Revolting Cogs!

Ross... Homecoming

2012-02-02T06:06:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I had a visitor at the shop.
From my vantage point at counter, I saw someone lumber by the windows, en route to the door.

Confession: While it would seem that anyone coming in the shop is always a good thing, like just about any retailer, I admit that there are moments where I groan inwardly (and sometimes audibly) when the door opens.
Purposefully striding in with a notebook tucked under their arm...I'm instantly on the "creditcardprocessingsalesrepdouche" defensive.
...Or the "bestadvertisingopportunityever!skeezeball" defensive.
In the case of someone lumbering in, I tend to be on "endlesslyloopingconversationwitholdcoot" defensive.
And finally.... the "sympatheticbutvexedbecausethere'snowayi'mbuyinganotherpopsiclestickboxmadebythesweetbutextremelypushyspecialneedsguywhowon'ttakenoforanswerandhwohadafullblownseizureontheflooroftheshoponeday" defensive. (that was quite a day....)
But this time... as I was bracing myself for the worst.... I saw a face I didn't expect to see.
Ross limped in with his wife Tanya.
(and I apologize for not getting a picture)
"Holee crap!" I said. "Look at that!"

It's been awhile since I wrote about Ross and his progress... and I apologize. I couldn't. I would start, but would hit a wall... unable to continue. Unsure what to say... because it was such an overwhelming thing to write about... and I felt that I needed to do it justice.

On Friday of last week, Ross went home.
While it was something everyone had been anticipating and looking forward to, it was also heavily laden with anxiety and unknowns.
Ross had made tremendous progress. Over the course of more than a month, each visit was an improvement and I saw HUGE leaps forward.
From comatose and seizing...
to concious but unable to do much more than flutter his eyes...
to responding to voices, but unable to open his eyes for more than a few seconds before drifting back into oblivion...
to dazedly looking around and flitting in and out of reality...
to laughing and joking, but still being unsettlingly disoriented...
to seeing the mannerisms and inflection of the Ross everyone knows... but saying things that didn't make any sense... at all..
to the Ross who walked in the other day. The Ross that is the Ross of old.

He has no memory of his accident. Not concious memories, anyway. In his early recovery, when he was drifting in and out of conciousness, he would verablize clearly vivid memories of flying through the air, or having his hand pinched in the brake lever, or his shoes still stuck to the clipless pedals.... still stuck in the moment. He'd reel off dialogue that clearly occurred while the EMT's were assessing him on site.
But now... when he turns his minds eye back... thinks about it....there's nothing. And in alot of ways, I suspect that's best. For the moment, at least.

When Tanya was first given Ross's release date of January 17th, instead of the relief of seeing the light at the end of a tunnel, she felt... panic. She was running out of steam. Exhausted... mentally, physically. And Ross, while making undeniably huge steps in his progress, was still out of it. And difficult to handle. And she didn't think she was ready to cope with it. As it was Ross in the hospital was difficult. He was angry, moody, impulsive, sad, confused, agitated. At one point, they had to put a tent around his bed to seal him in, or else he'd wander around and tear his room apart. Her phone would ring incessantly, and on the other end would be Ross... asking when the hell she was going to pick him up from the airport (his layover had taken longer than expected) or bail him and the kids out of jail.
And Ross was getting physically stronger every minute. But the brain doesn't heal as fast. In alot of ways, his broken ankle was a boon in that it put physical limitations on that impulsiveness (one of the most prevalent effects of Traumatic Brain Injury or TBI). But once he got home... that would all fall to Tanya. And she has no training in dealing with TBI. She already felt overwhelmed... this could be the breaking point.
After some assessments, the release date was pushed back. Ross needed more time. Occupational therapy... physical therapy... speech therapy. Moses Cone was doing all of these things.. but the impression was that they were simply getting him well enough to discharge. A far cry from a recovery.
And let me clarify something.... Ross is expected to make a full recovery. And his progress already has been nothing short of incredible. But in the thick of it... when Ross was reeling off nonsensical word salads, it was hard not to let panicky fear overwhelm everything. "What if he's like this forever?"
But he's not. And won't be. And seeing him now... you know it. Because it's Ross. Joking about barely making the age cutoff for projected brain injury recovery (40). Laughing about how he's like an old man in the house with blankets and sweatshirts (a seeming result of the injury is that he can't regulate his body temperature... and is always cold). The primary effects he's dealing with right now are short term memory issues, some impulsiveness, and some coordination problems. He wants to do everything... just like before. But he can't. Ever have that moment where you're standing in the bathroom holding a fork and you say? "What in the hell am I doing?" That's about it. There's just a few more of those. And it gets worse toward the evening. When he gets tired. Or when his blood sugar is low.
But every day is another corner.
The anxiety about Ross coming home is understandable. Ross felt it too. What if I'm not right at home? What if I can't do the things I did before? At the hospital, after hard and frustrating days of therapy, where he would be made painfully aware that things weren't working right... his coordination wasn't what it should be.... he couldn't remember words or make some connections that should be easy.....Ross would be overwhelmed with it all. "I don't want the kids to see me like this. I feel broken... like my mind isn't working right. And I think I'm scaring them. I'm scared I already have."
But whatever anxiety and fear they all had.... And whatever challenges and frustrations they still face... it's been good. The hospital,despite the seeming benefits, was draining him. And everyone. It's depressing to be in the world's ugliest hotel room with no privacy. To be bedridden for over a month. To be away from everything familiar. To be constantly reminded that something is wrong, because otherwise you wouldn't be there. And ultimately, getting back to those things has been critically important.

Ross at home.... this has got to be better Occupational Therapy than building s*** with PVC pipe... right?

Ross and his niece, Emery, who they couldn't have done any of this without.

It's been extremely humbling to watch Ross's family through this process and to get to know them. The way Tanya has handled the curve balls that have been thrown at her... seeing her keep it together even when she was on the cusp of losing it completely. Seeing Ross's niece, Emery, step up in ways that make you question your own selfishness and direction. Seeing Ross's children deal with seeing the man who has always been their unbreakable rock get broken.

There's alot more ground to cover... and alot more to the story. And to say that Tanya and her family can catch their breaths for at least a moment might be too much. But I know that its a step in the right direction... and that Ross is happy to be home. And that means everything.

We're young and good looking.... Give us money.

2012-01-24T19:49:00.000-08:00

This past Sunday, we helped put on the final race in the North Carolina Cyclocross series, here on our home turf.... Greensboring, NC.
It was a good day. Cold....Somewhat miserable in light of the balmy insanity we've been having... but honestly, a pretty typical winter day. Perfect for some cross.

As it was a "home" game... we... the Revolting Cogs... had a decent representation in the various categories. Brian Alabama, who usually races CX3 didn't have the heart to race that day, and Genisis who had been doing well in the women's field, didn't have the enhusiasm. Nor did AJ. But despite missing three of our regulars.... we had a good showing... mostly CX4, with Lonnie James, myself, Dr. Greg Quispy Bell, Eric Sauer, Eric Peterson. Cullen Cooper Dominated the Single Speed category, soundly spanking his rivals.

In fact... the Revolting Cogs had 3 wins on Sunday. I won the CX4 Masters race. Cullen won the Single Speed race...And then Tommy Cassanova destroyed the CX 4 category (and myself) by an unbelievable margin. Here we are having a discussion about his results and how he had better never... NEVER... make me look bad like that again.

"You pull that s*** again and I'm going to beat your ass... do we understand each other?"

(if I look old and tired in this photo, it's because I am)

After about half a lap and working our way past some folks who had managed better starts than us, Tommy said "Watts, I'm going to go fast." I think I grunted or made a noise... assenting that I had heard him, but that as I was already going as fast as I cared to or could, such words made little sense. And then Tommy went past me... and kept on going. I admit... knowing Tommy was in the lead, and having raced hard earlier, I felt content to sit up and defend a solid second place for the Cogs (uh huh...) Allowing my protege, young Tommy to have a win himself (sure... sure....) So I wasn't really interested in working that hard (yeah... right)
I'm going to keep telling myself that, anyway.
But the fact is... that boy has some talent... and made this s*** look all too easy. I have a tattoo appointment tomorrow, and think that I might change the whole tone of it and just get "TOMS BICH" across my knuckles.

If he doesn't do something with that talent then I might really have to administer a sound beating. I may look old... but back when I wrestled Junior Varsity B my senior year of highschool... whew... let me tell you.
It was good to have a win. But I fear that I now bear the burden of a Scarlet Letter. A large S for Sandbagger. Certainly I was told as much during the race (I counted 30 times). But it's not my fault.
A few weeks ago I had applied for an upgrade to CX3, basing my entire appeal not on results (having none to report.... I know... but wait, hear me out) but on the fact that I am single father bike shop owner who is unable to make it to races very often (at all) and that when I do, would be labled a massive sandbagger were I to race CX4.
My appeal was, not surprisingly, rejected by USA Cycling, the "governing body" of domestic racing. "No one will think you are a sandbagger if you work hard to get the points needed for upgrade. My advice is to just do the required races." REJECTED. If the said official had been at the race on Sunday, he would have no choice but to apologize for his lies.
Me thinks another appeal is in order.

There's a good crew of folks involved with the shop right now.
And involved with the team. We might not be pulling in massive wins at the races. But we represent... and in most cases we're probably having more fun than everyone else.

In fact, I know we are.
Give us money.

Ross (part 2)

2011-12-21T06:55:00.000-08:00

"Ross.... do you want to open your eyes? You've got some people here to visit."
They fluttered open for a moment, then closed.
"Ross?"
He opened them and looked around the room, scratching his head and yawning.
"Who do you see? Who's here to see you?"
"That weird guy."
Everyone cracked up.
"That's a pretty fair assessment," I laughed.
Ross looked up at me and smiled.

