I'm going to start my own line of greeting cards

Starting with Valentines day.


Knock, knock motherfuckers!

Who's there?

The Valentines day possum!



Exactly.

“That’s when I knew you’d be good in the world.”

If there was ever a photo that captures who I am for all time, it is the picture above. Confident, strong, half wild. An accomplished hand-fisher, snake catcher and girl of the woods already. I was 11 years of age and still getting used to having to wear shirts in the summertime. I am standing there covered in mud and catfish grime after a two and a half hour struggle with a mighty warrior who tested all I knew about nature, and myself up to that point.

The rod and the 5 pound test-line were way too light. I knew when I saw that first sunlit fin flash under the surface of the swirling water, the powerful pull on the other end of that hook was not a turtle. I can still feel my heart getting ready to beat out of my chest at that moment, knowing that it was going to take all the smarts I had to land this one. Too much tension and the line or pole would break. Not enough tension and he would sever that line himself.

The struggle was on. I was focused like never before and we fought until almost dark. I would play him and let him out, play him and let him out… over and over as I ran along the banks of the pond, staying with him. Making sure he was exhausted before I could even think about bringing him in. When it was time, I waded into the water to get him. I was taking no chances until I had him safely on the stringer.

I had caught plenty of fish up to that point. Knew how to skin and fillet my catches and filled the freezer with them. But this was new territory. This was going to be hard. And from that time, I intimately knew what it was to have complete respect, gratitude and sorrow for the animals that become your food. I did a lot of growing up on this day.

Up until now, I felt the day was uniquely mine. I had no idea how this had impacted my father until I saw this experience come to life in the pages of his latest book, Ruined Days.

When I got to page 109, the tears started to roll...

——————————————————————————————————————————

Reno Pete, in part of the final letter to his son with instruction on how to take new information on the JFK assassination public and profit from it.

"You decide if you are up to it. I know you are. If there’s anything to life after death I’m behind you and smiling at you all the way. I always loved you. Believe me I’de of taken your mom’s place if I could of. I know that was our sticking point. It was crazy hard to go on after that. Crazy hard. Revenge didn’t even make a little dent in it. It hurt us all to see you, what it did. If you do this you will sure enough ruin some days, and the money will set you up. I think you can do it or I’d never put it out there for you. You’re a little different than I was, more like Cobb maybe.

Remember how you played that bigass catfish? Took you half the day. That took patience, strategy, smarts and stamina. Especially for a little boy your size and age then. That’s when I knew you’d be good in the world. Little light line (5lb test?) big fish 14lbs. Remember how good that was on the grill? We could see you were proud, deserved to be, we were to. Your mom thought that was the best catfish we ever had. Salt, pepper, lemon. Those were good days. Get em while you can. I know you don’t think so right now but good days will be there for you again.

Sorry to bail the way I have by now. (If your reading this I have.) Fucking drs keep you going like the battery bunny. Keeps their paychecks coming. Well, that’s it. You only need to read more if you’re going for it. If you do, play it like a 14lb catfish on a 5lb test. Carefully. Patiently. Use violence only if you have to (you’ll know) and then quickly and out. It’s a tool. Use it when they balk or lie or try to play you. Also use it to piss them off. When someone is angry they don’t think right. Pistol whip a man and you’ll piss him off but you’ll scare him to, he will know your for real. Be sneaky and chickenshit, not frontal assault. I know you guys bulled your way in the middle east, but sneaky pays off.

Travis folded the papers–blue-lined notebook paper torn from a wire bound school type notebook–and poured the rest of the coffee. Damn. Reno remembered that catfish. It had taken half a day to land that sucker. Travis was not about to lose it. It bent the light pan-fish rod double at times. He’d only been dimly aware that his father was there the whole time, now and then offering quiet advice, but not getting in the way. That night they’d cooked catfish steaks. Cobb and Vanita were there. His mom and dad. Some friends of theirs with kids his age. It had been a good time. A relaxed time.”

From the book: Ruined Days by Guinotte Wise

Dirty Kanza registration happens tomorrow at 8:00 AM, 1.9.16

It's that time again. Tomorrow morning at 8:00, registration opens for the Dirty Kanza 200 and 100. Everyone from the lone first-time cyclist to entire teams of road-hardened gravel pelotons are setting their alarms for Saturday morning to be among the first in line to register on bikereg.com.

For the last three years, the buzz has been that it would sell out in the first hour. It hasn't happened yet. It takes a day or two before selling out, but 2016 may change all of this. If the wide variety of gravel rigs out there being offered by every bike shop in the universe is any indication, the popularity of gravel "grinding" is doing nothing but continue to grow.
And one of the top gravel events going is the Dirty Kanza. People are even starting to come from other countries for a chance to do this Flint Hills monster. Lucky for me, the heart of all this gravel goodness is only 108 miles directly southwest of Kansas City on I-35.

As always, the town of Emporia will celebrate all things cycling for a few days on the first weekend of June, rolling out the red carpet. The town's folk will show up in force. They are open and friendly in a way that you just don't see these days... anywhere. They will tell you they are glad you are there and mean it. It is kind of amazing and is the final part of the alchemy that keeps me coming back.

