This Too Shall Pass
This song makes me happy:
OK Go - This Too Shall Pass from OK Go on Vimeo.
Thanks to Swifty McSnarkypants for the link.
Hans Voldengen, 1944 - 2010
On February 21, 1944, the Norse Gods belched from their collective gullet a man of unfathomable fortitude. He was given the name Hans, a fitting name for one as tenacious as he. Hans had a rough start, yet blossomed into the most wonderful man you can imagine.
Born in Oslo, Norway, Hans came to America when he was only 8 years old. Alone. On a boat. He was reportedly seasick for the entire trip. The only English he knew was what he learned on that boat, a limited vocabulary of Yes, No, and many choice four letter words. He was reunited with his mother, who had married an Italian man named Gaiotti, and grew up on a Vermont dairy farm.
Not speaking English, his early education in a small town, one classroom school did not go smoothly. He would often leave in frustration, following the railroad tracks home until he found his family's farm. But school got better. He started kindergarten at age 8, which means he was 17 as a freshman on the high school basketball team. And when most boys where coming of age to drive, Hans was the first guy in school that could buy booze. He was popular, to say the least.
Home life was rough for Hans, and at age 11 he came to the realization that if anyone was going to take care of him, he'd have to do it himself. He got a job at a golf course (that's right, at age 11), where he stayed employed until the age of 26. He eventually became a master caddy, earning as much as $100 per round from the rich golfers who played at his course. His childhood employment enabled him to buy his own clothes, school supplies and comforts. From the beginning, he had a strong work ethic. Hans did things right.
He went to college, earning a degree in business administration, with a minor in accounting and language arts from Nathaniel Hawthorne College. He finished school early, cramming in 21 credits per term, and got a job at a Vermont ski resort. The skiing was great. He was good with the kids, helping them on the chair lifts and rope tow. Now a very handsome man, he was also good with the ladies.
1967, Hampton Manner, located right on the border between Vermont and New York State. Popular with the college kids because of the lower drinking age in Vermont. Here, Hans met the love of his life, Linda Brock. Instantly infatuated with each other, they soon fell deeply in love. Linda possessed stunning Italian beauty, and had a very Italian father. When Hans would bring her home from a date, her father was sure to blink the porch lights, cutting short the goodbye kiss. But even his trigger-happy light-switch finger could not dampen his daughter's love, and Hans and Linda were married in 1969.
Hans sought work as a salesman. He sold things. Insurance, books, you name it. It was not easy work, and often frustrating, but he worked hard and eventually landed a job at International Harvester, an agricultural equipment company. His first-hand knowledge of farming helped him relate to his customers and understand his company's products. He was successful.
In 1971, Hans and Linda had their first child and only son, Erik. Kristen came next a few years later. Hans was a loving father, but his job required a lot of travel, and he didn't see his kids as much as he wanted. He considered seeking work as a high school teacher, but was turned down by the principal who said he was too handsome and would cause trouble with the girls. Really. With that, he continued his work as a sales representative, partnering with Linda, a school teacher herself, to look after the kids while he was away.
His sales territory vast, Hans did a lot of driving. Every car he owned was equipped with a CB radio. He went by the handle Grumpy, while Linda was known as Snow White. He had an amazing sense of direction, and his 20/10 vision could find any place he'd previously visited, no matter how long ago. He didn't remember street names, nor could he recite directions. He just knew where he was, and where he was going.
When there was driving to be done, he did it in bulk. 700 mile days were not uncommon, much to the chagrin of his family on long summer vacations. Rest stops were frowned upon, and timed to coincide with refueling. He'd go even longer when he was driving alone, and faster, too. The total number of speeding tickets he received in his lifetime is unknown, but he almost always had at least one showing up on his driving record. Do the math; that's a lot of tickets.
Hans always wanted a Corvette, but since this was not the ideal family car, he never got one. However, he was notorious for secretly altering his vehicles to enhance their performance. It's amazing what sway bars, sport suspension and low profile wheels can do for a minivan's performance. The new exhaust system and "power chip" in his 454 equipped pickup truck was damn near frightening. He loved to drive, and drive fast, no doubt fueled by his amateur stock car racing days. He wore driving gloves. Often.
