I can’t prove that the world is round, but I can prove that this little world is tiny.

Case in point: previous entry (oh, about three entries ago, I s’pose) where I mention my heartbreak upon losing my ass and more importantly, losing my Dior sunglasses in a high speed get-off (thanks, by the way to the reader who sent the pic of the cleated red platform heels in CA. I loved that.). I get my host housing assignment from Hilary for Bermuda and moments later, I get the email from my beyond hospitable host.

Proof: He mentions that he has had my sunglasses in his car for almost a year now. He was behind me in a car during my accident.

Lesson: When you let go of hope but still have faith, you get the bounty.

I will continue to test my theory.

Reader’s Poll:

Blonde?

Dark, dark brown?

Red?

You (I) have til Saturday 3:45pm to decide.

Danke!

BB

p.s. Happy 38th to my folks today.

I like to experiment for the sake of experience, experience I like to share if need be. In the name of making people better, wiser functioners, here are THE TIPS OF THE WEEK:

1. If you are a city and are looking to expand, you might not want to look at Los Angeles as your model if you do not have an ocean or the entertainment industry. What will happen is that you will have an unfortunate situation known as “Phoenix”, where you get all the crap of LA that the people who love the ocean or work in the industry choose to have to deal for the rewards of the former. I just spent a couple of days in Carefree at a site and had to venture into that godforsaken place. I discovered that in Phoenix, everyone drives Hummers even though there are signs posted around that read “no shooting from the road and no off road driving“; developers lie to people and name developments things like, “Springfield Lakes” after the mound of dirt that reminded someone of how much they liked lakes once; there are SWAT situations commonly in nearly every suburb much like Farmer’s Markets in places that have greenery, people drive like they live in LA but lack LA skills and rear-end each other every quarter mile; and it’s hotter that you can imagine standing in a bush fire would be. Not to mention, the people there seem soul-less. But back to my tip: Don’t pattern your urban environment expansion after the most nerve-wracking city that comes to mind.

2. When driving with a handicapped emblem, you might reconsider blowing by a cyclist like me for instance, at 45-50 mph swerving, then veering off the shoulder roughly 15 feet in front of that cyclist, then into the dirt without so much as touching the brakes. It will make the cyclist very very angry and confused and does not do your case a damn bit of good.

3. And on that note, when you are riding your crotchrocket and are stopped at a red light, then get blown off the start line (aka green light line) by a girl with on a skinny-tired bike, you probably should not pop a wheely at top speed when you pass her to get her back. She will not be impressed but will secretly hope that you slam into the back of the convertible of the elderly folks you really freaked out.

4. When panicking and looking for a trap door exit out of aforementioned Phoenix, you might not want to act on the impulse without a map unless you have hours and hours to spend seeing if it will pan out. I did have hours and hours, so for future reference, when you do this, keep going south at all costs and even though tempted by the Piccacho Peak turnoff, take the other way and you’ll find a utopia of wide open road, no other cars, and green stuff. If you follow the mantra, “i gotta get outta here” steadfastedly, you will end up on the backside of the Catalina Mountains and back to Tucson having seen new country before you know it.

5. When your buddy, Erica, pushes the time on the order for lunch, allow yourself to order the first thing that grabs your attention. You might find the most incredible dish ever imagined, like I did in Cave Creek, AZ today. I saw: mixed greens, tender steak, full size ONION RINGS, and blue cheese crumbles and ordered it. The genius of it was that it was all together on one beautiful salad.

6. If there is a road race that is only 10 km long but has a $10,000 prize purse, be worried and intrigued. And go to ATL.

7. If a black woman is paying you to do some art and asks for it to include “black woman colors” and you are blonde and a hick, go with reds, yellows, oranges, violets, blues and don’t stop there. Add silvers, golds, coppers, bronzes. She will then be blinded by your whiteness and will call you a ‘drama queen’.

8. You might not ever want to tell a Born Again Christian that you think that your Jesus is better than theirs.

Hope this helps. I’m just trying.

BB

  

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I got to thinking today while on my ride by Mike’s Crack (a landmark I’ve named for Jones’ rumble and tumble with the pavement), that I promised one of my best friends who is competing in tomorrow’s Ironman Canada I would be thinking of her this weekend. As I passed Mike’s Crack successfully, I realized that two of my very best friends are 1. Both named Jones and 2. both absolute Nutters.

