I Could Live Here

Sorry I have been derailed. I know I owe you all a post on my Pennsylvania odyssey. I have a guest blog (from Pete Repeaty) a thug from " The Lig" I want to post too.

Right now I am wrestling some dilemmac forces. Bear with me. I WILL BE BACK.

W.B.Z.N.

Brothers In Arms (part duex)

"I am sure there is a hot tub time machine around here somewhere."

The old ski lodge had a cool, budget feel to it. Signs of low coffers were subtle, but everywhere. Painted floors that showed traffic patina. Rust stained bathrooms, and the antique ski lift all added to the "we've had better times" vibe. Still, it had a low pressure, everyman, ski resort feel. If I skied, I would be here with the rest of the cast of "Meatballs". The lady at the counter didn't laugh, and my brother Jim was quick to ad something like:

"Don't pay attention to him, he does that."

She immediately laughed and I wandered off. My brothers Jim and Davey have transitioned into cute, funny, older guys and I am still in that awkward tweener state somewhere between "used to be cool" and middle age crisis. Clearly, she was in their demographic and my jokes would be useless here. 

We met our guides and went to the first warm up zip line.

 Now I should say (for the sake of full disclosure) I have always been the action sports dude in my family. I fully expected to talk Jimmy through the fear. Turns out he was fine and I was pretty much freaking the whole zippidy do line day.

The fact that the girl totally loved Jimmy and Davey and pretty much treated me like a scared ten year old only dumped salt in it.

We had a legit good time. Not one ruffled feather in the whole flocking day. We got home and I made an awful dinner, which my brothers ate and then lied about how great it was. Jimmy's married to an Italian woman (who of course can really cook) so it was hard for him. Davey stabs at, and adds weird things to his food when he doesn't like it. When he continued to reach for the maple syrup, I knew the pasta prima scara was bad. After all our differences, and all our wacky history, that can only be classified as love, or they were to tired to care.

It was nice to have a good memory that we will have forever. No matter what happens in the future any one of us will be able to say;

"Remember that time we went on the zip line?"

That is what life is about. If you don't make good memories, no one will do it for you. We done good brothers.

W.B.Z.N.

Brothers In Arms

I don't know what it is about fine hotels (Deity of choice knows I have not stayed in many) but I sleep like a baby in them. The A/C gets set to Shackelton, you have more pillows than Jeanie has in her bottle, man that is living. Davey and I woke up around seven, he with a Guinness hangover, me as hungry as a bear. The Elan breakfast buffet was not great but at least it was really expensive, and the tea was awful. Let that be a lesson to you: The Waffle House will not win any culinary awards, but it is good and consistent (arteries be damned).

We headed north on 85 to Spartansburg , and finally turned inland, headed for the mountains. I was finally on vacation. Junkyards filled with classic American metal, hot rod shops around every corner, cabins on hills in the distance and dropping temps made me breathe deep and turn up the Pandora. My head was spinning like a light house beacon as I explored the fantasy of living in the country. Brother Jimmy was checking on our progress and making sure that we didn't go missing in the wilderness, but even that would have been fine with me, nothing is better than a driving a country road on a nice day. We winded through the Pisgah National Forrest on the snake of a road 221 becomes in the mountains, descended into Linville and arrived at my brother Jimmy's house.

My brother Jimmy is a powerhouse of energy. He is a magician of a V.W. mechanic, can play nearly anything with strings, sings like a banshee and has dedicated his life to the Catholic Church. He and I have not always had a rosy relationship. It is our similarities that divide us more than our differences. Two people that have charged opinions and the nuclear energy to defend them, will often butt heads. I have taken great delight in provoking him and he counters with passive aggressive tactics that he never owns up to. There is a strange competitive undercurrent to nearly all we do and say, that makes it tiresome for us both. Who is more at fault is any ones guess, but it suffices to say it is a chore for both of us to endure the other. Still I have to say Jimmy has been a good brother to me. He kept my cars on the road for years, and used to come to the biker bars I played in as a kid, to make sure I was okay. All things must be measured in equal and I know we both carry more fault than either will ever admit. It is a family tradition that will last the ages.

We arrived at his house in the late afternoon and took the tour of his retirement digs (currently under renovation). We had tea and dinner and settled in for a night of cards and stories of the family. Whenever I get around people from my family, I grill them for answers about my Father and Mother. There is a lot of mystery that may never be solved, but each time I learn something new. It is these moments I live for, when no one is trying to prove anything, defend anyone or settle some ancient grudge that (as my ole Mum used to say) was stuck in their craw. We played rummy deep into the night and then, as our clan always does, we went from spirited talk to asleep on our feet in seconds. We all retreated for rest.

