You Just Gotta Wonder Sometimes

    Placa del Vi is a modestly sized town square found almost immediately upon entering Old Town, Girona from the Pont de Pedra. A small, one way road runs through it and on three sides it's surrounded by contemporary, stone-faced three to four story buildings. Small cafes, shops, and government offices make up the first floor while apartments occupy the floors above. Assigned to every apartment is a balcony window with a small enclosed ledge that overlooks the square. On some of these balconies sit potted plants. On others, a small table with chairs. Some remain empty. Most uniformly though, nearly all the balconies include a Catalan flag or yellow ribbon; symbols of the separatist movement that can be seen scattered throughout this region. 

    With no political skin in the game, I find myself more intrigued by the presence of this patriotic display than by its political meaning. I ponder how the flags have remained so bright despite being exposed to the elements. Maybe they're new? Do the colors mean anything? I wonder whether this whole thing is really the work of individual tenants each looking to proudly show off their political orientation or is it a more organized spectacle? Perhaps these buildings comprise a single HOA that requires them. If that's the case, I try to picture what a HOA meeting full of impassioned political activists must be like and spare a thought for the one dude who lives there but doesn't care much for autonomy from Spain. I assume he's the most disliked tenant in the building which is odd given he's actually a super nice guy who never bothers anyone. At least, that was the case until the HOA board rejected his request to put another potted plant on his balcony; citing some arbitrary, never enforced code about having hanging plants in view during the period of January to March. He replies by saying Beth in 2A has the same plant on her balcony and pleads to the powers-at-be extend him equal courtesy. They remain firm in their decision. Defiantly, the tenant places the plant outside anyway, a gesture which infuriates the board and causes them to try and forcibly enter his apartment to remove it. A small scuffle ensues before the tenant ejects the intruders, bolts the door shut and refuses to leave. Following a multi-week standoff all hope seems lost for a timely resolution among the two sides. Also lost on everyone is the irony of the whole thing. 

    At least, that's how I imagine it all went down. 

    As a stranger here, my lack of knowledge in all things Spanish gives even the smallest observations an air of curiosity. This inability to discern local norms from one-off events has left my imagination in charge of filling in gaps of my cultural ignorance. Sometimes that imagination gets carried away. For me, it's a harmless form of entertainment that helps pass the time; and I can't help but indulge while standing in the periphery of Placa Del Vi this morning. 

    Another possibility is this entire display of flags and ribbons and banners is the work of some sleepy bureaucrat; a single person who needed something to do with a surplus of flags acquired after a festival got canceled due to Covid. In all honesty, I'll probably never know why it's all here and in such concentration; but it looks nice and gives me a reason to gaze up after ten minutes of walking and staring at my feet. For me, that's good enough.  

A Preview of Things to Come

    At the moment I'm in Girona, Spain watching an exorbitant amount of precipitation fall on the cobbled city streets. At some point, I'm supposed to ride today. Specifically, I'm supposed to ride one hour; an amount of time that, on days like this, is more of an inconvenience than something worth looking forward to. If the current forecast holds there will be little to no opportunity to make it outside for said ride; that is, of course, unless I want to get really cold and be miserable. I don't want to do that.

    Old town Girona is built against a hill which, when commuting into town, gives it something of a domineering appearance. Back in the day this high ground probably served some purpose, like slowing the marauding hordes, but today the slopes of town are more of an annoyance; a means for adding superfluous cardio to my already cardio-filled life. The street to my current apartment, like many streets in town, requires a short trudge uphill. The slope is gradual and the walk not very long, maybe two minutes, but it's long enough and steep enough to remind you that gravity exists and you're very much working against it. 

    In college I commuted to and from class by bike. One day following an exam, with my mind elsewhere, probably thinking about all the questions I got wrong, I turned a corner only to suddenly be greeted by an unavoidable sheet of ice. Before I knew it, my bike was gone from beneath me. Given the gradient of the road, which was very much downhill, and the length of the ice sheet, which went on for several city blocks, I slid for what felt like forever. My enduring memory of this incident was just how long I spent sliding down the street; so long in fact I had time to contemplate certain questions like 'how is this STILL happening?' and 'I wonder if this is actually faster than riding?' 

    It has probably been years since I last recalled that story but now, looking down the street of my apartment, the memory comes back as I admire the not-so-subtle sheen the rain has given the cobbles below. Part of me wonders if history will repeat itself. If, upon walking out the front door of the building, I'll just slide right to the intersecting street at the bottom. It's an amusing prospect though one that's obviously unlikely. 

