle and accelerate at a sustainable pace up the hill. I was sitting about 4th wheel when I turned it up a bit and after the .38mile climb, as I crossed the start/finish line, I look back and am shocked to see that the field is working hard to catch me but is 100m behind.

This new surge of adrenaline is difficult to control but I sit down and work at balancing my power output with my cadence (rpm) so that I am pushing it but only at a pace I can sustain for what I find out is two more laps. All goes to plan for one lap. The next lap I find I am maintaining my lead but am getting fatigued. A boy on the side of the road yells at me, 'they are catching you!' That is enough to bring about my focus for the last effort. I am hurting. My legs, my back, my gut, my lungs. The only comfort is that I know the guys trying to catch me are hurting even worse. One last turn. One last climb. I hit the climb, careful not to burn myself out but putting everything I have into it. There is the finish. I am in pain. 75m to go. I look back. A rider is 50m back. I stay aggressive and keep spinning. 'I am going to win this thing.' The awareness of the spectators gaze is heavy. I can feel their question, 'can he sustain this effort?' 20m to go. I am going to win. I realize I didn't practice the ceremonial victory salute. What am I going to do. I raise my right arm. It is the only victory salute I can muster. I cross the line as the winner.

Victory holds gratification in knowing I trained and recovered appropriately. It brings satisfaction knowing I visualized and executed perfectly on my strategy. It brings confirmation, in only my 3rd race, that I am in a sport that suits my physical and mental predisposition to push myself and suffer for the glory of the finish.

What this victory fails to bring is any contribution to my identity. It was fun. It is an accomplishment. I am the same person, win or loose.

This is growth for me and, perhaps, the greater victory of the day.

I am in indebted to Ronald Richardson http://www.cyclepix.photoreflect.com/ and my wife for these images.