Daedalus

Writing

2008-12-26T20:03:00.001-08:00

"It's a strange moment, the moment of creating characters who up to that moment have had no existence. What follows is fitful, uncertain, even hallucinatory, although sometimes it can be an unstoppable avalanche. The author's position is an odd one. In a sense he is not welcomed by the characters. The characters resist him, they are not easy to live with, they are impossible to define. You certainly can't dictate to them. To a certain extent you play a never-ending game with them, cat and mouse, blind man's bluff, hide-and-seek. But finally you find that you have people of flesh and blood on your hands, people with will and an individual sensibility of their own, made out of component parts you are unable to change, manipulate or distort." Pinter
http://www.time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,1868743-5,00.html

In The Bombs: "Here they go again/ The Yanks in their armored parade/ Chanting their ballads of joy/ As they gallop across the big world/ Praising America's God./ The gutters are clogged with the dead."

"Terrorism is a word that has become a plague on our vocabulary, the excuse and reason and moral permit for state-sponsored violence - our violence-which is now used on the innocent in the Middle East ever more outrageously and promiscuously. Terrorism, terrorism, terrorism. It has becomea fullstop, a punctuation mark, a phrase, a speech, a sermon, the be-all and end-all of everything that we must hate in order to ignore injustice and occupation and murder on a mass scale. Terror, terror, terror, terror. It is a sonata, a symphony, anorcehstra tuned to every television and radio station and news agency report, the soap-opera of the Devil, served up on prime-time or distilled in wearyingly dull and mendacious form by the right-wing "commentators" of the American east coast or the Jerusalem Post or the intellectuals of Europe. Strike against Terror. Victory over Terror. War on Terror. Everlasting War on Terror. Rarely in history have soldiers and journalists and presidents and kings aligned themselves in such thoughtless, unquestioning ranks. In August 1914, the soldiers though they would be home by Christmas. Today, we are fighting for ever. The war is eternal. The enemy is eternal, his face changing on our screens. Once he lived in Cairo and sported a moustache and naitonalised the Suez Canal. Then he lived in Tripoli and wore a ridiculous military uniform and helped the IRA and bombed American bars in Berlin. Then he wore a Muslim imam's gown and ate yoghurt in Tehran and planned Islamic revolution. Then he wore a white gown and lived in a cave in Afghanistan and then he wore another silly moustache and resided in a series of palaces around Baghdad. Terror, terror, terror. Finally, he wore a kuffiah headdress and outdated Soviet-style military fatigues, his name was Yassir Arafat, and he was the master of world terror and then a super-statesman and then, again, a master of terror, linked by his Israeli enemies to the terror-Meister of them all, the one who lived in the Afghan cave." Robert Fisk. The Great War on Civilization. 2005. pp. 378-379.

Camp Rising Sun - Yes!

2008-11-06T15:28:00.000-08:00

Camp Rising Sun – Yes!
By Sean Ross (Counselor, Red Hook, 2008)

Listen: I was a Pennsylvanian. My family resided in the piedmont of the Laurel Mountains since the Civil War era, long after LaSalle considered the Three Rivers – Ohio, Monongahela, and Allegheny –the main artery leading to the west.
Greensburg is a sordid podunk resting beside the Laurel Mountains. Few people heard of this place and I can’t think of too many natives who moved away as they grew older. The dreams of dreamers in this area are neither imaginative nor lofty.
I’m riding with my sister to school, my first day as a sophomore and her first day as a senior. As the small car winds along the continuous rolling hills symbolic of Western Pennsylvania, diving and swooshing into and out of the winding roads, I’m reminded of the past two months. What will Peter, Anna, Kim, Bobby, and Matt think of me? How will my teachers react? My parents don’t understand me and they raised me!
As we park behind the school, my sister ruffles me, “You need to cut those things off.” She grabs one of my dreadlocks, a souvenir of Camp Rising Sun. “They smell something awful. Did you wash your hair?” “Of course,” I mumble and stagger out of the car.
I grab my bag and walk inside. My locks were a souvenir by a stolid Scottish counselor, Sailor, his real name Ramsay. He entertained us campers with his catchphrase, “I dinnae ken where ye come from, laddie, but always say ‘yes!’” The last two words, when said rapidly, sounded a lot like ‘sailors’ in the Scottish accent.
Nothing can provoke me to cut my hair. Many of my comrades at camp, experiencing their first time away from home and free of its influences, buzzed their hair into Mohawks. I almost joined the craze. Sailor, one day before Council, tossed around photos of himself at my age, with long, tight locks. Camp was stunned. This older guy who mentored me with anecdotes of himself – a current Ph.D. student in Glasgow studying biochemical energy fuels who played professional soccer with the Scottish national team– and encouraged camp to do focus on their aspirations and always do what is right – the funniest remark he ever made came from Mark Twain: “Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest.”
I could express myself freely at camp! After I built up the courage from the back of my throat to nervously ask Sailor if he could do my hair like his, he beamed and said, “Of course, laddie!” He even bought the materials and spent a week’s worth of SST sessions, and a few Evening Programs, to turn my head into a forest of locks. Until my hair was complete, Sailor kept a beanie on my head to surprise me.
The last Saturday afternoon – “Everybody loves Saturday Night!” – before wisdom circles Sailor finished. I looked in the mirror, afraid of the results. “Everybody back home will never expect this!” I high-fived Sailor. “My gift to you, brother,” he said. “They will hold wisdom throughout your journey.”
My family would not figure me as one to finish the four day hike across the Catskills, its difficulty foreshadowed with the name Devil’s Path. Danny from Holland, Alan from NYC, Moritz from Germany, Enrique from New Mexico, Zach from Doylestown, Carlos from Peru, Jorje from Spain, Benjamin from Mississippi, and I formed the first hiking group. The first day, an easy four miles, put me in high spirits. We arrived at the lean-to early and spent the afternoon and evening talking.
Jorje and I discussed the current Tour De France. All my friends back home would have quickly and easily dismissed my interest in cycling. Jorje and I bet a box of candy against our predictions for the overall winner: I chose the Australian Cadel Evans and Jorge picked Sastre, a fellow Spaniard. With three weeks until the Tour’s completion, we had much time to debate and pull instant tomfoolery on each other. “Sastre is eyeing your box,” Jorje would walk in my tent, before tent check, and point at candy. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, pal. Evans, baby, Evans.”
The middle of the second day on the Path beleaguered my willpower. With hip rashes from the hiking pack and sores covering both feet (after climbing only Indian Head) how could I climb Twin Peaks and Sugarloaf by day’s end? Of their own free will, and without a word, Moritz and Danny carried my belongings while Zach carried my pack on his foreside. Carlos shared the load by stuffing my cooking utensils and food in his pack. I felt guilty and ashamed, but with my comrades’ eager cheerfulness I forced myself to the Sugarloaf lean-to. I couldn’t believe we only journeyed seven miles on the 10 hour hike this day. This hike should be considered bouldering and rock-climbing, that’s how steep these mountains are. No one wanted to anticipate the third day for fear of nightmares, so we settled in to the lean-to peacefully, cooked macaroni and cheese in the dark, grew closer together by the stove fire (the rain during the middle of the day spoiled all hopes of a campfire), and fell asleep. Dreams of Wendy’s, our treat on the last day for completing the monstrous hike, filled our sleep.
The third day, thankfully, was only two mountains. Everybody felt the mountain gripping our energy levels, but we joked around and laughed to motivate ourselves and each other. “Can you hear that?” someone asked. “Hear what?” another asked in return. “I hear something calling my name, telling me to hurry up. And I smell something fresh, too!” “I don’t smell anything,” I said. “Me neither,” Moritz sniffed. “It smells like French fries and a milkshake from Wendy’s,” Carlos continued. We all cursed him, though it did make us hike faster.
We considered Enrique the group’s Superman with the way he flew over and down the mountainsides. At the final lean-to, a majority suggested Enrique could cook for us since he did not appear fatigued. “That’s my Kryptonite, guys,” he weaseled his way out of the chore.
The last day we looked across the spectacular, sublime Catskill Mountains from the Hunter fire tower, then rode back to camp. On the way we stopped at the magical restaurant we all desired and talked for most of the hike. Cheeseburgers have never tasted so delicious. And friendship, nay, my brotherly friends, has taken me to a greater height in achievement. I can and will do everything I wrote on my Vision Board! Write a novel, travel the world, get a Ph.D. in computer engineering, and stay in contact with everyone at camp.
Back at Camp Rising Sun, the thirty campers, my other friends, swarmed us around the van. They wanted the inside scoop on the hiking trip. “It’s easy. Don’t lose any sleep over it,” Danny lied. I looked at him in dismay. He whispered with a sinister smile, “Hey, that’s what the counselors told us!” He had a point.
That night the campers, excited to have the returned hiking group, put on an Evening Program called Earth’s Birthday. Jin and Jack dressed in their cultural Chinese garments, Angel and the counselor Daniel wore ponchos and sombreros, a few wise guys from the U.S. wore business suits, Ryo dressed in his faux-samurai suit, Umur wore his Turkish fez and caftan, and the Europeans all wore their National Flag colors. The second years made cupcakes and Guy’s Israel rock music grooved lightly as a backdrop. We learned how to sing “Happy Birthday” in each of the representing languages, and then had a customary, if unofficial, dance party in E.D. Hall. Everyone melted into one whole individual bouncing in unison.
I walked into my home room, with Anna and Matt. How could I tell them about all this and the Wisdom Circles and Council, where my camp mates spoke honestly and earnestly amongst each other to individually reflect and to learn about our deepest thoughts? Matt would surely laugh at me as if I was a fool and change the subject, and Anna would roll her eyes to show a lack of interest. Back to the doldrums of Pennsylvania, I thought to myself and laughed.
My family and friends may not understand my summer. But I have my bedroom covered with pictures of my summer – which blends my past, present, and future. I will always remember camp and my new extended family spread across the globe.
Listen: I will always be a CRS’er! Yes!