He continued to work hard, but always insisted on doing things his way. He was wonderfully stubborn and free spirited, as illustrated by this story of just another day at the office:
Hans was to attend a trade show for his company, and as part of a marketing effort, he was to wear a special hat. He hated this hat. His boss wanted him looking sharp, so he ordered him to go get a haircut, and report back before leaving for the show. In classic Hans style, he went the the Double Thes salon, and got the biggest, poofiest perm imaginable. With a confident, hair-bouncing strut, he reported back to his boss, where he explained the situation: So big was his newly acquired afro, the cheesy hat would no longer fit on his head, and he would not be wearing it. His boss, wide mouthed in disbelief, simply said "I'd fire your ass if I didn't like you so much." Mission accomplished. And it was groovy.
His job led to many transfers, and the family moved to a new state quite often. From New York, they trekked to Pennsylvania, Missouri, Utah, and Minnesota. Here in the land of 10,000 lakes, Hans and Linda were blessed with the best two-for-one deal ever: Twins. Amy and Carrie were born in 1983. Now a family of six, Hans was once again transferred, this time to Oregon.
Hans liked Oregon. The whole family did. With both mountains and the ocean just a couple hours away, it had it all. And the heavy rains were a welcome change from the heavy snows of Minnesota. When his company again called with a transfer notice, Hans had to decline. His change in work now kept him closer to home, and he felt he was given a second chance at experiencing fatherhood with the twins.
He became an avid runner, participating in about 10 Hood to Coast events. He always loved to snorkle, and could stay under water for a remarkably long time between breaths. He was in great shape, which made it all the more surprising when he had a heart attack at age 54. He made a full recovery, however, and stayed very active. While he did make several lifestyle and dietary changes (mostly thanks to his loving wife), Hans never compromised his stubborn will to revel as he saw fit. His family's mild frustration was dwarfed by their admiration of his spirit.
Time went on, the twins grew up, and Erik and Kristen both married and had children, giving Hans a nice collection of four grandchildren. He loved them dearly, and they melted his heart. His grandchildren worshiped him, their almighty smiling blue-eyed Nordic giant, Grampa V. It suited him well.
As the nest emptied, the house was too still for his taste, and dogs were added to the family. Hans loved dogs, and they somehow completed him in a way that is hard to describe. He loved them, and in doing so, learned to express love more openly with the world.
He started a small business in 1999 with Linda. Night and day, they were together. Through good and bad times, their love for each other grew even stronger. They were best friends, with a common vision of retiring and growing old in each other's arms on the Oregon Coast.
In 2008, they purchased their dream house in Depot Bay, Oregon. They worked hard on the home, pushing their bodies until they hurt all over. But they didn't care, as the end goal was finally at hand. In 2010, with Hans turning 66 in February and collecting retirement, they planned to slow down and enjoy their ocean home.
Tragically, Hans passed away on the first day of 2010.
He is survived by his loving family, who are all in shock at his abrupt departure from this world. They will never forget the wonderful man he was, and the love he had for them. They won't forget his unique sense of humor and his limitless generosity. They loved him for who he was, and everything about him.
They loved him unconditionally, despite the irks throughout their life together. They reluctantly accepted his relentless display of underwear around the house. The extended solitaire games in the bathroom (which grew more hi-tech with the introduction of the laptop computer). His high-pitched banshee scream that would induce a barking frenzy from any dog within 300 feet. His ridiculous family domination of Parcheesi and Monopoly. His puzzling obsession with Rush Limbaugh. All part of him, part of the man they loved.
Everyone has a happy place. For Hans, it was sitting on his ocean view deck, smoking a cigar, a glass of chardonnay in hand and a dog at his feet. I suspect that's what he's doing right now: Relaxing, smiling, watching over an ocean of friends and family, you and me. Rest in peace, Hans Voldengen. Rest in peace.
If you didn't see them before, here's the details on the Funeral Arrangements.
Hans Voldengen Funeral Arrangements
On January 1st at about 3:30am, my father, Hans Voldengen, passed away in his sleep. This was most likely a complication of a medical procedure he had two days earlier. Since he only spent a single night in the hospital, we assumed he was okay, and good to go for a very long time.
We are deeply saddened by his abrupt departure. He is survived by his loving wife of 40 years, Linda, and his four children, all of whom have been together supporting each other since the tragedy occurred.
Services will take place on Friday, January 8th:
10:00am - 11:00am: Open casket viewing available, early seating
11:00am - 12:00pm: Funeral Service
12:00pm - 1:30pm: Post-service reception
A few notes:
- Everyone is welcome!
