For many of us July is biker month: Superweek(s), The Tour, Toona, BC Superweek…on and on.  It’s just not often where the schedule is: you wake up, watch cycling, get on your bike and watch cycling again.  I’m beginning to think that I enjoy this sport a little.

Superweek Wrap-up: We finished in Evanston two days ago.  Without Jenette, Sheba decided that the team goal, if Dale couldn’t sneak away off the front, was to lead me out in a sprint.  “We’ve never seen you sprint”, someone said, to which I remembered that besides possible border-crossers hidden in the bushes in the desert south of Tucson on that one particular day, no one has.  Krystal gave me a great lead-out with one lap to go. Big crowds, which was awesome. I got goosebumps, then became a chicken quickly thereafter and got 20th.  Sprinters have so much of my respect.

Who doesn’t have my respect, though, is a particular Australian girl that rolled around our pack like a bowling ball all week then had the nerve to yell to me in Evanston that I’m an “ASSHOLE” for sitting at the front while Dale counter-attacked my attack to set her up.  Huh?  The only person who can call me an asshole is Jenette (and vice versa).  Yelling “OY!” and name calling makes me think you need to go back to the instructional videos.  My response was “asshole?  Look at my jersey.  It matches the one that just went by (couple of vulgarities deleted out here).  You need to learn how to ride a bike.”. I’m no genius, but something tells me that’s why we have teams.  And after 8 days of racing, I’m raw enough to want to smash some asshole that calls me asshole. Besides, nothing is more asshole-ish than yelling ‘asshole!’ in front of kids and other assholes when, after all, you’re the asshole that threw out too many weakass, asshole-like attacks in vain to be able to close the gap some asshole created in front of you, especially knowing full well that you have no other assholes on your side that can help save your ass.

Thanks to Niko for putting us up in Downtown Chi-Town. It’s not really my kind of town, but I now definitely see why it is a lot of people’s kind of town. 

I drove 18 hours yesterday, eating only a half a bag of hot pepper cheese curds that melted my lips off, lots of jolt gum, and a pack of dried beef.  I made three stops other than gas: The Mars Cheese Castle, The Adult SuperStore in Friendship, Wisconsin (I was curious), and The Super 8 that offered free wireless so that I could submit an assignment I had forgotten about and remembered around hour 8.  I caught a glimpse of just how many deer there are in Eastern Montana, where my folks live, as it seemed like that PeeWee Herman movie in the 80s where he turns on the light and it’s animals all over the place.  I felt like I was playing dodgeball, only I was against the wall and the deer were being thrown at me.

On that note, I’m gonna go ride bike, 

BB

Nearly over for us, chicks.  I kinda wish we went for the whole duration, but that’s only because it might be fun to shop among the races, pick and choose. Nab some sale items, some high ticket items, and spend accordingly.  J-Dub ended up 3rd overall, as we wrapped up the series yesterday.  Her back is really pretty bad, causing her to not finish two of the days.  Not too shabby! And a great team effort.  I had some bike issues yesterday that made me feel like I was trying to put out power sitting on top of razorblades.  Or, a cheese grater.  Not exactly sure which, but it sucked so I made my exit.  Today, well, today I had a severe case of CBF.  It’s a fairly contageous condition that I’m hoping doesn’t get passed along to others (stands for Can’t Be F^$%ed). Guess I’m weird that way.  Some say “headcase”.  I say “sensitive”, maybe “moody”, maybe “nutter”.  All I really needed was to be alone for a few laps.  I wish they let you do that: get some alone time, then pop back in a bit later.

The guys’ race tonight was mayhem.  Crashes had them start three times.  I hate seeing that.  Almost as much as I hate hearing that people are making racial slurs in the peloton.  We’re having fun, right?  Right??  RIGHT!?!?!

OK, then,

BB

…there you go,  Ten Menzies.  That was a shoutout to the boys that were made an example of at the Proving Grounds race today.  I know, it’s tough to enforce everyone all the time, but if an example is to be made, the example should be that the officials are enforcing the rules and will continue to enforce the rules throughout.  I’m a huge proponent of enforcing the yellow line rule.  HUGE.  But, I admit to crossing it a time or two in my game of “Trying not to hit the brakes on the descents” today in our pack that (thankfully) rolled along at recovery pace.  Ah. Those Southern Hemispherers.  Dale Tye has issues with staying on the right side, so I’m thinking it’s some cultural difference.

