Just Breathe

It has been, and will continue to be, a hectic month.

Last weekend, The Pie and I took an Amtrak up to Baltimore to see Pearl Jam.  She likes Amtrak.  I like Pearl Jam (she does now as well).  We both like putzing around new places and seeing things.  I did a terrible job taking pictures while we were there walking twenty eight miles in less than three full days.  I'm either extremely talented at living in the moment or too lazy to pull out my phone to capture things you can see in a google image search.

Pickles are a thing in Baltimore, so much so that they annually fesitvate in their honor.

We walked to Fells Point.  We seent where Edgar Allen Poe had his last drink before being found in the streets four days later, dying from either alcohol or rabies?  Who knew back then?  Musta been a lot easier to be a doctor in 1849.

"Flicked" it says.

We walked all the way to Fort McHenry, and also somewhere in there, saw Pearl Jam.

I experienced what I'll call "feelings" towards the end of the concert.  I have some connections between their music and my friend that I lost in 2020 and some crazy thing with my father who passed sixteen years ago.  It's good for the soul, I guess.

All in all, it was an incredible experience that was totally The Pie's idea.  I'm fortunate to have her on my side.

These are spotted lanternflies.  They're everywhere.  They're a problem.  I didn't know until the last day of our trip that it is the duty of every citizen to destroy them on sight.  That explains the woman I'd seen running that morning who took a slightly longer stride and placed her foot on the sidewalk with authority, sending one beady-eyed bugger to meet their maker (assuming all bugs go to heaven).  I thought she was insane.  I was just poorly informed.

About Pearl Jam, I was slightly amused when Eddie Vedder made a few political comments, and the guy next to me booed.  If you like Pearl Jam enough to pay this much to see them, I woulda thought you mighta known Pearl Jam is not exactly apolitical.  I expected my seat neighbor to yell "JUST DRIBBLE!"

Oh, and one other thing of note.  I went down to the hotel lobby bar to have a beer by myself while The Pie took a nap.  The person next to me nudged my shoulder and said, "my husband said you're a cyclist."

What went from an awkward conversation (for me) with two strangers from Spokane that sometimes went political ended with us happening to both knowing Jeremiah Bishop and that he once helped Chris Eatough in the pits at a 24 Hour Worlds who ended his six year streak of World Championships at the same race I started my streak (one).

And here we are now in Baltimore to see a band.

I have no idea when I will post up again.  I'm leaving Saturday for some destination to the north for nine days.  I'm going van-tripping with Watts, and to be honest, I don't necessarily know where we're going.  I just know that we will be riding mountain bikes in places I've not seen, so that's all I need to know.

Boppit go Vermont thank bai.

Oh, and also... I should get plenty of decent rides on my new behk, enough so to have, like, an opinion, man.  So far, it is buenos.

Pisgah Monster Cross '24

Not much point in writing a pre-dumble for the 2024 Pisgah Monster Cross.  Sure, I rode my new mountain bike the day before, but more about that when I get a few more rides on it.  I was a third wheel on a Tinder date the night before, and mebbe I hid my water bottles from myself, but my shit was literally so together when I woke up Saturday morning that I had fifteen minutes to lie back down and rest my head.

I already knew that we didn't have much of a single speed field.  Chris and Scott had other things to tend to, and with the Bootlegger 100 already in the bag, they didn't need this race to keep in the King of Pisgah overall (you can drop one gravel race).  The whole SS class was a couple mystery contestants, Gabor, and myself.

I line up towards the front'ish, and the big mystery single speed feller I don't know is next to me.  John.  I think he looks young, but that could be because I'm old.  He's on a squishy fronted mountain bike with larger'ish tires, so if I can't climb faster than him, I'm certainly not gonna make time up on the chunk gnar gravel to the west with my 42s on a turgid bike.

Neutral start on the pavement, bang a right on the gravel, and shortly thereafter John comes by screaming "Heeeeeeeeeeeyaw!   We're going to the White House!" or something like that.

