Rolling thunder ...

I think I finished about 60th out of 65 in the 'cross race I did this past weekend, Rolling Thunder in Missoula. I rode really well, just had some bad luck ... and, as always, I suck at riding in the dirt. First lap, sitting mid-pack, feeling strong, some guy trips on the run-up and goes down in front of me. I pile on him and about three guys pile on me and while I'm at bottom of the body pile about twenty guys go around me. That's when my race became just a ride. I then manage to drop a chain on the next lap and about a minute later take a sandy turn too hard and go down. Eventually, but not until the last two minutes of the race, I get lapped by the current Canadian national mountain biking champion and the "Best Male Cyclocross Racer in Montana." The last time up the run-up someone handed me a beer and a crowd of about fifty people chanted "Chug!", which I did dutifully. Probably the highlight of the race for me. I got my ass kicked, as always, but I had fun. Wait, I had fun in a 'cross race -- What gives? I'm getting psyched for the state championships which are being held on my "home" track that I've been riding once a week for the last two months. I hope to finished in at least the top half of the field. Hopefully there won't be a foot of snow on the ground ...

I'm now riding with the fine Great Northern Cycling team. Our 1/2/3 road squad will be legit ...

I "forgot" ...

Cans of beer for breakfast, a four-egg omelet, sausage, and hand fulls of almond granola. Celebrate! While my co-workers sit through three days of training sessions eight hours east in big city Billings, I'm in Flathead National Forest somewhere, with my friends, the dogs. It's cold ...

You swine ...

I have H1N1/swine flu. So does half the valley. My symptoms include: diarrhea, fever, chills, no appetite, always over-tired. My self-diagnosed side effects include depression. My recent inactivity has me bummed. Of course, I have not missed a day of work ...

Old friends ...

... Writing letters these days is no different than sending e-mails, typing has surely replaced handwriting, our world of instant gratification. Kids don't learn cursive anymore. But where I live there is no cell service, no television, and no Internet. So writing this letter is more so about buying the stamp, sealing and addressing an envelope, and physically taking it to town, twelve miles away, and dropping it into that blue, iron "Out of Town" box. These things take time -- I've got plenty of that. And it's supposed to snow tonight; record-low temperatures are predicted, it's not yet the tenth of October ...

Learning lessons ...

The bar is packed. There's a cover band in the back; they're covering "No Apologies" and it's not bad. I get to talking to the sixty-something-year-old couple sitting next to me. They tell me where they're from; I tell them what I do. They buy me a drink. "I think we should dance," the husband eventually tells his wife and she agrees. Now the band is covering Credence; it's a pretty bad cover of a song I've heard covered a million times. "Oh, that's awesome," I tell them, "I've learned the importance of dancing in relationships. I learned that lesson the hard way." "Yeah," the wife tells me excitedly, "and it's also the precursor to sex!" I laugh, not sure how to answer her. "I think I'm still about three steps from that point tonight," I finally tell her. "Not if you get up and dance!" the husband tells me. I thank them for the beer and they go. I finish my beer and head home, to my dog.

Act as if you have a choice ...

I walk into the coffee shop, on a mission, quoting a paraphrased Kerouac line in my head I read years ago, hardly remember, haven't lived by, but can't forget: "Do it, man, do it! Aren't you sick of yourself? Do it or you'll die alone forever!" I try to dig deep, knowing girls like confident men, and she looks great, but the best I can muster is a meekly mumbled I enjoy our conversations very much and maybe you'd like to hangout sometime, do something somewhere that's not here. She reluctantly gives me her number, mentioning first that she's pretty much always too busy all the time, so, you know ... Cool, I tell her, cutting her off before she can finish, one foot already out the door, the other on the gas pedal, car aimed home. I better go, I say, my dog's probably lonely. Walking back to the car, I crumple the tiny piece of receipt paper she's written her number on and toss it into the bushes. It's getting late, the sun's setting, it's already cold, I have to get home, the dog is probably hungry.

Summer then winter ...

Snow last night, the first of the season. Didn't stick here, but at the tops of the mountains encircling the valley it did. A white crown all the way around. One of my kids, guaranteed, will get off the bus in shorts today ...