12 Hours of Bradbury 17 September 2011

Yesterday marked the date of my first REALLY LONG DAY on my bike. I've done epic rides before, but nothing as epic as 9+hours of single track out in the lovely Bradbury Mountain State Park, ME. I drove up Friday afternoon with my buddy Dan and we arrived in Brunswick around 7pm after hitting some traffic (which included the wreckage of a crashed camper).

Our awesome friends Kevin and Amanda let us crash at their home and welcomed us to their town with a delicious home-cooked pasta dinner. After a quick trip to the grocery store for some race-time fuel foods, we headed back to the house to shower and all made an attempt to get some sleep before our alarms went off at 5:30am. The race started at 8am, but we had about a 20 minute drive over from Brunswick, and we still had to set up, so we had planned to leave the house by 6:30 or so.

Geting set up, I felt like a complete disorganized mess... I had no idea what to do with my stuff. I ended up finding a spot near where we would be going through on our laps, and I set up all of my stuff on a camp chair so that I'd be able to reach everything I needed without having to bend down much. I had planned on a bottle of accelerade per lap and to eat one to two packets of gu as well. I also wanted to make sure that I was eating some solids throughout the day so that I wouldn't bonk. I had a bunch of bananas slung over the back of chair and a bag of organic energy blocks at my disposal to stuff in my pockets and my mouth every lap.

When the race started at 8, I was pretty cold. I didn't want to overdress, so I just put on my wind jacket and hoped for the best. My legs were freezing, but it didn't matter anyhow. The group started out in a big bottle-necking cluster of people and didn't really spread out until we were more than halfway through the first lap. I didn't really worry about it though because I knew I'd be able to make up plenty of time later. What were the next 11 hours going to be for if not for making up for the first lap? The course was fun, but VERY slippery. There were roots everywhere and every last one was wet.

Throughout the first lap I could hear the other two solo women conversing somewhere behind me, so I knew where they were. Even though it was a slow lap, I managed to get myself a lead and the first lap ended up being about an hour and one minute or so. Not bad considering the bunching up of people.

I knew going into the race that there was a prize for the fastest female lap time, so I planned on going hard for at least a lap. The first lap, being slow and not really knowing the course, was not the place to do it. Even the second lap, with super slippery roots from the overnight dampness was not the time to haul donkey. So, I decided to go for it on lap 3. I watched the time when I could and managed to pull out a 52 minute lap (The rest of my laps were right around an hour and a little over). I still didn't go completely all out because I knew I had a long day ahead of me, but I was content knowing I put out the effort.

Lap 4 wasn't too shabby either, but from there, the laps started to seem longer and longer... maybe because it was taking me a little longer each lap to get through them.

I did okay chasing away my mental demons until lap 9. At this point, I knew I'd need lights soon, and I knew the roots were getting damp again. I was sore (my back and arms hurt to touch). I was IRRITABLE! I was on the edge of crying at the thought of doing two more laps. So, when I came in from lap 9 and inquired with a very wonderful lady (who had helped me through a bunch of my pit stops earlier in the race and was there for her hubby), she informed me that my competition was out on lap 7 and their laps were around an hour and a half. My last lap was an hour and 13 minutes or something like that due to my miserableness. I knew that no matter what, I had the race in the bag.

While I feel like somewhat of a chump for calling it quits at that point, I am glad I saved myself from potentially crashing and/or crying like a baby out on another lap. I happily packed up my stuff, headed over to the campsite to see my friends who I hadn't really seen since 8am that day (except for Kevin when he passed me), and deliriously tried to figure out what to do with myself. Luckily, the BBQ was still open for a veggie burger and a big honkin' piece o' corn bread, and the showers were HOT and FREE!!!! YAY!

The awards didn't really happen until around 9pm, so I got to hang out and watch Kevin and Amanda finish up their final laps. Dan and I rolled out around 10pm I think and got to Plainfield CT after 1am. All in all, it was totally AWESOME, and I can't wait to do it again next year!

Next up? Mansfield hollow cyclocross Oct 15 and EFTA Treasure Valley Rally MTB race Oct 16. Can't wait for more MTB fun.

Long time, long time... long time gone.

Ok, so it seems I have been rather uninspired over the last year but I have also been extremely busy. That being said, my creative writing has taken a hiatus and the only writing I've done has been out of necessity. This is for the sole reason that I only had time to write if it was a necessity (i.e. papers for school). So, I'm back but not exactly writing in the same capacity. What I'm going to be posting from now on will still be based on inspiration, but it will be more about what inspires me rather than the product of inspiration. You follow?

The past year has been filled with working like a maniac, followed by continuing to work like a maniac while going to school full time and then the usual working interspersed with mountain bike racing and the training required for that. While I can say I would have liked to have trained more or with more purpose, the season wasn't a flop. I managed to do well for having taken a lot of time off over the past two years. I feel as though I am back in such a way that I am comfortable and less stressed about the whole racing process. I take myself less seriously, and when I find myself getting the urge to stress, I somehow manage my thoughts so that I can find the fun in it all again.