I'd been getting reports from Tanya every day. They were, for the most part, extremely positive. But there were setbacks. And it's been really hard. Because as rapid as his progress has been... he's still in really bad shape.
When Ross opened his eyes and started talking, everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief, as it seemed to indicate that he was out of the forest. And he was. That step... making it to the edge of the trees... was critical. But then everyone realized that there's alot of country to traverse before he's out of the wilderness, of which the forest was only a part. The relief quickly became alarm as Ross's agitation grew. He would tear at the brace around his neck.... pull at the tubes attached to his body... impulsively try to get out of bed... flail around... yell.
And everyone understood. Understands. Because despite whatever they're giving him, you know he's in so much pain and discomfort.
But it was alarming to see. And it upset Tanya to see her husband like that, and feel helpless to fix it.
More alarming was when Ross started talking. It was a moment everyone had been anxiously waiting for, because until he started communicating, there was no telling how extensive the damage was, or how fast or long his recovery would be. And when the first loop of nonsense came out, there was a collective pause. Maybe it was a fluke. But then the loops kept going. And you couldn't help but feel discouraged.
Right now... when Ross starts talking, it's difficult to get him to stop. And what comes out of his mouth often doesn't make much sense.
And yet.... it does. At first glance, it's just a word salad. Nonsense about being tracked by the FBI, letting balloons go at a parade, tattling on people, jet planes, slumber parties...
Do you talk as you fall asleep? I do. And in that state, that limbo where I'm drifting off, I say some really bizarre things. And I'm aware of them. I hear myself say it, and at the same moment know that it is completely nonsensical and also that, in that proto-sleep state, it made perfect sense.
That's where Ross is right now. You can see it. You can see him flicker in and out. You can see him become aware, and look at you. His eyes change. They focus. And he's say something very sharp and distinct. Something that speaks to his awareness and catches you off guard in the waves of nonsense. At that moment, Ross is right there. But then you'll see the change in his eyes as something goes out. At those moments, when you see Ross "go out" you know he's retreating back in... that he's lost that control for the moment and is looking inward, trying to put the pieces in place again so he can get that control again.
And you can tell that he's frustrated.... that he knows something isn't right... that what's coming out isn't what he meant to say.
Without grasping at explanations or inventing a scenario for our own benefit, you can honestly tell that he really is in there and that he's looking at his control panel, trying to remember what all of these buttons do and how to make the damn thing work.
It's hard for him. And it's hard for Tanya... having to see her husband like that and being face to face with an abyss of uncertainty that while we all recognize, aren't often forced into a staring contest with.
What if he never changes? What if normalcy never returns? Can she handle that? How? How is their life going to change? Will it change at all? What's going to happen? How will the kids handle it? How are they handling it now? In classic little boy fashion, their son Spencer is rolling with the punches. Upset and confused, but trusting that things will be alright, and distracted enough by all of the things that distract little boys to keep moving forward, 5 year old juggernaut that he is.

Avery, older and more sensitive than Spencer, is having a very hard time. Because seeing her father like this... the father who has always been able to make her feel better... who always has control... who's always right there..... something's not right. And it's terrifying to her in ways that we can all understand. As much as children love adventure... they crave ritual and safety... and changes like this, as brave a face as they might put on and as resilient as they are, can be traumatic beyond measure.
Right now, Tanya and her family are dealing with all of the visceral grief and loss that would come if Ross had been killed instantly. But they're also having to pick up pieces of a new, uncertain life: Uncertain for Ross.... and uncertain for them.

But it's very early, and while that sort of speculation is inevitable, there is honestly more good news than bad. And Ross's progress is far more drastic than his setbacks. It's nothing short of amazing, honestly. He's already defied odds. And as he heals, the confusion and agitation he's feeling now will subside. And the doctors, without trying to give false hope, are confident that he will be alright. It might take a long time. And things might be different. But he'll be alright.
Ross has some mountain passes to climb before he's out of the wilderness. But he's getting there.

Last night, I asked Ross if I could bring him anything.... if he needed any books or magazines to look at.
"Yes... there is something."
What's that?
I could see him struggle with it in his mind as he tried to say the right thing.
"Road... Road Racing..... Magazine. It's hard to find. You probably can't." he said as he closed his eyes and drifted off.
He's asking for cycling magazines. I'm going to bring him a bunch. When he looks at them, will he make any connections? Will he remember his accident?
Last night he remembered... if only for a moment....
"What happened, Ross? Why are you here?"
He replied with a long string of nonsense about being here because they were running, and needed to keep on running before they were caught...
"Who's chasing us?"
"THEY are."
"Why?" Tanya asked, playing along. "Did we do something wrong?"
"No... that's just what they do. Chase us."
"That's not why, Ross. Can you remember why you're here?"
"Yes," he answered. "Because I had an accident."
And then you saw his eyes change as he took control.... "No. That's wrong. I didn't have an accident. She hit me. She hit me from behind and I couldn't do anything."
And then he slipped back down, losing his tenuous grip.
"See." Tanya said, smiling.
"He's in there."

C'est La Guerre (part 1)

2011-12-18T20:19:00.000-08:00

This is a big topic. And it will likely take some time to get out. There will be a few chapters. And there will be some revisitations and edits.
Please follow the link below and forgive my inability to embed video on the blog. Je suis un idiot.
http://www.myfox8.com/news/wghp-cyclists-want-upgrades-to-lake-brandt-road-church-street-20111214,0,3554681.story

Having been interviewed a few times for various news stories regarding bicycles and bicycle safety, I admit to being completely confounded as to which snippets of an interview they decide to use and which ones don't make the cut. 15 minutes worth of interview always results in 2 minutes worth of material I would have considered to be out takes.
Although, I do understand to a degree, as I am not A) photogenic B) well spoken or C) consistently coherent. Keeping that in mind, it's easier to understand why entire portions of an interview are scrapped.
Immediately following this interview I received a phone call.
"Yeah... I'm calling because I seen where you was on the news," said a total stranger, "and I wanna say a few things. You ain't got no business being out on them highways. Y'all need to be riding in designated cycling areas."
My ire was up. Whether because I'd just been on a soapbox and was in my hyper analytical and pontificating frame of mind... I felt my vision beginning to take on a decidedly crimson tint.
But I kept my cool.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I have to completely disagree. We have every right to be out there" I barely got in edgewise, as "SIR" as we will call him henceforth, continued....
"Lemme tell you what.. I live out there in _________ (I honestly couldn't understand him, but took it to be in the vicinity of Hornytown. ) This one time I came up on a feller what was standing in the middle of the road on his bicycle, talking to a feller on a lawn mower. He ain't seed me at all as he weren't paying no nevermind to nothing and you know what that feller did? He ran plumb into the side of my truck. Ruirnt my mirror and all. He were ok. But it knocked him to the ground but good. You cyclist's ain't got no sense!"
While it may seem that I'm being intentionally mocking in my quotations of the caller, I promise you... this is near verbatim. And I am not. Because as much as my hackles were up, sensing the pending fight that often comes with such words, I was with him. 100%. And I told him as much. But I also did my best to explain that while a few bad apples can ruin a bunch (the kind of saying I imagined would have some bearing to the caller) the fact was that most of us were very conscientious and hyper aware of both our vulnerability and responsibility on the roads. And that as annoying as we might be sometimes.... we are human beings. We are fathers. We are sons. We are husbands.
And our conversation become more than a black and white argument. We went back and forth for a while... and we actually talked. And connected.
He told that we need to model ourselves on Europe, where he and his wife had toured the other summer.... and the the cars take the highways and the bikes take their own lanes.
And I told him that I understood. And that to an extent, I agreed. But that this wasn't Europe. And that we weren't there yet... That this is a growing sport, and the number of cyclists out on the road ways was only going to increase. And that perhaps one day we'll have that infrastructure. But right now... we share the roads. And every time I'm out there, I put my faith in my fellow human beings to do the right thing.
And he agreed with me and said he respected my opinion and that hopefully we get there soon.
I can't say for certain, but my impression was that when we both hung up the phone, it wasn't with the vexation that we both picked it up with.

It's an old story... and I've heard it a million times. People hate us. HATE us.
Just a brief perusal of the comments regarding the news story above.... wherein a cyclist was critically injured... and you can see that bile. Although it's not just bile... it's something much more toxic than that.
A few things. At first glance it's overwhelming. The overwhelmingly negative comments are daunting, and I felt like crying, spitting and fighting reading them. These are supposed to be my fellow people? This is my species? This is my country? This is what a human being is?
But upon inspection you realize that it's 5, maybe 7 people... most of whom have given themselves absurd names like "thevoiceofreason" and "sophisticatedidiot" and "sassyman2295".
Ah... the confidence that internet anonymity provides.
I'm not going out on a limb when I say that for the most part, (and when I say most, I mean 99.9%) the people compelled to make comments via news stories are out of their f***ing minds.
I understand some of the responses, where level headed people made the mistake of reading said comments and felt that they could not contain it any longer and had to say something.
But again.... the fact is (and it's a scientifically proven FACT) that for the most part, the people commenting on news stories are idiots. ALL stories. Just take a look! Seriously. Read a story via an online news network, whatever network that happens to be... a story about ANYTHING....and then read the comments. You will feel like crying, marveling that people can be so dumb.
Look....I'm sorry if you're one of those people... If you happen to be "Hammerhead444" and you think your comment on "The New Superfoods of 2012" was prescient and brilliant. It wasn't.
Sigh... it's true.
So... seven dips***s made stupid comments, over and over.... and I find myself losing hope in humanity. Good googely moogely... have you followed the Republican Debates?! It's that times 1000! (Don't get me wrong... the Democratic Debates are just as nauseating.)
Seriously.....Don't blame me... I voted for the REVOLTING COGS!)
These people don't represent everyone. Not even close. They represent a tiny fraction of mentally unstable idiots who comment on every news story, and who think they have important things to say. (uhhh... Watts? Not to be "thevoiceofreason" but aren't you kind of commenting on a news story and acting like you have something important to say?)
They comment on every story. Not just this one. "thevoiceofreason" didn't just get a wild hare (hare? hair? Either way....I don't understand) up his ass and NEED to respond to this one story.
Hell no! He weighs in on EVERYTHING. Poorly! (You mean... like you're doing now?)

The point being... don't pay him no nevermind. Because that gives his voice a power it doesn't deserve.

