With the blueness fading, things are looking a little more upbeat. The wife owns most of the credit for talking me in off the ledge. She's pretty good, that one. She punched me right between the eyes the other evening when I came growling through the door. She pointed out that I am healthy, she is healthy, the kiddiewinks are healthy, I'm a good husband (I suspected this to be the case all along--but it's the first I've heard it articulated by someone other than me), a great father, and that we are in a good place. That in the grand scheme of things, what would I rather have? So the bike is not going well right now, this too shall pass and I'll be out there floundering at the front of the cat 4 peloton in no time. Just don't giggle at me this weekend when I'm flailing off the back at Snelling. I'm still not totally stable and I can't be held responsible if my bike accidentally rattles off your dome.

So yesterday I had a much better ride. About 20 minutes into the ride I started thinking about how this all started. We've all heard the story about my first ride with Griff and Oz at night with my garden gloves on, etc. I won't belabor the point. But it goes beyond that ride as it wasn't exactly the best initiation. I got to thinking about some of the early racing I did that really set the hook. My first race was a beginner affair up at Angwin as part of the now long since defunct Knobular series. I rode my Stumpjumper in that race. I wasn't doing too badly when I came down this hill on a single track. At the bottom there was a soft right hand turn with a gigantic rut. Using all of my advice stored away in my brain from the few rides I had done to that point I concentrated on not going in the rut. "Avoid the rut" rattled over and over and over in my head until I found my front wheel dug squarely in the thing and I cartwheeled off into the woods. As I was cartwheeling, I remember tumbling past a fellow competitor who was on the side of the trail fixing a flat. When I stopped, I collected myself, grabbed my bike and ran back out of the forest and back to the race course. I had to pass the rider and he asked, "do you do that often?" "Not too many times, no," I replied as I remounted and continued on. Later in that race I crashed again, this time double flatting and ending my day. I walked out tired, bruised, but determined to fare better in my next race. That would come at Squaw Valley the same year. I finished fifth in a wet and cold race. I only owned one pair of shorts and one jersey at the time. No full team kit complete with arm warmers, leg warmers, wind vests and jackets. No I was bare bones, no doubt. I stood shivering on the line when the Griffociraptor came walking up. He asked if I was ready and if there was anything I needed. I'd take your sweatshirt. He laughed nervously, but then looked into my eyes. He could see I was dead serious and he took it right off his back. For five or so minutes it was a great relief. Before they blew the whistle, I gave it back to him and raced in the cold wet weather in what I had. As I crested the first hill, a little boy commented to his mother as I passed that I must be freezing. I was. I finished fifth that day. My friend Oz told me that it was time to upgrade, and I did. I got hammered in the sport class for the better part of a year, but the next year I came back to win at both Angwin and Squaw Valley.

The success I have had here and there along the way certainly fuels the fire. It makes the training worth it. I've read books, listened to coaches, conspired with friends all in the search for something greater in myself. And that is good. But I think what really set the hook for me is doing the races with my friends. There are a couple of races that have long since faded into lore that I think set the foundation for my continuance in the sport. They are both mountain bike races, but they had more of a grass roots, down to earth feel. One was held in the late spring/early summer called Trees and Breeze. Held on the coast near Santa Cruz, it was a great course. I remember it being warm there and the course being hard but fair. There was some great single track, but plenty of places to pass. There was a pretty decent hill on the course, but it wasn't mind numbingly long. I also remember a log across the course toward the end of the lap. If you carried enough speed down the hill and were particularly adept at bunny hopping, you could clear the log without too much trouble. I always dismounted and ran the log however. This would get jeers from the crowd, but I wouldn't stack. You could always hear the crowd when someone either jumped the log (loud cheer), or someone failed in their attempt to jump the log (extremely loud uproar). After the race, there would be a big Mexican feed and we all would sit at these long tables and eat together. Music would be playing and everyone, and I mean everyone, would be smiling. The other race happened in the fall and it was more of a festival than anything. The Ring of Fire was held on some private property near Occidental. I remember going to the race with Brian Marcy and Louis Demers along with Griff and Oz and Oz's wife Colleen Wante. The course had some crazy sections in it but it was all fairly rideable. I remember coming to one section that was particularly hairy. There were a few spectators about and there was always a whiff of dope in the air. And there was always a band at the start/finish line that would play all sorts of different renditions of The Man's Ring of Fire. They started the race one year with a shotgun which frankly scared the shit out of me. You made your way up a long climb. The first year I remember having to walk some of it and Louis, coming up from behind and still riding yelled, "get out of the way you four by fours." New to racing, I assumed that's what you called someone pushing their bike. Now years later, I've never heard the term used again. The next year, braced for the shotgun blast at the start, they blew off a miniature canon which was louder than the gun the year before. Again not braced for such a thing, I almost went into apoplexy. After the race we'd all swim in a pond they had there and we'd drink beer. Again, to view the crowd, you'd be hard pressed to find anyone without a smile on their face.

Those races are long gone now and it's sad. Those races were like the first plunge of the needle for me. I still race and I guess I still look for those feelings I had initially. Napa Dirt comes close, but doesn't quite get there. The Skyline race in Napa is pretty good as well, but being older with my skill set faded somewhat, that course is a little past me now. Road racing is fun and I like the team aspect of things, but it's not the same. I enjoy the cyclocross racing for the vibe, but it's not the same as those initial years of racing on the mountain bike. Nothing will ever compare to Trees and Breeze and Ring of Fire. On my ride yesterday, I thought about those races a lot, and it brought a smile to my face. Hope you're attitude is everything you want it to be.

Johnny GoFast