:: 'Professional' ::

:: i've met some wonderful people cycling, and i've also met a fair share of chumps too. this is a story about the later. back in the day, i rode for a team which to maintain anonymity we shall call vsl. vsl was formed by succeeding from a snooty parent club to provide a safe-haven for cyclists who weren't necessarily the fastest thing on two wheels, and welcomed me with open arms. i spent many wonderful hours riding with folks i met weekend mornings and hanging out at the local bike shop. now fast forward 5 years... the team has grown and a sponsor shows up to sponsor the 'elite' team. by this point many of us had purchased accessories and even bicycles that matched our old kit, and overnight we went from an elite and very stylish club, to looking like a gang of rag-tag rookies who shopped at the cycling goodwill. at this point, i moved away and it was very clear the club was too big and uninterested in my membership. at races though, i'd always ride up to an vsl cat and say hey. 9 times out of 10 i'd be scoffed or completely ignored as we bumped elbows in the peleton. but on the rare occasion my presence was acknowledged i'd ride until i met the man with the hammer to get my new friend to the front. now fast forward another few years to this past weekends tour d'toona. i see the aforementioned sponsors name plastered on the side of a truck which is painted the garish colors of the most recent vsl kit. while the race was going on, i spotted a fellow by the truck who looked very important, and stopped by to say hey. i asked if a few of the members of the old elite team were racing, and was met with a blank stare. he did admit they sounded familiar, and i said that i used to race for vsl. his response, in true chump fashion was, 'oh... they're amateurs. we're professionals.' he then decided our conversation was over. with all of the hooplah the last few weeks regarding professional cycling, i walked away disappointed that such a chump represented a sport i enjoy following. in the final sprint, a chumpster's buddy was in it, but i didn't cheer for him to win it... and he didnt... i know, i know, not very professional, but hey, i'm just an amateur. ::

:: Raccoons ::

:: it seems that when i feel good in a race, i will certainly do horrible. however, if i feel horrible, there is a 0.005% chance than my performance will be spectacular (at least by shojo standards). such was the case at the raccoon rally. saturday for the road race, i was feeling confident having done some hard training and only have 600 feet of climbing per lap. after 18 minutes of feeling like making a break off the front, i realized my mistake... it was 600 meters of climbing... boom done off the back. picked up and passed a few others, and got a semi-respectable 27th place finish in a huge field. sunday i didn't want to get out of bed, i didn't really warm up due to the soreness, and i wasn't really that excited about mountain biking (and haven't been since death day). but a remarkable ride ensued the start gun. within a few minutes i was in the top 30 of a field of several hundred, and after 20 minutes i'd passed 15 experts that started 5 minutes ahead. went on to get a 5th place finish in my class, despite practically stopping to wrestle with a bag of sport beans. so now i'm thinking i'll skip the tour d'toona, and do a 6 hour mountain bike race up in ellicotville. stay tuned to see how i feel for that! ::

:: Midnight ::

::

a new day begins, before i end the previous,
awake still. body weary, but mind animated.
a month has passed since proving intellect,
respite earned, yet restful sleep evades.
::
monsters under my bed no longer give fright,
when compared to those hiding in the back of my mind.
what merit they have i cannot discern,
with no strength left to banish them, they roam free.
::
laying awake i stare into the night,
watching sun, moon, and stars in their ceaseless flight.
no help are sheep to count, or any of the usual tricks,
that used to quite the mind and force a slumber.
::
i turn to a friend, in hopes of freeing the sleep,
one who has special meaning to me which i cannot explain.
i escape the bed which no longer comforts,
and flee into the darkness, with a guttural roar.
::
floating as if dreaming, into the countryside,
to a place i seldom visit when cloaked with night.
the road appears before me, a hundred yards at a time,
i ease off the throttle as critters great and small cross my path.
::
the wind on my face penetrates my head, and clears the mind,
enabling sight of the greater picture, with each passing mile.
floating along i forget the mistakes i've made,
and the more haunting thoughts of ones i've missed.
::
with engine silenced, the world is transformed by starlight and bullfrogs,
so bright and loud now without synthetic glow or roar.
it is simple to remain strong with companionship,
but alone the strength is found much deeper in the soul.
::