Before the race season even began, I got my eating habits partially under control and lost the weight that I needed to in a safe way. I did it with good old fashioned calorie counting. That's right... energy in = energy out. Now I just have to fight off the urge to binge on corn chips...

slow death

You are my ivy
a quiet sprout
creeping along my surface
slowly attaching yourself to me
secretly spreading your tendrils
silently overtaking me
and then I cannot breathe
you strangle me
suffocating my life
to grow stronger while I suffer
I am yours.

Morning Coffee

The Percolator pops and hisses

as it brews for me four

cups of bitter bliss.

First sip is a bite on my tongue

followed by a burning down

to

my

belly

dutifully nudging me from slumber.

Wooden People

“Ya know, I've been working out here a long time,” Uncle Alan began, “and the more I think about it, the more I've come to understand that people are just like trees.” Making his way over to the old wood splitter he used for firewood, he was silent. As we approached, he slowed and came to a stop scratching his beard and turning to me said, “every type of tree is made up of certain character traits, just like any human being, and I suppose I judge people as I would judge any tree.”

I looked down at the ground as he paused for a moment before going on. “Ash is a white wood. It grows pretty darn straight, with few limbs, usually a brown heart, and splits and burns nice for firewood with no seasoning needed. That right there is your straight and narrow type of person. There's no mystery there. They follow the rules and do what they're supposed to and never wonder any different. They're the type that are perfectly planted and harvested by societies ideal standards.”

“A white pine is a useful wood for building barns and such. It grows fast, and is soft and easy to work with. For an evergreen, its needles are soft and generally unoffensive to the touch. White pine people are soft, good natured sorts who are useful and kind. They aren't the type to hide anything and are pretty straight and friendly.”

He went on while I dug my toe into the ground unsure how long he would talk before setting me to work. “You've got hickory too. Now, them there are some good burning sticks. A stove full of hickory will crank out some high BTUs, and keep a place nice and hot... it grows with a white wood and a brown heart, and is a real pain to split. I figure, hickory people are the type who work hard, and only care about things as much as they need to to get through life. They don't let people get to close, but they're useful in making the world run.”

Thinking that this was maybe a little interesting I nodded to Uncle Alan before he continued. “Now, Maple, that's an interesting one,” he said. “There's your soft, fast growing maple, and then there's your hard slow growing type, but overall there are many species. Maple's got mostly no heart, but the hard maple is the one you can get syrup from, so it has good use. I think a maple is a government sort of tree. Looks all showy when its got its shiny leaves on, but is really heartless underneath, and once in awhile you might get something good out of it, but for the most part its a real pain in the pants.”

Finally genuinely amused, I let my eyes light up a little to encourage more, and though he didn't seem to notice, he kept right on talking. “The birch tree... now that one there grows fast and straight most of the time, has a nice red heart, white wood, and it smells real good inside... almost sweet,” he said. “That kind of person is okay, good at heart, and real nice to be around. Most of the time, they're straight forward, but every now and then you get one that's all twisted up and crooked inside. When you split twisted birch for firewood, it can be a real hassle, just like getting involved with a person who's all sweet smelling but twisted up ugly inside.”

“Oak comes in three colors. There's red... it grows straighter than others with a nice salmon color that shows through its rough bark. It's used for hardwood floors because of its straightness and color, and a red oak type of person is real nice on the inside, a good soul, but they tend to get walked on a lot. Black oak is a lot like red but its got darker grains and isn't nearly as pretty. It tends to get used for railroad ties and telephone poles. Another walk all over me type of person is a black oak, and they don't even get the benefit of looking good on the inside.” Going on with oak, he said, “white oak is heavy and dense, and rot resistant. Of course, that type of person is impenetrable. They are thick-headed and there's no getting through to them.”

Uncle Alan stopped talking, turned, and started up the wood splitter. He began demonstrating how to use it, though we didn't speak over the sound of it. Suddenly he idled it down and turned to me, “you know what kind kind of wood I am?” I didn't, so I shook my head, and he said, “I'm termite infested.” Thinking that was odd, I said nothing as he idled the machine back up and we got to work.

Two months later, Uncle Alan passed away, and I found out that he had cancer. It took me two days to recall his story of the trees and the people, and when I did I understood.

Paint By Letter

Thick colorful globs of paint have been replaced
by pages full of carefully chosen words
in black on white with size twelve font.
Writing is the medium and letters
get placed on a paper canvas
just as precisely as pigment was once
massaged into place on masonite slabs.
An artist with an ability to arrange anything they will
into a masterpiece
has not relinquished the craft of creativity
by putting aside a brush, but instead
has conquered having quit
by picking up a pen.

Not a Poet

I will not claim to be a poet
but I will sit quietly,
pen charged with intent
and paper awaiting a word.

I will not attempt to be a poet
but I will feign prodigy,
choosing illustrious words
and later impersonating writers.

I will not commit to being a poet
but I will drink heavily,
hoping for inspiration
and never writing a word.

I am not a poet
but I will exploit words,
arranging them with care
and forever feeling an impostor.