Back to the news story...
Two major points:
One: I really don't care about the speed limit. To be honest... it's never occurred to me to lower the speed limit on those roads. The news anchor asked a question regarding the speed limit and whether I would advocate lowering it... and I said "sure"... and spoke about how much development has happened north of town and how what were once country roads with abandoned horse farms are now major byways with burgeoning deveolpments.
And somehow, via this interview... it looks like I'm lobbying for a lower speed limit.
As if that was my agenda.
Not at all.
I know that FOX news are the masters of spin.... but I didn't really expect it on something like this.
I blame my own naivete. The writers and anchor clearly had an agenda. If not an agenda... then a story in mind. And the goal was to use what I said to support that story. Not to find out where it takes them.
Because never once did I mention lowering the speed limit, save for when I was asked whether I would support such an act. To which I answered yes.
The question and answer that SHOULD have been included was pretty simple:
"What is the biggest challenge you see to bicycle safety?"
My answer was and is simple: Ignorance.
And I didn't mean it in an accusatory or blaming way. Sometimes it's willfull, yes... and people just don't care.... but I genuinely believe that for the most part, it is a simple fact. People just don't know. They don't know the rules of the road. And they don't know what to do when the encounter a bicycle.
They just... don't ... know.
I spoke about how I think there needs to be formal education programs in place.... teaching drivers how to handle bicycle traffic when they encounter it.
But I also spoke about education bicyclists on how to ride safely.
Because come on... some of you are just as stupid as Sassyman225.
I remember when I first moved back to Greensboro. I showed up to one of the group rides... the Farmer's Market Ride (a blog entry in it's own right).
This was my first formal group ride back in The 'Boro. As we rolled out, I noticed a man in a flapping, loose shirt with a very poor fit on his bike wearing a pair of headphones. Not earbuds (though I wouldn't have cared either way, as they are both STUPID things to wear on a bike) but FULL COVERAGE EARPHONES. I pulled up next to him in this group of near 30 riders and said something along the lines of "take your f***ing earphones out you f***ing idiot."
"What did you say to me, son?" asked Mr.FlappyJersey666.
"You f***ing heard me. You're a menace to everyone out here right now."
I seem to remember giving him the finger and riding off the front of the group, splintering it into the manageable pockets it should have been in to begin with.
It took every bit of self-restraint not grab Mr.FlappyJersey666 by his collar and yank him off the bike. Because he was being willfully stupid. And was being disrespectful to his fellow riders, ignoring their safety, and disrespectful to the motorists who it should come as no surprise, we share the road with.
Could Mr.FlappyJersey hear that there was an automobile behind him, coming up fast, as he rocked out to whatever crappy ClearChannel "rock" he was listening to?
It's just common sense.
And I'll admit... there's a dearth of it out there. And there are alot of riders who should f***ing know better.
Hell....I've been one of them. And I've been called out. Taken to school.
That used to be the credo. You do something stupid... you get pulled aside and educated. Or get kicked out.
The art of HOW TO RIDE A BIKE LIKE YOU'VE GOT AN OUNCE OF SENSE needs to be another blog entry as well (Man... I've got my work cut out for me.) But suffice to say...
Some of you need to act right.
I think all cyclists should have to drive up on a large group ride (20 plus) on a two lane road and figure out how the hell to pass them safely. It's very enlightening.
And it gives an idea how frustrating it can be. If we, as cyclists, aren't aware of that, and take it all for granted... then we're going to get a viscious wake up call when certain roads are no longer accessible to us.
But make no mistake... I'm not condemning cyclists.
And I'm still unsure what it is about my 150 lb frame on a bike, riding safely and conscientiously, that is so threatening to 200+lb men (and women) in 2000lb Ford F150 trucks.... but it most be something. Because some people just lose their s*** when they see us. Maybe they had a bad day. Maybe their bosses were totall asses and they were transferring that frustration on to us.
That's when we go from being obstacles to targets.
Which bring me to...
Two:
On the link above, they show a clip of me saying something along the lines of "everyone I know who rides a bike has been hit or had an accident."
This would seem to indicate that it is, by nature, a hazardous activity, and that we are all stupid for persisting in it. And it has certainly been brought to my attention as thus by various folks.
Just about everyone I know has soiled their pants at one point or another as well.
Does this indicate anything about the danger of wearing pants?
Yes... I'm being glib, because I do recognize the inherent risks involved with riding a bike. But having inherent risks involved with something is a far cry from it being inherently risky.
Hell.... LIFE is risky. Childbirth is risky. SEX is risky! Probably more risky than riding a bike these days.
Are you going to stop?
Right. So shut up.
When I say that everyone I know has had an incident of some kind.... I am referring specifically to an certain kind of incident. I've had accidents, where my wheel slipped on a stick or acorn, and I take a tumble. And I've had at least 5 very bad incidents... where the word "accident" has no bearing. I've been intentionally run off the road at least four times from behind.
Once, in the mid 90's as a relative novice to road riding, heading out for an solo evening ride near the airport, an SUV buzzed me with an inch to spare along an empty four lane road. As the driver had a whole lane to himself and had no reason to come within 6 feet of me, much less an inch, I threw my hands up and gave him a one finger salute.
He slammed on his brakes and put the car in reverse. I pulled off and he stopped next to me. I couldn't see through his heavily tinted windows, but gave a "what the hell, man?" shrug. Then I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I rolled by him and kept riding. I don't know what I was thinking, honestly. Maybe that he'd made his "point" and I'd made mine. And the fight was over.
I heard his tires start squealing as he went from zero to "impact" in 4 seconds. His passenger side mirror slammed into my shoulder, nearly knocking me down. And then he started coming over, using the passenger side of his vehicle to push me off the road into the ditch. I went ass over tea-kettle.
You know what?
No one stopped. Not him.... Not the car behind him.... No one.
Why not?
And once, knocked off my bike by a head on collision with a woman who was cutting across four lanes of road completely devoid of traffic. In her own words, she didn't see me because she was "busy praying to her guardian angel."
When I got up off the ground, scraped to hell... the woman, without once apologizing, explained how she felt that while she may have been completely distracted, her angel had saved my life (and her ass, incidentally... keeping her out of jail for vehicular manslaughter.) I tried to explain that if she hadn't been distracted by her "praying" and "guardian angle" she would have seen me, and thus... never hit me.
Needless to say, we didn't see eye to eye, and I believe I used her lord's name in vain a number of times as I met with her obstinately stupid excuses for not paying attention to her driving.
The other day, stopping for some supplies at Target, I approached a two way intersection where I had the right way and all other traffic had to stop. A woman clearly thought otherwise and pulled out right in front of me. I slammed on my brakes, sending groceries and presents careening toward the front of my car, and stopped less than an inch from her driver side door. Dumbfounded by this woman's stupidity, my jaw dropped when she turned angrily to me and yelled, "learn to drive!"
As far as she was concerned... she'd done no wrong. She'd run a stop sign... willfully ignorant of her obligations as a driver, and had the audacity to blame it on me.
When I said that everyone I know has had some kind of accident on the road, I was referring to a particular kind of accident. The kind where someone does something really stupid. Maybe something crazy.
The times I've had serious bike accidents... it was either entirely intentional on the part of the driver, or the result of negligence.
What is an accident?
Seriously.... what defines "accident?"
When I knock a glass over, is that an accident? Or is it negligence... because I wasn't aware of my surroundings and should have been paying attention?
If a meteor fell out of the sky and plowed right through your windshield, knocking you unconcious... I'll call that an accident. Fabio getting hit in the face by a goose while riding a roller coaster... that's an accident.
But you following too close... or going too fast... or fiddling with the radio.... or sending a motherf***ing text message about f***ing NOTHING OF CONSEQUENCE!!!
.....That's negligence... pure and simple. Criminal negligence.
Look... we've all had that moment. My phone rings... I look at it for just a moment....and look up just in time to avoid ramming the suddenly braking car in front of me at full speed.
And if I'd hit them... it wouldn't have been an "accident", as sorry as I might be, and as unintentional as it would have been... it would have been NEGLIGENCE.
I don't know what Amy Byrd was doing when she plowed into Ross Hiller, forever changing his life for the worse. I can't speak to that.
But I have a hard time believing that it as an "accident"... sneezing fit or not.
I know it wasn't intentional.... and I know she feels truly horrible about it.
But that doesn't make it an accident.
I could be wrong. But I feel like there was a healthy dose of negligence involved. And now, someone is paying the price.
Ross knew the risks... he knew that there's a chance that someone somewhere wouldn't be paying the attention they should be. And that some people are just stupid and mean.
Sometimes horrible things happen. Sometimes people get hurt for no reason. But sometimes... horrible things happen... and it's because we just weren't being the people we need to be.
Bethany Hamilton, at age 14, had her arm bitten off by a shark while surfing. It's an inherent risk of surfing. You're in the ocean... and there are sharks. And since prehistoric times, the shark, which has evolved very little, as it has a ecological niche that requires very little growth, has been programmed to kill and eat. Bethany understood that risk, and to this day, she's out there absolutely RIPPING it among the sharks, sans one arm.
But you know what.....people aren't sharks. And as much as there are inherent risks involved with cycling, motorists aren't sharks. They're human beings, like us. And we hope they think at least a little bit like we do.... And we put our faith in our fellow men and women to do the right thing. And to be vigilant. And pay attention. And not allow their negligence to get the better of them.
It's a big leap of faith, I know. And as a misanthrope of epic proportions, I can go on and on about the folly of trusting people to do the right thing.
But come on... this is what it's about. All of it.... regardless of your beliefs.
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
Me? I just want others to just pay some goddamned attention to what they're doing. You know?
And I want them to own up when they're wrong... when they're being stupid.
And I want them to try harder, and instead of being defensive and trying to turn it around, saying "Well you're a hypocrite... blah blah...." Just admitting their own folly and promising to do better.
And I want to be able to believe that people have that capacity.
And I also want a pony.
(sigh)

(R)EVOLVE

Ross (part 1)

2011-12-17T05:24:00.000-08:00

On Saturday, Dec. 10th, Ross Hiller was riding south on Lake Brandt Rd, near the intersection of Scalesville Rd and Lake Brandt Rd, and was struck from behind by an SUV.
The woman who hit him claims to have been temporarily blinded by the sun, which had also initiated a sneezing fit. She never saw him.
Ross was thrown up on the windshield and according to witness accounts, thrown 100 feet through the air... into a mailbox.
He was brought to Moses Cone Hospital with massive head trauma, fractured vertebrae, a broken ankle, a collapsed lung, as well as full body contusions and bruising. To be honest.... that he was in as good a condition as he was is nothing short of amazing. By rights, he should have been killed instantly.
He's having the staples taken out of his scalp today. When Neil and I visited recently, Neil noted that the area around the staples wasn't even shaved and the staples themselves seemed to have been placed right over the hair and everything.. to which the nurse replied, "they do that when they don't think a patient has a chance of making it."