KJ has known me for over 10 years now. I’ll never forget the first time I met her. I had just moved to Missoula and knew one or two people. They invited me to a triathlon BBQ where I entered into a conversation with KJ. First sentence out of her was something to the effect of “when they have triathlon in the Olympics, I will be going for Canada.”….hmm, I thought. Wow. She’s full of shit. But I like it.

KJ is an ICU nurse in Reno. She is crazy. She is also one of the most stubborn, loving, fun, wild, passionate people I know. I knew we were friends to the end after New Years one year when Monica (a three time Olympic rower), Mark (a wild Kiwi cyclist), KJ, and I led the effort in all but burning her and my friend’s house to the ground. KJ got caught in the crossfire of me jumping around with a champagne bottle. I knocked out her tooth. The next day, we rode and rode in really bad shape, laughing the entire time about her tooth. God, I felt bad. It was some funny shit though.

I started thinking about KJ this morning when Jack Hannah was doing a bit on Blue Footed Booby Birds on this remote, isolated island in the Pacific. KJ actually took me there last year before Christmas. I needed to disappear for a bit and we went sailing as her Xmas gift to me. We cliff jumped, snorkled, explored. It goes down as one of the Best days I’ve had. KJ has always had an amazing way of taking care of me and getting through to me when I need to have someone shake me up.

MJ, my other Jones friend, might be the male, less good looking, less artistic, more physically talented version of myself. I got to see him last week. In the scheme of things, we are not like Yin and Yang, but Yin and Yin or Yang and Yang depending on our moods. When we are both the black part of that formula, I fear for public safety. I marvel at the fact that we have never been thrown in the clink together, actually. MJ is stubborn, fun, wild, passionate, and in his own way loving, too. He hasn’t always been there for me, but tries to be. In my book that goes a long way.

So what do the Jones’ have in common? Oh man, if we all three ever met up it could be terrifying. These are the kinds of pals good buddy flicks are made of. They have both totally cracked me, and picked me up when I was cracked.  Wow, I’ve had some good fights with each.  However, both KJ and MJ accept me and love me as the Nutter I am. I used to try and hide that I’m nuts but in knowing each of them and knowing myself, I learned that it’s okay to just be me, even though I make little sense most of the time. Everyone should have a couple of Jones’ in their collection. I wonder if I could buy a few Joneses and send them out to my family and friends for Christmas.

Anyway, KJ, I can’t call you cuz you’re in a land far, far away. Good luck and no matter what part of your personality you are faced with tomorrow during your race (I faced a lot of personalities during my Ironmans, some not so good), I love those parts, too. You are a good girl.

Have a great weekend everyone and sleep 13 hours if you can (whoops),
BB

If you would like to participate in this event that stands to benefit Absolutely No one, please contact me to sign up. This year’s event will be held in conjunction with Gord’s and Lyne’s Retirement Party Festival to be held during that bike race in Bermuda.

“It’s going to be a celebration of a couple of long and successful cycling careers, speed, and knuckleheadedness”, stated one organizer of the events.

I conducted a gripping interview last night with Gord “the Laser” Fraser about his intended participation in this year’s event.  Cleez has it somewhere on Gabcast so maybe he can post it somewhere we can find it.  The Laser is looking to give Bessette a run for her money, but had asked me pre-interview, “I’ve never driven a Scooter.  Are they hard to drive??”.  To which I announced, “Oh, no! EASY.  If I can do it, c’mon!”.  He then pointed out that I was no good at it. 

We are hoping that no one pulls the EVE style High Speed Getoff and wrecks their entire bodies, like last year.  The high speed get off was not successful in a mini skirt, platform heels and Dior shades.  However, thanks to the full head helmet, I was able to walk (limp) away (sans shades).

But don’t be discouraged.  That is part of the fun.  I will be looking to earn a participation ribbon again this year, at least.

Besides, reports from several months ago indicate that it was Rene Wenzel that nearly took my life that night by cutting my wheel at 45 mph.  Al forgiven.  Rene was given a suspension of scoot riding for four months.

send me an email at beckybroeder@hotmail.com if you would like to register for this star-studded, slightly retarded event.

Thanks!
BB

**Disclaimer: Tim Johnson, Gord Fraser, Lyne Bessette and Becky Broeder are not to be held responsible for any injury, death, destruction of property, or anything else any participants do.

Am in the normal daily routine: set a very last ‘out the door time’ that gets me on my bike or running at a certain time so that I can get to work on time.  I blow it every morning and don’t ever even have breakfast eaten by my ‘out the door’ time.  Always late for work.

