it's been a bit, and we've been up to a lot.

first i went up to Oakland and visited Upland Sports, a new sponsor for next year, and checked out our DMT shoes. there's nothing like flashy new shoes to feel fast, even if it's just sitting around the apartment.

then it was up to the northwest, for rounds #5 and #6 of the US Grand Prix of Cyclocross. we got to Seattle and it was . . . nice out. and not muddy. weird. the course was a great flowing route through Stellacoom, i've raced there many times and i'd say this was the best. (image by Tim Brennan)



lots of corners (especially when they added a bunch of U-Turns to add time to the lap) but it seemed pretty fast and well suited to my abilities, except for the Hill. if you've been to Stellacoom, you know what i'm talking about. i've been doing no running lately, so it hurt. accelerating off the top when you're legs are totally loaded up was pure mental ability. and that's where i made the difference, i chased an attack off the top of the hill with three to go, and ended up in the sprint for the final podium spot, which i lost. (photo thanks to Abbiorca)



so then it was down to Portland and a pretty boring course at a stadium in the middle of no-where. and the only terrain was the super-sloppy mud laid down by weeks of rain. what a polar opposite from the day before. and the race went terrible from the gun, i was in the top ten when we turned into the first mud bog, and not 50 meters in i was sprawled in the mud with a broken bike. it was one of those chain reaction crashes: this guy catches a rut, flys that way into the guy behind him, who barely avoids going down but flattens the next guy in line, which was me. i saw it happen in perfect detail, but it was so quick i didn't even turn before there was no front wheel under me to turn.

and if it had been a road crash, i'd have been laid out smashed to bits, but i just surfed mud forever, got run over squarely in the chest (with no marks), just kept sliding and rolling and nothing seemed to slow me down. finally got up and i was a monochromatic monster with a thick coating of mud everywhere. i couldn't hear out of one ear, it was so coated. there were still guys going down and i dodged a few other trying to pick their way through, and then looked for my bike. i saw at least 4 bikes laying around in my general area and i could not, for the life of me, tell which one was which. not a spot of color showing on any of them. i grabbed one, no it had shimano levers, put it back. found mine, only to see the derailleur dangling, completely off the bike. race over, but now the fun in the muck begins, so i start a 10 minute run to the pit for my spare. i ran past a few people i know in the crowd, looked directly at them, and they had no idea who i was. my pit crew, when i finally got there, knew it was me only because i hadn't come by yet.

so i went for a ride in the mud, it was a blast and i was having a great time with a bit of a smile on my face but it was not to be and i flatted my spare bike just past the pits. i was not going to run or ride all the way around to the pit just so they could tell me i had no more bikes to ruin, so i cut off the course to the showers. a quick turn around, a bite to eat with my new teammate Omer and his gal, and then off to the airport for a late flight home.

and then up at the crack the next morning and back to the airport, 7 hours total in San Jose but it all good cuz we went on vacation.





yes, Baja California Sur, in the tropics.





did a bit of this:





and some of this:





Chase spent a lot of time in the water, going for boat rides etc. :



we had to outfit him correctly:




if there's any entomologists out there, can you identify this:



there's a bit of a debate over this moth. if that is what it is.

so anyway we're back and it's back to reality, Chase is back to his regular schedule (eat sleep poop) Goldi is back at school working hard, i'm back on the road with the start of my road training, Andy is already out of the country on business, and Josie is still recovering at home in Crapitola. what a great vacation and a great way to get the head on straight for the upcoming work to be done.

