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

Seeing The Forest Through The Trees

Bike racing is a hard sport (the sacrifice and dedication required to succeed is something that has been spoken of quite a bit, so I wont elaborate on it here). However, there are some days I feel like bike racing has made me soft—in that it has given me a false sense of entitlement. Racing at a high level, it’s easy to expect certain things—bikes, clothes, housing, equipment, massages, food, etc.—that, outside the scope of actual racing, are luxuries to the common person. Even worse, in the face of not receiving such accommodations it’s easy to find yourself quickly becoming annoyed. It’s sad really that, even after years in this sport, I’m still learning about just how great I have it and how miserably I’ve failed at thanking those who have helped me get to where I am.

This past season racing for Horizon was especially eye opening in terms of the effort required for the team (specifically our director, Nick Traggis) to get us the things we needed to race. Even as a small program, we rarely went without the necessary items needed to compete. This was no fluke—it was the result of many individuals sacrificing their time and resources because they believed in what we were doing and thought we could serve a greater purpose (i.e. promoting their brand, growing the sport, community outreach, etc.). It was here that I really learned how there is no such thing as “free” in bike racing—it’s a two way street, even when the flow of traffic would make one think otherwise. Now, I’m sure someone can make the case that receiving such items is necessary or constitutes the tools of the trade or that it’s part of the business; and I agree. However, simply because something is part of a job description doesn’t make it’s execution un-remarkable and not worthy of gratitude. For example, it’s NASA’s job to go to outer space—does that mean we shouldn’t be amazed when they land on the moon?

But I digress…

The real point I’m trying to make here is that I (and probably many other cyclists) need to bring a bit of perspective to our expectations about what this sport owes us; because the fact of the matter is, it owes us nothing.

To offer a short anecdote, after winning nationals I was completely convinced I had my ticket back to the pro ranks. In my mind, I earned it…I deserved it. In the months that followed, I emailed every team under the sun—rather incessantly if you ask me—to the point where I was convinced each team director would roll their eyes when they saw my name pop-up (once again) in their inbox. Despite doing everything I thought I could though, come the Fall I had nothing but an inbox full of rejections. I was devastated. I wanted to quit; and for a short time I did. I remember calling my parents, all my cycling mentors, and even some friends to tell them I was hanging it up. I’m pretty sure I even replied to a few of the rejection emails saying I was done which, in hindsight, was pretty dumb but at the moment seemed inconsequential. In the end, my expectations got the best of me and when they didn’t come to fruition, I was at a loss.

Fast forward a few weeks and I emerge from the grocery store to a text message about a new team—Alto Velo/Seasucker—that was looking to see if I was still available for next season. Deep down, I knew I wasn’t quite done with this whole cycling thing and, as such, I told them I was. After speaking with the management a bit more, I came to realize this program was a great fit and I can honestly say I’m more excited about the opportunity this season presents than I have been about any other race season to date. At the same time, I’ve come to realize that nothing is guaranteed in this sport; and yea, while it’s easy to lament at the things you don’t have (or haven’t received), it’s even easier to lose sight of the things you do. This was a prime opportunity to prove my mettle--I took it and haven't looked back.

So what’s the lesson in all this? Well, for me, it’s about taking a bit more inventory in the things that have been given to me and using that appreciation as motivation to continue working hard everyday. I know that sounds cheesy, but it’s true; and when push comes to shove, I’d rather wax poetic like some suck-up than, in the words of Louis CK,  be a "non-contributing zero."

Home

Standing at the kitchen window, I’m sipping coffee and looking out over the marsh lining the North River. It’s Christmas Eve and after a whirlwind travel day back East I can now breathe a sigh of relief that I’m home. Even with a low morning fog drastically reducing visibility the view is still pretty amazing. If there is one thing Colorado doesn’t have, it’s an ocean; and despite growing up on the water, I’m surprised by how quickly I’ve forgotten how beautiful it is.

