today

last night, forecast = shit
this morn, forecast = no quite so bad.
let's do a test. solid radar blobs
still out in WV, so at least 4-5hour
window is open. look thru the bits of kit.
time to really test the wool. hi 40's/low 50's
grey looking day. base, Sugoi merino,
then Swobo shortsleeve and TomiCOG
long sleeve woolly. leave the windproof
shite on the pile.
hourish in, grey sky turns light to heavy
misty, enough to puddle here an there,
but not falling rain. off and on, outer
never feeling beyond damp, core always
toasty. comfort is off the charts.

remove the weather and let the legs be
the source of discomfort. leg speed, leg
speed, leg speed, working on cadence.
upping the tempo pace, but not quite
working it, rock solid steady gunning.

pics early in the ride, then enough turns
finally mean vague directional, low cloud
deck means no bearings, finally rolling
thru Roxbury, remember passing thru
Newburg from a differnet than usual
direction. Rowe Run? Is it fishable
springfed limestone? Sweet foot bridge.
Also saw Orrstown for the first time.


Hannah Rd, Clearfield Rd, Mt Rd, 533,
433, 641, Letterkenny and Chambersburg
called out on the green signs. It all blends,
just pedal, then try to do the math after the
2.5hour dissappearing act. Where am I?
Bouncing south eastish and eventually
bump the Molly Pitcher Hway, left turn
and Shippensburg limits in a couple miles.

Plug in the RadioHead liveness via NPR
and turn those pedals, Cleversburg, Walnut
Bottom and Pine Rd into a tedious SEish breeze.
Kings Gap and back n forth into out of the
drizzley mist, just get me home, 5 would be
nice, but tempo work will pay off more than ez
spinning, look for the 2?+ on the mph gauge.
Done w/ pictures, done with eating, this
is where the work is done, pedal and work
the numbing burn thru the legs, changing
stroke thru the terrain and tempo...draggin,
scraping, kicking it over, pulling against
a slowly developing core, using all of the
body's resources in this struggle against
wind and gravity. Do the work, reopen
forgotten channels.

Finally hit the railroad tracks, then to the T,
then the right hander and sit up after clearing the
stoplight ahead of schedule. Another 5ish in
the books, mid 70's on the odo, another step
in that direction. Time to go work on that get
me home inspiring Thai infused coma.

that sound

pedaling along Piney,
finally find meditative pace
after exploratory 'shwackin.

Feels good to be putting
some scenery behind me.
Lost in the rhythmn,
mind wanders, searches.
Finds a nugget to replay.

Showing a picture to a
friend, Huxley's tag falls
into the embarrassingly
open underwear drawer.

tingle jingle.

the sounds strikes a chord.
it's the sound I'd wake up to.
it's the sound I'd come home to.
it's the sound I'd look forward to
after a hard day in the saddle,
rolling back into camp.

it's that sound.

one of those sounds, immediately
familiar, always comforting. don't
focus on it in the moment, other
things have my attention.

but now, lost in the pedals, let the
ball unwind and chase it to the core.
hearing it, recognizing that its absence
is what's hard to take, realizing the
time passed since last heard.

eventually look at this messy pile
of string and begin to wind it back
up carefully, even more tidy than
last time, and put it back on the shelf.

singletrack's coming.

pioneer lost

fuck.
RIP Shane.

step 2.

step 1.

write it down. I'm visual,
I need to see things, in
order to see things, to
sometimes really see
things.

Spent Saturday's recovery
Thai dinner looking thru
old journals. 4:30 deserted
restaurant, quiet.

Puts the mind at ease,
it always seems like so
much more than it is.

Knowledge is key,
the knowing, listening
to the body. Journals
are neat, windows to the
past, handful of jotted
words bringing back
day after day after day
in the saddle.

some years lean, non-existent.
some were simple daily
hours on the desk blotter,
coordinated with a spreadsheet.

just hours and thoughts.
hours are solid, words
are the sensations, the
moods, the inspiration.

it's all the data I need.

basics.

it's a long road ahead.

"Where do you ride? when?...
who do you ride with?"
she asks.

I stammer....

"Are you a loner?"
poke.
owwww.

'yeah. I am.' says the quiet
voice in my head.
a recluse, a hermit.
guarded, always..

"are you a loner?"

I am Lone Wolf.
a Tourrettes pronouncement
as he spectated the off the front
parade, spit to the back timed speciale'
at the '07 tour. Lone Wolf, it resonates.

it lifts my spirit,
when the white line
has you beat down.
that memory, the good
times. they keep the pedals turning.

I ride with all of my failures.
I ride with all of my successes.
I ride constantly along this line.

sacrifice now.

reap the benefits later.

so many lonely miles,
rewarded by the communal
traveling circus. so stoked
to be finding a neglected rythmn.


It's how I roll.

check myself

before I wreck myself.
shit gets in my head.
shit gets in my head.
shit gets to me.

back to basics.
feed the fire in the belly.
back on the track.
into the programme.

how to attack this.
how to approach this.

chase those dragons.
or simply go in prepared.
and ride it out with a
smile on the face.

it's not 'can I?'
it's how thin is it?
how will that affect
the motor.

i don't know.
back on it today, really
wanted to ride dirt from
the doorstep, recent
illness vetos that idea.

skinny tires? hmmmm,
haven't ridden those since
once over the Holidaze, then
Sept before that. maybe a
spin down thru
Michaux is in order.