Admission

Today I told the truth about a not-so-wonderful, actually kind of shitty part of me. Last night, when asked the question, I froze in place. I felt the panic, didn’t really know what to say because it caught me from left field. I stammered, clawed for a description, told half the truth and painted the rest of it in. My sleep was fitful and when I woke up, my chest was constricted. I could feel the distance I was creating. Because of the fear of revealing myself. This includes the ugly stuff. Yes, even that.

And when I turned this rock over and really looked at it, I realized that I am probably the most secretive person I know. I have lived this way for years and years… I want to edit EVERY damn thing… and pretty much, this will cement my demise if I let it. Omission is lying... no other way around it.

I knew what I had to do. I had to make the call and set it right even if it meant loosing someone so important to me. But damn, if it works… this is how depth begins to happen. I have GOT to be true if I ever expect it back from anyone else. I want to be the one that you know you will get the straight answer from when you ask a question that is important to you… when you really need to know the truth. Moving forward, it is a choice I am making every day no matter how hard. It’s my promise.

Be on the watch...

The gods will offer you chances.

Let the future come

My right eyelid droops, always has. Have a nice dent in the left corner of my mouth from where I was bitten by a dog. Age is making it deeper. Lots of silver hair coming in these days. Scars run up and down my legs from various accidents involving barbed wire, a chainsaw and a few motorcycle wrecks. I’m no model but still have a pretty rocking bod for someone my age. It moves me from point A to point B with good speed.
The best part is what is happening on the inside. I am as strong as fuck. My imagination is big and my heart is even bigger. I’ve got a few hard edges but that's ok. Deep inside, I am refined... but more often than not, the girl who grew up hand-fishing in the lagoons and backwoods waterways with a can of skoal in her hip pocket wins out. I adore swearing and enjoy my character defects probably more than I should. If you do right by me, I am the woman who will ride shotgun with you through the heavy rounds of artillery. And if you're not careful, I'll haunt you in your sleep.

And here I find myself.

I still have some moves. I’m not done yet. Where I am headed, I haven’t a clue. Like my dad said, be curious about it, hold it loosely and let the future come.

"I'm all about traveling and going crazy places even if it has the potential to kill me. I do it with ambition and if I'm cuttin' it close, I know I'm doin' things right."

Unfinished business

1989 - You were a star… in a small fishbowl sort of way. So different from me. A tiny blond with delicate features and brown eyes. You always reminded me of a pint-sized version of Tammy Wynette. You were a 1970’s era-looking beauty. Country in all of the best ways possible. We spoke the same language. Wry, old-school-twang, peppered with just enough profanity to keep it fun. I had safety with you, Vickie Bob.

We had a mutual friend. The kind of jealous girlfriend who did everything she possibly could to keep us apart because of what would happen when these two world's collided. And rightfully so.

You were horse crazy. I think even more than I was. Every spring a new colt was going to be “the one”. and you would move heaven and earth to have it. You had the crew cab truck and the gooseneck trailer and looked so hot in your wranglers, stetson hat and tiny little waist.
And the way you would smile and roll your eyes when I would show up wearing a backwards ball cap and a cut-off motorcycle t-shirt. I was a little edgy and known to belt a few back but you loved me anyway.  We hit every backwoods dusty rodeo arena within a 150 mile radius, honing our skills, working with green horses, eating chili fritto pies and swapping stories.

I’ll never forget the day your truck finally broke down and we were forced to stick our thumbs out. Nobody would stop and our bids for a ride became increasingly emboldened after every passing car until a cop pulled over to see just what the hell we were up to. We were laughing so hard that he thought we were drunk. No one in their right mind was going to pull over for our shenanigans.

Every man in Douglas county and all the surrounding counties wanted you, yet you were so afraid of being alone that you would make one bad choice right after another. In your mind, you were still the fatherless little girl from the Kirksville, Missouri trailer park. You worked hard to pull yourself up and out of poverty. You were whip-smart although you still doubted yourself and your abilities.

