The heat was incredibly oppressive.  A mirage was shimmering just ahead on the road.  I had broken from the field three laps earlier with more than half of the race in front of me.  A train of chasers had formed in pursuit but my lap splits from the announcer indicated that I was gaining time-just seconds really-with every lap.  I had risked it all in this attack.  I had put it all on the line.  No one expected me to stay away.  That’s how I escaped in the first place. It’s a simple formula.  Attack once and let yourself get caught by the field.  Attack again, get caught by a small group.  Attack a third time, get away.  The downside is that you can only do this series once, from the front of the field and if it doesn’t work-and it usually doesn’t-you’re left watching the race from the rear, or worse, the sidewalk.  

Was today to be my day?  I was hoping it was as I pushed an impossible gear, bouncing on my saddle, chest bursting from the pressure.  I wasn’t sure what my speed was or how many laps were left.  It didn’t matter.  I couldn’t go any faster. My arms were aching as much as my legs from leveraging them against the bars.  I spat out the metallic taste of blood in my mouth as I rounded one of the corners alone, hunted.  I was hoping that I could just hang on when I saw the back of the field just ahead and a smile swept across my face.        

This is how I train.  This is what I think about.  This is what hope means to me. It’s a powerful emotion that requires complete, unflinching commitment.  It’s the uncompromising sense that what we do now, how we train today, results in extraordinary performances tomorrow.  It’s looking forward and seeing beyond yourself in the mirror.   As the new year arrives on a carbon-fiber frame and silk tubulars, let’s applaud and thank our financial partners; Bikesmiths, Oliver Winery, Royal Toyota, FedEx and BikeMine.  They are hope for us.  Because of their generosity, we have our team jerseys and discounts on equipment and our own race.  We are the team we aspire to be.  Why do they do this year after year?  Is it good for business?  Does it help their bottom line?  Probably not much.  They support us because of what we represent to them.  Dedication and perseverance in a competitive environment.  A deep commitment to a purpose and a focus on performance.  We become more than a cycling team when we commit to excellence.  We become the mirror that our sponsors and, to a larger degree, our community, look into. Visit our financial partners.  Support them.  Tell your friends about them.  Tell them how much it means to you that they care enough to help us.  They are hope for us.  We are hope for them.  It’s a delicate balance that we must earn every day. Tom

I left the office with the same sort of anticipation that I do every Wednesday.  It matters not that it is the middle of Winter.    The ritual doesn’t vary much and the day accelerates as 5 p.m. draws closer.  Tonight I was greeted by calm air and a warmish 39 degrees.  A setting sun forced long shadows from the fir trees lining the parking lot as I trotted to my car.  I was dressed and wired for lights in no time, clipped in and descending through the golf course anticipating the ride.  It was colder than I thought as I picked up speed on the descent.  My teeth hurt from the wind chill and my eyes watered.  I blinked hard to clear them.  I was hoping for some companions but was bracing for a solo effort tonight as I traversed lower Cascades.

I had some time to think as I warmed up and decompressed from the work day.  I remember thinking how lucky I was and how much I have to be thankful for.  My family and friends, good health, fulfilling employment.  A chance to make a difference.   A lot of things I sometimes, selfishly take for granted.  I was grateful to have the capacity to endure a ride like this.

At 5:45 I turned one last time at the Southern end of Cascades and headed out on my own.  Through the light, up Audubon and North on Old 37.  It was dark now as came up to Bethel Lane.  I could turn here and stay close to home – the smart thing to do-or, I could continue North, every pedal stroke taking me further from my origin.  I thought of the early explorers and how they must have felt as they lost sight of land for the first time.  I put my head down, shifted in the large chain ring and descended toward the forest.   A waxing moon was off my right shoulder just a couple of clicks and rising as it followed me on this familiar course.

I turned down Anderson and headed for Bean blossom.  It was completely dark now save for a red tinge in the Western sky and my light traced the rhythmic sway of my bike on the road ahead of me as I turned a gear slightly larger than I should be in December.  I was in the drops and my head was down, but I was looking forward with my head nearly motionless.   I remember sub-consciously counting pedal strokes and focusing on my breathing, three revolutions to one breath.  It became trance-like through the flat farmland.  I couldn’t see my speed readout but I reckoned I was doing about 27 mph.  And then it happened.  The perfect ride.  That moment where power and speed and cadence and breath and life all intersect for one brief, magical moment.   I wasn’t riding any longer. I was flying.  The small banks of snow illuminated on the shoulder passing like a picket fence, the curve of the road smoothed out before me, the farmland a blur in the shadows.  I felt the goosebumps raise down the back of my neck.   Maybe it was the darkness all around or the tunnel-vision, or lack of oxygen and food that brought this on.  Nothing mattered at that moment.   At the turn I paused, never stopping but listening to the intense quiet all around.   I took a deep breath and headed for home.   I couldn’t recapture the feeling on the way back, but I kept trying anyway.

Tom

I had “one of those days” at the office today so I was glad to check out a little early by saving 15 minutes from lunch and using it at day’s end.  It’s not a requirement in my job but it makes me feel good about the hasty exit, and good karma is hard to find these days so I take it when I can. The sun was still up as I gathered my things and headed for the door. I was greeted by a a snap of cold air and within a few steps had sized up the temperature (high 40s), wind direction (SSW 4-9) and potential for inclement weather (nil).  I met big Bruce Miller at Bloomington North High School just after 5PM.   We were suited up and on the bikes in 10 minutes, easing down through the golf course to lower Cascades.  Our warm-up consisted of several out-and-backs on Cascades waiting for ‘the group’ to connect with us from Sample Gates.  We expected them to arrive at 5:40. As dusk drifted into night we turned on our lights.  Bruce didn’t know it, but I was sizing him up at the time with small accelerations and some minor half-wheeling, just to see what I was in for tonight.  He was equal to the task and responded effortlessly to my lumbering cadence.  We were soon met by a light coming toward us.  It was Myron Lewis.  We headed north on Cascades to old 37.  We had a chatty ride through Audubon, catching-up, politely pointing out pot holes and alerting to traffic, etc.  This is great, I thought.  Just what I was hoping for.  It was a beautiful night, with the stars just making themselves known.  I imagined that I was navigating at sea, choosing my direction based on Orion’s place in the sky, Mars prominent in the West.  My friends had different, less celestial  plans, however and I was soon pulled unceremoniously from my dreaming.  I’ve said this before, cycling at night has a different feel to it.  Distances are more difficult to judge, speed and topography are three-dimensional, road vibration translates into a sense of where you are and comes from areas of the brain once reserved for prehistoric survival.  I was third in line as we hurtled down Anderson toward Beanblossom.  We had all taken a few pulls and I was clearly the weaker of the three and knew that I would soon be mercifully selected out if this kept up.  I couldn’t see my computer in the dark but was counting pedal strokes to take my mind off of the pain.  Bruce was setting a ferocious pace and trading off with Myron for monster pulls at scary-fast speeds, both showing great form and depth for late-November.   I was realizing-like I do every year about this time-that excelling in this sport requires dedication and discipline-year around.  It would be very easy to rest on our laurels from a great season and bask in the glow of those memories we’ve made.  But we’ll have plenty of time for reflection years from now.  When we look back on these days (and nights) make sure that you can say that you gave it your all and left nothing on the table. Train with a purpose and don’t settle for mediocrity.  2008 is only a heartbeat on these dark roads away. I was grateful when we turned for home at the base of Beanblossom.  I knew that it wouldn’t be long before we were racing on these roads again in earnest.

Tom