Rituals and a Friend in Need

Cyclists tend to be ritualistic by nature. We do this ride this day; we do that ride that day. We need this coffee, energy drink, or ionized water before we feel good to go. We count pedal revolutions, miles, kilometers, hours, heart rates, and power outputs. Then we sit around and compare the numbers from this day with the numbers from that day. When the numbers don't add up, we get agitated. Now my buddy Juancho may chime in here and say, "I don't count no stinkin' numbers!". And to some degree, he'll be telling the truth. But even the most free spirited of our kind have some degree of the ritual in them. It could be as simple as remembering how many "smoke breaks" were taken during the ride, or how many days it's been since your last ride. For Fat Lad, it's the mumbling of "...helmet, shoes, buff, camelbak,...", as he wanders the house in hopes of forgetting nothing important before he embarks on the day's adventure.

Sometimes I get aggravated with myself for getting caught up in the numbers. Am I getting caught in a rut? Do I need to be so regimented? Where's my free spirit? Relax, man! This is supposed to be for fun!!

But some of these rituals are part of the fun. Some are down right comforting. All winter I look forward to summertime and the return of daylight savings time. The time of year when it stays light out until 8:00pm and later. This time of year brings back a thursday night ritual that I've been a part of for the past 10 years! Unfortunately, this year the ritual looks like she's on the ropes and may be breathing her last.

I didn't start the the thursday Joe's ride. It had nothing to do with Joe's back then. Ricky Silk, Ace Lashley, Double D, and I think Bob Bacardi, were the architects of the loop through Killearn. They came up with the route to add some road training into their growing expert and semi-pro mountain bike training, back in the early to mid 90's. The loop travels through a large, established neighborhood with very wide roadways. There are plenty of hills and turns to keep your from becoming bored with the straightline monotony that can perpetuate too many road routes. Back then, the rides were not too big. Maybe the original four with a few visitors.

I'd only done the loop a few times, but at some point when I was working at Joe's Bike Shop, we started running this ride out of the shop every thursday during daylight savings. The rock stars in town all lived for the wednesday night Food Lion ride, but those of us who were more second tier, we waited for thursday. This was our ritual. Food Lion is your typical, take no prisoners, road race simulation, hammer fest. I've tried to hang on that ride more times than I'll ever remember, and I'll try again, but thursday, the efforts are shorter. Their defined in such a manner as to prevent the "all out", start to finish, mentality of Food Lion. After the efforts, the ride chills, to let those dropped, come back. And if you can't get back on, the loop is short enough that you can just back track, and join in the 2nd or 3rd go around. This encourages those of us not quite fast enough, to participate. At Food Lion, it's all I can do to sit in, and I still don't make it. At the Joe's Ride, guys and girls who are hangers on at the fast rides can actually go to the front and play a role, with less fear of getting left, permanently dropped, out in the boondocks.

It's safe to say I've developed a heavy duty attachment to this summertime, thursday ritual. She's like an old friend that moves back every summer. Over the years the ride had swollen to include as many as 20-30 riders on any given thursday. The energy was a blast! Every year there were a ton of new faces, as well as old friends. I've been out of the shop for almost 5 years, but guys like Carl, at Great Bicycle Shop, the boys over at Higher Ground, and sometimes even Larry from Sunshine, kept the shop presence alive every thursday. My crew would roll from the office and do a warm up lap, then we'd meet the shop crews at the beginning of the loop. Shop versus shop. Mountain guys versus road guys. Juniors versus everybody. The entertainment would begin again every summer.

But this year, something has changed. I was amped for the first ride of the year. I had about 8 guys roll from the office, but when we met the others, there were only about 8 or 9 people. Oh well I thought, first Joe's Ride of the year, and they did move daylight savings up to March this year. Maybe word hasn't gotten around, yet. Halfway into the first sprint, one of my crew gets a flat. We wait and never rejoined the ride. With daylight savings so early this year, it looked like it would be dark rather early, so no 2nd lap, and no regroup. I was pretty bummed, but there's always next week. The next week, I kept the stoke under control, not wanting to be let down again. But this week I get wind that Gillis and the Atomic Team are planning to ride the Food Lion loop again on thursday. So there went a half dozen of the guys who showed for the first ride. When my crew met the ride this time there were only about 6 people, plus our 5. I'm not liking this trend. As the 3rd ride of the year comes around, I don't know what to expect. Atomic is doing Food Lion, again. I only had 5 guys out of the office, but 1 is going home early. Our 4 met the main group that included a whopping 2 people!!