I forgot to mention Jeanette, my teammate. Jeanette is about 6′3″ and maybe the single funniest person I have ever met.

My cynicism has reached an all new level, thanks to her.  After feeling like such a badass for travelling with lip balm in my bag, I was certainly outdone by Jeanette’s TWO INCH BLADE.  Yup.  She had a knife, like a real sharp pocket knife in the side pocket of her carryon.  She pulled it out at the hotel and looks and it, simply saying, “huh.  well look at that.”  I was pissed.  We were waiting for my director’s bag with my new shoes that got confiscated because of the Notorious Clif Shot Bomb, Latte flavored. It was checked.  “Checked” right on to Seattle.

We then decided to make a whole new Rock, Paper, Scissors.  It was Goo, Allen wrenches, and Waterbottles (Goo pretty much beats all).

I remembered another thought I had during Crit Nats.  It kept popping into my head, “I’m a VICTIM here”, incinuating that I had absolutely no control over any event in that race.  I told Jeanette and we thought that there should be a Victim’s Advocate at the finish line.  She felt much the same and I bet Tina did after her fall, too.  After that, Jeanette said, “Baby, I’ll do your hair (Dirty Dancing)”.  And I felt better about my assaulter.

I am still working on that 22,000 square foot house and have some canvases I’m painting for Luther Vandross’s main backup singer.  Guess I better eat breakfast now.

Watch out for tornados.  Tucson had its first ever last night.

BB

Part one:

I get some grief cuz, as someone told me a few races ago, I ‘have barbed wire around my underwear’.  Well.  I love my homeboys.  Just not that way.  I should.  It seems like it would make sense, you know, since we are both active, psycho, competitive, narcissitic, motivated, types of species.  But I don’t typically. I tried to once or twice and I learned pretty quickly.

Why?

They cheat.

And if they don’t, they might because it’s accepted among us peers.

I am too selfish to deal with that.

In her infinite wisdom, I had a friend tell me several weeks ago, : “professional athletics breeds a lesser moral standard for some weird reason.  It’s just so. Not sure why, but it’s like a plague and I see you struggling with that.”.  Yea, hard living, hard riding, hard training, hard sleeping, hard refueling. I do that all, but I don’t want to be that chick.

Not that I really care either way, dang. It’s not my business.  And I’m the last to throw judgement. It’s prolly safe to say I’ve made more mistakes than all my homeboys put together, but I’m just sayin’ that I don’t want to wonder about a relationship in a mostly relationshipless environment.

Nevermind the second part to the series.  I think I just covered it all.

Now off to my new music cache,

BB

 

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I’m not sure if I mentioned that I have the best team. I do. Bega, our director, takes great care of us on the road and otherwise. That said, after I finished feeling like my eyeballs were bleeding during the National Criterium Champs on Sunday, then chillin under the Cannondale tent by the start/finish line for the men’s race, Bega took us out to run wild on the streets of Downer’s Grove for a bit.

We began by taking a bottle of wine over to our buddy, Brad Huff, newly annointed US National Crit Champ at a BBQ being thrown by Hartley’s mom. I am so happy for those TIAA-Cref guys. When I saw Huff cross as first American, I got goosebumps. For those that don’t know Huff, you should. He is so positive, outgoing and kind. If you could bottle up the enthusiasm he and Friedman have and sell it to cyclists, I think the WADA would ban the stuff.

Anyway, long story short, we left the BBQ for a bar that closed at 10 pm. Last call at 10 pm. I put it on the Aussies among us, “it’s your duty as Aussie citizens to find us another watering hole..”. They did and we danced and danced and danced. Good night. Good to see Gord swaying out there, his last Downers ever, one cycling dude among maybe 20 dudes and maybe five girls. Somewhere in here, Bega gave us the team car, which was abandoned somewhere on the Downer’s course and after the Bamboo Room kicked us out, many of us were left to our own devices. I was lost and wandering around suburbi-land with an old bud, kinda looking for some cheeseburgers. The best I could come up with was a hide-a-bed at a Mariott (my buddies had a room there) that was not the Mariott I had a room in. Close, but not quite. Among my finest moments was when the elevator door opened and exposed me in last night’s dress to a lobby full of Toyota United guys who were doing what I should have been doing: getting a shuttle to the airport in a fairly time efficient way. “Hey! YOU DON’T HAVE A ROOM HERE, BECKY!!!”. They all had been dancing, too, about three hours or so earlier but looked amazingly fresh. I slunk away in a cab to get the team car and ended up here————-the pic is of me missing my flight, in last night’s dress, with Sheeba and Jeanette in bed. Nikki found us this way. Bega, my alleged ride to the airport, didn’t even bother getting up for my flight time, as he knew it would all work out. He even had a ‘do not disturb’ thing on his door.