(Sastra eventually won the Tour, and I unenthusiastically parted with my favorite Reese’s Peanut Butter cups as its new owner Jorje ate them mockingly, yet fairly, in my presence.)

GTA IV Dating

2008-05-05T11:16:00.000-07:00

haha, it's funny picking up "dates" because you're almost always in a different car every time while they're wondering why "so and so" is doing something conspicuous and must be in the (enter country name) mafia. they dont really question you, though. they do, but "you're hot." how? ill let you figure it out.

i kept picking up the same girl in the same clothes - weird how she'd comment on how nice I (Nico) looked everytime, even after noticing the same clothes. After a while I was thinking, "This is too much like me. I gotta go to the store for new clothes."

The dating aspect is cool, but its not very realistic. Nico almost acts like a ghost around the women. He doesn't really acknowledge them, until he wants to get lucky. And somehow the women are all over that. I think the women would have a better connection with a billboard sign - and if you drive erratically, which is easy to do because turning is so difficult, you're bound to hit something or someone. The women will get annoyed easily. I was like "there's no way Nico has a chance." I guess Liberty City really is "liberating." I like the new Hot Coffee thing, too.

After playing the game for so long I was addicted to the story but really annoyed with the missions. More story, less driving! it'll be fun once I get the bigger guns fighting the badder guys.

2008-05-05T10:28:00.001-07:00

only 46 people; one battley harley davidson finished; must have been fast.

You guys don't know him, but Ryan Mele is a 22 year old from Pittsburgh (only a Cat 3 a year ago); he finished 12th.

I was hanging around watching the Armed Forces TTT when this Pro guy came up to me. "Woah!", I thought, "he should be warming up!." A Richmond Pro Cycling dude. Ryan Mele. He knew my brother and thought I was him. My brother always talked about him and his talent because he was a strong kid from Pittsburgh with pro talent. I did not know what he looked like; I did know he was young, but looking at him he looked like a seasoned pro with tree-trunk legs and a sprinter's upper body.
Mele only met my brother once last year at Crystal City Crit. I don't know how he remembered what my brother looked like from that long ago. Such a humble guy, too. I told him my brother always talked him up and was proud of him because he's representing Pittsburgh. He didn't say much other than gratitude.

We chatted about his pro life and the course (I assume he didn't ride it). I was jealous; why can't some people have the biology for that kinda talent? And then to ride with Saul; man, some people have life good. Meeting those guys is inspiring.

And as for going off the front: Scott T said he has an advantage with tailwinds; I was pulling on the road by the Pentagon with the strong tailwind. Bill told me to cool it down, yet I didn't think it was too much. Too: I figured you guys had a good draft; I assumed wrong.

It was a good course, but like Dana I kinda felt the course was boring. 8 loops on a ride isn't too exciting. So I made it a personal competition. My arms were hurting that last lap. And my legs are still sore. But it was fun. I think the temperature was around 70. How did I do Pleasant Valley last year in the high 90's? - no wonder I hurled a few times after that race. Praying for summer to stay away!

Head filled like a sponge

2008-04-04T10:38:00.000-07:00

I've learned that work is a lot of patience. It's not like a video game where you aim, click a button, and see instant results....also, the longer the result the higher the rewards. I should have known this long ago, but when you work shit jobs you don't gain that much experience.

Sometimes I think Nicole draws me very close...personal need for acceptance or something..I'm not sure what it is because she doesn't come across as needy. She has this personality that would force anyone to want to be close to her...what's with "You don't call me" or "I want to go shopping with you!" and "You're probably hanging out with your other Dominican friends"..seriously, I don't understand it. Should I feel good about that? It makes me feel torn. love and friendship... Suggesting she would come to the Tyson's Corner, I havent thought hard about that one, but it definitely makes me feel good about life and her. I mean, to even suggest it was out of the blue..why would anyone care? Then after a few days or week I tend to lose the highinterest, only to have it re-ignited after a few more days. I don't have much time to think bout her anymore. I still do, but not like I used to. Busy, busy, busy.

She makes me feel so good. Kinda like what Katie said about me, "I'm addicted to you." Fuck that. Weren't addicted for much long. 8 and 5. That's about it.

For some reason I thought about Katie, from two years ago. I remember her telling me it wasn't anything personal, but even two years later I still take it personally. It's difficult to accept that when you think its yourself. I mean, I know I did a lot of stupid things and failed to do a lot of wonderful things...how can I hide that from her reasoning? There's no disconnect, even if I have a huge disconnect in emotions towards other people. Even Nicole, I love her but I can't physically show it. It's almost like an idea. No matter how I feel I could never - well, I did kiss Nicole once, but it takes a lot to get my confidence to that level. I can never bring myself to physically show a girl I like them...too inconfident, too unsure of myself, too scared of rejection... Even after Papa Razzi, where I treated Nicole to an awesome dinner...those were the days...I wanted so bad to just hold her hand. But at the moment we were just chillin'. Emotions...I'll never get a hang of 'em.

