Available Light

More than anything riding solo in the woods, in the dark, separates the hard core, from people who ride bikes. For me it all started last year when the impending San Felasco Eco Tour forced desire to overcome fear. Like most things I get into, I tipped toed in. I continued extending my comfort zone until it was the norm. Last night was my first solo of the season. I headed out to the levy on Caddy and it felt like playing an old tune by memory. A few verses, a couple of choruses and the relief of the bridge. You count the bars and settle into the rhythm, falling back on chops you thought you had forgotten.

Tonight Big Jim Slade and I headed out as a duo. The trail seems tamer with a partner and we went much farther than we would have alone. We talked story all the way out and all the way back. We saw green eyes of spiders, and the amber eyes of gators. We ran into a small battalion of the Higher Ground crew, and then headed back into Tom Brown for the encore.

As Jim loaded up, a band echoed in a distant warehouse. I felt the itch of a recovering addict, and wondered aloud if they had any songs. The old habits die hard. I rode over to get a better listen and like a bad joke, the music was gone. I laughed at the irony, and once again was riding solo, back home in the dark. All great gigs end the same: with a late ride home alone.

Lead kindly light

Lead thou me on.....

W.B.Z.N.

Hello It's Me

If there is anything to the Karma principle, I have gotten off easy. I was quite a tool in my former lives, and amassed a resume of atrocities my catholic confessions couldn't wash from my memory, or my soul. I can imagine what people that still know me, are saying aloud to their computers. I may still be tool*ish*, but believe when I say, I have traveled far. I have been blessed beyond anything I had imagined and as I have stated many times (in this Google approved layout) I find myself wanting more. This usually leads to all kinds of retrospective analyzation and a cruel form of Monday morning quarterbacking. It is by far my most practiced dark room activity.

I fell victim to one of the oldest adages; "Nice guys finish last". Like a chump I believed it and never hooked up a filter to my cerebral cortex. I cannot tell you how many times I have missed the boat only to wave to the nice guy, on the deck of said boat, drinking a cocktail. I suppose some of it could be genetic. Some of it could be environmental. The Napoleon Complex is an oldie but goody, but none of these excuses ever get me to sleep sooner.

If I have any redeeming traits, I have learned them on a bicycle. The bike has changed my world and introduced me to more like minded people than I have ever met. I believe the lessons I learn in the saddle have had more influence on my daily thinking than any activity I have pursued. It is the common thread that decides how I plan my days, who I associate with, how I vote, and who I hope to be. It dictates when I go to sleep, how I eat, and when I do laundry. It reaches further into my life everyday and like any true passion, one can never get enough.

I have much to learn as a person, and a cyclist. I have a big open space where my dreams used to be. I want to fill them with something that is fulfilling and successful. I know a change is going to come. Until then... I need to go ride.

W.B.Z.N.

*photo by Trail Gnome*

Wake Up!

Perception is a funny thing and mine is almost never accurate. Over time I have learned not to trust anything, until I have seen some more footage. After a few bad calls, anyone can loose their swing. Every so often I connect and get a hold of one but, I haven't had a good streak for a while.

There are some guys I have been seeing around town for a few years. I never thought of them as fast, but they would ride logs that I couldn't, and they always did the big drop out at the end of Cadillac. The clues were everywhere, I missed them all.

I did pretty good in my last race and was still in the mind set that I had become pretty fast. I met a fellow Dad (at Leon soccer practice) that rides in the aforementioned crew. I invited him on a ride and he showed up with a chain and a switch blade. I never saw it coming. A lesser man would have died, but I squeaked by. Even though he got second in his class at Tom Brown, and told me about his recent trip to Moab, I floored it, flew past the road signs, and missed the exit. Now, I have a steak on my eye.

I need to work on fundamentals, you know, get back to the basics. Life is about recovery, I'll give myself a reasonable amount of time and get back to work.

"W.B.?"

"Yes."

"This is your wake up call sir."

"Oh.... thanks."

"My pleasure Sir, have a nice day."

W.B.Z.N.

Darkness

I have always loved putting on gear. I loved squeezing into damp, smelly wet suits. I loved putting on two pairs of knee pads, wrist guards, elbow pads and my crusty Pro Tech helmet. I dig putting the battery in my Camelback, arm warmers, leg warmers the Cool Max base shirt... HELL YA! Gimme some more stuff to put on! Some part of me knows its game time and soon I will be doing something that "normal" people think is weird.

I rode past the election signs in my neighborhood out to Blairstone. I cringed through the corner of my first road crash, but after that it was all big ring and breathing. Big Jim Slade's words were still ringing in my ears:

"Charge your light I want to ride a long way tonight!"

I was late, stoked and running through hypothetical routes in my mind. All I cared about was being in the dark and riding for more than two hours.

We picked up Cliffie (his real name because nothing else would work) on Fern and off we went. I lead out the lower part of Tom Brown. Cliff lead out Cadillac, and Slade got us out of the Alford maze. Lights came on, things got cold and when we split back at the Fern levy, everyone was happy and hungry. I rode home down Blairestone as hard as I came out. I caught a couple guys on bikes on Woodgate hill, and chastised them for not running lights. I heard one of them drop some gears behind me, so I rose out of the saddle, stomped my big ring, and he was a memory.

