Chipseal, Cobbles, and Pedals

Self mutilation, mastication of organic materials, purple limbs, recovery drink = beer…tis the season for a masochist.

Forgetting the brutality of cross, my first race on September the 13th, began with a face-plant over the barriers on lap one. I stumbled up the hill, holding up the field andstruggled to clip in.  With only a few days on my new cross bike, I again was humbling myself at the very back of the field.  You win some, you lose some. I went into the race with a big head, only to regain it’s appropriate size.  I finished 2nd to last…exhausted and defeated.  Just need to practice and get into ‘cross shape’.

 

Wednesday after work, Aaron, Pat and I dashed up to Wrenthem for a training race, it was my saving grace for the upcoming weekend.  Almost 50 men, lined up on their bikes, and when the whistle blew, elbows were flying, tires spinning as everyone fought for position on the trails. Over the barriers, they threw themselves and back onto the bike.  I had to transform my brain into that of a man’s to compete with their aggressiveness…”that sucker cut me off…I’ll show him!!”  The training lasted until dark.  Our hearts were pounding, bodies sore, but we were all smiles.  And me, I knew what needed to be done in order to put myself at the front of the women’s field.

Saturday came and Rob and I drove up to Waterville, NH.  Northern New Hampshire was already transforming into the beautiful New England fall.  The course was at the ski resort, over some Nordic trails, through 2 sand pits, 2 tunnels, a muddy hill, and barriers.  The course was fairly technical and I was psyched!  I could do this on a single-speed and now…I had gears!  Before the start, I headed to the porto.  My water bottle was tucked into my back pocket.  As I stood up from the seat, I heard a loud KABOOM!!  What was that!??  I turned, looked around, and realized as I saw it below…my jersey was lighter and my bottle had fallen into the dark never-land… never to be used again! 

As we lined up, all six of us, I glanced around.  A couple pro-crossers, one lady with UCI world championship jersey, and me. Don’t want to be last.  Stay at the front.

We took off, and immediately I took the lead. The girl in the burnt orange kit stumbled laughing over the first set of barriers.  I quickly made a gap between the other riders.  But suddenly I became very uncomfortable. Was I going too fast…did I belong up there?  I hit an unfamiliar and uncomfortable zone…. “Snap out of it….of course you’re supposed to be at the front!” I yelled at myself. After the first lap, two riders passed me, right after the long, zig-zaggy sand pit.  I chased andstayed close to the second rider.  Through the slush, over the barriers, zig-zag through the trees, sand, through the tunnel, off the bike, over the barrier, sprint up the hill, on…down the hill…slow through the mud, around the corner, stand up…jump on the pedals.  Singletrack. Over the bridge.  “Go Melissa…you almost have her!” Around the bushes, up a hill, down hill…tight turn, through the tunnel of water. Splash. Wet feet.  Across the grass, in andout of the turns.  Step on the gas!  Across the gravel, into the sand.  Off the bike, shoulder it, and run…weaving through the sandy maze.  On the bike, over the bridge….closer andcloser to the girl in blue.  Finally, I pass her!   I stand up and build a gap. 

Lap after lap….I think I’m going to finish in second place!  But wait…I look back and see another face passing the girl in blue!  She makes her way forward each lap.  My body is becoming fatigued as I jump on and off the bike. Two laps to go and I hear her breathing down my neck.  I panic and push on.  Over the bridge and through the bushes…I hear a scream.  What was that?!!  “You’ll be fine!”  I hear someone yell….the girl behind me was getting chased by a dog!!  She was getting closer than ever!  The sad pit.  I threw myself off the bike, and ran.  She was so close.  Suddenly I feel my rear wheel catch a post as I shoulder the bike.  I tug and the bike releases and smacks me in the head.  Ouch.  I regain my balance, but it was too late, she had made her move.  She had me, mentally and physically.  I was done for. 

“Don’t give up,” I thought and chased on but it was too late.  The last lap and I was defeated. I finished 3rd.  But, third is good after a weekend in the back!  Smiling, I went to the podium and accepted my$$ and goodie bag of a ski pass, ginger ale, and maple syrup.

I returned home, semi resembling a beaten-wife. Sunday, I made Aaron waffles. ”Bring home the bacon,” he says.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Although it was a long weekend, I did not travel to any races.  The weekend was full of riding and excitement.  Excitement of all types: laughing, crying, fear, pain.  I experienced the whole spectrum.  As I type this, my right eye is very dilated and blurred (I’m partially blinded) from my exciting commute today.  But, my tale begins on Sunday.

An old man once told me as I sat by his bedside, many summers ago, that his dying wish would be to float up to the clouds.  Three weeks ago, he made his peaceful journey.  Sunday morning, a group of us drove up to Bolton, MA, an hour north, and did a ride called, “Climb the Clouds”.  The ride goes all the way to the top of Wachusett, where the Fitchburg road race was held.  We were all very tired that morning as Bill had held a wonderful BBQ the night before.  We had been out late and were recovering from the “Chocolate dessert wine” that Keith had brought. It was amazing, but had effects for the morning after that included extreme fatigue. Keith was laughing.  Aaron and I were cursing.  The roads were hilly and crossed beautiful farm country.  It was so beautiful, yet everyone was very quiet as we rode along. I felt like I was riding in Europe.  The ride took us to the very top of Wachusette where you could look out and see the Boston skyline, 60 miles away.  It took your breath away and a cool breeze blew. Autumn was coming. We rode back and I was getting fatigued. I held on. We had to enjoy the moment in the clouds. 