Because he was hit from behind and never saw it coming, he was completely limp as he was thrown like a rag doll through the air. If he had tensed up.... he wouldn't be here right now.

When I saw Ross Saturday night, he was having seizures, his whole body shaking and tensing. He'd move his hand in a repetive movement over and over, but wouldn't react to any outside stimulus. The Doctor did some painful pokes which elicited a response and some hand squeezing, but whether that was just a reflex or indicative that Ross was anywhere in that shell was unknown. His wife Tanya was amazingly composed, considering. But you could tell how hard she was trying to keep it together. She'd give a detailed description of the most recent assessment and then she'd start to break down, "He looks so bad. Oh my god, he looks so bad...." Then she'd pull it together again.
The fractured vertebra were bad, but that wasn't the doctors' main concern. Ross had as least two spots of hemoraging on the brain. While his skull wasn't fractured, this was still very serious. With that kind of bleeding, there are exponential chances of some kind of lasting brain damage. Until Ross woke up and started responding to stimulus, there was no telling to what extent his brain was affected. His injury was the equivalent of "shaken baby syndrome" wherein the brain is slammed back and forth in it's casing, creating microtears that lead to bleeding and pressure. Never a good thing in a brain.
As much as we're starting to understand about neurology, the brain and how it functions and recovers from trauma like that is still relatively unknown, and the subject of countless studies. Sometimes entire neural pathways are rerouted and rewired. Sometimes memory banks are wiped clean. Sometimes dormant regions become active.
Essentially, it's possible for a person to undergo a complete personality change.
On the third day, Ross stopped the the rythmic twitching. During the assessment, the doctor asked him to squeeze his hand. Ross did. "Can you give me a thumbs up?"
Ross gave a thumbs up.
At which point everyone lost it. Ross was in there, but he still couldn't open his eyes or move much.
"Can you hear me?"
Ross nodded yes.
"Ross... do you know who I am?" asked his wife Tanya.
Ross shook his head no.
Starting to sob, Tanya said, "You don't?! Ross.. it's me, Tanya! Do you know who Tanya is?"
Ross nodded.
She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back.

At a point during the Q and A session, they told Ross that he'd been in a bike accident. For the first time that day Ross became extremely agitated. His heart rate and blood pressure went up and he began to flail.

The next day, Ross opened his eyes. It was an effort, and they kept rolling back in his head. But he looked around and saw where he was for the first time.
He answered some more questions, nodding and shaking his head. Then, for the first time, he tried to talk. "It hurts," he mouthed around the tubes going into his throat. "I can't breathe."
And then... "I'm scared."
Every day and hour there's been some improvement, often coupled with a setback.
Ross's ankle, previously thought simply sprained, was definitely broken. And he was very swollen, all over his body... his cheeks protruding past his ears... his abdomen full of fluid....his feet and toes 3 times their usual size.
"Have you ever seen Ross's legs?" Tanya asked. I nodded. "They're tiny" I laughed.
"I'm going to take pictures of them now to show him," she joked. "He'll love knowing he had big legs at least once in his life."
Despite the progress of the day, that night was very hard for Ross and his family. As he pulled himself further and further into conciousness, his pain and discomfort also increased. His body was full of tubes: catheters, feeding tubes, breathing tubes. He'd been lying prone in the same position for three days, restrained to keep him from yanking at the tubes as he swam in and out of conciousness.
He was thrashing against the bed and getting increasingly agitated.
Tanya would have to hold his head and say "Ross. Listen to me honey. You can't do this. Do you want the tube out?" Nod yes. "Then you need to stop fighting it. You need to relax. I know it's hard, but you have to." And he would. But then he'd start to fight again, and she'd have to firmly tell him to stop, almost yelling at him.
But he was getting there. And once he was drawing enough breath on his own that the doctors weren't concerned, they took the tubes out. And they unbound his hands.
And Ross started coming out more and more.
When I visited him last night, he'd had an amazing day. Had been able to move out of the bed he'd been a prisoner in for the past 5 days... he sat in a chair.... even gotten a tray of solid food. He'd talked with people... joked with them. Recognized their faces.
But he was still out of it, and temporally disoriented. Once they got him talking, sometimes it wouldn't stop. And he might talk about what was happening... about how much his back was hurting and how he had to pee. But he would often say things like "Get it off!"
"Get what off, Ross? What do you need?"
"My helmet. It's hurting my head. Get it off... the straps are digging in to my neck."
or "My finger.... it hurts! My finger. It's stuck in the brake. Get it out."
or "Yes... 3,2,1. Yes. I can hear you..." ...Clearly having flashbacks of the accident, where they were asking him questions. Because by accounts, he was concious when they came up on him. And it wasn't until he was in the ambulance that he went out like a light.
When I stepped back into his room, I was nervous. I didn't know what was waiting on the other side of that curtain. There's nothing more disconcerting than when things aren't "right."
....When something is "wrong." That sounds nebulous and vague, but it's hard to explain.
It's like a missing a limb.... there's something wrong... a visual disconnect. Something missing... out of place.
Or when a person is out of their mind... and there's something in their eyes and in their movements that just isn't right. As if they weren't even in there.
I hadn't seen Ross awake yet. Everytime I stepped by he'd been unconcious or sleeping. And by the accounts I'd heard, I didn't know what to expect.
When I'd called to say I was on my way, Tanya was sitting next to Ross.
"Ross... Watts is on the phone. Do you know who Watts is?"
I heard a surprisingly strong voice say something. Tanya laughed.
"Did you hear that? He said.... 'the funny guy from Revolution.'"

Ross was out when Tommy and I came in... in what I hope was a blissful, painkiller induced slumber. But Tanya woke him up.
"Ross... can you hear me?"
Yes.. he nodded.
"Ross.. guess who's here. Who is that?"
Ross opened his eyes groggily. He turned to me for a moment, then turned back to her. "Jay," he said before lapsing back into sleep.
"No. It's not Jay. Who is that, Ross?"
Ross looked at me again... and despite the confusion... despite the drugs... despite everything, I could see in his eyes that he was there. That he wasn't out of it. That there was a person in there. That ROSS was in there.
"Watts," he said. "And Michael" he said, looking at her for confirmation as he referred to Tommy.
Then he passed out.
Again... despite whatever confusion he had... I could tell that this was Ross... and that some of that confusion was no different than the confusion one would feel if someone random but familiar ran into their room in the middle of the night, woke them up and immediately started asking, "Do you know who I am? Hurry. Do you know? Who am I? Where are you? What's the date?"
Ross has a long way to go. And there are still alot of unknowns about his condition. His progress thus far is extremely encouraging. But it might be that he has memory issues for a while to come. Or, as the nurse put it, have slight "personality differences." Meaning that while he's fundamentally the same Ross, there might be small but meaningful changes in his interests and behavior. His brain is healing, and as those pathways reconnect, there's no telling what happens.
Kevin Pearce, the snowboarding prodigy who suffered massive cranial trauma during a competition, awoke with an insatiable craving for basil pesto. What part of his brain was jostled to trigger that change?
And then... there's the possibility that there will be no changes. And that he just needs to heal, and the memory loss will go away and things will fall back into place.
Short term memory loss and no impulse control are two of the biggest symptoms of brain trauma. Ross is certainly showing both symptoms.
But at this point Ross is so far above and beyond the expectations, that everyone expects the best.

Here's Ross watching Star Wars with his son Spencer. (And now... a weak attempt at humor: The only good thing I can think of to come from a brain injury would be the ability to watch Star Wars for the first time again. I think Ross would agree.)

Hang in there, Ross. We're all thinking about you.

Ross (prelude)

2011-12-15T08:49:00.000-08:00

"Oh well...I tried. I'm at Brookbank and 150.
Back to the house."

That was the message I got from Ross Hiller at 10:36am on Saturday as he tried in vain to intercept the ride that had rolled out earlier that morning.
"I'll hit him back after I finish this lap" I thought, having just started my own ride. A lap turned into two, which turned into four hours later.
When my phone rang at 2:30pm, I figured Ross was calling to see if I wanted to get the kids together and have a beer. I knew the moment I heard a woman's voice at the other end that something was terribly wrong.
"Hi, Watts? My name is Liz.... Ross has been in an accident..."
Apparently 20 minutes after his message to me, Ross had been hit from behind by an SUV and was in critical condition.
Running into the hospital in my cycling clothing, an old man looked me up and down and said "the crazy ward is on the 3rd floor."

Tommy, Ross's best friend, was starting to get pissed. Ross was supposed to have been there over an hour ago to help shoot photos for a 5k race to benefit firefighter William Caviness, who had died of a heart attack during a marathon. When his phone rang at 2:30pm and he saw Ross's number, he was getting ready to chew him out for pulling "typical Ross s***". When the woman on the other started talking instead, he knew that something terrible had happened. "Tommy? This is Liz... Ross has been in an accident..."

Tanya had lost her patience a long time ago.... "If you're going you better go!"
She didn't want him to ride anyway... there was too much to do. But she knew he wanted to. That he needed to. So he better get out the damn door NOW so he could get back in time.
As he ran out the door, forgetting the Road ID he always wore, she didn't even look at him.
When she got the call... she came undone.... unable to forgive herself for those last moments when she was just so vexed with this man she loved so much. She wished she hadn't been so angry and had just told him that she loved him and to be safe. And now she was rushing to the hospital, with no idea what was waiting for her when she got there.

Every day, we take so much for granted. And in some ways, if we want to stay sane, we have to. But we can't help thinking that maybe we should have done things differently. And that maybe things would have turned out differently if we had.
If I'd responded to his message, he'd have likely stopped to check his phone. And he wouldn't have been in that very wrong place at that very wrong time.
There's so much that could have happened. But didn't. And now we're picking up the pieces.
And Ross will be picking up these pieces for a very long time.
He has a long road to recovery ahead of him. But he's making amazing progress.
His injuries are pretty extensive. Massive head trauma. Fractured vertebrae. A broken ankle. Full body bruising. A punctured intestine. Road rash.
And yet... as bad as they are.... you can't help but know that they could be worse. And that Ross is amazingly lucky.

My Internal Compass is Busted....