So Katie, I don't love her, but if she wanted to be with me I might give her a chance. Weird how all that works. She was so beautiful...why me?

I'm pretty happy in life, but still not confident with people in general. I'm more of a Nietzschean SuperMan...I live life far beyond what most would do..not making a value judgment, only that people don't exactly push themselves too hard.
I do what I have to do to get by, and usually does not include people. Not women, usually not guys...no one. Money is a big issue, too. Without money its tough to be like "hey, lets do this." Unless it involves a bike or two.

So there's this female, she gets on my nerves. I come home from work, usually late anymore as I ride at night or apply to jobs, and stupid, pessimistic comments abound. I used to be that way - Yeah, when I hated life. Everything is nit picked, commented with an attitude, and generally makes me want to fucking get the fuck out of the area. I'll see something on tv or do something stupid and I'll make a lighthearted comment that suggests: "life sure throws you a laugh on occasion." Sure, I usually don't agree with it, but if you make it fun you don't get worked up about it. "Oh Hillary! have my babies!" Or the fat woman in a bikini on that movie I didn't pay attention to: "HEY! HEY! HEY!" Robin and Noah took me seriously, at first. I thought it was hilarious. I actually had to convince them I wasn't serious. I think they think I like fat women or something. And no, Nicole, this isn't even remotely directed at you. They probably think I'm in a relationship with her, too. I am...as a friend. Wooo-weeee! Whaooaaaah! "HEY! HEY! HEY!" That's about the best comment you can make towards anything. Sets a comfortable mood.

But this female, jesus. I don't care if the movie has all white people or if the advertisement includes all races and genders talking as if friends....first off, what can I do about it? Boycott the movie? Society moves slowly with change, but it will eventually change. You be the change...what the fuck. Pessimism sucks.

TV sucks, too. What's the point? I want to live. Even with no money I fare off better than most. "We've got it better than the best." ~$800 in 4-5 months. Not bad at all. And I'm a beast in the cycling scene.

Possible? In DC, anything is.

2008-03-31T12:42:00.001-07:00

http://media.www.theeagleonline.com/media/storage/paper666/news/2007/03/26/News/D.c-Literacy.Below.National.Average.Study.Says-2790826.shtml

170,000 people in the District live at the lowest literacy rate....about 150% higher than the national average. Even the national average is around 21-23%...how?

Read this about Teach for America in SE DC, Anacostia....excellent writer, by the way.
http://www.city-journal.org/html/13_1_how_i_joined.html

The kids have major behavioral problems, the parents blame the teacher and school system, and the administrators don't give the teachers any headway in discipline and control.

I may look into becoming a teacher....that'd be a good job. Stressful, but rewarding and fulfilling, at least to some degree - if I don't get sued!

Watch the Wire, Season Four. Good representation of teaching to the standardized test....happens everywhere where administrators are concerned about their paychecks rather than the children's education.

On a side note, http://nces.ed.gov/timss/ states Singapore and Korea are the brightest countries in science and math. Singapore has like 100% literacy rate last time I checked (few years ago)...

Best quote from a sophomore (not sure if college or HS, looks like college) for the reasoning behind the lack of education: "There is also a large immigrant population in the city who probably can't speak much English."

From my time teaching immigrants they were well-versed in education. It's possible many don't care, especially teenagers caught in the game of self-identity and fitting in, but I find that quote difficult to believe on a widespread scale.

Cycling for the win. Tyson's in less than a week - bring it Cat 3's...you're gonna hurt. Ephrata with the fam in four weeks....bring it, bring it!

Sean Ross

More Cycling

2008-03-21T09:27:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I headed out to Hains Point to ride the usual Thursday evening group ride. Work was exhausting me, CVS was pissing me off because they couldn't get my online photo order correct, so I decided to try a different CVS store to get my photos for Nicole's project (still have no idea what it is, but I had a good brainstorming session on the ride to work today - my 'cycle is my car!).

I arrive, the wind viciously greets me, and only two triathletes and one cyclist come by. Either this Route1 guy is off the front destroying the group, or there is no group because there's no one in sight. It's Mike Esmonde, Cat III bar winner for 2007, destroyer at Crystal City (both prime and finish - he racked up some sweet money and wheels)...such a small guy with fierce sprinting power.

He suggested a hill workout in north Arlington. We're off. He's an enjoyable fellow, quite amusing. My face was cold with snot constantly flowing my from nose so I had difficulties talking. He said he could hear me fine....I was using a lot of effort and I thought I still sounded mumbled. So we get to the Custis trail and he's like "this is my top speed." Slow! What's wrong Mike? You weigh less than me and have power, I know you can use it. I effectively dropped him up that short hill, where he found me amusing as a "junior rider." I'm not even sure what he meant: either I was all over the place or using too much energy or scaring the trail-runners...I wasn't sure what he meant. We ride all over, Military Rd, some other parts of the Italian Store ride, where he stays with me up all of them. I tried to drop him a few times since his "top" speed was slow, but he pulled out the engine room.

Mike E. has cornering and technical cycling down to perfection. He thinks I suck at cornering, which I do, but my back wheel sucks (wobbles) and my bike is probably too short in length, so I have doubts about certain technical cornering.

This weekend I'm going to be lazy and relax for most of the weekend. I hate staying inside, but I'll be forced to after this week. Tonight's cycling instruction is going to eat the little energy I have, though with the new heart rate monitors I'll be able to engage the participants more in their personalized training. Should be excited for the first little bit. Still, I'd rather not go. I hear my bed calling me....

This weekend is devoted to relaxing and working on a spiffy project for Nicole. It wasn't gonna be anything other than pictures of her and I, but after Monday I have other plans.

"Oh man, I can't believe I didn't finish that project."
"What project?"
"Well, I've been meaning to do it for a while now, but I'm lazy and procrastination got in the way."
"Ooooooooo!! Did you write me a poem?" Why do you do act all bubbly and try to get my emotions going for you? It used to work, but anymore I just want to have a good time with you. It hurts too much to catch that glimmer of hope. Frustration. If you like me just come out and tell me. But you're probably insecure about your appearance (utterly confusing!) and possibly like me with the fear of rejection, though you know I like you. if you let me down this time....but you won't.
"Oh, no. It was just a small little something. I was working on it before I left. Then I figured I'd finish it later and get it on the way to work. I mean, I was only going to Ben's to get my mail to do my taxes and then to Capitol Hill to get a back wheel from a teammate. You weren't in my plans tonight. But you called and here I am! In my cycling clothes looking like a twig, too!"
"Hehe."
"I'm waiting for it, too."
"Waiting for what?"
"Come on, you know you want to. Look at me."
"What?" She smiles.
"Laugh, let it out."
"Honestly, you look like a cyclist. For some reason I always thought you'd be in yellow even though you told me you wear blue. Now, if your uniform was yellow I'd laugh."

I'm torn. I miss this girl so much, haven't talked to her since then, and haven't felt this way about anyone ever. At the time I was putting on my gloves, hat, helmet, and mp3 player to go home. She was standing there.
"What are you waiting for?"
"For you to get ready."
But its cold out. You don't like the cold. This reminds me of Colonel Brooks when I swear, in the freezing cold, you stood on the corner in anticipation. Of a hug, of something. The pedestrian light changed to "walk" and I told you to have a good night and walked to the Metro. You looked disappointed as you started jogging home. I had no idea. We're friends. Then weeks later we had long discussions about how you didn't want to be with me.