- Viewing is obviously not required, but do come if you'd like
- The eulogy will be brief and limited, without an open mic. We will use the reception for this, instead.
Location: Services will take place at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton. Here's a map.
Thank you for all the support. We appreciate your thoughts, prayers and smiles.
Beach Walk
One of my favorite photographs of all time, my father and daughter walking on the beach:
Stay Awake
Dad, can you please sing us Stay Awake?
Stay Awake. It's a song from Marry Poppins, actually. I've sang it to my daughters at bedtime since they were babies, and it always makes me tear up. As the words relax them to sleep, I'm overcome with joy in having such wonderful children.
So how am I possibly going to get through singing this song to them tonight without loosing it? It's midnight, and it's been a very long day. They need to relax, to know their dad is okay so they can sleep. I am certainly not okay.
My New Year's day started with a 5:30am wakeup call:
Erik, I've lost Daddy. I woke up and his hand was cold. I tried CPR but he's not coming back.
We thought he was free and clear after his heart surgery to repair an aneurism. They discharged him yesterday, and everything was said to go well. He only had to stay one night in the hospital. How could this be happening?
I called my sisters while driving 80 miles per hour down 185th towards my parents house. Nobody is on the road at 5:30am on New Years day.
I've got to keep it together for my family. Everyone is overcome with grief. Someone needs to keep it together.
Like I said, it's been a long day.
So here it is, midnight, and my girls are so sad they lost their Grampa V. I've got to pull it together for them. I can't leave them here in their beds alone with their grief.
I grabbed a pair of swim goggles and squeeze them on my face. The girls laugh. Whenever you're about to start crying, you can interrupt it with a laugh, and it actually works! I invite the girls to sing along with me as I sing all our classic bedtime favorites. Kermit the Frog's Rainbow Connection and It's not Easy Being Green start things out. Then a few old Raffi songs. Then There's a Hole in the Bottom of the Sea. I remember all the words to the song requests, no matter how obscure. We get into a full-on sing-along at the top of our lungs.
Then it's time for one last song, something to close the deal and put my girls to sleep. They close their eyes, and I take a deep breath. Be brave.
Stay awake, don't rest your head
Don't lie down upon your bed
While the moon drifts in the skies
Stay awake, don't close your eyes
Though the world is fast asleep
Though your pillow's soft and deep
You're not sleepy as you seem
Stay awake, don't nod and dream
Stay awake, don't nod and dream
I nailed it. The kids day is finally over, and they can sleep knowing their Dad is okay. They know he's here, he's healthy, and he loves them dearly.
I'm not going anywhere, my loves.
Notes from Nats
I can't promise any entertainment value from them, but I kept notes on my weekend:
Friday, 4:29am: Huh...I'm awake. Body is tired but my head won't go to sleep. Got up and did a bunch of work. Needs to get done anyway, since I'm leaving for Bend at 10:00.
7:30am: Work nearly done, pause and get kids up for school. So cute when they're sleeping. I am going to miss them while I'm gone for the weekend.
7:45am: Kids happily eating breakfast while I make their lunch for the day. I remind them (with a very positive tone) that I'll be leaving while they're at school and be home Sunday at lunch time. Mette starts to cry, and comes over to give me a hug. Ouch.
8:30am: Walked girls to school. Hugs and kisses. I get all choked up as I see a little body walk away from me into the school. I know I'm only gone for the weekend, but I will miss them.
9:00am: Pack my bags. I actually prepared for this yesterday, so it was easy.
9:30am: Time to load up the bikes. Hmmm, bike 'A' is still dirty from USGP last week, and it's a lot more dirty than I thought it was. I've been waiting for a non-freezing day to wash it, but the weather has stayed cold all week. I scrub the PIR crust off with warm water and load it on the car. Glad bike 'B' is clean.
10:00am: Gather race wheels...hmmm, I ruined my tubeless rear wheel at Barton a few weeks ago, and I've been too busy to build a replacement. All the photos from Bend are showing a hard, bumpy, icy course, so I would rather not ride clinchers. What to do? My tubular wheels need to be reglued, so they're out. The race wheel is missing a spoke - nipple pulled clear through the rim so there's no replacing it. I wonder...what if I trued my race wheel up with 31 spokes? Would it hold for 45 minutes? I'll try it. I'll pre-ride the course this evening and only ride it on race day if it's completely true after I put it through its paces. I pack a clincher along for backup.