2011-12-01T06:26:00.000-08:00

Although honestly... it's never worked.
There are, I'm sure, those who might argue that my moral compass is busted as well.
But those people are wrong and need to be killed.
I can't even think of how many times I've been on unfamiliar roads (sometimes familiar!).... over an hour past whatever time I said I'd be back from a ride..... thinking... nay, KNOWING that I'm heading back into town.... only to see an Asheboro City Limit sign or the like.
I can be 50 yards from where I need to be and will backtrack MILES to find the route I know to said location, simply because I have no sense of place.
No... unless it's late evening or early morning and I can gauge E and W with the sun...whatever internal compass I'm supposed to possess... it just doesn't exist.
I'm legendary for it, in fact.
"What did you do this weekend?"
"Oh, I went riding with Watts."
"Did you get lost?"
"Duh... What do you think?!"
As a result I am map obsessed. My house is full of them. I carry them with me everywhere... look at them when I go to the restroom... when I eat alone... in a waiting room.... lying in bed. Maps are my porn. http://www.maptube.com/... (I have no idea if that's a real link... click at your own risk)
When I'm just relaxing at my house, I get on googlemaps and mapmyride and just look.
When I get back from a ride, the first thing I do is pull out my Delorme Gazeteer and pour over it, looking at the roads I was on and trying and formulate a sense of where and how. With those markers, I can sometimes trick my body into knowing which way to go. (Ah... it's sandwiched between Poopsville Rd. and Lickpoop Way... so if I turn right then I head back to Poopsboro!)

Sometimes, yes, I STILL manage to get lost. But I've come a long way.
Still.... riding unfamiliar roads in unfamiliar cities.... with poorly marked cue sheets.... it can be an adventure.
About a year ago, a sales rep convinced me, in the midst of the Garmin boom, that I should purchase one and use it for demo purposes. "Hey... have you tried this? You need one." That kind of thing.
I did purchase the Garmin, but never touched it until about a month ago. Classic Watts.
I guess I'm a bit of a techno grouch.
Only a bit, though. I mean... really...
I'm sitting here blogging on a laptop with Pandora playing a Weird War station. But I'm alway years behind. I don't have an Iphone. I have no idea what Spotify is. I've never used Bit Torrent.
The only reason I have a Facebook account is to promote the shop
(wow!.. um....really? Well, you're uh... you're doing a great job? Watts? ...keep it up? I guess?)
Les, who I bought the shop from, to this day does not have an email account or cell phone. Friendly Bike did all of it's ordering over the phone and in person. I still have boxes of old receipts, sales and repair tickets in storage, dating back to 2001. Yep. You're still in the "system." I just have to dig to find you.
I have begun the transition to computerizing the shop, but still don't have an official POS system. Well... I DO... but not the "Point Of Sale" system. Just a "Piece Of S***" cash register that dates back to when Friendly Bike first opened it's doors in the early 90's.
"What?" I grouse. "It works!"
Which, yes, is somewhat self defeating as a person trying to make a living in retail. I mean.... my job is to convince people to buy the latest and greatest. Right?
And without a doubt there's alot of great stuff out there, to say the least. And as much as I'm behind the times sometimes, I do appreciate good stuff.
The point of all of this is to say.... Holy Crap, I LOVE this effing GARMIN! It has saved my ass enough times in the past month to merit mention.

It IS an older model.. the 705 edge, which has just been replaced with the 800. One of the key upgrades is the mounting bracket. The 705 has a very easy disengagement, which has resulted in it deciding to bail from the bike at 20 mph at least twice.
The new model does not have this problem. And I'm sure it has some great features. I'm still learning them all, honestly.
For ME, the key feature that makes the 705 and 800 worth the cost over the 500, (a more economical option which includes the power, incline, speed and tracking features) is that it includes a basemap. I can watch my progress with the map, similar to the GPS in a car.
(Interlude: about 7 years ago, my father, whose shopping habits are the stuff of legend... (think buying BOLEX watches proudly. No... not Rolex.... BOLEX. "They look the same!") ....bought my siblings and I GPS systems for the car. Pleased as punch with the crazy deal he got out of the back of the truck, he presented us all with, not a TomTom, not a Garmin, but a GPS for DUMMIES. Admittedly, this seemed like an appropriate place for me to start. I realized very quickly, however, that the name wasn't a reference to any kind of ease of use... rather the processor or map system being used. When traveling down the Freeway, GPS for DUMMIES would randomly have me get off at various exits, only to immediately get back ON the freeway. More than once I found myself being told to turn down a oneway street in cities that don't stand for such nonsense. Since I only used the thing when I was in desperate need of getting from point A to point B in a timely fashion, such detours were less than endearing. In fact, said GPS unit is no longer functioning after being hurled bodily at the dashboard multiple times, then crushed in a Hulk Fist of DOOM until the screen went blooey.

Unlike my Garmin.
Which was extremely handy on Thanksgiving, when I rode 85 miles on unfamiliar roads near Atlanta, GA, and found a primo shortcut back my start point without having to backtrack 42.5 miles. I did this by simply by glancing at the Garmin as I rolled along!
Or say, the afternoon ride I squeezed in recently, where my self-assurance at being able to fit in 50 miles before it got dark was clearly a wee bit over-optimistic. When the road got insanely busy with the postwork traffic, and the light began disappearing....I desperately needed a bailout, and a direct one. And sure enough... I found it. High five, Garmin.
The one downside to the Garmin...... after going through hell to remove the chip they had implanted in my brain, I've now given THEM a way to track my whereabouts.
And yes... as you can see from the picture, it's a little larger than a standard computer. Hence the stem mount. It's one of those things. Yes, it adds a little unwanted bulk on otherwise clean lines, but I'll let it slide.
(R)EVOLVE, cogs.

Jobie

2011-11-08T14:03:00.000-08:00

I know... I know... sorry!
To those of you who fanatically follow this blog and who hang on every word, I humbly apologize. I've fallen a bit short, haven't I?
The last post was... well.. quite a while ago.
Sorry. Sometimes you just don't feel like writing. Stuff happens... and there are things to say....but you just can't make yourself start typing. And at times it just seems absurd. Why? Why bother? What I have to say is borderline nonsensical anyway.... and certainly not worth the cyberspace it occupies. To think otherwise is hubris.
And yet... there are worse things out there, I suppose. Worse ways to occupy your time....and my time.
And I have occasionally heard that there are those among you who do enjoy these hebrephenic rants.
So I'll do my best to begin again.
There's been a bit going on of late. And it's kind of sapped me. It's becoming a repetitive joke, I'm sure... but it's been a hard couple of years. And the past week has been no exception. The summer was intense. Moving the shop...
And my dad passing away.
A few months ago, my father died of lung cancer. And it kind of effed me up.
Odd... it's been a while... and I've certainly done my grieving. But typing those words, that my father had died, I feel a new rush of grief . I don't know the last time I said them.

This will be a bit emotional for me, so I beg your forgiveness in advance. But then... if you've read anything I've ever written before... you know the drill.
It had been a long fight. Upon my return to Greensboro in early 2002, he had most of one lung and his lymph nodes removed. It had been a diagnosis that surprised none of us. My father's sport, aside from golf, was smoking. One after the other. My siblings and I are still waiting to see what kind of damage we've sustained from years of confined car rides and proximity.
It swings both ways.... but in our case, our parents constant smoking galvanized a revulsion to cigarrettes in us. I can't even type the word without getting the heeby jeebies. I'd rather smell corpse than cigarette smoke.
The cancer came back less than a year ago, and proved to be very aggressive.
Jobie, the middle name that my father was universally known by, fought so hard... to the very end. He held on tight, getting weaker every day, but never losing his humor. In the end, his compulsions and impulsiveness hit an all time high, and it could be taxing for those around him... going over and over his lists, sticking to routines, addled phone calls as the cancer spread to his brain. But we understood. And it was nothing compared to what he was going through.
He had an optimism that I can't even fathom. Optimistic to a fault. Borderline oblivious. It could be maddening sometimes.
But I could use his optimism right now.... and I really miss him. I'd like to talk to him about so many things going on in my life right now. I wish he was here.
Toward the end, I traveled down to Charleston quite a bit, to see him and to help my brother, who had taken on the bulk of his care.
After one particularly bad weekend, I returned to the shop to find an angry message from a customer. Although maybe that's too strong a word.... customer. Demanding a hook up and generally being a pain in the ass doesn't define customer for us.
This person berated me for not returning a phone call they had made in my absence. It was an abusive message. Punctuating every other word with an f-bomb, he accused me of being unprofessional... which I found very amusing.
I shrugged it off. There was no reason to pander to this person.
Later I found out that he had approached one of my vendors and told them that I "didn't have my s*** together" and that the vendor would do better to place his product in another store.
Classy.
And as much as this person isn't worth a second thought....the fact is that he was right about one thing. I didn't have my s*** together. I was, in fact, in danger of losing it completely at the time. Spending the past four days helping my father bathe and make it to and from the bathroom, helping clean him up when he didn't make it.... Helping him take care of long list of things he needed to set in place before he died.... Watching him decline so rapidly... and watching him come to terms with his own mortality with such humor and strength...
I was very much losing my s***.

My Dad, for whatever reason, was very proud of me. And he told me this frequently. He was proud of the man I'd become. Proud of the kind of parent I was. Proud of the things I'd done. Proud of the shop. And he always wanted to help. In his own way, which sometimes could be extremely frustrating.
As a former marketing man, Dad was always trying to give me marketing advice. And most of it was pretty damn sage... but some of it I thought was just bats*** crazy. Dad had built a very successful advertising agency in Atlanta. An agency that at one time had lead the national sales campaign for McDonald's. If you're of a certain age... I guarantee you've seen one of my father's commercials. Remember MacTonight? That was my dad.