Suddenly, from behind my dad walks up and taps me on the shoulder, “hey, check this out!” He points to a hanging birdfeeder suspended off the deck before scurrying off to the other room. Despite being designed with an exterior cage to keep squirrels and other vermin out, this birdfeeder has failed to perform its given function as sitting inside was a rather small baby squirrel. Space was limited but given the excess of food I highly doubt it cared. Happy as a clam it sat there getting fat in preparation for the upcoming (or already present) winter…that is, until my dad emerges with a large tree branch from above. With a figure similar to that of a golfer driving off the tee, he smashes the branch against the side of the cage sending the squirrel flying several feet in the opposite direction. Landing with a thud, the creature immediately darts towards the woods in a manner that would make you think it intended to hit the ground running. Shortly after my mind flashes to that scene in “Bambi”—you know, the one showing the mother drinking peacefully the river stream only to have the pastoral scene abruptly interrupted a few moments later by hunters shooting her. Obviously, this squirrel isn’t dead but one can’t help but think it’s definitely a bummer of a way to start the day.  

My dad is still laughing as he returns to the house—so much so that he can barely form a sentence. In this same state of oxygen debt he leaves the kitchen for his downstairs basement office and it’s only after he is no longer audible that I turn back to looking out the window. In spite of the fact this previous affair took at most forty-five seconds, the tranquil mood of the morning has somehow disappeared. Surely, somewhere in this story is a metaphor for my pre-college youth but I have neither the desire (or comedic vocabulary) to come up with it now. Either way, it’s a firm reminder that I’m home—and that’s something I’m pretty excited about.

Flash forward a week or so and I’m all packed up and ready to head back to Colorado. It’s amazing how quickly my time here has passed—sadly, this always seems to be the case. For me, coming home is a lot about “stopping to smell the roses” so-to-speak. One of my biggest faults (and there are many) is that I tend to fixate so much on my day-to-day routines that I lose sight of the things around me (just ask me friends and they can validate this). When home, things just tend to go slow—mainly because it’s during the holidays and there really aren’t many commitments. In short, it’s easier to relax. I sleep a lot. I watch TV. I hang out. It’s fairly easy. Still, my personality will only allow me so much downtime before I get restless. To compensate for an abundance of energy by weeks end I start doing things like climbing the stairs two steps at a time or cleaning the kitchen. It’s weird, I know, but I really can’t help it.

Needless to say, I’m looking forward to getting back to Boulder and resuming my normal schedule. With the racing season quickly approaching each training day becomes that little bit more important and I’ll be happy to get back to work. Still, despite the long outlook, I'm really satisfied with how the last week has gone. Sure, riding wasn't my greatest focus these last ten days but I'm continuing to remind myself how that's not really something worth getting worked up about. I mean, it's not like someone beat me over the head with a baseball bat while I was eating breakfast. THAT would have sucked.

Bon voyage and happy 2015!

Rewind the tape a bit...

My un-official Tucson training camp came to a close following a fourteen-hour marathon drive that started at 3am Sunday morning and ended in my driveway here in Boulder, CO. Why 3am you ask? Long story short, I set my alarm for 4am but after a restless night sleep (and by “sleep” I mean 3hr nap) I found myself wide awake at 2:45am--at which point I just said “f*&k it,” made myself a cup of coffee and got to driving. All in all, the drive was uneventful—or at least as uneventful as a 900+mile trek could be. The oddest part was watching the sunrise (an indication that the day is just starting) 5hrs after actually waking up. The worst part by far was having to follow up my 10 days of drinking gourmet Presta Coffee with that stuff you find next to the soda fountain at the gas station. As they say though, “it can always be worse” so I shouldn’t complain.

All-in-all, despite the travel, I have nothing but positive things to say about my time in the desert. Training went really well (I won’t bore you with details...that’s what Strava is for) and the hospitality I received was pretty amazing. Everyone in the local cycling community was very welcoming and more than willing to show me around. A few highlights—accompanied by photos—can be found below.

Here’s Curtis pulling me a shot of espresso at his new roaster. Given my inability to temper consumption, the first few days of this trip were spent in a nearly continuous state of over-caffeination. Eventually I wised up but it was hard to turn down something like this…

This photo does absolutely zero justice to what is actually being shown (in case you haven’t guessed, it's a sunrise). Given the length of the nights these days, I often found myself up before the sun and was greeted each morning by this view. The old saying “red sky at night sailors take delight, red sky in the morning sailors take warning” probably doesn’t apply here given 1) it’s hours away from the nearest body of water and 2) it was pretty beautiful each day despite looking like this.