Now I'm definitely more attached than most, but the Joe's Ride is in trouble. I'm not sure what happened this year. Carl moved to Orlando, and I've seen no one from Great Bicycle Shop. I've seen maybe 1 guy from Higher Ground. What happened to all of the shop guys? Do they no longer do group road rides? Where are all of the FSU team kids? Did that club die again? I guess without the shop spokesmen , the word doesn't get out as well. I'm thinking that maybe I'll go around to the shops this week and see what's up. Maybe I can stir some interest. Anyway, if any of you enjoyed the thurday night Joe's Ride, come on out this thursday. If we don't get participation up so the word spreads, she'll die before long. Who knows, she may die this week. Either way, I'll be out there thursday night. I figure I've been there this long, I may as well see it the end. Hopefully the end isn't as near as it seems. I don't really feel like looking for a new thursday night ritual.

Ego Boost or Ego Bust?

I stepped out of my usual routine this morning. Usually it's all about getting together with the crew for nice mountain bike ride to wash away the grime of the workweek. Today, I opted to attend the Saturday Chaires Road Ride, as I clearly needed to have my ass handed to me. Marko, Rodrique, and Big Jim Slade decided to play along, and joined in for the fun. I use that term, "fun", very loosely!

Oh dear Lord, that ride turned me inside out. Marko and I made it to the end with the A Group, but in their defense, it was an easy ride this week. Nothing like being stoked to have suffered through seven levels of hell, and then be told nonchalantly at the end, "Yeah, it was nice taking it easy today, I'm a little under the weather." Or my other favorite, " Today was a nice tempo ride. I'm glad it wasn't so fast for a change."

They can all kiss my @55!! I saw way more 170+ time on my heart rate monitor than I thought I was capable of.!! Mark wasn't giving them the satisfaction and promptly responded with, "Yeah, we haven't been out here in a few years. It was nice to come back to a slower ride for the first one." Complete BS, but I'm glad he had the wherewithal to play the game, 'cause I was still too far in oxygen debt. At that point I'm pretty sure I was pondering more important things like, who's legs those were pedalling my bike, or if I'd actually ever feel my taint again.

We arrived at the truck to discover that Rodrique either made it back and drove home, or someone had stolen his truck. Big Jim Slade, however, was nowhere to be seen, while his truck was still where he left it. We had hoped he'd used one of the shortcuts to beat us back, but no such luck. I started changing back to street clothes and trying to stretch a little when my phone starts ringing. Obviously in a low blood sugar moment, I was cussing the phone for disturbing my inventory of body parts that may never feel the same. Mark insists I grab it in case it's Slade, but I was just a second too slow, story of my life. I open the phone to see I've missed 5 calls from our missing compadre. I call him back and he answers, " What the hell??!! I haven't seen the first search party yet!!! Are you guys coming or what??!!". As soon as we get through laughing, Mark and I load up and go looking for the last of the Lost Boys.

It was definitely an eye opener to go that hard for that long. You lose focus for a few seconds and a gap opens that you may not be able to close. Ask Jim, it's a long ride home solo.

Beware!!

This is what happens if you hassle Big Jim Slade too much, when he's really concentrating on premier line choice.

I'll Take Trial and Error. Heavy on the Error please...

Well, after a rough day of flinging his body to the ground in various fashions on Sunday, word on the street is that Big Jim Slade is geared up and ready for round two. Singletrack training begins tonight.

Evil Siren Song

It's happening again. It happened this same time last year. Despite my best efforts to stave it off, the longing creeps back in. Keeping the desire away is about as fruitless as holding water in your cupped hands. One weak moment on a friend's website, and my heart swells with pride at his accomplishments...again.

I swore it off after the first venture. I was weak and returned for a second tour of duty. It's funny how a year will fog the memories of sleepless nights, and days. Long hours of caring for tired riders and their machines that carry them across this great big country of ours. And I promise you, this country is a hell of a lot larger at 25mhp! The 2nd RAAM was alot harder for me, than the first go around. You'd think it would be easier, with experience, and all. Maybe the experience was the killer. Having the knowledge of just how big an undertaking we were on kept my nerves on edge. I always felt like one mistake would topple our monstrous house of cards. Carl and Paul stayed on a high all the way through their first year, as did I the year before. Maybe the knowing what was behind the curtain sullied the polish.