11:00am: Wheel ready to go, everything is packed. A couple "urgent" work matters present themselves, so I'm delayed a little longer.
12:00pm: I'm off for Bend! Pick up Hugh and Monty and we're on our way.
1:00pm: I remind my travel companions we will not be stopping for chicken nuggets.
1:30pm: I remind my travel companions we will not be stopping for chicken nuggets.
2:00pm: I remind my travel companions we will not be stopping for chicken nuggets.
2:30pm: I remind my travel companions we will not be stopping for chicken nuggets. It never gets old! For me.
3:30pm: Arrive at Richard's house (thanks Richard). Nice setup. We unpack and I get dressed for the race course.
4:00pm: Course pre-ride. 31 spoke race wheel performs just fine. Good thing, too, because I want to ride tubeless in all this ice. There is some tricky stuff out here on the icy course. I ride and re-ride a few sections to get it figured out.
4:45pm: After about four laps, the rear wheel spontaneously snaps and fails into an all too familiar taco shape. Of course it did, what was I thinking? I'm done with my course preview. It's dark, anyway, and I can't see where I'm going anymore.
6:00pm: Quick trip to the house, change into normal clothes and put the bikes away. We go to downtown Bend and have some sweet Thai food (green curry!), check out the Vanilla bikes on display at a coffee bar and the PDXcross photos at TBD. Nice night.
10:00pm: Ready for an early night, gotta get some sleep for tomorrow's race. But then there's an "emergency" from a client of mine and requires my help. All I have with me is a cell phone, so all I can do is walk this person through fixing a SQL Server database problem.
11:30pm: Still getting calls. I am less than pleased.
12:00am: Going to bed, head spinning. Big day tomorrow.
Saturday, 4:29am: I'm wide awake. Again! I lay in bed wondering why this has happened two days in a row. I do the math, trying to solve an unsolvable algorithm.
7:00am: Hey...4-29 is my birthday. Coincidence? Having solved the equation, I get up for some breakfast. Groggy.
10:00am: Off to the race course to pick up my number. Sign in went smoothly. Number 853. Kind of cool how the last two digits add up to equal the first. Right? I think I'm a nerd.
10:30am: Pin numbers on the skinsuit. I hate pinning numbers, especially these damn sleeve numbers. You know how a girl scout troop or some kids could make a butt-load of money at a race like this? Set up a number pinning tent. $5 to pin your numbers on. They would make a killing.
11:00am: Dressed is warm-up clothes, take bike 'B' to the pit. I hope I don't need to use it.
11:40am: Course looks open. Yup, people are riding. I pre-ride the course for one hour and fifteen minutes. The more nervous I get, the more laps I do. That was a little too much.
1:00pm: Change into dry shoes and get on the rollers to warm up for my 2:00 race. I am already warm. Actually, I am kind of tired from all those pre-ride laps. I forced myself to do some high RPM spin intervals to get the legs moving again, but I feel all rubbery and flat.
1:45pm: Time to head down to the course. I do some quick practice starts and I'm happy to be feeling snappy again.
1:55pm: Staging for the big race. I'm sitting in about the middle of a pack of 140 guys. I line up on the right side. The first turn into a narrow slippery hill is a left-hander. Some dufus (probably several, actually) will squeeze in to the left side and cause a crash on that turn. If I'm on the right side, maybe I can get through it.
2:02pm: The gun goes off. We're sprinting down the road. I'm waiting for the crash, ready to hopefully stay upright and get around it. Come around that left-hander and there we go: People on the ground, all I can do is put a foot down and scoot up the hill. Three people run into me at speed. I guess it's easier than using your brakes.
2:03pm: Thankfully, I made it through the first few turns without a crash, and without a bike problem. It's race time!
2:04pm: I am going backwards. Damn it. People passing me left and right. Dig a little harder, dude.
2:05pm: Onto the grassy part of the course. People falling all over the place. I avoid them and pass a few guys who are apparently stronger than their technical skills allow for. I bet they didn't pre-ride the course for an an hour and fifteen minutes.
2:20pm: This course is hard. I knew it would be, but holy crap, I am tired. There are a few sections of the course where I just go backwards. If I were in better shape, I could maintain my position and resume my momentum in the technical grassy sections. If...but I'm not. Come on, dude. Pedal! What's wrong with you!