Managed to take a few wrong turns during my time here. Most ended in dirt roads but some ended with the Arizona penal system. Can’t really say I’d know which one to go with if given the choice—both are so appealing.

This is a 1lb Snickers bar. While it isn’t Tucson specific, the fact it actually exists is absolutely amazing and therefore worthy of space on this blog. Just in case you were wondering, I did not buy it nor was I tempted to.

Shifting our focus to a different part of the food pyramid, Curtis made pizzas two of the nights while I was there. Both were delicious and coincided perfectly with big rides the previous afternoon (always a good combo). Stella and Curtis have perfected their baked potato, egg, truffle salt, and arugula pizza so much so that I’m still thinking about it. Unfortunately, given it usually got consumed immediately upon entering the house I don’t have a photo. Instead, I present to you this hot dog and French fry combo which (according to Curtis) is popular in Italy. Who knew…

And last—but not least—my final “sendoff” ride this past Saturday was a 126mile, 6+hr romp through the desert with the remnants of that morning’s “Shootout” participants. The route was a deviation of the standard Shootout and saw us ride out Mission road and up Box Canyon before turning back towards town. Given I had no idea where we were, I was a slave to the route (and pace) of the group. For those that don’t know, the Shootout is not your average Saturday group ride and can get pretty darn quick. This photo was taken after a 30km dirt section about 3hrs into the ride…we still had 3hrs to go.

At the end of day though, this was by far the most memorable day of all the ones I spent in Arizona. Great group of guys, tough route, strong pace—not to mention the cherry on top being I got to help Curtis move furniture 30min after getting home.

As much as I hate to say it, this final project was definitely the straw that broke the camel’s back. After an hour I was getting pretty grumpy—much to the amusement of Curtis. At least he was kind enough to make me a turkey and cheese sandwich before leaving. During the drive I couldn’t help but remark it was the greatest sandwich I’d ever eaten…I was serious.

For What It's Worth...

It’s funny, but there was a time when I was ashamed to tell people I was a “bike racer”—particularly during my final years of college when the pre-conceived expectation was that I would do something like go into the public sector or get an MBA. The potentially negative opinions people would hold when I told them I put on spandex and rode my bike around worried me—as if my career choice was somehow beneath those more established or recognized. In hindsight, such concerns seem so trivial; but at the time they were very real and weighed a lot on my mind.

Adding to the irony of all this was the fact that, during this time, I actually raced professionally. In 2012 alone I had not only traveled around the country but also to South Korea, Japan, and central China. I had experienced and seen more than most people had in their entire lives and yet I was ashamed to admit it. Sitting here now, it’s crazy to know I felt that way.

These days, I’m no longer considered a “professional” in the eyes of the cycling world—many people outside of bike racing probably hold the same perception. Regardless, I can tell you with absolute certainty that I’m no longer ashamed of that fact. Instead, I’m proud of what I do and the effort I put forth day-in and day-out. Like many other private sector professionals, I work hard, I sacrifice, I care a lot about what I do, and yea, there have been many occasions where I get anxious and moody when things aren’t going perfectly. However, this is all part of the struggle everyone goes through to be successful at what they do—regardless of their chosen career. In my mind, there is no difference between what I do and the particular occupations my high school or college friends have chosen. When I go out to train, I’m punching the clock and putting in the time. My desk is a bike. My office is the open road. This is a job (my job) and I treat it as such.

“Professionalism” to me isn’t about how many pairs of sunglasses you get at team camp or how great your bike is. It’s not about your salary or how many reports you have or the diversity of your stock portfolio. “Professionalism,” in my opinion, is about showing up and doing your job—everyday—to the best of your ability. It’s about being accountable, reliable, and consistent. Now, that’s just my opinion. Is this only answer? I’m not going to flatter myself into saying it is. Should it be taken as gospel? Probably not. However, if there is one thing I wish someone had told me years ago, it’s that professionalism isn’t just for professionals and if you want it (regardless of what “it” is), you should dress for the job you want and not be ashamed of it. After all, life’s short and you only have one rodeo—might as well spend it doing something you care about.