Ah, I was first on the standby list. It worked out.

The race was hard. I remember that. Oh, and I couldn’t get off the back. Like, not the back-ish, but I was last, I think, pretty much the whole race, except for one moment when I slung up to the front somewhere around 19 laps to go. I think I thought a lot of things during the race, as great ideas seem to pop into your head in times like that, but mainly, I remember thinking, “man. I shoulda trained”. I didn’t like the Saturday evening race at all, as they allow category 3 riders in the International Challenge, making avoiding them as they are slung backwards, the biggest challenge of them all.

ah well, it all worked out.

Lates,
BB

Travelling is now a pain in the ass.  And I’m realizing that I’m getting to be more and more like my Grandma Broeder.  That is to say, I won’t put up with shit without a fight.  I don’t throw fits in public, at least not to the unknowing eye. I did, however, do what qualified as a fit to me…I dropped the ‘P- word’.  I used the ”I am a pro cyclist” in public line.

This is so ridiculous.  Part of the problem of being an emotional person is that I often hear myself dealing with something before the situation even hits my brain. The ridiculousness of this is that first off, women aren’t really ‘pros’. Basically any category one racer can call themselves a pro.  If you ride for T-Mobile or some other UCI trade team, you may be justified, otherwise, you’re a girl that rides like your life depends on it, even though it doesn’t necessarily.  Secondly, we are CYCLISTS.  Not saving any lives here.  My favorite ever case of misuse of this phrase happened at a swanky bar in Vegas where I heard a guy yell at the bartender for not getting served quickly enough, “DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? I’m a PRO!”  hahah, I thought.  No, she doesn’t have a clue. 

So it started when US Air asked me to pay $80 to fly my Cannondale.  I got an email from a person prior to my flight that told me they fly bikes for free so I used the “I am a professional cyclist and travel all the time, but have never flown your airline so I called in advance to see what the policy was for your newly mergered airline (America West and US Air were not communicating in the new business merger angle).  I spoke with a real live person and they said if it was in a soft case, it was included in my two bag maximum”. I would never ever plan in advance like this, let alone follow through on planning in advance like this.  I was embarassed of my own self.  The whole thing was a lie.  I paid.

But it led me to thinking, of everything.

*yea, see I’m a pro so I normally don’t have to deal with a single mom and her screaming one year old, whiney two year old, and wandering off three year old in front of me in the security line taking a millenium to get all their shit sorted (I did have to).

*I’m a pro so people generally pay attention when they walk toward me and never walk into me so everyone needs to watch where they are going (they didn’t).

*see, USUALLY, I get to take water on the plane with me.  No?  Well, I guess I’ll chug this gallon like I’m at a pre-function party that leads to a party with costly  or no booze then.  Right here at the door of the plane, since I’m pro and all (I did)

*Oh, and on that note, I always carry lip  balm because I’m a professional and my lips get real chapped.  So, I’m going to pack this lip balm way down there in my bag and not get caught with it (I didn’t get caught and had soft, smooth lips all journey long).

*I have to buy these snacks and water in the post-security shop!?!  See, usually, my team picks up the tab on this cuz I’m pro, so….

*Yea, you don’t mind if I grab this exit row, right?  I’m a pro and tall (I didn’t do this until I found Liza on my flight coincidentally coming out of the lav and she brought me over to her exit row for the duration of the flight…the flight attendant asked, “oh, will you be joining us in th exit row??”,,,uh, yea, Cuz I’m pro, like Liza).

*I can’t possibly expect myself to have good posture when eating in public because I’m a pro with really weak stomach muscles.  I might even just hunch all the way over and graze off the plate, k? And on that note, since I am pro, I eat large salads and usually get more lettuce than this.  Fix that ( I didn’t ask, though I usually eat spinach).

*All that rush hour traffic below us in Phoenix? Yeah, I get to fly over it.  In fact, I never have to deal with that mayhem because I’m a pro (not true.  I do).