The ride took only the morning, and we were back to our apartment by 2pm.  Aaron and I were so tired…the lack of sleep from the week had caught up to us.  We slept for almost 3 hours, and when 5pm hit, I gasped awake and shot up from the pillow. It was time to get up. Se we watched a movie, had dinner, and then the first phone call,  “Hi Aaron, it’s Mom, Grandma passed away at 5pm your time today.”  I could see Aaron’s nostrils flaring as she spoke, but he didn’t cry.  He never cries.  Grace had been in the nursing home for years with alzheimer’s and had been going down hill, so we were expecting this and almost felt a sense of relief.  “She’s in the clouds now,” I thought. The moment I had awaken from my sleep, she had taken her last breath.

The afternoon turned to evening and we were almost ready to turn to bed when the second call came,  “Hi Melissa, it’s your brother Mark.  I was told to call you.  Your cousin Brandy committed suicide this afternoon.  I’m so sorry.”  I was paralyzed.  I barely knew her because she was so much older than I, but I could hardly believe that she would take her life.  My eyes swelled.

The night was about to end in tears when Aaron checked his email.  Our friend Pat had send out an email advertising a “recovery” ride for the following day. He had posted the definition of ‘recovery’ as to emphasise an easy spin.  Aaron’s reply and the dialogue was as follows:

AARON:

How about this definition of ”recovery” from Urban Dictionary:

1.  Recovery
 1. A vague term used for the world’s oldest profession.
2. The act of prostitution.
3. Getting a john
-Hey Rhonda, where are you working now?
-Oh, I’ve been doing some recovery in Newark.
- ::puzzled:: hmmm…

Here is the Link: http://recovery.urbanup.com/1935249

I think I will go for a cross recovery ride….

 

KEITH:

I’m trying to reconcile your earlier definition of “recovery” in combination with the word “cross” . . . Hmmmm, lots of potential there for commentary of all sorts . . . I’ll just let your imaginations run wild.

AARON:

Funny Keith, very funny!

To better explain…Cross “recovery” rides are usually “Pimpin”
Also from urban dictionary…

Pimpin:
 1) To work it with a member of the opposite sex
2) A compliment used when someone is wearing platinum chains, Fubu™
clothes, etc.
3) An object of high appeal

also see pimpette
1) Ricky is pimpin wit dem hoes
2) Damn dawg, your pimpin it with that chain
3) That Jaguar is pimpin
Oh Yea!!!

I laughed so hard my stomach hurt! The night ended with a smile.

Monday morning Aaron and I slept in, and got up to my inventive apple-oat waffles.  They were inventive!  Then we headed to the shop to work on our cross bikes for our epic “cross recovery” ride.  My new cross bike wasn’t in yet, so I was trying to reconcile my orange-steel fixie.  Aaron had gotten his new Trek a few days before so he was finishing building the bike.  Our friend Robb stopped by and he was ready for the best cross “recovery” ride of his life!! 

We hit all our favorite trails; rocks, mud,   and dirt.  We did it all!  It was like life had been infused back into my body.  My blood was flowing, I was laughing! We had burs all over our socks and our legs were freshly scratched from the branches.  It felt so good to be dirty again.  Cross season had officially begun!  After what seemed like a quick moment in time, 2 hours had passed and we rode back to the shop.  The shop is located across a busy intersection and you have to ride down a steep hill to get to the lights.  Since I was riding my fixie, I had no brakes. The only thing slowing me down was my back-pedal motion. At the top of the hill Aaron commented, “Melissa, your front chain ring is so roached!!”  “I know, tell me!”  I laughted.  “Well, be careful coming down the hill!” He said this before he and Robb took off.  I’d gone down this hill a million times on my fixie, so it was nothing to me, but suddenly, it became my terror ride as I heard a “clink” sound and realized my chain had fallen off.  “Oh-shit!  I have no brakes!”  I gasped.  “AARON!!!  AAAAARRRROOOONNN!!!”  I screamed as I came plowing down the hill.   The intersection was coming up. I swerved, trying to slow the bike.  All the traffic!  I looked to my left, there was Boch Collision Center.  Nope, not crashing there.  I looked to my right, there was a patch of grass and bushes.  I screamed at Robb to watch out, as I went around him and turned into the grass and finally stopping in the bushes.  I stood up without even a scratch, “I’m ALIVE!!!  It feels so good to be alive!!”  My heart was pounding. We finished off our ride with a refreshing Sam Adams and bourbon chaser.

 

After an exciting weekend, I had an early morning as I needed to be at the office by 7am.  I ran out the apartment door, hopped on my bike and took off down the sidewalk.  I wasn’t but 20 feet from the apartment when the commuter bus drove by and created a gust of wind that forced a small but irritating particle into my right eye.  I thought nothing of it as I put my shades on and headed to work.  But the morning dragged out as my eye was swollen and irritated beyond belief.  I could barely focus at the meeting and the eye-wash would not take away the shard in my eye.  I finally gave in and went to the optomotrist.  It was a piece of metal.  It had given me so much grief all morning. I returned to work wearing my Oakley’s as my eye was dilated and earned the nickname, “BONO.”

So there you are…our ride to the clouds and excitement for the weekend.  Sometimes when you fall down, you just need to pick yourself up and try, try, try again.  All it might take is a little research on urbandictionary.com to do the trick.  Worked for me!

With love, for Grandma Grace and Brandy.