    Whether it be because of the rain or the risk of sliding off into oblivion, I've spent this morning indoors coming to the conclusion that, after a multi-year hiatus, I'm going to make a concerted effort to restart this blog. In the past, this platform served as a means of keeping those who cared informed as to what I was up to or musings on things in my life. The new iteration will probably be very much the same. We obviously live in a time with plenty of divisive content online so hopefully you can find some solace and entertainment with what I have to say. I cannot guarantee updates will be regularly timed but I can promise I'll make an effort. 

In the meantime, here are a few things that have kept me entertained over the past few weeks: 

    Garrison Keillor hasn't hosted "A Prairie Home Companion" for a few years now but he is still writing regularly. My brother introduced me to his website a month or ago and it's been a consistent source of entertainment. For fans of APHC, the writing will feel similar to Keillor's Lake Wobegon monologues.

    One of my current fascinations is with beekeeping and given the ample time I have to sit around post-training the Vino Farm YouTube channel has become quite the rabbit hole. In case you aren't aware, bees are amazing; and no, that's not a joke. I encourage you to check this channel out. Plus, this farm is in Western Massachusetts so score one for the home team. 

    On the music front, I've been listening to Brass Against for a few years now but they've been a more consistent presence on my playlists lately. Essentially, these guys are the answer to the question "what would a ska version of a Rage Against the Machine song sound like?"

Thanks for reading, 

E

Downtime

Being the strongest guy in the groupetto and riding hard at the front is like being the smartest guy in prison and insisting all the other inmates are aware of it; you're the best of the worst, nobody likes you, and chances are most people in your vicinity are thinking of ways to kill you. 

This past week at the Tour de Beauce I found myself in the unfortunate position of dealing with people like this. To be fair, I’ve probably been this guy on at least one occasion during my racing tenure--that said, it’s still annoying. Obviously, if given the choice, I wouldn’t have been there but my legs and body pretty much stopped doing anything productive following the race’s second stage. Like…ANYTHING productive. Cleary, that time of year has come where I just need to sit on my sofa and make sure it doesn’t go anywhere. I’m tired—which sounds like such an underwhelming description—and I’m ready to relax a bit. 

To date, I can’t complain much about my season. I’ve managed to stay healthy and consistently fit for several months, I’ve managed to pull out some decent results, and I even got to come aboard one of the best domestic teams in the United States for the remainder of 2015. Sure, it hasn’t been without a few frustrations—I wish I hadn’t flatted on Oak Glen at Redlands, I wish the commissaries at Joe Martin knew how to interpret the three kilometer rule, I wish my crank arm didn’t fall off at nationals, and I wish my form didn’t take a complete nosedive at Beauce this past week. All in all though, I’ve experienced more luck than most, so I should just keep mum.

It goes without saying that I'm excited to join SmartStop Pro Cycling for the rest of the year

While it may be many weeks overdue, I’m ready to step away from my bike for a bit and recharge. Beyond the traveling circus that is bike racing, I've barely seen my friends this year—in fact, I’ve barely even seen my own home and roommates—and actually catching up with them in person would be nice. With any luck they still remember me.

Backyard BBQs with friends and the Boulder Farmers' Market--hallmarks of summer.

Kale. It's delicious. 

It's Never As Good As It Seems & It's Never As Bad As It Seems

It’s nearing midnight in the middle of New Mexico, I have no clue what town I’m in, and I’m driving rather quickly up a windy mountain road. Egged on by some excessively loud music and the realization that our destination is close I peg the gas pedal just that bit more out of every corner. I’m tired and, even in the moment, I know this is a terrible idea. As a stereotypically risk averse individual my current venture to the “dark side” is very uncharacteristic but, at the same time, somewhat exhilarating. At least the feeling of tiredness from only a few minutes before has now been replaced by a slight boost of adrenaline…

To lend some context to the situation, up to this point our travel day had been something of a shit show and I wanted nothing more than for it to be over. After a delayed flight in Arkansas, teammate Taylor Shelden and I missed our connection to Albuquerque; prompting the question of whether we would even get to Silver City in time to start the Tour of the Gila which began at 9am the next day. Fortunately, we were able to get re-booked and arrived in New Mexico four hours after we initially planned with a two hundred fifty mile drive still to go. After three hours of sitting behind the wheel I desperately wanted to be at our hotel and sleeping. Sadly, we still had an hour to go.

