PMBST –Day 1
“Look mummy , there’s an aero plane up in the sky” – this lyric from oh so long ago sums up my somber mood for the beginning of the first day of the Pisgah Mountain Bike Stage Race. Most was perfect: the sky, the temperature, trail conditions, bike…everything except for my somber, melancholy attitude. I felt peaceful, speculative, wondering, almost out of sorts with the world and just there. I should be happy. I mean another week off work, 5 days on the bike, the best trails I know, the trails I love most…my trails. Maybe I need a lift. Spirits low, non-existent, where are you spirits? This is my first stage race. How should I feel? What does the rule book say? Is there an emotional rule book? There’s a book on etiquette but that won’t suit the situation. No. I have my own rules. And my rules are fine. There’s no right or wrong, just be and enjoy. A somber start on day one is no big deal. There’s still day 2, 3, 4 and 5, God willing. Hopefully the caldera known as Yellowstone won’t blow up this week and mess up our breathing and oh yeah, kill a bunch of folks. I guess that’s what it takes to be a stage racer – focus on self and the task at hand. I focused on riding without judgment and succeeded. I didn’t dab but once all day (and of course it was while posing for a picture) and cleared some technical parts that I usually “almost” clear. About mid ride the chorus to “bring the boys back home” from the same album as the first song mentioned in this blurb of semi –conscious thought, popped into my head. This tune poses a request, which if answered would be a solution to a terrible mental dilemma the musician was obviously suffering while writing the song. Too me, it meant light at the end of the melancholy tunnel. I finally found my pace of “no pace” and rolled with it. Twas a beautiful day on the bike.
Today everything is a step toward tomorrow. “Back off a little you’re going too hard for day one, eat some pasta and bird, eat some pineapple, clean the bike, wash the clothes and line up mornings’ departure necessities.”
I’m tired and want to whip some ass tomorrow. So I’ll end my ramble and head for the pillow and hopefully to dream land full of bike jumps that flow like they can only in dreams.
Peace.
4th in class. 12.78 miles. Max speed of 43. Race time of 1 hour 15 minute(ish). 9.5 avg speed.
“Look mummy , there’s an aero plane up in the sky” – this lyric from oh so long ago sums up my somber mood for the beginning of the first day of the Pisgah Mountain Bike Stage Race. Most was perfect: the sky, the temperature, trail conditions, bike…everything except for my somber, melancholy attitude. I felt peaceful, speculative, wondering, almost out of sorts with the world and just there. I should be happy. I mean another week off work, 5 days on the bike, the best trails I know, the trails I love most…my trails. Maybe I need a lift. Spirits low, non-existent, where are you spirits? This is my first stage race. How should I feel? What does the rule book say? Is there an emotional rule book? There’s a book on etiquette but that won’t suit the situation. No. I have my own rules. And my rules are fine. There’s no right or wrong, just be and enjoy. A somber start on day one is no big deal. There’s still day 2, 3, 4 and 5, God willing. Hopefully the caldera known as Yellowstone won’t blow up this week and mess up our breathing and oh yeah, kill a bunch of folks. I guess that’s what it takes to be a stage racer – focus on self and the task at hand. I focused on riding without judgment and succeeded. I didn’t dab but once all day (and of course it was while posing for a picture) and cleared some technical parts that I usually “almost” clear. About mid ride the chorus to “bring the boys back home” from the same album as the first song mentioned in this blurb of semi –conscious thought, popped into my head. This tune poses a request, which if answered would be a solution to a terrible mental dilemma the musician was obviously suffering while writing the song. Too me, it meant light at the end of the melancholy tunnel. I finally found my pace of “no pace” and rolled with it. Twas a beautiful day on the bike.
Today everything is a step toward tomorrow. “Back off a little you’re going too hard for day one, eat some pasta and bird, eat some pineapple, clean the bike, wash the clothes and line up mornings’ departure necessities.”
I’m tired and want to whip some ass tomorrow. So I’ll end my ramble and head for the pillow and hopefully to dream land full of bike jumps that flow like they can only in dreams.
Peace.
4th in class. 12.78 miles. Max speed of 43. Race time of 1 hour 15 minute(ish). 9.5 avg speed.
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