Regardless, I found myself on the teamtype1 website tonight, and those evil longings of participating in that grand debacle crept inside my defenses again. I've fended off the calls to battle so far. My adopted little brother, Phil, is not on the RAAM team this year, as he's part of the pro team now. As a matter of fact, he's enjoying the steep part of the learning curve at the Tour of Taiwan. As a big brother, I reserve the right to snicker at his suffering. His not being at RAAM this year makes it a little easier for me to bow out. But it still doesn't stop the desire.

This year I've reserved my time for a new grand adventure, which hopefully will be substantially less stressful, albeit substantially more expensive.

Cold...

Last night's ride may have been one of the coldest this year. Either that, or the recent warm trend had already begun to soften me up. I found out later, from Marcus, that it was about 46 when we passed through his neighborhood. The group was small. Just myself, Ice Berg, Wrecking Ball, and Big Jim Slade showed up for the freeze fest. Berg had his sissy hat on, but with a little badgering, he hung in for 95% of the ride.

All in all, it was a good time, despite the cold. Every time I tried to go a little harder, my legs felt like frozen walrus, and my lungs burned from the cold air. Back in the parking lot, my toes ached to no end. My heater is on the blink, so no love until I got in the shower. The way I see it, we better embrace these cold rides now. We'll miss them dearly during the 100 degree, summer swelter rides in July and August.

I Remember.

I rode with an old friend today. There were none of the usual smartass comments or jokes that usually define all of our rides, though, I'm not entirely convinced that he did not find humor at my expense. Today I rode with my old buddy, Jaysun. Now, my current crew cringes a little when I say this. And I guess I understand. You see, Jaysun passed away in a freak accident about 5 1/2 years ago. They say a person is never really gone, as long as you keep their memory alive. Jaysun's widow, Kellie, was good enough to send me one of his old bikes. So, from time to time, I take it for a ride, and I remember.

Today it was raining and muddy. That must have been the catalyst, because I remembered staying at Jaysun's Mom's house in Brooksville, for a mountain bike race, back in 1997. Jay and I were both chasing points in the state series, so we traveled together quite a bit. It rained so hard that whole week, and was still raining when we prerode the course on Saturday. Within 100 yards of the start, I had to stop and disconnect the straddle cable on my brakes. There was so much mud caked in my wheels, they wouldn't roll with the brakes connected! I suffered through that day to get my points. My lap times were, 50 min., 77 min., and 80 min.. Do the math. That's a damn long time to play in the mud. Jaysun pulled off 3 laps under the 50 min. mark, for 4th in the sport class. I never really understood how that goofy, gangly kid went so fast. I think he did it just to aggravate Bikechain.

Jay was always turning me on to new music. He was the first to show me Blink 182, or The Presidents of the United States of America. I still remember him showing up at TB Park, and making me climb in the passenger seat of that old blue Volvo, so I could hear another song that had caught his ear. Looking back, it still gives me the chills to remember hearing Gone Away, by The Offspring, for the first time. So I suppose it was only fitting when, as I prepped the bike for the ride, and tried to remember if I had any Offspring on my ipod, Gone Away started playing on the radio station. A big smile crept onto my face, and I knew I was on the right track.

The ride was a comedy of errors, as the bike did its best to self destruct beneath me. First the seat collar QR broke off in my hand when I adjusted the seat height. Oh well. It seemed tight enough, so I rolled out. Halfway out the Cadillac Trail, I notice my handlebar has rolled back a little. No tools with me, so I keep going, not too worried about it. I should've worried. By the dike, the bar was rattling around in the stem. I limped back, either with no hands, or holding onto the stem. I rode the damn Cliff Bar holding the stem in my left hand, while my right hovered over the bar, just in case. I'm supposed to be a seasoned, veteran bike mechanic. You'd never know it if you saw me out there, riding around on my rattle trap! It's like his bike has his sense of humor. If you're one those who believes in an afterlife, where our loved ones look down upon us as we carry on, I can promise you, Jay laughed his ass off at me today!

So today I remembered. It made me laugh and it made me hurt. Loss is tough, but I'm doing my part on the memory front. So, for those of you who knew Jay, here's to our boy. Goofy and gawky, and forever remembered! For the rest of you, love your mother, hug your brother, call those who mean the most to you, and remember those you can call no longer.

Stop now if you are in no place for a sad story. As part of keeping the memory alive, I've included the last few pages of Jaysun's life story, as told by their local paper, the Seattle Post Intelligencer.

There would be no skid marks on the road to Paradise that day.
It was a shirt-sleeve kind of morning a year ago -- unseasonably warm for the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Jason and Kellie Cosner had spent the night before tucked into a woodsy cabin just beyond the "Gateway to Paradise" highway sign that heralds the entrance to Mount Rainier National Park.