At not quite the other end of the spectrum, Dad was also responsible for the oddness of Mr. Big Fish... a brief, but iconic, campaign by Long John Silvers. (I'll find a picture.)
One time, when I accompanied Dad on a commercial shoot, he convinced the director to put me in the commercial. As a vegan, anti-establishment, Guilford College freshman with a dreadlocke mohawk (no... I'm not kidding) I had absurd issues with the whole thing, but I went along. Partly to please Dad. And partly because... how could I refuse? Be in a national commercial? Are you kidding?
I was one of 5 people poking their torsos out of the sunroof of a stretch limo, with Mr. Bigfish relaxing in the hot tub in the back. We were supposed to pull out of the drive through and look stoked about our bags of fried fish. And I was having a hard time finding my motivation. We pulled out of the drive thru at least 15 times, and I'm sure they did the shot over and over because of me. Because I couldn't feign that excitement... and my dreadlockes kept poking out of the hat they made me wear.
I was surrounded on both sides by buxom women in bikinis... women who were committed to the craft and who, while with their own moments in TV history.... a onetime guest spot as the mother in law on a shortlived sitcom, or as a one episode girlfriend of Matthew Perry in Friends.... were still waiting for their break. And work is work. So here they were, in bikinis, looking good in their 40's, with fish sandwiches in their hands... finding their motivation and working it.
Dad was full of ideas. Some were brilliant... some were just f***ing crazy. But he threw them all out there with the same zeal.
He published a book not long before he died. A project he had been working on for a while. It was a book on how to foster and bring out our own innate creativity. The working title for this book on the creative spirit: How to be Creative. After much goading, teasing and insistence by we, his loving children, it was finally changed to Innovate: Leap outta the Bowl, a reference to one of my father's more insane and widely know advertising campaigns, done while he was an underling at Proctor and Gamble. One that is still discussed during training seminars for new marketing folks at P&G. His idea started simply. Give out a goldfish with every box of Spic and Span laundry detergent. Without listening to his boss's admonitions to "forget it", (and going behind his back) Dad began one of P&G's most successful, albeit crazy drives ever, puzzling out every minute detail of how to transport, maintain and distribute millions of these bagged fish. They called him "Goldfish."

My father once bought me a number of Star Wars costumes, which you'll still find tucked around the shop. The idea being we were to don them and stand down at the street, waving people in to the shop... like the dancing lady at the corner of Spring Garden and Holden, or like Gigantor, who has since taken her place....
"It works, Watts. Just do it!"
We didn't...but we did put the costumes to use and took a whole bunch of absurd photos with them, using them in our emails and on facebook for various events.

One time, while visiting, my Dad wanted to go "scope out the competition." He was proudly wearing his Revolution Cycles t-shirt, but felt it very important to remain incognito and not let on that he was with me. I tried to explain that it didn't matter and that I visit the competition all the time... but he was insistent. Finding that the Marshall's Member's Only knock off jacket he was wearing had a busted zipper, he proceeded to snap the top button and walk around clutching his jacket together in a manner so conspicous and bizarre that if he had come in MY shop doing that, I'd have likely called the police.

Another time, a few months before he passed, he stopped by the shop to see me. As I was talking to a customer about a bike, I heard a voice behind me say, "Darth Vader says this is a good bike!"

Stopping midsentence and feeling a flush creep into my face, I turned to find my Dad standing behind me in a Darth Vader mask and cape, laughing.The customer had no idea what to make of any of that. At this point my Dad had lost all of his hair and looked 30 years older than he was. He was also dressed in what my siblings and I called his "street jobie" attire. A dress shirt tucked into sweatpants, white tube socks pulled over the cuff. The same Member's Only knockoff he'd worn for the past 10 years. And loafers.

Sigh.

I miss my Dad. And I feel that very acutely these days.

And I want to talk to him...

...ask him for business advice...

...ask him life advice...

...ask him why girls are so mean... (and know that he's going to give me a quote from one of his all time favorites, Men Are from Mars, Women from Venus)...

.... and I just want to let him know how much I love and miss him.

Bye Jobie. I'm proud to be your son.

Last Friday......

2011-06-05T19:23:00.000-07:00

... the power got turned off at the shop.
But wait!.... it's not for the reason you're thinking.
(Though come on.... it's not like that hasn't happened before.)
No... this time it's because I TOLD them to turn it off. Which seems odd when you consider how very vexed I was when it actually happened. After having a near schizoid embolism about it for about 5 minutes... I just shrugged and changed my focus for the day.
You see.... about two months ago, I called Duke Energy and told them that I needed power set up in our NEW LOCATION! And that I would be terminating service in the current space. As there was NO POSSIBLE WAY we'd need any power in the "old" space past the 31st of May, I told them to nix it on that date.
Two months later the power goes out and the first words out of my mouth are "WTF?!!" (though not abreviated). When I confronted the woman who had just emerged from behind the building, she checked her records and told me that there was a contract to terminate. Not a non-pay, but someone actually called to cancel service.
As I began to tell her how wrong she was, I felt the rusty gears of my brain start grinding away and instead opened my mouth dumbly... closed it.... opened it again... and said very softly, "oh... oh yeah".....
You'd think I'd have remembered, right? Marked it on the calender.... SOMETHING!
And I did... but to my mind there was NO POSSIBLE WAY that it was already the 31st. No way!
I cannot believe how quickly these months have flown by. It's SUMMER!
This coming Friday is the last day of school for my son. And I'll be honest... It's bumming me out. Not because he's out of school... but because that means it's his last day of Kintergarten... and that he's growing up! Too fast! Where did the time go? How did I miss so much of it? I don't want my little guy growing up so fast!
Here's a little something that reminded me of Milo and his own bike riding adventures and learning curve. It cracks me up every time.

There have been a few stumbling blocks on moving the shop. Things take a little longer than you anticipate. Having to travel out of town for important family business. Having to play "hurry up and wait" with various projects.
One of the more bizarre was that when I tried to transfer the phone service to the new location.... I was told by Time Warner that there was currently another account in service for that spot. As the spot had been vacant for 6 months, I told them that was highly unlikely. According to their records... the previous tenant still had active phone service there. Again... as the spot had been vacant for 6 months, I told them that this was nigh impossible and would they please send someone out to set up the phone. I mean.... have the previous tenants been paying for active service in a empty spot for 6 months? And if not... why wouldn't Time Warner have cut that s*** off months ago? I mean... if I'm so much as a week late I start getting notices of termination. Did I miss something?
(As it turns out, yes, the previous tenanat was still paying for phone service in their vacant spot. A book keeping error. Ahhh... to be a business that could bleed money like that and remain unaffected......I should have just hooked up to it and kept my mouth shut.)
Anyway... the point of this truly random rant is to (have an overdue blog entry and) tell you that...
We're MOVED!!!!
It's a bit incomplete.... I don't have my sign up yet. And there's a ton of stuff at the old space. And it's a effing mess. And nothing is where it should be yet.
Did you happen to witness our last move? We did it in a week! And I swore I'd never do anything like that again.
Well... when you're a single dad running a bike shop in the middle of the busy season and doing the upfit of the new space entirely by your self.... you do what you can. And I'm pretty damned pleased with what I've done with the time and resources at my disposal...I'll be honest.
So..... as of tomorrow, we are operating completely out of the new space. It's pretty damn exciting.
Soon enough we'll be doing a soiree to celebrate the move... bike ride, party and yard sale.
Keep on (R)EVOLVING, cogs!

Your good friend and best man at your 2nd wedding...

Watts

Rise Above......

2011-02-03T18:37:00.000-08:00

On our local ride list recently, there was a thread of much note. As Ian put it, "not since the great "carrying case debate of 2007" has there been such heated discussion on our humble forum."
It all began when someone posted that they were looking to purchase a new road bike, and asked (perhaps foolishly, as the sad fact is that such queries on forums often prove to be Pandora's Boxes) for people's recommendations on where and what to look for.
Among the first to reply was a fellow... lets call him Heywood. Heywood Jablomey (his real name! I know, right?!)... who admonished said inquirer thusly:
"Before you spend 2500+ for an all CF bike at a local dealership...you may want to check out http://www.clownpenis.fart/ (THE actual site he referenced!... I know, right?!)
Evaluate all the pro's and con's of purchasing on-line versus local....$$$."

(blogger's depiction of Heywood)

To which there was a slurry of response... the majority of which was not favorable to such advice.
Here's an anonymous cross section:

"It’s NOT EXCLUSIVELY about $$$. It’s about a local that will help you! Knowledgeable, available, VALUABLE!!! If they are to take care of you, they have to make a living, as well.
But clearly, it is a personal decision.
All the Best in 2011!"

"What EVER you do, please support one of the locally owned bike shops (not a chain store) in the area. They can guide you to the right bike for you and your pocketbook."

"I disagree. Just use a local shop. Local shops can fit you properly, will assemble the bike correctly (you have to assemble the bikes from http://www.clownpenis.fart/), and local shops are owned by people in your community. Many of them are integral to bicycle advocacy in your state and city so they help make possible many of the riding opportunities and events that we all enjoy.
If you do go online for your bike, make sure that you thoroughly check them out. For instance, Motorbeercan (one of the clownpenis brands) has a one year warranty on their carbon frames. That doesn't show much confidence in the product that they are manufacturing. And where do you take them in the event that you do have a sizing, component, or frame problem?
I short, establish a relationship with your local shop of choice, buy a reputable brand, and support your local community."

Yours truly even chimed in:
"Thank you, Klaatu, Barada and Nikto. (their real names! I know, right?!) This is something the IBD's (independent bike dealers) are fighting all of the time.
While the short term savings of buying online are appealing, there are costs involved that often negate those saving entirely.
For one thing, most of the local, independent (and even franchised and corporate) shops offer free service on any bike they sell.
If you figure a rough tune up cost of between $50 to $75 (and I mean TRUE tune ups... not once overs) then the value you receive for literally unlimited tune ups in a year can be around $500 or more.
This doesn't even count the minor adjustments that will likely occur throughout the year.
In addition there's build cost. Unless you're comfortable assembling the bike yourself (and every one of the shops here can tell you the horror stories regarding this kind of thing) than you're looking at a rough cost of $150.
If you bring in the bike you purchased online, that cost actually goes up. And here's a very important reason for that. It's not simply a sour grapes-because-you-didn't-buy-it-here-thing.
As a shop, we can vouch for the bikes we sell. We know the companies and know the product.
When we deal with online sales, we have no way of guaranteeing the quality and/or safety of the product. But the moment we touch the bike, we become liable for how it operates, while the online seller can easily shirk that responsibility by pawning it off on us.
And when something goes wrong... who's the last person to touch the bike? And who do you think is going to be held responsible?
Honestly... most of us would rather not assume that kind of risk, as it does us no good.
Also... most of us work hard to ensure you are fitted properly to your bike and offer free fitting on any bike we sell, as well as more indepth fittings to maximize performance. This kind of service typically runs from $60 to $300! depending on the scope of it.
And finally, there's the benefit of having and nurturing a relationship with your local shop. By buying through us, you keep us in business and better able to serve YOU. Which creates a symbiotic rather than adversarial relationship. In most cases if you've shown even a modicum of support to your local shop with a few purchases, small or otherwise, you are getting a very competitive price and likely a discount when and where we can give it. Seriously... None of us local boys are in the business of price gouging. It does us no good.
But the flip side of that is that if you simply want to buy online and then hold your local shop accountable for how badly your purchase operates, then the service you receive at the local shops will probably reflect that. Know what I mean?
Trust me...
Whichever local IBD you choose, there are very real and tangible benefits to supporting them. Keep that in mind and....
(R)EVOLVE!!!" (because I had to throw in our little tag line. I know.... right?!)