As the song being blared out the stereo ends the car is filled with a moment of awkward silence while the next track gets queued up. Despite lasting only a few seconds, the short-lived reprieve from audio bombardment resets my brain a bit and it finally sinks in just how Darwinian my current activity is. I take my foot off the gas pedal and coast until the odometer reads within the speed limit. It feels exceptionally slow but I tell myself that’s OK—after all, killing yourself to save five minutes is pretty silly when you really think about it. A few miles later, we reach the summit of the mountain and I pull over to the side of the road and let Taylor take the helm for the final leg to Silver City.

Despite the ominous start, the Tour of the Gila did not go nearly as terribly as I thought it would. Following a fairly brutal wake-up only a handful of hours after arriving at our hotel, I managed to pull off a decent result (in my opinion, anyway) on stage 1—finishing 11^th in spite of feeling like total shit (no surprise there). In fact, feeling sub-par was probably the most prevalent theme of Gila. While stage one was by far the worst, I just never felt comfortable during the week and had this continuous feeling of lethargy when racing. I could tell my body wasn’t totally acclimated to the altitude (over the last five weeks I’ve only been in Boulder for seven days) and racing Joe Martin the week prior definitely left a bit of a dent. Fortunately, my legs came around pretty well the final day and I managed to make all the selections over the major climbs—most of which included only five to eight guys. With a bit more organization from the group (including myself who dogged a few pulls) maybe we could have rolled it to the line—who really knows. Instead, there were quite a few regroupings in the final 30km and a group of twenty or so wound up sprinting to the line. I got sixth on the day and tenth overall.

Of all the results I’ve had this year, this past week is probably the one I’m most proud of. Sure, I didn’t win but the fact that I remained competitive despite not feeling amazing is something I’ll hold my head high for. They say good bike racers are good even when they’re bad; and while I’ll leave it to others to create labels about just how good of a bike racer I am, it’s at least nice to know I don’t totally suck…even when I feel that way. 

Every Dog Has Their Day

When I was in high school my parents—for reasons that still remain a mystery—bought a vintage Mercedes Benz. Appropriately named “The Panzer Mobile” this car came with all the amenities one would expect from a dilapidated tugboat—namely, it weighed an excessive amount, rarely started in a timely manner, and had an atrocious turning radius. As an added bonus, the interior of the car came with leather seats and a steering wheel that somehow had the magical power to absorb and retain every particle of energy emitted from the sun. On those hot July days sitting in the drivers seat was akin to touching the Bluth Cornballer—the only exception being you couldn’t let go or move without driving into a ditch. Perhaps the best feature of all, however, was the cars inexplicably terrible ability to accelerate and hold momentum. We often joked that by the time you got the vehicle up to the designated speed limit, you would have forgotten where you were going.

Over the last few years, there have been many days of training that paralleled the mind numbing miles spent driving around that old car. Often I’ve wondered where I’m going in this sport and how long (if ever) it will take me to get there. They say “not all who wander are lost” but let’s be honest, most are, and cycling has a weird way of making those who take it seriously feel a bit like vagabonds. Still, there’s something to be said for making your own path and giving your all to something—even when the chance of failure is ever present. Personally, speaking that has been a major driving force in keeping my in this sport. That being said, without validation of your efforts, maintaining motivation can often be hard. As many can tell you, cycling doesn’t provide such validation very freely.

This past weekend I won a pretty big race—for me at least—and it was a bit of a surreal experience. After years of looking at the results sheets from these races, it’s a bit odd seeing my name at the top of the list. Despite having the confidence of knowing I’m a good bike racer, a part of me still feels like these sorts of things only happen to other people. Having been humbled by this sport more times than I can count, I’m fairly certain this one result won’t blow up my ego (if it does, please let me know) but it does give quite a bit of confidence moving forward. Like I said, we all need a bit of validation.

New clothing day in the week leading up to San Dimas. Grazie mille, Pearl Izumi. These kits are awesome…seriously, amazing.

Hotel life with Mac Cassin. Bike racing requires a lot of sitting around. Clearly, we are rocking it.

First time pinning up for 2015. Crazy to think I won the first stage only a few hours later. 

Yea…this happened.

San Dimas High School Football Rules!

Not to be a sentimental wimp but...

Since my freshman year of college, I’ve made a point to call home everyday. I’m sure that may sound weird to some but it’s true—I speak to my mom almost daily.