So I called a few times since Monday and left messages. Her phone was turned off every time. Odd. It's never turned off.
"What if I was dying on the side of the road, Nicole?" And why do you say stupid stuff like that to me: "You don't care about me. What if I was lying somewhere dying?" Huh? Such insecurity infuriates me - I was sick of hearing her say she was fat, so I pulled out the charm, unconsciously, and made her cry in happiness - which makes me feel more for her.

My last girlfriend I wanted to be with her, and then after a bit I despised it and wanted time to myself. I'd go home for the weekends to make sure I had that time to myself. Then when I went back to college I had this immense desire to be with her.. After a bit she ended the relationship, even though that last weekend she should have been with me down in Memphis for 311 day. Either she didn't want to go or, if she was telling the truth, her mom wouldn't allow her.
Even last Fall Nicole'd randomly show up at my work and sometimes I felt like it was too much, but I was between a rock and a hard place because I cherished the moment because I knew it would soon end. And it did, and I couldn't bear it. God, just to hear her voice right now....

Love and Cycling

2008-03-18T07:35:00.000-07:00

I should be working, but I must release the following before I am overwhelmed and consumed into pure oblivious bliss.

My brother and his girlfriend visited over the weekend. Great times - we cycled, went to the Aerospace Museum (not that great - more for kids and pop-tarts), hung out with Emily's friend's friends (annoying and immature as hell, set me back about 20 years in the dating game - Emily told me to pull out my feelers. Not in a million years in that room.), and was thoroughly let down by Nicole - her bed was more foregoing than my company (I'm still pissed about that; at least lie and say you have plans!)

And her "humor" ignited some sparks between us. "Are you upset?" No. "Are you sure?" Yes (actually, I am upset, but I can't tell you because you won't come because you're "antisocial" and don't like groups of people!!! ) Actually, she didn't even realize I was flaring, she's always in Nicole-land. I believe its similar to Florida where the sun is always bright, the weather is perfect, and she's with imaginary friends that tell her how perfect and beautiful she is. "Well, don't send me an email later on telling me you're pissed...bluh bluh bluh." That set me off like no other. "What? When did I ever do that?" "You always do that." Whatever. "Don't give me whatever." (You're probably "joking," though your delivery is anything but.) Whatever.....yeah, Whatever. (I'm thinking, Please Nicole, come. Come! Don't let me down. How do I do this without sounding obsessed and infatuated?)

Yes, I got defensive and an attitude because I truly wanted her to come out and she was playing around. It'd be cool if she had plans or was going out with her boyfriend (she's single!), but she skips me to hang out in front of the tube and to lie around...there's that Green Day song "Efretius Roots" or something..."waste your time with me"!!!!!

So my brother leaves yesterday, I decide to go pick up my mail from Ben at his work, then I'm about to go get a rear wheel from a teammate in NE Capitol Hill when Nicole calls. I'm a sucker for her and can't ignore her so I answer. Instantly, the pure love flows. It's like the weekend never existed, there's no resentment, no barrier: we were both free and in the moment (The best way to live!). Of course, I'll go out with you Nicole!

She wanted to go out to eat. Awesome....this'll be perfect because it'll be me and her and no one else. Exactly how she likes it. And me; I'm not going to lie.

Nicole: you are my Muse. I literally can not stop thinking about you. I love life, my job, cycling, my brother, my mom and sister and niece and cousin, and, most importantly, I love you Nicole. Pure and simple love without any reservations: freedom. You are so beautiful - not fat! look in the mirror and complement yourself Ms. Beatiful!- and I think you are by far the most amazing woman/lady/girl/female/individual...the way your hair curls and illuminates your smooth face and bright, brown eyes, your bubbly spirit enveloping the atmosphere, your smile and laughter of yourself and even me, the way you randomly and melodically sing those obscure songs, the constant conversationing and sharing and loving and laughing, and the warm silence, and the way you cried when I told you how beautiful you were (after telling you for the 10th time it finally set home, "that was so sweet"...), and how I made you laugh to release the tension....."You're invading my space....excuse me!!!" There's absolutely no way I'm taking no for an answer...I love you and are truly magnificent...

Why do I feel I can't get beyond the friend stage? I don't like to put myself out there because I'm totally afraid of rejection...I mean we've known each other for a while and even the thought of you rejecting me is too difficult to bear. I'm not the greatest at picking up physical or verbal cues, but I'd be a fool to think you don't like me. Two people acting the way we do together is virtually unheard of yet sought after for, many, a lifetime....its freedom and love...the Secret. So how do I do it? Fuck it, let's go on a date, I'll make you an extravagant dinner, and even curb it around your South Beach diet -which is ridiculous because you're Beautiful, an Angel, and look superb in everything I've ever seen you wear- and tell you how amazingly beautiful you are and how wonderful you look and me and you are soulmates.

Now I just need to envision myself holding your hand and holding you tight and keeping our bodies and hearts warm. That's difficult, because what if you reject me? Low self esteem...stop worrying and just FEEL the love...don't be so hard on yourself Sean. Or as Nicole would say, "Seany." Yeah, about that.....

Nicole wants to come watch me race at Tyson's Corner, the 3/4 race. I have yet to buy my license - somehow I'm registered for the race! I won the Cat 5 last year, maybe I'll win the Cat 3/4 and win her heart for eternity. She mentioned coming to watch me and I was dumbfounded. "You don't come visit my brother, it took you three days of constant bugging to come visit my mom and sister, and you don't even like cycling." "Yeah, but you're into it." Awwwww.

I love you Nicole. And I love Cycling...which I love more...I have no idea right now...soon enough it will be Cycling because Nicole frustrates me to no end, but we'll work on that.

Leaving Texas

2008-01-19T22:33:00.001-08:00

Poetry is magic. The New Yorker always publishes a few every week. Most of the poems appear almost comical and worthless, yet they reveal ordinary events so powerfully majestic it makes me laugh at even myself.

Here's good Poetry About War: http://www.caterina.net/paw/
My favorite.

The Lost Pilot
by James Tate

for my father, 1922-1944

Your face did not rot
like the others--the co-pilot,
for example, I saw him

yesterday. His face is corn-
mush: his wife and daughter,
the poor ignorant people, stare

as if he will compose soon.
He was more wronged than Job.
But your face did not rot

like the others--it grew dark,
and hard like ebony;
the features progressed in their

distinction. If I could cajole
you to come back for an evening,
down from your compulsive

orbiting, I would touch you,
read your face as Dallas,
your hoodlum gunner, now,

with the blistered eyes, reads
his braille editions. I would
touch your face as a disinterested

scholar touches an original page.
However frightening, I would
discover you, and I would not

turn you in; I would not make
you face your wife, or Dallas,
or the co-pilot, Jim. You

could return to your crazy
orbiting, and I would not try
to fully understand what

it means to you. All I know
is this: when I see you,
as I have seen you at least

once every year of my life,
spin across the wilds of the sky
like a tiny, African god,

I feel dead. I feel as if I were
the residue of a stranger's life,
that I should pursue you.

My head cocked toward the sky,
I cannot get off the ground,
and, you, passing over again,

fast, perfect, and unwilling
to tell me that you are doing
well, or that it was mistake

that placed you in that world,
and me in this; or that misfortune
placed these worlds in us.