While a bit clunky, I only had a moment to write it as I had a premonition that this thread was quickly going to either go into moderation or be nixxed entirely. (Just call me Nostradomus.)
But it got my albeit poorly stated point across.
Things became a bit heated after that. A well known local cyclist, who is without a doubt a character in his own right, proudly so (and I don't think he would disagree), and who is relatively quiet on the forum front was rankled enough by Heywood's (if I may be so bold) assanine entreaties that he was compelled to speak up with a little quip.
"PLUS, when your crappy ole on line bike breaks down in the parking lot, just before a ride on Saturday.......... Who you gonna call?? Ghost Busters ain't answering. lol"

To which Heywood responded with the following:

"I'll just hop back in my car and go home....I am sure I'll be able to fix it without your help.
Let me ask you this question wiseguy? What are you gonna do when word spreads that your overcharging by 1000's of dollars for some ill-perceived service and quality that you preach? What are you gonna do when your little bike shop closes down?"

At which point "Wiseguy" pointedly told Heywood what he could do with and where he could put various parts of his anatomy.
At which point it got even better! But I digress....

A few items of note here....
Heywood seems to be laboring under the false impression that Wiseguy is somehow affiliated with a local shop (and when he caterwauled"...I truly to god hope this person does not work at any of the bike shops around here?" I was sorely tempted to respond that Wiseguy is, in fact, my manager. (He is not.)) No... Wiseguy is not affiliated with any of the local shops, save that he is a avid cyclist and has been active in the cycling community locally and nationally for a very long time.
Unlike Heywood.... who is a lonely... lonely man (Yes....Sheer conjecture on my part, I admit.)
Further... and in extreme need of answering is Heywood's truly bizarre and potentially poisonous insinuation that there is some conspiracy to overcharge customers by "1000's". Whether its for the "ill perceived service and quality" that I "preach" or simply so that we can make a living by pulling the wool over the eyes of the people.
Ahhh Heywood.... And to think....I would have gotten away with it if it weren't for you meddling kids!

(meddling kid)

That's right... because all of us local boys are overcharging everyone... robbing them blind.... and as a result, we all live like millionaires. I look down from my penthouse suite, laughing at the tiny human ants as they plunder along, ignorant to my nefarious machinations until.....Until the moment Heywood spoke up. And ended my reign of terror.
Or maybe... Heywood is just a misinformed idiot.
Yes... I'd wager that's a little closer to the truth. No... in fact, it IS the truth. And subsequent attempts of people much more even keeled than myself to engage him in a discussion about such opinions only galvanized this thought in all of our heads as his dialogue become positively toxic.
Honestly, I'm much to Wiseguys line of thinking, and would like to entreat Heywood to treat me and my various bits similarly.
Let me tell you like it is:
The margins on bikes is slim. And when we discount a bike by as much as 10%, its at great detriment to our margin and thus livelihood. I kid you not. If you give me $3000 for a bike.... I actually get a small fraction of that amount. And I mean small. No... smaller. Smaller. Smaller. Yep.... Crazy, huh?
This isn't the clothing industry. This isn't the food business.
And there's definitely some misleading going on... but its not by us. I'll say it again..... our margins are small. And if you actually know any of us local boys... you know we're not rolling in it. By any stretch.

To give you some idea, let me share with you the fact that I very recently had a complete existential crisis (which I cryptically alluded to on this blog) where I had to decide whether or not I wanted to continue owning a bike shop.
I'll be honest... its hard sometimes. In this economy, even more so.
And it's worn me out on a multitude of levels. In such a way that I know I've let things slide. Gotten burnt out. Gotten slack. Dropped balls. And even alienated some people I didn't want to alienate. On a personal and professional level.
I'm not happy with any of it.
So lets get busy changing some of that.
Rest easy Cogs.... We're not going anywhere.
But we've got to start doing some things differently. And as our name suggests... we're all about some Revolution!

Revolution Cycles is dead....
Long live Revolution Cycles.

Myself and my fellow local, independent shop owners are not in this game for the money. We'd like to make a living, yes, and I'd ask that you have a little perspective on what a living constitutes for alot of us. But we didn't get into it to make mad bank.
We're in it because we love bikes. And we know them. (In the biblical sense.)
So help us keep spreading the love and the gospel of the bike.
We are but humble pilgrims.

Let the Black Flag flllllyyyyyyyyyyy!!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6fUi1kFvL8g&feature=related

Jealous cowards... try to control
Rise above... we're going to rise above
They distort... what we say
Rise above... we're going to rise above
Try and stop what we do
Rise above
We're gonna rise above
When they can't do it themselves
Rise Above
We're gonna rise above
We are tired of your abuse
Try to stop us it's no use
Society's arms of control
Rise above
We're gonna rise above
Think they're smart
Can't think for themselves
Rise above
We're gonna rise above
Laugh at us
Behind our backs
Rise Above
We're gonna rise above
I find satisfaction
In what they lack
Rise Above
Were gonna rise above

(R)EVOLVE!!!

Masters 35 P(l)uss

2011-01-25T07:05:00.000-08:00

Today is my birthday. 35 years old.
A relatively non-climactic age for most of the world. Not a 30. Not a 40. Sure... there's a 5, which counts for something.
In the cycling world, however....there is a strange modicum of mystique attached to this age, as it means that I can now race the Masters 35+ category.
(Which really means that I can now get my ass handed to me by the pros warming up for their race. It's kind of liberating, really.)
On Sunday I utilized this newfound freedom and raced the 35+ category of the Final CX race here in Greensboro. Sure... if I'd raced 4, I'd could have won... but where's the fun in that? Nooooo. I kid.
Anway...
Here's Greg, Ben and I representing and looking ridiculous midfield.

(Well.... Greg and I look okay, if a wee bit jaunty in our hops. Ben couldn't have timed things better....)
I've got alot to do over the next week. This birthday is a real milemarker in alot of ways.
With decisions to be made about what I want to do with what I've got.
They're going to suck. (don't they always?)
And regardless of what they are... they'll probably be wrong. (aren't they always?)
So let's get busy making some bad decisions.
Get busy living... or get busy dying, right?

(R)EVOLVE!!!

Hey 2010!... I hope you CHOKE!!!

2011-01-09T18:20:00.000-08:00

(just kidding... No. But really.... I hope you do.)

Q:What good's a fricking blog if you don't use it?
A: I... uh.... that is... well.... ummm.... You're Fat!

2010 was an intense year. Across the board.
On the personal side, things transpired that still make me reel. A year of intense change and transition. I've never laughed or cried more.
On the business side, it was a strange combination of massive successes and massive struggles.
Alot happened... The addition of Cannondale and Santa Cruz to our lines.... Record sales one week..... Record lows the next.... The moving on of some employees..... the influx of new ones..... Revelations about peoples true loyalties and worth (not much, it turns out).
It's hard to look back and determine what I really think. Even though it was a better year in alot of ways.... overall, my impression is a negative one, and my inclination is to give the passing year a very big middle finger.
Maybe even spit at it or hurl a little fecal matter its way.
But its gone, right? And whatever successes or failures, alliances and backstabbings, trysts and fistfights occurred and set the tone....They're done. And we move on, hopefully building on what the right things and changing the wrong.
What's the definition of insanity? Yeah Yeah... doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
And without a doubt, there was alot of that. It's funny, because the cliche goes both ways... Life can make you settle into unhealthy.... or maybe better put, unproductive.... patterns. But by the same token, it has a way of shaking up everything you start settling into.
And it did both last year.
But that's gone and my challenge to myself for the year is to move on. Just moving forward. Without forgetting anything that's happened.... but without focusing on it.... without getting stuck in loops. Breaking off and finding a way to forgive myself and others for any failures, professional and personal.
I recently asked the question of a number of my colleagues in the world of bike retail, "What's the viable model these days. With online sellers and chain stores driving stakes into the hearts of the IBD's (Independent Bike Dealers), what does it take for the independents to make it? (Without selling our souls and losing our identities).
Do we need the big brands that bring instant sales? Do we need polished floors and high ceilings? Do we need financial backing? But mostly.... what are we selling? If people can (and they will.... even your most "loyal" customer) get what you sell online or at a faceless, soulless retail outlet for less.... then what do we as shops do to combat that. Or simply survive.
And the answer, across the board, was that we don't sell brands. We sell ourselves. Brands rise and fall. Wax and wane. Its the year of the Pig. Next year its the Dragon. And standing behind companies that don't always stand behind you is a losing proposition. I've learned that the hard way.
So we sell ourselves. Because in the end, that's what we truly have to offer. Not "The Best Deals EVER!!!"
Not "The Greatest Product EVER MADE!!!! EVER!" Not "THE answer to ALL of your nutrition needs."
Just us.
So... the question is and always has been to me: What do we offer you?
I have a pretty good handle on what we do have and what we don't. Where we've kicked ass and where we've fallen short.
And with the passing of one year and the onset of the next, I get to renew vows to build on those successes and do everything we can to make sure we don't fall short.
In one effort to shake things up for the new year, I borrowed from a friend, the nuttiness known as P90X.
It's... interesting. I've never been as sore in my life.
But apparently to make it work, as I'm admonished by the instructor.... I have to "BRING IT!" Or something along those lines.
And in case you were wondering....It's brought.

(R)EVOLVE!

Watts

Wilderness 101 "Race" Report: Meltdown on Planet Kroyle

2010-08-17T04:31:00.000-07:00

Greg Bell and I recently headed north up to Coburn, PA for our annual riding of the Wilderness 101, a 101 mile epic in the mountains of central PA. I have a true love/hate relationship with this event and it has quickly become a integral part of every year.