“Mamma’s boy” jokes included, I’m proud of this fact and I consider myself very lucky to have this sort of relationship with my parents. For years my parents have been some of my biggest cheerleaders and have done more than anyone I know to get me where I am today. The way I see it, calling home to check-in is the least I can do.

With race season quickly approaching (my first major race is next Friday), I’ve been thinking a lot about where I want to go this season and, conversely, how I’ve gotten to where I am. It would be beyond self-righteous to say my progress in this sport to now have been an individual act (anyone who has raced can attest to this). The fact of the matter is, there are countless people--including my parents--who have helped me along the way and, sadly, I’ve failed pretty miserably at reciprocating their kindness. From George Sykes at Corner Cycle to Sam Morse to Roger Aspholm to Jon Bruno to Jeremy Powers to Nick Traggis (and many, many others in between) there just aren’t enough ‘thank you’ cards in the world to really show my appreciation. And yes, while I have blogged about this before, it bears repeating.

So, with that, I’d like to start this race season by saying a big “THANK YOU” to those who have helped me along the way. Your generosity does not go unappreciated.

Now go call your mother…

We're Not In Arizona Anymore

Public speaking can be a pretty daunting task for a lot of people. Imagine you’re standing in front of a crowd, the eyes and ears of each audience member fixated upon you—it’s understandably scary stuff. Now that I’ve started regularly updating this thing I’ve found myself in this weird state of mind like I’m giving a speech and, as such, I feel an odd need to say something poignant in each and every post. For the most part though, I don’t really have much to say—at least not anything profound—and, as a result, I have a creeping sense of Internet “stage fright.” Often, I find myself tediously drafting paragraph after paragraph about this or that only to realize the subject matter sucks and nobody will care. Lately though, I’ve had to remind myself why I’m doing this and what I’m looking to accomplish—mainly keep friends and family up-to-date with my whereabouts and what I’ve been up to. My public speaking teacher in high school once said “there is nothing to be nervous about because the honest truth is most people don’t listen to or care about what you’re saying.” While this very well may have been a lie used to calm the nerves of her students, I’m going to take it as gospel and run with it.

Anyway, to the (somewhat) more pressing matter of what have I been up to lately…

Well, most recently I just got back in the house after shoveling our driveway for the third time in less than twenty-four hours. Having returned to Boulder last thursday after spending the last five weeks in Tucson, AZ Mother Nature decided to send me a “welcome back” present in the form of a foot and a half of snow. Given my family back east is currently under several feet of snow, I'll bite my tongue and spare the internet any complaints. Just know I'm thinking them though…

 In a week I went from this:

To this:

Between these two polar opposite weather patterns though I did enjoy a bit of a "mini-vacation" as a means to unwind from a good bout of exercise in the desert. Given the bad weather in Colorado, I decided to take my time on the way back and check out the Grand Canyon--something I've always wanted to do. For those of you who haven't seen it, the Grand Canyon can only be described as…well…big. In all seriousness, I lack the vocabulary to adequately describe how incredibly vast it is so do yourself a favor and just go see it for yourself. You wont regret it.

On a more bizarre note, I also managed to feed a tiger upon visiting a safari-like zoo (although they claimed not to technically be a zoo) north of Phoenix. Not sure how PETA hasn't gotten this place shut down but, either way, I wasn't going to let the opportunity pass me by.

Other highlights of the last few weeks can be found below: 

Actually managed to take a relatively successful selfie while riding with Curtis on his birthday. Both Curtis and Stella served as awesome hosts (once again) on this trip. Like describing the Grand Canyon, it's hard to put into words how generous they were and how much I truly appreciated their help. 

Walking the dogs through the Wash in the morning became something of a routine. Each trip was a good reminder to just how harsh life in the desert can be. While it looks peaceful now, at night it was common to hear coyotes romping around these parts. To the day I left it still startled me to hear them suddenly shriek only a few hundred yards away. 

Sunset over the Catalina foothills. This never got old.

For Stella's birthday we had an adult dodgeball tournament. Given the occasion it was only fitting to go the whole nine yards and design custom uniforms for the event…and by "design" I mean use a sharpie to write "Happy Birthday Stella" on a pink tank-top. If this photo proves anything it's 1) real men wear pink and 2) Wal-Mart has an awesome selection of mens sporting apparel.

And on one final note, for those that missed the news, I’m going to be riding for the Alto Velo/Seasucker Racing Team in 2015. I strongly encourage you to follow them on Facebook and Twitter and be sure to do the same for all our awesome sponsors—most of who can be found on the sidebar of this blog.

That's the news for now!

E