2:45pm: Through the finish area, the crowd goes nuts. Everyone is screaming. I am oblivious, just trying to get through the race. Just before turning off the asphalt, I look back and see the race winner about to cross the line, hands held high in the air. He's done. I'm not.
2:46pm: I am the last guy on the course right now. Everyone behind me has been pulled from the race, so I can't get passed on this last lap. There are some guys way up there ahead of me. I don't think I can catch them, but I will try.
2:50pm: I am getting close to some guys but we all know it's our last lap and are going awfully hard. I can't catch them with horsepower, maybe on the grassy stuff I can make up some ground.
2:52pm: I caught them! On the super crazy off camber downhill right before the finish. But then I mess up the turn at the bottom of the hill and they gap me again.
2:53pm: They hit the asphalt and are gone. I sprint to try to catch them, but there was no way. I cross the line and fold over.
2:55pm: Friends, warm Shimano towel, good times. Heidi gives me a beer. Perhaps the best beer I've ever tasted in my life. My season is over. I was feeling a little bummed about my race, but I'm really happy now.
3:10pm: Grab my jacket and watch the 30-34 race. Those guys are fast. Now that my race is over, I'm relaxed and really enjoying being a spectator. Talking with friends, screaming at the racers as they go through the barriers by the beer garden. This is fun.
4:00pm: Back to the car and change. It's really cold. Toes are frozen. Brrrrr.
4:30pm: Showered, feeling warm again. Now we're off to a Presto Velo party. Fun guys, and Rich Cramer has a third place medal to look at. Congrats, Rich.
9:00pm: Out to the course again to take in the Clydesdale race. I was going to do this, but I was just wiped out. Maybe next year. I can't believe how many people are out here yelling at the racers, who are wearing costumes and big head-mounted lights to see where they're going. Brad Ross comes through wearing a polka-dot jersey. Short sleeves and shorts, no gloves, in 30 degrees. I bet he's cold.
9:30pm: I have no idea who won. Coker comes in second, not able to defend his title. He looks intensely disappointed. I was rooting for Brad to win, but Coker and GeWilli were tied for my #2 pick.
9:45pm: I walk around the crowd saying hello to whomever I can find. It's fun to catch up. I want to stay out late but my buddies are not up for it. We head home, need to get up early and clean up the house, wash the sheets. We have to be home by noon.
Sunday, 8:15am: In the car, on the way home.
9:30am: I remind my travel companions we will not be stopping for chicken nuggets.
10:00am: I remind my travel companions we will not be stopping for chicken nuggets.
10:30am: I remind my travel companions we will not be stopping for chicken nuggets. It never gets old. For me.
12:15pm: I'm home. The kids scream, Donna smiles. Hugs all around. I had a great time, but it's nice to be back. I hope to give it another go next year!
Photos courtesy Heidi Swift. Thanks!
2009 Cyclocross Finale: Nationals
I did it. I competed in the national championship race. Amazing experience.
Bend is a bit of a drive for me, so I made an overnight trip of it. I drove there Friday afternoon, and went home early Sunday morning. That's a lot different from my normal routine of arrive/race/get home for dinner. I brought along friends Hugh and Monty to take in the sights and sounds of the national championship.
Most of my fellow competitors were in the same boat. 2000 people came to race this weekend, along with who knows how many spectators accompanying them. The racing started on Thursday, which meant by Saturday, everyone who'd raced the previous two days were out watching the races. In short, there were a lot of very enthusiastic spectators out there.
Clearly, I'm no PRO, but MAN I do love cyclocross. And the scene in Bend this weekend...well it doesn't get much better than that for a guy like me. So many crazy spectators. So much energy. And the course? Awesome. I'm still smiling when I remember riding through the tunnel of screams by the beer garden, or the crash-hungry crowd willing us through the long off-camber section. Doing what I love to do on an super fun course while getting screamed at by thousands of people...YEAH!
So how did my race go? I had a blast, it was great. My result was quite underwhelming, but I'm still smiling, so I did something right. Turns out I was the last sucker to ride the lead lap. As I rode through the finish line with one lap to go, the announcers went nuts. The fans went nuts. The screams were unreal. Why were they screaming for me like that? I looked back just before leaving the asphalt to see the race winner holding up his arms. Ahh, that makes sense.
I tried to catch the guys in front of me on my last lap of my cyclocross season. I got awfully close, but I just couldn't do it. When I crossed the line, I was wiped out, nothing left. I hunched over my bike and closed my eyes for a second to catch my breath and come to grips with what I just did. My season was over. I was the last guy on the lap. I was kind of embarrassed, maybe a little disappointed.