You walked me through my divorce, taking my calls in the middle of the night, reminding me why I made the choice I had to make and helping me, with great humor and wisdom, to stick with it. You never got sick of it when I would call you and ask you to “take me through the list” And you would, point by point, until I was able to get clear.

1993 - I tried to walk you through your cancer in the very best way I knew how. When you found out, you hunted me down in Colorado and I took you up to the reservation for chokecherry juice, sage and a cure. Throughout the long years of your fight, the search for the perfect horse continued and you and I would go see the prospects, once with your chemo treatment apparatus in-tow. You were on a mission to suck every last bit of marrow from this life. And you were just so stinking strong that you didn’t know how to let anyone care for you. Sometimes I would get so damn angry as I would watch you force yourself aboard a horse and out into the arena, your face white and drawn, knowing that you were so, so sick.

I would give you gifts of tack and flowers… you’d return the favor by giving me some gag gift I thought I’de never use… but would end up using at some point. When I turned 40, you gave me my first pair of readers. I thought it was a funny joke, until I had to start using them a few years later. I still have them.

2007 - I have some unfinished business with you Vickie Bob. During your final year, you withdrew into your boyfriend and your small property out in Baldwin. And I let you because I was afraid. It haunts me to this day. I wish I would have barged my way in there and helped you in your final days if you would have had it.

I especially think of you in the early spring when I see the foals as I pass the farms and ranches on the highway. I look them over and wonder what you would think. Every now and then I see one. A buckskin or a dun that I know you would like.

You were imperfect, unstoppable, a true friend.

And I miss you.

Further adventures in criterium racing

Kat controlling the pace. I'm in the back somewhere, hiding. Photo courtesy of Roger Harrison

One of the things I’ve figured out in these last couple of years of cyclocross racing is that in order for me to be able to hold my own on the big power courses (that are less technical and tend to favor the road racers) is that I need to get out there at the criterium and road races in my area, accept getting my face melted off, suck it up and develop more power.

This includes taking my ego out into the back yard and beating it with a sand-filled rubber hose until it stops its endless sniveling.

I decided to give a couple of local criteriums a try last summer and got a taste for the hard-edged anaerobic fun that is “crit” racing. Yeah, fun+hard-edged+danger is pretty much what I am all about (I have stopped asking why at this point and just embrace it with as much safety equipment and health insurance as I can muster… that’s a phycological puzzle for another day).

The first three were about figuring out how riding in tight quarters and drafting works. These were cat 3/4 races, so I was able to make the first breakaway with the more experienced riders who held their lines, making it safer for me while being able to see how twitchy it can get. I learned right away why I don’t ever need to take the lead and got dropped like a bad habit on the third lap.

A few weekends ago I showed up for my first Spring Fling race out at Clinton Lake to take part in a true cat 4 women’s race. This time with two of my teammates, Kat and Christy. This was important. Up until the last year, I have been a solo rider and that has been my mind-set for years. These last few months have been a crash course in exactly how much of a team sport this kind of racing is. Kat took control of the first two and a half laps before I came out of my spot in the middle of the pack to make the first two of three breakaways. I placed well for someone coming in at this part of the season and for not really working on my speed legs yet.

It was also apparent at my second Spring Fling that team tactics make all the difference as I watched the Velotek girls execute a race plan with precision and confidence. Again, I was dropped on the final breakaway as I helplessly watched the attack with fried legs, unable to respond because of spending them way too early.

So, as the weeks roll on Kat takes us through all the different race scenarios on Tuesday nights, showing us attacks and counter attacks that I never knew existed. This has also deepened and enriched my respect for road racing in general and has given me a whole new appreciation for the spring classics as JP points out the different nuances of what is taking place throughout such races as the Ronde Van Vlaanderen and Paris-Roubaix. I am actually able to watch these races now with an understanding of what is going on.

In cycling, as in life, you never stop learning. Event’s and lessons continue to feed on each other in interesting and fascinating ways.