* * *

I was burrowing deep inside this flesh for the DC Fall semester of 2007. I met Nicole and Ben, my roommate, and watched Zach depart from the Hill in early October. My job sucked worse than college, my desires for almost everything disappeared. Luckily, I crashed twice and was forced off my bike for a while, though I rode out to the Tacchino Cross race a week and a half after (almost) breaking my back. The highlight was losing consciousness in the aerobars. Twice. Even then, the weather was between 50 and 60. Not so different from January in Texas

Tthe past few days have been low 40's, colder than DC.

I'm not going to miss Texas nor my cousin or his wife Jacquie. I love them, but its time for me to move on. It was time after two weeks. Needed that *huge* discount on Greyhound, forced to stay another week. Jimmy basically locks himself in his room playing EverQuest II all day. EverCrack. It's like we don't even live together. I'm cruisin' on the couch while he leaves his bodily impressions on the office chair. If I was told he was an Army Armored Cav Scout 19Delta, I'd laugh. He's going to Iraq? HA! He's a soldier!? He lives on EverQuest.
I'm beginning to understand his insecurities. Sure, he's bored, but there's absolutely no ambition. Day after day after day of staring at a monitor tires the eyes and injures the soul. The distractions of life compel us with complacency. I I still have no job. Enlightening and freeing, in a way.

I spend most of my time alone. Chilling with myself. Relaxing in my young skin. Creating worlds, usually lacking depth and yearning for details, together with my insecurities, whatever they may be. I don't know anything about me, but we laugh hardily together.

"There's only one me and I'm stuck with him." Kurt Vonnegut. Boy, did I look up to that guy. I'm sure if I read him now I'd laugh heartily with him still, and laugh at my old self for thinking such idealistic shenanigans/tomfoolery. Yet, those feelings are burrowed deep in me. I wish my upbringing had more love. Education education education. I lost interest by 7th grade, but I found challenge in it. And I wasn't forced to interact with others. Those idiots. I was a machine, a cog. There was no ambition or creativity. I did the work to get it done, to forget about it. To play Counterstrike and Myth and UT. I thought that was the point of life. Wasn't it?

A great source of entertainment - a world of its own, really - exists on Craigslist, aka CL. I frequent it rarely, like once a month at most. I happened to look up some items to look at market prices when I felt compelled to look at "Missed Connections." Intriguing!

Humor
"Oh metro boyfriend...I see you every day and almost get up the guts to talk to you. Then I look at your pants and realize they're about 2 inches too short. If you get a new tailor I would love to talk to you:)"

Love and Anguish
I have these paranoid fantasies/fears that things will suddenly fall apart--usually when things are going well (perhaps it fulfills an apotropeic function--to ward off what I fear most). Even just writing about it here helps a little. But this time, coming back to you after an absence, felt different. You were different. It was not just my anxiety, my oversensitivity to even slight emotional shifts. I don't know why, except that it's nothing I've done, or not done. Something you're going through, and I can only stand by and try to be there, if and when you want/need me.

I'm staying calm. I'm giving you space, if you want it. I'm not pushing. But god I hope you are not going to leave me, us. I don't think I could take another heartbreak. The thought of it freezes the breath in my chest.

the "I know you won't see this but yes! yes! I hope you do!"
Tom, you were a cook, I was a waitress. We had some fun, and I thought about you recently... just wondering how you're doing these days.
I'm sure you won't see this, but if you do, tell me about the restaurant to verify we're finding each other.

I wish this was me, but then again if any girl caught me on my bike I'd quit cycling
I caught up with you going up the hill on 19th and then directed you towards City Bikes. We should have exchanged numbers.

Common Sympton: Shy
My roommate: I know this is pretty weird but I'd like to get to know you better! We should talk some time, I am just really shy.

The Delay! Silence. SPEAK!
I thought after lunch that everything was really cool; I know you've got stuff to work out and wrestle with, but I have felt a genuine connection from the first time we met.
Now I'm not so sure... I wish you would either tell me I'm being paranoid or tell me I'm on the money. Silence is the thing that kills me the most.

There's a clear difference in the styles between Men and Women. I don't have the time now to figure it out, but rest assured I will.

Writing

2008-01-18T17:22:00.000-08:00

Jobless. Who cares? My bank account, about the only concern. Even still, I'll treat myself as a king and the same for the people I love.

I don't think DC's my town. I won't get the job I interviewed with today - the public policy internship. But if I did I'd think differently. DC would be my town, at least for the duration of this road season.

I read a few days ago that 86% of the population live in cities. Perhaps my definition of city is different from "theirs." Whoever "they" are. The town I grew up in and the town my mom lives now would both be considered "cities", only because they are on the *very* edge of Pittsburgh (read: nowhere near the city limits nor anywhere near civilization designated as suburbs.) Seriously, these towns on a map are included in the area of Pittsburgh; towns with populations of 10-15000, generously estimated. I consider those towns "slums" with the population of numbskulls in residence, the G'd-out-thugs and goths and bad-ass parking lot auto brigade. The overweight moms with the 80's hair, the beer-bellied guys on their way home from work headed straight to the pub. No wonder why the kids turn to drugs and sex and tv - at least someone cared.
It's funny the "competition" back home. Coming home from Hawaii I was forced to "compete" with kids at stores and in public. I was lost as to the trophy. Was it a hot date waiting inside WalMart for the kid with most dignity? Did the loser receive a pummeling to his pride, or worse yet, his almost-lemon '86 mustang? Was I supposed to belittle the mulleted-rednecks and show my mancard to these kids by harassing young, fake girls caked in makeup with tight shirts and too-short shorts? Perhaps I was supposed to challenge them to a duel. Fight, or highway racing, or wear a blue tilted cap as a gang symbol. I never knew the "rules" of the game. So I simply never played. Besides, the road was calling.

It's hard for me to say this aloud: I absolutely love Nicole. She knows it, but I've never told her directly. She's so beautiful and seductive and intelligent and down-to-earth and talkative with these foreign insecurities, almost childlike in a way. I can't figure her out. It's like all these
I've never told any girl that magic word 'love', mostly for my own sake. Actually, I told Tara, but that was a drunken stupor. Surprisingly, my brother and cousin only brought it up a few times - probably because I laugh just as hard. And she tried to steal my car! Who does that!
I adored Katie, but that relationship wasn't much of a relationship. I was smothered, needed air. She went from saying some heartfelt things to tearing me apart, avoiding me, acting like I didn't exist. Took me a while, but I got over it. Nicole asked me one day if I still talk to her (Katie). Hahaha. No.

I remember I wrote one friend after going out with Nicole in early October. It wasn't a date, according to Nicole, but I bought her flowers, took her to that Paparazzi Italian restaurant in Georgetown, and unintentionally treated her to an early Halloween spook ride through Rock Creek Park. All because I wanted to get her home earlier. I should have manned up and tried to eek out as much time as possible. But I'm a good friend. I'll never forget that trip. Especially afterwards. We probably should have ended our friendship that night, but somehow she was cool about it. I should write a mysterious short story. Have everything play out differently and according to the rules of friendship. The story would be titled, "Nothing Kiss." Seriously, I don't think any other girl would have taken that lightly. Especially such a beautiful, professional girl. Jesus, I love this girl.
I guess that date was just me showing her how she "should" be treated. Yeah, that's what it was.
It was a philosophical evening of love's manners , nothing pragmatic between us.

Anyway, my training: I have rode my bike perhaps 4 or 5 times in the past month. Have I lost any fitness? Probably not much, if any. Serious. My legs haven't changed, my 6 pack is still here, and my desire is increasing. Slowly, but surely.