I get caught up in the moment and probably give 'er a bit more than I should on the climb up FR477.  I let up on the gas and avoid the dark places in my head for awhile.

Ssure I eventually had the "I don't wanna do hard things anymore, there won't be a '25 season, I'm going to go home and sell all my bikes" thoughts, but I got over it pretty quick when I made my way over to the side of the course I hadn't seen in six years since my last Monster Cross.  The climbs are punishing, and the descents are real dick-beaters, but the views are insane.  I was able to push the negative thoughts out and enjoy the moment for what it is.  I'm blessed that I am able to do these things, and I should never take that for granted.

all photos cred: Icon Media Asheville

As far as racing goes, I never saw another single speeder after the first five minutes of the race.  It's not the kind of course where a person with one cog can do much playing well with all the others when they have good options at their fingertips.  Surge past on the climbs only to give it all back on the flats.  

I did make a bad decision to pass up the first aid station thinking I could make it to the second one on two bottles.  I found myself taking the lids off and drinking the last couple ounces at mile thirty three... and aid two is at mile... ?

I don't remember.

But I lived, obvs.

It honestly was a fantastical day on a bike in perfect weather with occasional good company.  I never looked at the time on my Wahoo data acquisition device until I was on the last mile or so of pavement, and whaddaya know?  I ended up finishing ten minutes faster than forty nine year old me six years ago.  

I'm pleased.  How often do I say that?

Not often enough.

I am but a wee man.

Reality Blights

I used to consider myself a happy person who had occasional unhappiness or allowed dark moments to slip into my skull from time to time.  Recently, I recognized that I'd reversed this trend and become an unhappy person with occasional moments of joy.  My worries and anxieties of all the possible futures, concerns for my family's general welfare, and work-related stressors had eaten into my potential for joy that I could be experiencing in the moment.  

It has sucked.  I preminised no return of the salad days.  

I tried flipping a switch based on not one bit of self-help advice on some random day last week.  I now have a mantra that I say to myself (or sometimes out loud if I'm alone) any time I find myself in some downward spiral of doom thought.  It's an unfortunate choice of three words, being that they're the title of not just one but two pop songs that if I heard them on the radio, I would toss said radio out the window.  

I know, what's a "radio?" 

See kids, music that someone else chose for you used to come out of a small but sometimes big box and...

Anyways, I'm not sure how I slipped into this world, but I know I don't wanna remain in it.  I'm doing my best to choose not to.

Boppit and I had a long five day stint without The Pie's company, requiring some double mouth-muffing on the couch to fill emotional needs.

I told myself I would fall over on my first attempt.  I did.  I shoulda tried my second attempt the first time.

My frands are down in the creek filtering water while I enjoy the benefits of being a non-sweater.

We only saw one e-bike in DuPont on Saturday, which is technically one more than is legally allowed to be there.  

There was a clipless shoe hanging on a tree limb on the far side of Little River.  Someone had a bad day.  

Seth jumped outta frame.  Bad Seth, bad.

Stephen stayed in frame.  Good Stephen, good.

I will never jump out of frame.  This I guarantee.  

Super stoked that the underpass at the top of Wash Creek Road got a fresh coat of gray paint so it can start anew with graffiti.  I'm inspired.  I will love more, although...

My Wahoo data acquisition device is giving me so much grief lately that I'm longing to go back to my ignorant days when I had no idea how far a ride was, what temperature it is, how long I've been riding, what my current heart rate is...

But what will I do without "data?"

Although it pains me so to see this bike be garvel'ed, it is what it is.  I want to do this weekend's Pisgah Monster Cross on a single speed, and this is the least amount of effort I can put into turning a bike into a single speed garveler.  Another strong dose of irony is that my new frame should be here on Thursday, making it a tight pinch to get it built up for this weekend... and I probably won't even get to ride it... but at least it should be sorted out before Watts and I head north in his little smelly van to (hopefully) get up to Vermont.

All the small parts and decals that will get attached and stuck on the frame hopefully within twenty four hours of its arrival.

So there's that.