It's not that nothing has happened, its just that my motivation to write has been clogged like a mistreated artery. I feel like I'm searching for something to fill a void. My motivation for most anything is nil. I don't want to go to sleep at night. I don't want to wake in the morning. I don't want to take the time to think of something to write. Creative juices are as dried and tacky as last week's Kool-Aid spilled on the kitchen floor.
Bikes always motivated me, kept me amped. Lately, the very machines seem to reject me. In the past 6 months, I've had more mechanicals that any one man should. I may need to relieve Wrecking Ball of his moniker. One of the few things I've considered myself good at, the love and care of cycles, seems to be in question. The logical part of my brain recognizes most of these failures as outside the normal realm of prevention. But the frequency... The frequency just keeps banging away at that common denominator. Broken derailleurs, broken spokes, broken hubs, broken seatposts, and broken confidence.
Now, it seems to be broken motivation. I got excited to do big hours in preparation for Fool's Gold. That race kicks my oversized ass, and that motivated me. I've done it twice, and improved the second time, but there is so much room to continue. I put down 38.5 hours in 3 weeks. Took a week off, and was ready to repeat. Life stepped in and hid my bikes, my shoes, and any pride I felt in following through. Again, rational brain recognizes life is just that way, and you just do what you can to work around. But emotional side steps in and says to hell with all this. I hate failure. Failure triggers the garbage that muddies my waters.
All just speed bumps. Speed bumps that seem like mountains when staring at them, without motivation to get over. I miss my friends. I miss the big rides with them. I miss seeing them 3 or 4 times a week. My social life has been on two wheels for more years than I can remember. Now, with everyone missing, it's just harder to get excited. The slightest rain or schedule conflict, and going home seems more intriguing than getting out for the ride.
Well, that should be just about enough crying in my beer. Sometimes I spend too much time Huck Finn style, drifting on my raft. Time to get back in the driver seat. Let's see if we can't get this old bus moving in the right direction, or at least turn the corner.