I'd be all set if I could get a job.

How much money do I need in the next 6 months?
Rent= 1800
Phone = 300
Loans = 200-300
Food = 400-500? Pnut butter(15), bread (8), rice(10), gatorade(9), fig newtons(15), cereal (10), milk (7)
Cycling tires and tubes - 100?
Registration costs. - 500?

3500 at the most. Damn. Me and my friends are going to disappear at this rate.
I need to make 500 a month just to be even. 125 a week. Hmm. Screw Americorps, taking away my financial security. But they gave me back my emotional framework. Not that I've done much with it.
Hmmm.

More job searching tomorrow. I hate it!

September Tunes

2007-09-13T18:25:00.000-07:00

It's Thursday. Thursday night. I'm heavily exhausted, stressed to the point of slight depression - mainly from cycling too hard. I'm taking it easy in preparation for MURAD.
Riding home on Tuesday I got lost finding my way to Rockcreek Parkway, finding myself on 25th and Mass Ave. The Parkway looked nothing like I was used to with a concrete wall on the left with no room for a trail (no park at all), and what I remember as very little forest on my right. I have no idea where I was because I didn't cross the intersection at VA and Rockcreek Pkway near Georgetown, yet highway to the horizon. Asked a few people for directions and joined the traffic rush through the dark park.
Exhausted. Feel lifeless. My play is coming along at 11,000 words, 32 pages, decently interesting, hopefully enough to get me into grad school. My short story is at 6000 words I think, maybe 10 pages. It sucks, honestly, but thematically could be put to good use with tons of revisions. That's going to be tough with 4 jobs (Americorps, Performance, Writing, Cycling) and soon another (Halo 3). I spread myself too thin. What do I really want? Pro cyclist. Backup: writer. Mixed in here is support, mainly a few friends and a loving lady. I have a date tomorrow with Nicole. The way I play it off is like this: "She called me everyday since we went to dinner last week. It's cool and all, but everyday seems a bit excessive. Yeah, a date, whatever. I don't really care. I can't figure her out, if she's an airhead or intelligent because she plays both parts well. Though, I'm skeptical on both accounts: tough." Really, though, I called her a few times. We happened to miss each other a few times so we were calling, she was calling, no one was answering, etc. I'm looking forward to chilling, feeling good in good company, not really a date.
I talked to Jess last night and my only question was, in earnest but nonchalantly, "This date means I have to compliment her all night, huh?" "Yep. Tell her she looks nice tonight and make her feel special.....I can't see you doing that, though.""Why not?" "Because you're the type of person to say, 'Hey, come over and let's play video games.'" Silence. An awkward silence. I don't even know what to say. First off, that's probably true. But what of my demeanor suggests that? I barely play video games and only mention Halo 3 as something I look forward to as a time killer (which isn;t going to be much). It's probably how I talk about cycling (and how I write in my play.) It's serious enough that people don't doubt my goal, but playful enough where I probably come across as a little kid. Hey, I look 19, what more can I say? Life is a game, as long as you got the cash cow on board (Americorps, sucka).I didn't know where to start. I wanted to know what she meant, but was afraid to ask and basically knew what she meant."
Jimmy called me tonight. He has two foot fractures from a 20 mile hike yesterday. He had some time off so he called me, but ironically had to hang up when his drill sergeant came near. I finished "The Blog of War" and was emotionally ripped apart by those soldier's tales. Heroism, suspense, honor, courage, valor, death, surviving, poetry, passion, humanity, etc. Everything about life was revealed; an enlightening, rewarding read about Iraq difficult to remain straightfaced.
I must revise the next 18 pages of my play so I can add more tomorrow. Then americorps, Nicole, date, life, love, fun times, and then the depression when I twist it into a rubberband of bland nonchalance like the twit I am.

Summer vacation

2007-08-16T20:59:00.000-07:00

The season's almost over! Well, it is over for me in terms of training very much. There's the Go Fast, Turn Left track event on Saturday, which is something different and fun while I'm on a mini life vacation for five weeks. Then there's the RR Championship in the middle of September. I may do a week of serious training for that if I get bored. Unlikely as I need to get serious about my creative writing and applying to grad schools. Where to go, what kind of finances to look for, the GRE...I bet I'll just apply to a bunch of colleges that have free applications and go from there. If they need to suck money from applicants they surely don't need my skinny wallet. I'll be working the $50 off as I write the application mission statements and creative works, fa sho. My primary location is around DC but I'm not limiting myself.
I might head up to college next week to catch up with the Hawaiians. I don't care all that much about them, but it'd be cool to see how they're doing and keep my connections tight for when I want to go back to Hawaii. Really, it gives me a reason to ride home. I'll ride up from DC, meet my brother, hang out with the brothers, then relax until beach Labor Day weekend to take it easy before Americorps. I'm not looking forward to Americorps. Work isn't my thing. I tend to endeavor in other works while at work to make it feel like I'm still free. We'll see how many more years that lasts.
Creative writing is intense. I read a book about Kurt Vonnegut's style. I admired him solely for the entertainment, but after reading about his technique it gave me new insight into how amazingly in-depth he took to his novels. Most people wouldn't understand most of his sci-fi satire - hell, I don't and I read about it! The mental agony of writing is a task in itself, too. The organization, structure, voice, language, ideas, characters, plots, theme, history, time, bluh bluh bluh rear their heads with every word. Sometimes the play writes itself; other times, not so much.
I also read a book of Kerouac's journals while writing On The Road. He talks about the mental agony a lot. He read, read, read, wrote, wrote, wrote, revised, revised, tore up pages, wrote, wrote, and wrote more, revised, typed, typed, typed, etc. until the manuscript was done. He traveled a bit in between, probably to ease up on the burnout.
Burnout. That's an idea. I've been riding almost 5-6 days a week since May 2006. I never imagined the day I would want to take a break from cycling. As it is, I do realize there's more to life right now, like pursuing a career. There will come a time I will need money. Until then, I'm a free floating spirit. Most kids have an idea of what they want to be when they grow up. Me? I never knew. Everyone wanted to be a pilot, or doctor, or laywer, or real life barbie doll, or teacher, or something that a million and two other kids wanted. I always felt like I was too good for those things, not in a conceited manner but in a way that felt close to "I want to be different." I think writing is my "different", my wings to salvation. It takes an intelligent person to do it, and someone needs to. And from many things I read I know I have more than enough ability and potential - damn, do a good bit of people have poor writing ability ( or poor revising habits). Voice is my weakness.
I grew up playing tons of video games, usually scrounged around for food, and read tons of books to keep myself sane through high school. I worked, too, but most of the time the butter went to my car, almost always an issue with it. Working to drive, and driving to get to work wasn't ideal to me. So now I cycle. How this all relates, I don't know.

Stress is another weakness of mine. Once I master that I'll master the multiverse.

Pleasant Valley - Hot! Hot! Hot! (Potential Winner Makes Mistake)

2007-08-07T10:23:00.000-07:00

Long, I know, sorry. (I actually don't remember the race making me hot.)

Waking up at 6 o'clock is like being poked by the Lucifer's pitchfork with his grand Hell waiting outside my bedroom. Cycling is the only thing that turns Hell into a peaceful, manageable existence. If it was anything else, like school or work, I'd be back to bed in a heartbeat. Actually, I wouldn't bother to wake up.