I remember, way back when...

i was a 15 year old kid just turned on to punk rock in the east bay, awkward, just finding identities (many), but already mountain biking as much as i could. and my bike broke. i ripped the derailleur hanger off. along with the piece of crap suntour mech. no, at the time all i could think about was upgrading to DEORE XT the gift from the japanese cycling gods but fate and a lack of money (ANY money, at all) drove me to it. single speed.

so i went to my next race, it was in angwin and i forget if it was called the rumpstomper still or maybe it was the sanitized Napa Valley Dirt Classic. same thing. and i signed up for the juniors still, and i said to hell with gears i'm gonna rip anyway. i didn't even know there was a SS class, i did know there were some loud dudes who rode SS bikes but they were charging pretty hard too, man they rode fast. mass start, all at once, rode hard chasing James Lillard (a geared rider) all day and he finally got away on the final decent. ended up second. but evidently smoked the first SS fider by 6 minutes of something. and Ferrentino comes over in a huff and starts pointing fingers at me about what the F*** and sliding in snide comments and i had no idea at the time but that was mike's way of saying good job. and man, was i hooked.

fast forward a few years, i'm still dirt poor, bumming rides to races with guys who know i can't pay and if i promise money i don't/can't come through. and i hook up with the Ventana boys and norm and leroy, and ferrentino and richter are still out there somewhere, and i got a cool shiny SS bike and i'm racing and being about as serious as i can be, which means going to the underground races and skipping Mammoth entirely. i was just having fun. and there's these dudes on the scene who start wearing orange jump suits and calling themselves the 3 amigos and it's rob and scott from Ventana and this punk called steve. they were not fast. they really didn't race, unless it was to see who could finish their beer fastest. they were good at that.

Steve's still in action and he's been reminding me of the good old days, so i thought i'd share.

man, i think i'm getting old.

So I went to see Josie yesterday, we basically hung around the house, napped, walked two blocks down to the store to get soft squishy food, and...that's it. That was the day. I fetched ice packs and made sure Josie wasn't doing too much (when I arrived she was cleaning the house), and basically I knew my job was to be rev limiter and it'd be boring. But we got to chatting and the time passed quickly. Oh, and andy in a fit of compassion bought a new couch for josie to convalesce on (and maybe him when he's been riding too much?) and so that was delivered. But we didn't have to carry it or anything.

Anyway, josie's doing well, isn't particularly looking forward to surgery tomorrow, but her overall attitude is good and she knows in the long run she'll be fine, which speaking from experience is one of the best thoughts you can have running through your head when your hurt.

and did the USGP stops in boulder and longmont. as i faintly remember, doing cross at altitude is all about suffering and not digging too deep, cuz you'll never get back on the level. true that.

sat went as well as can be expected, i rode around in a true haze. i'd catch a few guys and be caught by a few guys, i really don't remember so much, just little pockets if information here and there. i think andy rolled a tire in front of me, and i remember seeing 6 laps to go and thinking "there's no way i can ride 6 more laps."



i ended up with Kabush, who tried to throttle me on the last lap but crashed himself out in the process, and i had no choice to run him over. sorry, Geoff. I ended up 7th place, same as the number in my back.



and this guy was motivating, half cuz i like to see zeal in all forms, but half cuz the 6'4" pasty cyclist in his boxers will get anyone to run away from him.

and so then sunday was just horrible, Josie the J-Miac-to-be got held up at the start, which i witnessed, got her bike together and off she went. so when people said "i heard Josie went down" i didn't think much of it, until i rolled to the start and saw that Andy wasn't there. it went like this:

Me: where's andy?
biker: oh, he's at the hospital.
Me: WHAAAAT!?!?!
biker: yeah, Josie's getting Cat scans to her head, she might have broken her skull.
Ref: 30 seconds to go.

evidently she'd crashed again, not 300 yards later, getting tangled up with a spectator crossing the course by ducking the tape. didn't even see him, just full sprint straight into the ground head first. learning such things is not the best for the headspace, and kinda dulls that racing instinct. needless to say, i should not have even started the race as i couldn't care less about some stupid bike meet, even if it is one of the biggest in the country. but off i went, got the hole shot on addrenaline alone and pulled out two laps later well away from the front. i went to the ER to look after my family and make sure everything was okay.

i think it will be but it's going to be a long few days/weeks/months coming up. i'll keep updating as more info comes out.