The Bellevue couple were celebrating their first wedding anniversary. Jason, lively and funny, had burned steaks on the grill, making Kellie laugh, and the pair had spent the rest of the evening piecing together a jigsaw puzzle of Florida, their home state.

Five miles down the road, Rainier begins its gradual ascent out of the ground, a mountain big enough to make its own weather. As the Cosners' green Ford Explorer headed toward the snow-draped peak, they had no way of knowing that National Weather Service spotters would later estimate winds gusting up to 70 mph near the Longmire Ranger Station.
Jason was eager to experience the mountain. An avid biker, he loved adventure. As a kid, he used to tease his mother by rappelling off a balcony over the living room. Kellie, too, wanted to see the emblem of the state where they'd made their first married home. They were both 26.

Like a riptide of wind, a mass of air churned through White Pass -- from a high-pressure field east of the mountain to low pressure on the other side. The swirling gusts weren't out of the ordinary for a fall windstorm.
But wind is a capricious master. Wind shear can drop a plane from the sky. And on that day, a wedge of wind knifed through the canopy of old Western hemlock that clings to the flanks of the mountain. It sledgehammered a massive tree, snapping it off 70 feet above the ground. The Explorer was coming out of a curve on Longmire Paradise Road, the pavement slick from scattered showers, when the severed top of the tree -- three stories tall, with a trunk thicker than a telephone pole -- hurtled earthward. It crushed the roof of the SUV like a wrecking ball. Jason, who was driving, died almost instantly. Kellie's course, like the wind, took a sudden change of direction.

At 1:15 p.m., Nov. 24, 2001, park rangers got the first report that two trees were blocking the road. Two nurses -- Jody Walker and her friend, Megan Bauer -- were driving a few cars behind Kellie and Jason when the trees came crashing down within a hundred yards of each other. It was eerie, witnesses recalled, that a gust would hit with such precision that it would knock down just two trees in such a densely wooded area. The road blocked, Walker and Bauer got out to investigate. At first they couldn't even see the mangled vehicle buried in the branches. The Explorer was smashed so severely the belly of its transmission had slashed gouges more than a foot long in the asphalt. Up closer, they realized people were trapped. "There was no way we could get it off them," Walker recalled. She grabbed for Kellie's hand. Bauer picked her way through the back of the SUV to hold her neck. Kellie was moaning. They couldn't feel Jason's pulse. The tree had fallen at a slight angle, 4 inches further back on the driver's side than on the passenger's. A tiny shift with a huge consequence. Like their timing on the road that day. "I just held her hand and kept telling her it would be OK, that people were coming, that we were there with her," Walker said. The labor and delivery nurse was used to helping life come into the world, not leave. Kellie was bleeding from the nose and mouth; Walker could hear gurgling in her lungs. "We knew she had internal injuries," she said. "We knew it was bad." In a strange twist, two off-duty EMTs and a former policeman happened to be passing by. And in one more lucky coincidence, the local fire department was training nearby. By the time they arrived with chainsaws, minutes later, the others were already doing what they could to rescue Kellie. One of the EMTs happened to be wearing a neck brace. She took it off and passed it to the nurse in the Explorer. Charles Bennett, the former cop, commandeered a chainsaw and worked the accident like a crime scene. "There were angels coming out of the woods that day," Kellie's father, Ed Hobin, would say later. "Without them, she wouldn't have made it." The 10 rescue workers and half-dozen good Samaritans worked frantically for more than 30 minutes, shouting over the high whine of metal on wood as they struggled to pry Kellie from the tangle of branches and twisted metal. None of them knew it, but this would be the first of many teams of people who would help Kellie piece her life back together over the next year.

At 1:56 p.m., they cleared the tree and, using the "Jaws of Life" -- a rescue device powerful enough to split a car apart -- they freed her. She was shock white. An ambulance was waiting to take her to a landing zone behind a grocery store just outside the park entrance, where she could be airlifted to Seattle. A few minutes later, paramedics pulled Jason from the car. The roof had collapsed over his chest. His unscratched face registered no surprise. His hands, still at the steering wheel, were relaxed. They were unable to revive him. No one knew either victim's name. Rangers wouldn't find Jason's wallet until the next day. It was wedged so deep into the console, they had to use a crowbar to pry it out. Kellie, barely conscious, held onto Bennett's coat while on the gurney. Her hand started to slip.
"Don't you leave me," he said. And she clung so hard they almost couldn't load her into the ambulance.