Lindsey picked me up. Before racking my bike, I noticed the PowerTap wire was loose. I tighten it. The wire pulls itself from the shark fin receiver. Lovely. We rack my bike and head off.

Lindsay and I were on our way to Westminster. After racing Toona in a rolling enclosure event massively organized with impeccable details I had lowered expectations. It didn't help how I knew nothing of the course, mainly if it was hilly or flat. Sprint finishes don't boost my excitement of cycling. The heat, though, was definitely a concern.

I fell asleep for two hours in the car while Lindsay raced. The two back doors opened kept me cool as a kindling coal outside the blazing fire pit. My shirt was damp but not soaked when I awoke. I downed two bottles of water before the race. Someone tells me the women thought the race was more difficult than the Giro.
My race, game over, I think. As long as I don't dehydrate and cramp up. Which is very possible as I don't train in the heat as it's not fun and requires too much water.

The race:

I get up front for the neutral start. I then fall back to the middle in the first few miles. No need to worry about the race for the first few laps. Nothing too eventful happens for much of the first lap as everyone is scouting out the course. A somewhat steep downhill that curved gently to the left with a sharper left curve in the middle of the hill, followed by a medium curve right presented a unique challenge. I saw one guy almost take out a fellow racer because his speed was too high for the unexpected middle section. The next lap most people took this downhill by taking a straight line through the curves. Safer, even with crossing the center line.

There was one long uphill drag that forced even me to take it in my easiest gear, comparable to the hill in the woods in the Giro but steeper. It wasn't all that long, but long enough to break people. The only other tough hill was the finishing stretch, which was tougher than the first hill. Luckily, I could move to the front with ease each time.

The second lap realized a break with BBC and a few other riders, four or five in all. I wasn't worried, until I see BBC and another represented team blocking. I noticed the same kid working the front, and had been the entire race so far. I can't think of the his name. He races unattached in the black uniform with the orange colors. I saw him chasing a bit, helped by one or two guys. The chase effort was broken up by BBC. Good tactics, for sure, but not making me happy. I was stuck in the middle and could only watch as nobody organized - I hate that yellow line! I then calmed down when I realized the break wasn't gaining much time, even with their team blocking. The race is still a long ways, anyway, no need to worry about this break. (It helps watching upper categories as well. I roadguarded for the afternoon races. The Pro, 1, 2 race had a break of 6 guys with at least a 3 minute gap going into the 2^nd or 3^rd lap. They were caught two laps later.)

Even so, I knew the BBC break would force the Coppi's to give chase and drain our reserves. Our plan was to send off two guys at a time in the second half of the race. Mr. Hawaii and Jordan would form a duo with Johnny and I grouping. I saw John giving chase on a flat section, with Jordan on tow.

We come to the major hill section. A guy in front of me was a bit to the right of the yellow line, so I passed him by using the line. The referee pulls up beside me whistling his whistle and pointing me out of the group. I put up a weak argument about how I didn't cross the line. One racer says, "That sucks, man," in a tone that suggests, "Better you than me, sucker." Jordan tells me to go to the back of the pack. Not a bad idea. Halfway up the hill I was back into my original position. Not a bad consequence after all. The break wasn't much ahead and losing ground. I keep my positioning towards the middle. The break falls apart, with a lone guy out front. At the finishing stretch I moved up considerably and quickly. A fellow racer was informing all of us to "watch the yellow line." I was near it, but not on it. I wanted to get to the front, blocked by a racer taking up a good portion of road near the yellow line. I fell back and moved beside him on the right. I calmly asked him to move right so I could pass him. Too calm, apparently. He did nothing, visibily struggling up the hill. I yelled something (probably some obscenity). He finally moved. I took off and got to the front, grabbed a water bottle from the feedzone, and was first into the sharp right turn after the downhill. It didn't look too sharp, but the last two laps I almost ate asphalt with the speed I was carrying from the downhill. I even took the best line possible, chomping at its apex like a juicy steak. Thankfully, the road didn't chomp me.

A guy was off the front going into the third lap. A flier. Now, this may sound stupid, and I would agree to a point: I started a chase effort. The criterium at Toona allowed my legs to get stronger as the duration of the race increased. I figured I could open up my legs a bit by chasing. I didn't chase hard, keeping my output below threshold. That black/orange kid took a pull. I take another pull. A few minutes into the chase effort the kid tells us we have a gap. I look back. The pack is well behind us four breakers. The flier latches on. We maintain a good paceline.

We get to the major hill section. Me and orange/black kid drop the other three.
"We gotta wait up for them, we can't go it alone," I say.
He had the voice of reason. "They're going too slow." We were both huffing and puffing. I look back and see the pack getting closer. I'll just sit in and wait for the pack to catch us.

I get in behind him and draft for a bit on the flat section at the top. The referee tells us we have a 30 second lead. I instantly take on pulling duties. I'm in this for the long haul. A two man break doesn't seem like good chances, but I'll give it all I've got. We work well together. A few times he tells me to take smoother pulls because I would stand up on the hills to relax my back. We come to final hill and he is losing ground. I figure he's grabbed a water bottle and is drinking. I slow up to let him catch me. We go over the crest of the hill. After I almost eat concrete on the right turn, again, he tells me something like "You're f'n working hard, man. Go on, I can't do it anymore." What? He looked like he was good to go. I was confused as to my options at that point. We've already been out here for 7 or 8 miles, 10 more might be out of my reach. After a second or two of personal deliberation, I think, What the hell, if the heat gets me I'll join the pack and go for the sprint finish. I get out of the saddle and take off, putting myself into time trial mode.

I hope the pack forgets about me. Then again, I have the referee up here.

Now, for the next 10 miles it was mostly me and a referee on my side giving me time gaps. The gap was hovering around 55 seconds to a minute. The one thing I look back on and regret is overdoing myself near the top of many small climbs so I could pedal easier to recover on the downhill side. It doesn't hurt the first few times, but the accumulation builds up. I kept my head down for most of the ride, using the yellow and white lines as a guide. On flat sections I put my hands on the top of the handle bars close together and lowered my back for aerodynamic positioning. After five miles I still maintained a 55 second lead. I was certain I had this win. A minute gap is hard to pull back without an organized effort.

After the major hill section I started slowing down, or at least that's how I felt. My legs were burning and felt sore, I stopped pedaling more often while taking more drinks. The finish line was my only motivation. I feel like Floyd Landis on Stage 17, on a comeback from a poor showing at Toona. A while later I think, I'm glad the finish line isn't too far away. I don't feel like doing this much more.

I pass up young Nathan from NCVC and another young kid in a dark uniform. I have a 50 second gap. A mile or two later on the hill with the right turn in the middle two guys pass me, one an NCVC and another in a dark uniform. I pull up behind the NCVC to draft, look over at the referee to make sure its legal. He doesn't disagree with my action and stays right beside me like he has been for the past 8 miles. The dark uniform kid takes off. The ref stays with us. These two racers must be stragglers looking for a good workout. I stand up and pull up beside the NCVC. I noticed they both had 400 numbers. Oh, they're from the 3/4 race. It then dawns on me. I ask the NCVC, "That guy is in the lead, huh?" "Yep." Damn. I take off.

I give chase, come pretty close to catching him. I was definitely overdoing myself. I didn't want to kill myself and fall to third so it became a battle to maintain my distance from NCVC while trying to catch the dark uniform. I don't even know where these guys came from. Too bad we don't have ear pieces! I would have known there was a chase group and would have chased down the leader the instant he attacked. And I thought he was looking for a good workout!