Okay, so after all of this, I overdid the point in my own mind and had beat myself up appropriately, as per usual.  When lo and behold, I see the oversize baggage handler open up the oversized baggage door and took my oversized bike and threw it over a dam of bags, making it SLAM into the linoleum, even bounce.  Again, before the situation even entered my head, I kneejerked it: “HAYY!  HEY!  You just threw my carbon fiber bike into the ground!!” Then went up to him and said, “hey, thanks buddy.  I appreciate that.  Ass.”.  Oh, God.  I walked out embarassed again.  Then thought, “what would grandma Broeder do?”  I went back in and talked to the representative thinking about the $80 I spent for such careful handling.  I started it out with, “I hate to be THAT person, but see, I’m a pro cyclist and I can’t have…..”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  I did it again.

We’re in Downer’s.  Actually, Lombard, I think. Come and see us in the race then join us in and around the feed zone for the men’s race on Sunday.  We will be the pro girls there, expecting the world to stop for us. Come wish Nikki ‘get well’ as she had c-bone surgery this past week from a KungPow karate chop type accident at Elk Grove.

I need to go stretch and hydrate now, cuz I’m pro.

BB

A dear friend to one single person passed on quietly Wednesday, August 16th at 7:46pm.  Rio Cali, given to Becky Broeder from Santa in 2001 and held just less than 2 hours of music at a time finally went to the other side after a short battle with electrical failure.  Having been with her on easy days, interval days, pre-race warmups, and long plane flights, it far surpassed expectations of many and even prohibited Broeder from even considering the fancy iPod models that others speak of constantly.  Rio Cali became ill a week ago after Broeder took him on a run and stuffed him into her sports bra, as per usual.  Unexpected high humidity levels in Tucson caused the Rio to become flooded with fluid and although it dried out and resumed normalcy, it was short lived.  Rio Cali made a couple more runs, outside of the sports bra, one long trip up to Summerhaven on Lemmon, intervals up Gates Pass, and yesterday’s final journey: Camino de Manana, one of it’s favorite rides.  First the volume button stopped functioning, then as Broeder began to download selections from G. Love’s Lemonade album last evening, it quietly made an electrical blip with one solid black line across it’s tiny screen, then went to sleep.  Broeder, being good at jerry-rigging electrical appliances, threw in the towel and made the announcement, “I have done all I can.  This is sad”, at 9:56pm.

A memorial service will be held at Target this afternoon.  Broeder will be looking for another one before a long plane ride.

R.I.P. Rio Cali,

BB

A glimpse at the pressing philosophical questions that plague my deepest thoughts.

…if the government of Bermuda has banned me from coming back or if Beau is right and it’s just that they have issued an order that prohibits me from renting scooters there?  And on that note, I wonder

….who will contend or compete even in the Second Annual Tim Johnson Scooter Rally and if Lyne will come out of retirement just to rally a scoot?  And if so, I wonder

….if Curtis will let me do a piece on it for Missingsaddle.com?

…if you become crazy from being a bum or if you become a bum from being crazy?

…why the hell they didn’t put up the Zipper at the Dawson County Fair, speaking of crazy?

…if Jones could somehow find a great girlfriend to put up with his craziness, er, quirkiness, does that mean there might be hope for me finding someone great someday?

…if I should look into the fact that they stopped my mail since I hadn’t checked it in three weeks?

…if there is anything I really need to know in there?

…if this is why my dad seems to think my life is ‘vacation’?

…speaking of vacation, if it’s a good or bad idea to do a full body detox before Downer’s?

…if Tina will take it again, I mean c’mon!  She’s such a six (or whatever) hit wonder?

….if I read too many cycling blogs and comment on some, does that make me an ‘Internet Predator’?

….if organic shampoo and soap get a person clean?

…if everyone has not a devil/angel on each shoulder dictating behavior, but a ‘cyclist’ and a ‘triathlete’ like I seem to have (for instance, I feel chubby and the trigeek tells me to ride five hours, while the biker tells me to eat nothing but water til I’m lighter; or when I’m really tired on Monday morning the trigeek tells me to squeek one more hard ride in cuz I don’t have to work until later, while the biker tells me to sleep longer because I obviously need it…)?

…if consequence is just coincidence, or something else?

…if this water I’m drinking is actually from a ’spring’ that looks like a giant faucet somewhere in New Jersey?

…if the screeners at the airport see anything but illuminated abstract shapes and keys in the X-ray machines and if the people passing through really buy that they recognize anything but keys?

………..BB