I wasn't sure how I was going to feel about the winter gravel season this year, but that familiar rush of joy of having goals (looser... as in not crushing) and contact with people who I have come to call my friends over these last three years, started to sweep over me. Messages began to filter in as I got in gear with hotel arrangements, sticker shock stopping me momentarily after finding the Best Western "Hospitality" House had almost tripled it's rates for the event. After a few more unsuccessful calls, I remembered to start breathing again after a friend reached out, offering his family's Emporia home to three of my Boulevard teammates and myself.

So... no more floating around in the strange early January doldrums... wondering about the direction of winter training. I'm committed. I start building the 2016 season tomorrow. All that is left to do is to make sure my fingers are on the keyboard at 8:00 AM.

http://www.dirtykanza200.com/registration/

Jingle Cross and lessons learned.

Photo by bahumut  - instagram.com/bahumut/

Quietly ensconced in my loft. I am back from the biggest cyclocross race on my schedule, Jingle Cross. Steel cut oats with cinnamon, cherries and walnuts are bubbling on the stove top, my sustenance before I head out for a ride on this uncharacteristically warm December day. I have a few hours to reflect before I hit the ground running in search of work.
In the past, athletic achievement has been the gauge of how I was doing on the grand scale. It was the one area of my life that I felt that I could shape and as long as I had that by the tail, the rest was gravy.

But the reality was that the balance was off. Way off.

During race #1 on Friday night at Jingle Cross, I achieved my very first dfl… Dead Fucking Last. The starkness of it came flooding in as I stood at the foot of the monster known as Mt. Krumpit. Unable to walk for a minute as the mud had turned my feet into heavy birds nests. While children heckled me from the side of that long muddy climb, I stood there looking up, feeling defeated and wondering if this was how it was all going to end. Did I somehow miss my cue to bow out gracefully?

I was not having fun. I was not in peak condition. Mentally, I had been checked out for the entire season no matter how hard I kept trying to kick-start it. And there in that mud hole, I finally gave myself permission to stop the self-flogging.

Sometimes all the hard work and preparation in the world won't stop things from happening and the harder you hold on and fight, the further away you find yourself from the goal. It’s the end of the season and I know that a serious reframing of this entire experience is necessary.

Perspective.

This was the year that everything ground down to a halt. Nothing, absolutely nothing has come easy to me. As the silver in my hair increased, I turned my attention from all the usual avenues of escape and finally stopped running, or at least running as fast, from the work I knew I was going to have to do. The inner work.

Yeah… that work.

So, athletics, my buffer and anesthetizer, for the first time ever… has had to take a back seat while I am figuring out a new way of thinking, and being, with myself and others.

A year and a half ago, the beginning of the relinquishment of the demons that have driven me, felt like death. This year, I have been learning how to think for myself apart from my activities, or a job or my relationships. That isn’t to say I can’t return and enjoy sport. It just needs to be better balanced when I do come back. And, I will be back, after the reasons I do this in the first place get a serious retooling. That goes for the other areas of my life as well.

This is a good place… the correct place for me to be right now.

And Then the Devil Comes out of Nowhere.

 "The sharp edge of a razor is difficult to pass over; thus the wise say the path to salvation is hard,"

So, I participated in a local ride, a fundraiser for Aids. A very good cause, put on by incredibly motivated and gifted people. It was a great ride, a wonderful day and a lot of money was raised. It was also a day where I was surrounded by alcohol at every turn. Normally, not a problem. After a couple of hours I found myself increasingly on guard... the vibrant colors and the hard-to-define smoke and lime scent of the iced margaritas mixed with that of lemon, orange and sultry aroma of the cheap pinot used to make the sangria were beginning to take a toll.

Sometimes a relapse is that simple. The mine fields present themselves when I am at my most relaxed and unaware.

I could see the noose out of the corner of my eye. A line from the 1984 movie "The Razors Edge" came to me. When, Sophie, faced with the bottle of absinthe, as her old but jealous friend, Isabel, was savoring the amber colored drink before her, extolling its virtues. "It's like listening to music by moonlight" she said.

And I know that is all it would take, just that one. And the truth of the matter is, I don't know if I would come back.

One Simple Word

You have just one word to describe yourself. If you could describe yourself all encompassed, really quickly, sum yourself up, in one simple word. What would that word be? For me? That's easy. 

At this time in my life the word would be: Wanderer. 

My city

The weather is glorious and the beauty of being a freelancer is that I can slide out and get in it anytime I want. Somehow, the mail always gets through and the boss is not going to miss me for an hour or two.

Cyclocross practice started a few days ago and my legs are feeling the deep ache from running for the first time in months... so I took it easy and made some time to look at the sites that surround me on my daily rides. One of my favorite parts of a ride is heading back east on Woodsweather road, past the River Bend Antique Flea Market and up the decrepit old bridge that takes me under the Broadway and up to my pad.

It gives me the warm fuzzy's... being surrounded by all these structures that hail back to the industrial revolution, random art and chunks of old carnivals along the side of the road, street people and vendors who I recognize from months of riding here. The sounds of rail cars coming through and the smell of fall settling in has different connotations for me now than it did at this time last year. It feels like anything is possible and that my turn is coming.

Old Kansas City, at its best.