I don't know why the ref didn't tell me I had two chasers on me. It wasn't his duty, but it would have been helpful like those time gaps.

We come to the hill. Its apparent I can't catch the leader so I give enough to keep my second. The pack comes in shortly after. Mr. NCVC third place guy tells me he didn't even know I was out there. I'm sure that was what most people thought.

I actually felt better about getting 2^nd in this race than 1^st in the Giro. The Giro was more about teamwork. Even though John and Jordan allowed me to break in this race, there's nothing like soloing for 10 miles in a road race. Being away from a pack for almost 20 miles, half the race, is a mighty feat that I've always envisioned out on my training rides.

I wanted to do the team ride today, as I look forward to it every Sunday I don't race. For good or bad, I slept for 12 hours. I now have either 13 points or 19, depending on whether Mt Penn counts as a 1^st (for cat 4) or 6^th (3/4). Either way I'll be upgrading soon enough - to race with the big dogs next year.

Coppi at Coppi (Giro)

2007-07-22T17:16:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Kosta for organizing the event, and the entire team for helping it to operate smoothly. There were a few rough edges to be kinked out, like Steve and I discontinuing our wheel support after the second lap in the men's 5 race. Who ever heard of a Cat 5 race more than 25 miles, anyway?

A few things in aside: I got new uniforms from Dana, so I'm going to represent Coppi fully clothed at Toona next weekend. And I bought a new bike from Greg at Conte's, the same bike as Djordje's and Dana's, a Specialized with Dura Ace and Ultegra with some sweet Nimble Fly carbon wheels. The deal was a crime. I feel like I moved up in the world of cycling a bit with everything transpiring this weekend. Even Greg said he was happy to see his bike go off to someone who could represent it to the best of its ability.

A few people told me the race was difficult, some even comparing it to Mt Penn. I checked my Powertap files from Mount Penn and see my average wattage per climb was between 340-360 watts, thats a one mile climb with a 500 foot descent in the middle. Dave Wilson, Jordan Cross, and I do a lap on road clean up day to preview the course. Dave was hammering it up most of the hills. I found it difficult, but the course was nowhere near Mt Penn's level of pain. I did expect the course to have it moments, but come race day it was much easier than I anticipated. One of the hardest parts, I remember, is seen in the picture on the website. I remember a photographer on the right with a long lens taking our pictures. I wanted to smile and say "cheeeeeze!" but dinstinctly remember hurting a bit and wondering what the picture would look like when developed: not as bad as the TT picture at Ephrata, that's for sure.

Sean, the shorter Sean, was up front for most of the first lap. George, he lived up to expectations by going off the front near the end of the first lap. I look at Peter and ask, "What's George doing off the front?" I come around the next lap to find George relaxing at the start/finish, taking it easy after thoroughly cooking himself. A few fliers went off the front in the first two laps, with no interest in following or even chasing. The second lap the pace picked up a bit, allowing me to move up. I latched onto ETS' Jose Escobar's wheel. Whatever he did I did. I was surprised to see he moved to the very front and was leading the charge. We go easy for a while and the fliers are reeled in. Sean went off the front after the right onto Shiloh Church Road. He had a sizable lead. Escobar was in front, eating. Steve and I think Larson moved up to block. On Baltimore Rd a few guys pick up the pace. We catch Sean at the top of the hill onto Slidell.

Somewhere near the start of the third lap a guy went off the front. A bit later two more guys went. They had a good 30 second lead at one point as no one was interesting in chasing. R1V and a few guys from NCVC moved up front and pick up the pace. I was sitting with them, watching them rotate. After a while an NCVC isn't thrilled that Coppi isn't participating. He tells me we're not in the break, we need to help. That short, steepish climb in the middle of Shiloh I got up front and took a monster pull. I look back to see that NCVC guy and I are off the front. We work together until Old Baltimore where I really pick up the pace. I was surprised to see the guy fell off my wheel near the top. I pass one of the break guys, who's cooked. I caught the break on the left turn. I was hurting a little and sat on for a bit, letting them do the work so I could recover. We then worked very well with basically a 3 man paceline. On Barnesville I think the pack was pretty close. Two guys attacked and caught up to us. The two break initiators fell off the break around the start finish line going into the final lap. Three original break members turned into 3 new break members. An ETS Silver Cycles, an N-tieractive (bike doctor?), and me.

ETS asks how we feel. I'm good, n-tieractive is hurting but can work, and ETS is "great." I look back after the right onto Old Hundred to see the pack on our tail. 10 seconds. I should sit up, I think. Always that torn feeling between "do I use energy to stay away, even though the hope is grim?" and "I've come this far, I'm not getting caught!" We climb the long hill on Old Hundred, make the right onto Comus, go through the rollers. I think ETS did most of the work, with a bit of help from n-tieractive and occasionally me. ETS was clearly the strongest guy, and just like Tyson's Corner I had doubts about my winning. Then again, he was doing a lot of work without hesitation. At few times I made it a point to call out my turn to pull so I could feel like I was helping out instead of just sitting in. The Right onto Shiloh I looked back, the first time after turning on Old Hundred, and don't see the pack. We continue on and I look back up at the hill and don't see the pack. I look at the guys and say, "I think we got this." A few minutes later the motorcade tells us we have a minute five lead. We definitely have this!

I remember seeing Bill Cusmano both times on Slidell, and Lindsey after the sharp right onto Barnesville Road. She always had a big grin with the expression, "It doesn't surprise me!" It excited me to represent the team in honor. Before Barnesville I asked the guys what category they were, hit by the realization this was a 3/4 race. They were both 3's, and both assumed I was a 4 since I was asking. They both congratulated me. I also asked the ETS about the lap counter to make sure it was the final lap. We were out there alone so long I was mixed up as to what lap we were on. Each time onto Barnesville I had the chance to sit up for a bit to let the two guys catch me. They probably took bad lines because there was a sizable gap.

Going into the hill to the feedzone I tell the guys "2 more hills." We pass the feedzone, the n-tieractive leads down the hill. I'm positive all three knew he was the least in contention. At the bottom of the hill the ETS attacks. A combination of adrenaline and drafting keeps me on his wheel. He sets a steady pace. I figure I should attack at the sign, 100 m to go. Coming up to it I shift up to prepare for my attack. The shift was loud. He knows I'm about to go. He doesn't look around as if concerned, though. About 30m from the sign I attack, attacking hard. I look back a few times to see where he's at. I really only saw a blur as my legs were burning, but I could see he was losing ground and was probably fried from his attack.

I felt real good after the race, even doing another lap with Djordje to show his sister the course. Honestly, there were a few times I was wondering what I put myself into.

I must give out gratitude to the rest of the team as if it wasn't for their blocking we would surely have been caught. Thank Steve, Kosta, John, Sean, Mark, both Jordans, Kurt. (Anyone else I forgot can assume I knew you were there.) And again thanks to the rest of the team for helping put on a great race!

Daedalus

Writing

Camp Rising Sun - Yes!

GTA IV Dating

Head filled like a sponge

Possible? In DC, anything is.

More Cycling

Love and Cycling

Leaving Texas

The Lost Pilot by James Tate

Writing

September Tunes

Summer vacation

Pleasant Valley - Hot! Hot! Hot! (Potential Winner Makes Mistake)

Coppi at Coppi (Giro)

The Lost Pilot
by James Tate