                      
We awoke to steady drizzle and the thoughts I had of riding this beautiful areas trails, started to look dismal. I got an early start and headed up to Beech Mountain to find a bike shop and some advice. I arrived to more rain, a "closed" sign and realized it was Monday, a day most shops from here to Mars are closed. I searched my phone for a shop in Boone, called to find them open, set the NAV to the addy and headed off. Now in my head I am thinking fifteen miles is not that far, and I had no idea that my NAV (nick named Su Su) can be a sadistic bitch. She sent me up and down a road that Tour De France organizers wouldn't dare send elite cyclists to. I had some guy riding my ass the entire ride (because after all I am a Floridiot, the most hated of all N.C. invaders).

I found the shop and the requisite dismissive rat that worked there.

"Oh you are from Florida....ya well here's a map of a trail I take my girlfriend on....that might be good for you."

"Thanks man, I was hoping for some more stuff like I rode in Brevard, you know like, Sycamore and Dupont..."

His expression and tone never changed and all the trails he mentioned were 45 minutes to an hour away. I am starting to get the feeling this is not going to work out between us and we may need to see other people. I thank him and head back down to Jimmy's house.

On the way way down the mountain I see a sign for the longest zip line on the east coast and I get the idea it may be nice for Davie, Jim and I to do something we can all do. It would be really nice to create some memories together for a change. I pitch it to them like Robin Williams on crack, and (HOLY CRAP!) they agree to go. A phone call is made, an appointment is booked and as we head back up the hill, the sun comes out, proving to me without doubt, that (Deity of choice) approves.

More later.......

W.B.Z.N.

Long Ride

My guidance system was set to the coordinates of Dauset to ride solo. This trail and I have had our differences. The first time I rode it was an epic fall trip with the Worm, Curl, Lil Ball and Cliffbar. The next two were soaked with rain, plagued by mud and ended with us getting lost and bonked. I had to face my foe, and doing it solo made me all the more nervous. I have been avoiding solo rides at home, and this trail is in the middle of nowhere. 

I can not say that I had a great ride. I can not say I hated my ride. I can only say it was a completely new sensation and that I am glad for it. I did get lost and I did find my way out. I did ride Huff and Puff twice and I am sure that my heart rate never went below 165bpm. If it was from being out of my element or the relentless climbing, I will never know. All I can tell you is; I never saw another rider and for the first time in years, I felt like a new rider again. When I returned to the parking lot the sky was nearly dark, I was tired, hungry, and smiling. It was time to head to the Chateau Elan' and to hear me Ole' Bother Davie sing some Irish tunes.

My brother Davey is loved by all, everywhere he goes. He has the enthusiasm of a child and he greets every day with wonder and excitement. This quality is unaffected by reality or circumstance. He has been playing the same songs for years and neither he nor anyone else, ever tires of them. He is unfazed by any audience or venue and plays his sets as though they were his last act on this earth. I always marvel at how he loves to perform, and I am sad to say it is a quality I lost long ago. Being in the audience and watching makes me wish I could return to the days I enjoyed bars and the people in them. I do miss performing, but after (an estimated) 3000 plus gigs, over thirty years, I lost the taste for the form. I watch as people enter the room and Davie wins them over. A table of rich women in their twenties sit right up front and ignore him while drinking cosmos. One is wearing a sash that says: "Bride".  They are not pretty and I suspect time they will not improve them, but they look like they will have money forever judging from the Coach bags, Rolex watches, and large diamonds on their ring fingers. Davie does not engage them, but instead stares through and around them as he smiles, tells stories and introduces the next song. He mentions that he usually plays this song at weddings, but thinks it might be good. The girls swing in their chairs and face Davie for the first time as he sings: "You Say Nothing At All" by Alison Kruass. The women move their mouths to the words and never turn away from Davie for the rest of the set. He repeats this process with another loud table by playing "Patty Won't Be At Work Today" by The Dubliners. He has succeeded in getting the room on his side. I shake my head and laugh.

I am tired and since my new medical parameters prevent alcohol, I retreat to the room. Tomorrow we ride to North Carolina, to visit our brother Jimmy in Land Harbour. I drift off into a dreamless sleep, after a great first day.

More later....

W.B.Z.N.  

Workin Them Angels

Near as I can figure I am on my fifth life. Mock punches from the void. My sins and my trophies are bigger than they should be, for such a bush league player. So make your own calls on why I am still here.

I have grown tired of the doom game. I have never really been a dark guy, and I gotta tell ya, it's exhausting. No wonder those goth kids move so slow. I am tired of looking back and I am tired of worrying about what is to come. I can't articulate what it means, but I think I am starting to figure it out. I don't want to make it a slogan, a bumper sticker or fortune cookie tripe, so I will just try to hang onto the vibe and let the rest fall to the way side.

I feel good today. I'm going to go ride. I have a century posted on the watchtower in case something good is creating a dust trail on the edge of the realm. Other than that, I plan on living vicariously through my sons and riding my bike.