Jenette scored a win yesterday, triumphantly.  She is such a trooper, and I mean that like Hero, not like State Trooper.  She would be insulted if I compared her to a state trooper. We felt obligated to sit still today, however, as we are aiming at the overall.  I like that plan.  ‘Cuz even though I think I have a boxfull of matches, I’m certain I only have one or two in the box, so I need to burn them wisely.

We are staying at Pam and Jim’s.  They are such good people, and unfortunately, the likes of us aren’t really used to hangin’ with good people.  They are so good, that they don’t seem to mind our dirty mouths and hellpath ways.  We are enjoying Kenosha (Ja!).

Just a couple more days in the series- Friday is the end.  We will have two bonus races for dollars, but we are hoping to keep the heat on. I have a lot of respect for Kelly Benjamin.  She threw her bike so hard to try to nab J-Dub that she crashed it up on the line.  That is to say that she had so much power surging through the geometry of her bike that it hopped up and bucked her off.  I can’t say that I have ever come remotely close to that.  In fact, if it came down to that sort of stunt, I may just pretend I threw the bike.  But that’s why I respect her.  She’s tenacious.

Thanks to Wisconsin for not being 100 degrees.

BB

I MADE IT.  I was so happy to see the bright and shiney faces of my teammies in Kenosha (Ja!).  I think that should be the town slogan.  I have to admit, I got a little sick of myself at some point during the three day journey.  It reminded me A LOT of doing an Ironman.  By day three, I got out of bed telling myself, “ok. Just a mere marathon now.  I can do this.”.

Superweek is just good stuff.  I say this all the time, but it’s quality, safe, good racing.  I had a decent day, as it was more of a road race day.  I was assigned ‘Jenette duty’, as part of the course covered this bone-crushing section of crap (Jenette already has some crushed-ish bones in her back so we knew it was gonna sting).  She was a maniac, though, and I managed to come back from the dead more times than I can count.  In the last 1km, I drove it to keep her safe and sound and she sealed the deal with a solid 3rd place.  After three days, she’s in 2nd place overall.  I’m pretty thrilled.  I’m also thrilled that I was able to even pedal after sitting in the car motionless for all those hours.  Right when I got to Kenosha, I jumped on the velodrome and tried to blast some of the cement out of there, not really sure what to expect. If nothing else, it was good for my head.

More reports as they develop.

BB 

I am sitting in some sleazy hotel in Montecello, MN right now because my mom made me take some money from her to ensure that I do this “instead of something stupid”.  Ah, mom.  Minnie-sota is busy this time of year and I had one hell of a time, boy, tryin’ to find a stinkin’ room.  Ja, noo joooke.  Funkytown is blasting from the bar downstairs.  Funky pretty much sums it up, and in a more PC manner than I would be inclined to use.

North Dakota was a trip.  A long one, at that.  I have nearly turned around 100 times on this trip because it sucks driving days by myself.  I’m not sure why I thought this was a good idea.  In a panic, I had to call the team for cash this morning because I did some last minute math and thought I certainly would get stranded out here in what I like to call (in the words of WW), “the big empty“. Then I had a glimmer of fun cross my brand new windshield:  Moorhead State University, which is what it was called when I attended it in 1991-93, now Minnesota State University, Moorhead.  I hate it there.  I hate very few places, and I HATE IT THERE. May have something to do with having spent the worst two years of my life there.  It’s a long, long story that included me at my worst…and therapy, but the sum of it is that I HATED IT.  So, like a trainwreck,  I ventured in and took a gander.  I wandered past my old ex-boyfriend’s house that held about a hundred keggers per year, then wandered over to Nelson Hall, a ten story building (almost as tall as the grain elevators) that is cylinder, giving our dorm rooms a pie shape.  I parked the car right next to where I wrecked my friend’s car after a Metallica concert, got out in my white compression tights and peed right on the pristine lawn.  I may’ve mentioned: I HATED IT THERE.  I then got back in the car and left like I came, only there was no East On-ramp, so I didn’t leave exactly as I came, frustrated by those stupid trick on-ramps and frustrated by reverting back to the behaviour of a 19 year-old.

I wonder why I’m going to Superweek about every other breath.  The fact that my team is getting me there, though, makes me want to win some stuff either myself or give all I have for Dale and Jenette to win.  I feel good again.

So sad there’s no Cascade for women.  I knew that day would come because Brad, the race director, used to threaten us with that every single year.  Another Tour bites it.  I just don’t know what that leaves for us beyond Nature Valley and Toona.  Seems so strange when the men’s tours in the nation are at an all time high.  Must be because the myths of women not being suited for endurance have actually been proven true after all.