My first: I rode off a narrow bridge and cracked my shin open. I could see bone. This was at mile 20 or so. I stopped at every aid station from that point on for at least 20 minutes to clean the wound and to change out the blood soaked bandages. To say that I was unhappy with where I finished would be an understatement.
My most recent: After a successful run and growing comfort with the course and it's many many challenges... A series of unfortunate flats forced me to walk for at least a half hour. In addition to at least 15 minutes of cursing and searching for the defective C02 inflator head that I'd thrown into the forest in frustration. (Which was a complete waste of time as it truly was defective.)
There was a slight breach of protocol this year, as Greg's wife joined us for the trip. (Dude!) Of course, Greg's wife is one of the sponsors of Team Revolution, so what you can do? And then there's the fact that she covered my pre-race meal, stitched me a kick ass hanky, and worked it at the aid stations. So... new protocol. Wives and significant others are allowed.

I wasn't left high and dry however, as super-kick-ass-ex-employee-and-good-friend Hannah Banana came up to hang out. Hannah also worked the aid stations and was instrumental in getting my sorry ass back on the bike after a demoralizing hike a bike.

The start was fast.... I couldn't find Greg, but figured we'd meet up somewhere out there. Turns out he was in front of me for the roll out, then got stuck on the slow train while I was working to stay on the express.
The key is a good start. You can make up gobs of time just by working to stay with the train. Once you fall off... you're off. It's impossible to maintain that kind of speed on a singlespeed.
I managed to stay with the first group... even over 3 Bridges... the site of my first time mishap. It's a series of 3 narrow bridges separated by gnarly babyhead rock gardens. I'll be honest.... I don't ride it. After trying the first year and failing, I do a cyclocross dismount and run them. Greg Bell rode the damned thing. I LOATHE him. But I didn't fall and managed to stay pretty close to the group... Until Croyle, that is.

Damned Croyle.I hate this trail. There's nothing I could possibly ride in our neck of the woods to prepare for it. Steep and technical. It makes me feel like a novice. Especially when I'm barely in control, marvelling at my speed and am still getting passed by local boys like I'm standing still. It's one of those descents where you literally can't wait for it to end. You can smell your brakes glazing over. I was doing pretty well, honestly, when I noticed the front flat. "D***it!" A quick change and I was on my way. Maybe 4 minutes? Meanwhile literally scores of riders had passed me. I roll out and start bombin the hill again. You can very clearly make out the path of the trail, but due to the brush on either side, can see only the most defined of details. I clearly missed a detail and was launched bodily into the woods. I'm going to hazard a guess and say.... ROCK! I launch maybe 5 feet into thicket. No biggie. Happens all the time. I grabbed the bike got back on course and started.... "DAMNIT!" Another flat. Likely caused by a sharp branch. As I reach back for the 2nd tube, I find that, like my fillings, it has shaken loose on the trail somewhere. At this point I start shaking my fist at the sky cursing ALL of the gods. As the riders fly by, in an excersie in futility, I ask each of them for a pump. The most common response was "What?!" as they kept rolling. "Eat s*** and die, that's what" I mumble. As I'm sitting there wondering what my next move is, Greg rolls up. He kindly gives me a tube as well as some of his C02 cartridges. Then rolls on. At this point I determine that my inflator head is defective. It keeps blowing the seal out, which means that there's nothing to bite on the valve. I'm just spraying C02 around the general direction of the valve. And since I have maybe 10 psi, I can't even pretend to ride . So... I shoulder the bike and start running, having to get out of the way every 30 seconds to let riders by.
WHen I finally hit the bottom... 20 minutes later, I'm still 10 miles from the closest aid station. So... I keep walking. Finally I borrow a pump from a rider just as frustrated as me with his race (he'd flatted twice and wrecked once) and I'm rolling. But I'm not in a good place.
I'm bummed.
It's been a hard week. A hard year, in fact. Personally... professionally....
There hasn't been very much going well for me, honestly, and there are few things that I feel like I'm truly good at. Riding a bike is one of them. I don't screw that up. Or at least I'm less likely to screw that up.
And here I am, with ONE MORE thing in my life going badly.
It led to a total psychological downward sprial. I thought of my son. How much I miss him when he's not with me. I thought of all of the things I've done wrong in my life. All of the things I continue to do wrong. And I thought of how bad I felt physically and mentally.
And by the time I hit the aid station, I was ready to quit.
Enter Hannah.
Hannah greeted me with her wonderful smile.
"What do you need?"
A gun.
"Okay.... But besides that, what do you need?"
After alot of pouting and sitting there resignedly (in poison ivy, Hannah cheerfully pointed out) Hannah told me to get my ass back on the damned bike. She gave me a bunch of swedish fish, filled my bottles and gave me a swift kick to the arse.
"Go!"
Like a pouting child, I did. Throwing it around and stomping my foot... trying to show her that I'd DO it, but wasn't happy about it.
Immediately following this aid station is the one hill that I cannot successfully climb on my single speed. Sassafrass is a hike a bike, even for a number of the geared riders. So I walked. My friend Jimbo, who is THE rep for Genuine Innovations kindly gave me a functioning C02 inflator and we walked together for a while. Jimbo, I might also add, once came to my house and threatened, very empathetically, to take me to the hospital if I didn't pull my s*** together. This following a particularly bad episode in my life involving crushing depression and alot of my own blood. The scars have healed. Funny the scars that disappear and the ones that stay.

As we walked, I felt better and better and picked up my pace. By the time I hit the top, I was feeling really good. I got on the bike and took off.
When I rolled into the aid station, Santiya came up and asked what I needed. She filled my bottles and gave me encouraging words. When she asked how I felt, I believe these were my nonverbal responses:

But honestly... I was feeling better every second. I asked how far ahead of me Greg was. 15 - 20 minutes? I believe he was in a similar state to me:

Rolling out of the aid station, you begin yet another epic climb... this one possibly the most challenging. The terrain is fairly loose and it just keeps going. Greg truly despises this section, but I don't mind it as much. I'd rather climb this 3 times than descend Croyle once.

As I kept climbing and picking off riders, I saw a familiar kit ahead. Amazing! I'd caught Greg. He was doing pretty badly. He was having a hard time eating, which wasn't exacly helping his stamina. From that point in, we rode together, just crusing the rest of the course. At one point, as we descended yet another rock infested trail, I heard Greg let loose the longest string of expletives I've ever encountered. All held together with the anchor word "ROCKS." I knew what he meant.

We rolled to the road and knew we were there.... very happy and content to have finished in one piece.

Then Greg outsprinted me to the line.

The jerk.

As always, post "race" recovery is fueled by the local microbrewery. The campground becomes a bachanal with the perfect backdrop of the PA mountains. This is truly one of my favorite events on the planet, regardless of how I finish and what happens on the course. I'll be back next year.

A special shout out to Chris who puts on the race with Shenedoah Mtn Touring, and to Freeze Thaw Cycles in State College, PA. They are everything a bike shop SHOULD be and everything I wish mine WAS. If you are ever there, visit them.

Also to this guy... who kicked our a**es. Big time. Matt Ferrari, rocking Freeze Thaw's awesome duds.

And a shout out to Hannah, for setting me straight and being a generally awesome girl. When you coming back to work for us?

Monologue About Stuff

2010-06-16T06:54:00.000-07:00

OH MY GAWD!!! A blog entry!!!
I know... I know....
Can I say I've been busy? Soooo busy? I have. But come on... how long does it take to spew useless tripe out of your.... mouth? Hands? Heat oppressed brain?
And it is heat oppressed. Two Saturdays ago, I rode with Neil, Eric, Larry Awesome, Alex, Gary, and Brian up to the Virginia line. I'd taken an unofficial hiatus from riding for a month (see.... busy!) and decided the way back on would be a 110 mile epic. In 95 degree heat. (Good thinking, Watts!) I believe that we each dumped at least two gallons of ice-cold "Deer Park" water on our heads at various stops, and in a very whiney fashion, I demanded at least two more stops at church spigots. All in all, I did pretty well considering. And I was tired the next day, but that's about it. I'll tell you the key. After a long summer ride, fill the bath with cold water and whatever ice is in your freezer. It sucks getting in, but helps to lower your core body temp, and speeds recovery tremendously.
To follow it up, I decided to ride 75 miles back to back on two other heated days. On both days, I drank 7 water bottles and wore 6. I don't know if riding around midday on "heat advisory" days is "advisable", but you do what you gotta do.
I hope that other folks are having good riding season and are getting out. It's El Nino this year and a little wetter than we've had in a while. Personally... I love it. Bout time. Just make sure you're riding safe. I can't stress drinking enough... um.... enough. Being in the south we have a veritable cornicopia of churches on any of our bike routes. They always have spigots. Don't feel bad about using them. Or about stopping for a second to refill and cool down. As much as we may fool ourselves, we're not champs. We've got nothing to lose from taking a break, and nothing to gain from pushing almost dying of heat stroke. What? Is Team Dingus going to pull your sponsorship because you didn't win the Group Ride?

See how easy that was? I spewed a bunch of meaningless doody and now have a blog post. Look for more!!!!
Hmmm... I guess the shop blog should really be used to promote shop stuff. Okay. I'll do that sometime. I'm not really a big self promoter. And half the time I'm so cynical that any kind of promotion strikes me as silly.
"Hey y'all. We're doing a sale on the best floor pump in the world! It will literally BLOW YOUR MIND!!! Get it now, only at REVOLUTION CYCLES,NC the best bike shop in the world! No... in the UNIVERSE!!!"
Just more proof that I'm not necessarily a bid'ness man. Just a dude who likes bikes and bike culture. I like talking to people about them. I like riding them. (I REALLY like riding them.) And yeah...Selling them is good too as it has the potential to pay the bills (and I desperately need to pay those damn things... so uh... Come by a bike. Or something. NO really.) Although... I'm getting better. Still trying not to succumb to some of the more ridiculous forms of promotion....The ones that make me dislike retail.... but there are ways to promote without being a dingus.
Okay. I'll stop while I'm ahead.
Look for more amazing monologues on all sorts of incredibly important topics soon!!
(R)EVOLVE!

Blogification

2010-03-28T13:44:00.000-07:00

New blog updates beginning soon...stay tuned!