Demon fear
Demon doubt
get thee behind me
I cast you out

W.B.Z.N.

Chasing Pavements

The Tom Brown race has become my fitness barometer. It starts looming on my horizon in May and lurks between my conscious and subconscious like a spy. It  whispers cryptic messages to me as I ride, sleep and try to get through days. I hated the obligation until I was unable to ride last year and like most things when you lose them, it's value became crystal clear.

Leading up to the race I had lured myself into a false sense of bravado. I really thought I was getting fast. Then the BC crew read me the news on a medium pace ride. I fell off the back back like a drunk tourist on a cruise ship and watched in desperation as the wake trailed off into the night. I gave up and posted a desperate blog, thinking I had no chance. I did a few rides solo and picked out some lines and got back to basics. A week before the event things started coming into focus and I had a couple good rides. I knew I had no chance of placing but maybe I wouldn't be last.

The night before the race I crashed on the section of Caddy that I had been obsessing about most. This led to a long night of play, rewind and play again dreams, that robbed me of sleep. I woke up two seconds after my head hit the pillow in a frantic hurry that I could not extinguish.

I got to Tom Brown early but, I just couldn't find a place where the death fidgets would go away. I finally gave in and started warming up (an hour before my wave). On the line I was really jacked up and on the edge of needing defibrillation. A hand hit my shoulder as I staked out my starting spot. Jauncho's smiling face is next to me with (WHAT?) Bike Shop Joey in full Lycra. I hear laughing, indecipherable words, my name and more laughter. I look up to see Big Worm and crew pointing and giving me shit in full cry for all to hear. I realize everything is going to be fine, as I begin laughing uncontrollably.

(side bar) *I had asked the crew not to be encouraging but to pummel me with insults and venom on race day, a detail my damaged little noodle had forgotten till this very second.*

The gun goes off and I get a great start. There are a few really aggressive guys vying for the three foot opening we are approaching at about twenty two miles an hour, five abreast. I blink, hit the brakes, and two squeak by me. I'm fifth into the woods and I settle in and to watch the typical horror show that is the 40-49 beginner class. These guys are all fast but I swear they must never ride dirt. I would not be surprised at all to look up and see a guy in a matching day glow kit, riding at the speed of sound, with a white cane stretched out in front of him. If I wasn't so out of breath I would laugh. We hit the first multi use trail climb and (what a surprise) I go from first to tenth in the first half of the hill. I make it into the woods without losing anymore spots. I get through the tough sections of Caddy upright, despite a few near misses.

On the gravel climb to Tom Brown it is clear I am not going to be able to pace up to anyone, so I go into conservation mode. At the top of the climb, Big Worm and crew are shouting insults (as requested) and it makes me feel better going back to the woods. Once in TB the pack stretches out and I get picked off by a few more riders in and out of my class. I let them all by uncontested. At the BMX track I am considering all the great reasons I should never ride a bike again. I hear screaming. I hear my name. Is it the drill Sergeant from "Full Metal Jacket"? No, it is Big Jim spitting fire and demanding that I do not let him out run me up the hill, to the end of lap one. I am in agony as he screams in my face and I don't have enough air to howl with laughter, so I just pedal harder. I come by the BC crew tents (and the start/finish line) and I am greeted by what can only be described as a blood thirsty mob screaming insults that would make Don Rickles weep for humanity. Red Dragon flips a bird in my face. Men, women and their children yell in slow motion. They curse my family back ten generations. They are going to murder my children. It is as if the villagers that wanted Frankensteins death, are at the bike race. I am laughing as I go by, not at the insults, but at the confused expressions of people (that don't know the BC tribe) recoiling in abject terror. From this moment on, I am having a great time.

My first lap was respectable and on pace with riders much better than me. My second lap is an exercise in survival. I crawl on the climbs and get sloppy on the tight single track. I roll through the finish (in front of eight truly pathetic excuses for MTB racers, who should never darken the door of another event) in 18th place.

Monday felt like New Years Day. It felt like I had slayed a dragon and that I could push hard on rides again. The demon fear had been laid to rest. For the first time in a year I was not defined by some crap hand of genetic cards. I wasn't the "stroke guy" anymore. I was, as I have always been, a slow old guy in a beginner race. Mt. Everest (for better or worse) is where ever you place and climb it. Thank You (Deity of choice) for the great day.

I tacked my race number up in the garage. I know right where it is. I see it every time I pull in on my bike or in my car. Soon it will be just another piece of paper marking a hurdle in distant memory. I'm looking forward to that.


W.B.Z.N.

Paranoid

I haven't slept for three days.

My taint feels like someone hit it with a sledgehammer.

I have spent $150 on bike repairs this week.

My legs hurt.

I have tried three different tire/tube combo's and two different Camelbacks.

I can't get enough water into my body.

People I normally like are now the enemy.

Must be race week.


W.B.Z.N.