Back at head quarters, dinner was on the table and iced tea was brewing.

Never doubt the power of a good ride.

W.B.Z.N.

People Get Ready

I don't air my specific political views much. I don't feel as though I am qualified to inflict my preferences on people. I think it is a complicated subject and that the people that have to do the jobs we vote them into, have more to deal with than the public ever knows about. I don't really go for blanket statements about either side, even though (in moments of weakness) I make generalizations, it's hard for me to believe people are bad or good, based on what team they cheer for.

I voted today. The line was long and it was colder than I expected. I was a fly on the wall and managed to escape without being drawn into any specific conversations. Everyone seemed to be mindful of the fact that others around them may not share their views and were careful not to offend. A man and woman a few spots up from me were talking. She clearly for one candidate, he for another. She said some things I thought were a little off base, and he said some things that put him in a definite category. Neither were saying anything of any real substance. Then they found a common subject they were both very passionate about. They had both adopted children from other countries. They discussed the challenges they faced, and it seemed to me they could be friends. When his time to vote came he wished her good luck, and she thanked him for saving the brother and sister he had adopted. They had both done something I could never have the strength or conviction to do, and I found myself admiring them. It's one thing to talk, and quite another to act.

It looks as though all the early voting records for Florida will be broken this week. There is room for everyone in line. Please go vote.

W.B.Z.N.

Come Together

Little W.B. and I headed out late Sunday for a spin. I was lazy and missed the crew ride for lack of sleep. It was still nice and crisp when we got to the car park at Blairstone and rolled onto Fern. L.W.B. is riding so well and after seeing some of his peers do two laps at the Tom Brown race, he is thinking about fitness and how he needs some. He is finally able to roll at a pace that makes it feel like a ride, and not an exercise in patience. Pappa is proud.

We did a piece of Cadillac and came back through TB. We saw a twelve pack of empties, left by some human slime and on our way to the trash I ran into Chuck Goodhart (Tallahassee Parks MTB division). I talked to him about my recent skirmishes on the pavement and he shared some issues of his own on the subject. It all ended well with Chuck filling us in on the future projects planned for T.B. which include a skills course, where now a parking lot stands...I call that progress. He took my number, and now I will have to put my free time where my mouth is, and replace some complaining with attendance at meetings. Mr. Goodhart, as a good writer once said: "You sir, are aptly named."

W.B.Z.N.

For What It's Worth

I'm telling ya right now kiddies you better fasten your seat belt because this is going to be a bumpy ride. If you hate it when I spout off about travails of being a cyclist in this part of the world, I am giving you a guilt free pass, to change the channel. You will not hear one ounce of rebuke from me. Go ahead I'll give you a minute to switch over to Jill or Bike Snob.

Here's the quick breakdown of why I am fuming. In the past two weeks I have been splayed on the pavement by a guy walking against a light. I had a group of subhumans, open a car door intentionally on me. I was lectured by a guy (with his dog off the leash on Fern) for going too fast. I am not even going to delve into all the stink eye/no replies, I get on Tom Brown and surrounding trails, when I say "hi" to all the "other" users. I guess today I am a little sick of being part of the most hated minority on wheels. I get a little tired of following rules and still getting treated as though I have no rights anywhere on a bike. Tonight on my solo ride I was: flipped off, cussed at, and swerved at, by some fat F%$# in an S.U.V. who hasn't exercised since the Nixon administration.

Now you would think that I would spend the rest of this blog telling you the sorted details and putting a funny spin on it, but you might as well get your money back right now, cause it ain't going to happen. Instead I want to relay one message to all my brothers and sisters, because I know if you are still reading this you must be a dyed in the wool cyclist or at least a sympathiser. Don't bother trying to educate non riders. Don't bother telling anyone (other than cyclist) your stories. Don't expect anyone to be sympathetic to anything that happens to you, on the road or trail, because the reality is this: They think we are idiots for being out there. To them, we are all over zealous tree hugging, lost cause collectors, that have nothing better to do than get fired up about an issue they see as petty and boring. If they do listen to you beware: it's only so they can tell you a story of an asshole cyclist, they encountered on their ten minute commute.

I am through trying to talk any sense into anyone about this subject. I am also through accepting any responsibility for my part in it, to appear objective. I have tried to see all sides. I have been obeying the traffic laws like Sergeant Friday. All to no avail. I am of the opinion that Gandhi himself would resort to murder if he had to ride in this city for more than a week or two.

Just once in my life I would like to see one of these F#^*'s, get a ticket. Then I could mail off my money to the IRS with a smile. But lets face it...It's not going to happen and we should all stop expecting a good result in this debate. National, state and local government does not give a shit about us or the airways would be littered with P.S.A.'s on the subject. In the very least there ought to be a section of the drivers license test on cycling rights and laws. Don't hold your breathe though, because it is never going to happen. There is no money in it for the stooges, and there are a lot more of them than there is ever going to be of us. We will NEVER have the lobby power, as a group, to change this shit. Get out your spoons kids, cause if you are going to ride a bike, you are going to eat shit.

Bon Appitit!

Thanks for listening.

W.B.Z.N.