But then I opened my eyes, and there were friends of mine smiling at me. We talked about the race, the course, and how fun it was. Nothing but encouragement. It was the best five minutes of my weekend, and I don't think I'll ever forget it.
So I guess I finished 75th (out of about 140 I think). Not so great but that field contained some very serious, dedicated and talented athletes. Every year I do this, I learn something. I learn new technical skills, like how to ride through really thick mud without tipping over. I also remember how it feels to finish a race like this, and all the little segments where I knew I could go much faster with just a little bit more fitness. I can certainly do better, and that's what I'll be gunning for in 2010.
The bike worked great, no mechanicals. I had one crash at the base of the stairs and several close calls saved by a quick foot stomp on the ground. And it was muddy! Gotta love the mud. Mud in Bend, who would have thought.
I got to see a lot of people I don't normally get to hang out with. John and John from Bailey Bikes were there. Brent Prenzlow was also there representing SoCal. And I finally met the infamous GeWilli, a crazy cyclocrosser from New England.
So thanks everyone for the wonderful experience. I had a blast. I will be back next year.
Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for more adventures.
Race photos courtesy Matt Westermeyer. Thanks!
Masters 40-44 Start Carnage
It was the worst start of the weekend. You can see #345 (guy in orange) puts his head down, like he's got a mechanical problem or something. Not surprisingly, he laps a wheel to get the carnage started:
USGP Cyclocross 2009
Once again, we are fortunate to have had the USGP roll through town for another weekend of racing. Normally, this is the big finale of my racing season. However, since the national championships are in Bend this year, I'm ending with an even bigger race instead.
It's been a while since I've raced, and I certainly felt it out there. Training has been pretty sparse, too. It's awfully hard for me to keep riding during the Holiday season with so much family stuff going on. The first half of the race was hard for me to just get going fast. That's been a big problem of mine this year. The last half of the race always goes better for me than the first. And since the USGP and National races are only 45 minutes instead of an hour, my second half is not so long. I'll just have to keep that in mind all week leading up to Bend.
The USGP race was held at PIR, same venue we used a month earlier. The course used a completely different part of the grounds, incorporating the motocross track and the infield area used for short track racing in the summer. The course was awesome, with lots of twists and turns, sharp off camber corners followed by an immediate steep slippery climbs, and tons of wide open roadway to tie everything together. Fantastic course.
It's been cold and dry for the past week, so I assumed we wouldn't have any mud out there. I was wrong. When I arrived and pre-rode the course, the ground was either rock hard frozen, or super snot slippery. I'm telling you, the mud at PIR is the best cyclocross mud around. That doesn't mean it's easy to ride in, but it's just so...so...gooey. And it changes characteristics with the weather, always different. I love it. Nothing like the soul crushing mud at Krugers.
Anyway, midway through the race, the course got a lot more tacky and I could ride more of the short steep climbs that we all ran at first. Each lap of the race was better, and probably faster for me. I would love to review the lap times, but I doubt that's possible because I forgot to wear my timing chip. Doh.
That was Saturday. I skipped Sunday's race in favor of some nice family time. I'll be in Bend for the weekend, and I'll sure miss them. I'll be racing on Saturday in the 35-39 Elite race. I know several people I'll be racing with, all much faster than I am. It should be really fun. I might also partake in a rumored clydesdale race (200 pounds or more), which is apparently going to be the entertainment for a party on Saturday night.
So that's what I'm up to. I'm hoping to ride a respectable race in Bend on Saturday. I just want to ride a clean race and come out happy with how hard I pushed myself. Oh, and if you are also going to Bend, and you happen to see me on Saturday wondering around, do me a favor and ask "aren't you supposed to be warming up right now?" Warmups are so easy to procrastinate and so hard to do quickly.
One more race to go, and then it's time to reflect on the season and hang up the 'cross bikes for a while. I've already broke out the fixie and looking forward to riding it all winter. One more race to go.
One more thing - thanks for the cheers on Saturday. I heard a lot of them, and I really appreciate it. I have not figured out how to acknowledge them while racing, but that doesn't mean I don't hear them. I'm usually focused 30 feet up the course and have no idea what's going on right next to me. So thank you very much. Have you heard Heidi Swift yell? Holy crap. Cracks me up every time. Thank you.
See you in Bend?