I do want to be in one place, however.  Home.  Badly.  Wow.  I said it.  I want to sit still. What the heck does that mean?!?! What is becoming of me?

Over and OOOOT,

BB

I wondered when I’d crack on the driving in Missoula.  I was honestly surprised when the thought of, “WHAT the hell are these people DOOOING?!?!” didn’t cross my mind the minute I hit the town boundary sign.  I was strolling through my old stomping grounds, at a mere 17 miles per hour in sections, second gear, looking at things, whatever.  Then, today, I had to be somewhere.  In fact, I had to get gas, be to the windshield repair shop by 1 pm, and get to Heidi’s by 2:30 or so.

I went for the gas first, at 1:04 pm.  The first place didn’t take my ATM card (crap, you mean I have to GO IN??) and the woman in front of me in line wasn’t getting the right lotto numbers, all 13 of her tickets, so she was having the poor Kum and Go (yea, that’s right) employee re-run all 13 tickets.  I’m gonna venture a guess and say she didn’t win much despite her efforts, in fact, the way my head works on things like this, I will wager that she would have won if she had stuck to the mis-prints.  In any event, I couldn’t wait so I left.  I get to the windsheild guy who tried to commit insurance fraud and then tried to get gas again.  No luck.  Not taking the ATM card.  Next place.  Nope.  I had a $20 bill, so I went and paid cash instead, again GOING INSIDE THE GAS STATION.  The Wells Fargo was down about a half a block, with a huge ATM drive through, so I bit the bullet, so I could eat lunch. This is all part of my new, credit card-free self that has been on this experiment for about a year.  My findings are: It’s mighty F-N inconvenient to not roll with plastic.  The Wells Fargo IS OUT OF CASH.  what?  I have to park and GO INSIDE again.  When I tell the lady, she doesn’t care at all.  It was like I mentioned that the tile was brown.

Off to Heidi’s.  This is when I realize that it’s been a long time since I looked at a clock and now, I’m in a mad hurry.  I start to use some of my aggressive driving techniques only to find it’s impossible to pass blockades of people driving 14 mph in a 35 mph zone.

Ok.

The words of my mom rang in my ears as I was thinking, doesn’t anyone have to be anywhere?: ” Becky, remember, it’s damn hard to get a job in Missoula”. Then, I remembered, hmmmm, prolly not.

Patience IS a virtue, indeed.

I’m glad to take it, even if forced upon me.  I’ll take it any day.

BB

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The only way to describe where I am is to have you listen to the Dixie Chick’s Song, Taking the Long Way Around.

I’m hangin’ with this little, 115 pound honest soul of a character, Otto, one of the true loves of my life.

I used to dedicate the Stereophonic’s Song, Someday Maybe I’ll Find My Way Back Home. I found it. It had just a little to do with some clarity I had in Los Scandalous, when a 50 year old man was hitting on me saying, “WHERE ELSE can you go down to the basement (Ground Floor Downtown LA) and, for $5 get a hooker, heroin, AND a pair of designer jeans?!?”. Not in Missoula. You’ll only find 5 distinctly different rivers here. For Free. Even a dog can afford that.

I’m driving to Superweek on Friday. I might get there before the last race, 10 days later, as I’m stopping to see family along the 1700 mile journey.

XX,
BB

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Dear friend, Dale, got married to soon-to-be-dear friend, Lisa, this weekend in Missoula. It was the coolest wedding I’ve witnessed in a long time, just the real deal. I’m so happy for them.

That’s obvious by this pic. I had mentioned to Heidi at a coffee shop earlier how I LOVED cupcakes and couldn’t wait for the wedding cake later that night. Then, over my shoulder, upon parking it at our table for the dinner reception, I see an amazing sight: a table full of about 200 cupcakes AS wedding cake. Pictured in the lower right of this pic is the top of one of the four of them I snarfed down.

Other highlights of the weekend included the groom’s brother-in-law breaking his wrist during a kayak race/ bike race through downtown during the bachelor party, and my talking my ex-husband into my genius idea of riding Miles’ cruiser bike from the back door of Charlie B’s (the most famous dive bar/ time warp in these parts with 8 x 10s of the regulars on the walls) through the bar to the front door. It would have taken skill, but the bouncer wouldn’t have it. That’s depite my efforts to convince the 19 year old having a beer in his hand, that his $7 an hour wage should make him not care about such a ruckus ‘cuz we are professionals at this sort of thing.

Training’s been good. School work’s been good.  

Prolly living here now,

BB