Sweeney Thüd, Demon Biker of Threet Street

I'm not sure if it's seasonal affective disorder or if I lost a bet with myself that I'm not aware of, but it's time for another embarrassing story about myself. Back in all the bullshit of late 2008 thru mid 2009 I had become a very angry and bitter person inside. I didn't like myself but I wasn't quite able to deal with it as well as I'd thought. On the outside I managed to mime normal, but occasionally I'd be unable to control the monster. Thankfully my friend Keith was around. His wife was stationed over in Afghanistan and his job at the time offered up a decent amount of free time where he could come over and ride. Those few hours a week kept me afloat, but I still needed to come up with a way to control all the darkness and hate in my head.

I've always been a visual person. If I see it, I can remember it. Recreate it. I can meet 10 people face to face and 3 days later I could police sketch each one of them, but probably wouldn't remember their names unless I saw it on a name tag. Then I can recall the tag and read the name. Same with maps. If I can see the map and the course, I can recall it by memory and navigate around. Turn by turn directions? Can't do it. I pretty much just lose my shit. 

So in order to begin controlling the bad thoughts, playing all those psych games of changing negative words to good words or trying to say something in a more positive manner didn't work for me. Words didn't help at all. I needed to "see" the thoughts leaving so just about the time I had almost sent my relationships past their last straw, I devised a method to eliminate the negative thoughts. 

Having no tv and no job at the time I had started to read more and I began with the Harry Potter series. In it there is this thing called a Pensieve in which one could pull memories out and view them. I loved that concept, so I borrowed it. When a negative thought, dark thought, or doubt would pop up and try to overtake my mind, I would reach up to my temple and pull it out. 

Then, because I am Ironman, I would blast it with my plasma thruster and poof! Obliterated. Annihilated. Gone. Mentally "seeing" the thought destroyed actually allowed me to move past it. Baby steps at first but soon giant leaps. I still employ this tactic to this day. If you watch closely, you might catch me miming it throughout the day. 

Over the past few days a few of those doubts and thoughts started beat me up again and the plasma thruster wasn't cutting it. Luckily there are plenty of back country roads to get lost in. They are now out there, alone. Unable to hang on. Lost in no country for old thoughts. 

Boxer or the Bag

Over the New Year trip home, H. and I stopped by one of my favorite stores, Farm King, to search out some new jeans. My current selection having been torn past decency due to chores and riding or ill fitting* and tight around my thighs (ill fitting in my eyes, proper fitting in most others). I dislike tight or form fitting clothing. The irony of which isn't lost on me, seeing how much time I spend in tight, form fitting cycling clothing. And because of all that time spent in cycling clothes, my daily wardrobe suffers due to being cheap and budgeting most of the clothing budget to cycling gear over new jeans. But there comes a time when one must shop. 

While trying to find jeans that felt as comfortable and soft as $80 jeans in the $25 jean section, my mind flashed back to an old friend I met in college. His name is John and we were in many of the same communications and film courses together. Like myself, John was the first in his family to go off to college. Rural Illinois is full of small towns with low wages and John's family worked hard to scrape by and help put him through school. As such, he didn't have much. I remember giving him some of my 3/4 video tapes and left over film to help him with course requirements. I had a job on campus that allowed me access to such items at a discount. I even hired him for a few voice overs for CD-roms I was producing as he had the epitome of a broadcast voice, but I digress. 

What stuck out to me, aside from his never ending smile and exuberance for each new day, was that his dorm room could be packed into a single backpack. His entire wardrobe consisted of two base outfits. A pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt and a pair of black jeans and a black t-shirt. He had an additional wool sweater, a jacket, and a winter coat, but the base outfits were what stood out most. In a word, spartan.

I never felt sorry for him. In fact, quite the opposite, I admired him. He was genuine and gentle, quiet and polite. I still can well up with rage remembering the day in the cafeteria when a dorm floor friend turned to John and started ridiculing him for his clothes. I was embarrassed, disgusted, ashamed and sat passive way longer than I should have. Tom was from Chicago, son of a cop, quick to temper, quicker to fight, and way into being a tough guy. It didn't matter, you can make fun of me but not my friends (that's my job), so I snapped back with some witty retort that verbally castrated Tom at the table and about got my ass kicked in. Luckily others at the table were just as appalled (or perhaps just embarrassed) at Tom's behavior to prevent fisticuffs (though apparently not enough to have spoken up in defense of John). Tom did wander back to the dorm one night drunk and landed a few blows, the bruises and humiliation well worth sticking up for John. 

I bring up this story for a reason, small gestures and acknowledgments can carry great weight. They can lift people or destroy them. Often times when we don't even realize it. I've had a few recently that opened my eyes.

The flip side to that is wishing I'd done something differently back when. Whether it's taking a moment to just tell someone I appreciated them, been a better friend, invited them out for dinner or movie, or just taken the time to call. Life is funny. So many pressures and no real user guide. Walking the line of finding friends, being friends all while trying to find out what path you are destined to walk to provide a life for yourself all while attempting to maintain a job and balancing responsibilities and dreams. Daunting. My mind drowns in these thoughts daily.

Years and years ago a friend and I were kicking around an old musty smelling downtown smallville antique mall over winter break. We were looking at shelves and shelves of old photos of people mostly long gone when she said "It's not that I want to be remembered, I just don't want to be forgotten." Poignant and it has stuck with me ever since. Also a driver for why I've always been such a shutterbug. To not forget.

I ride to escape myself. The cloud of thoughts that collect, gather, and swarm my brain begin to blow off and stretch out behind like streams of steam behind an engine. Clarity sometimes. Focus other times. Things seem simple again like having two sets of clothes, black and white. My mind quiets and I can reflect back and remember. 

Oh, and back to the jeans. I ended up getting two pair and H. also got two pair. We washed them when we got back to TN and one morning while getting ready for work I dug out a new pair to wear. I pulled them on and they felt tighter than before. H., did you dry these on high heat? Dammit, my new jeans, wasted. I almost lost it, but went to grab my other pair to see if they'd shrunk too. It was then, and only then that  I realized I was wearing H.'s pants. D'oh! Story of my life.

List of Dreams

For the first time in a long time I'm not longing for a new bike. I'm not really concerned with what's coming out, new features such as disc brakes, lower bottom brackets, slacker angles, or enduro wheel sizes. I'm extremely content with my stable and feel lucky to have acquired such dialed in steeds. My Moots frames offer exactly what I desire out of a bike: durability, precision, confidence, fit, performance, a connection with the builders, and the bikes look great to boot. My adventure bikes that keep me wanting to ride. I'm ever grateful.

That being said, it doesn't mean that there aren't bikes out there that I would still like to own someday. Dream bikes, if you will,  similar to dream cars such as 1966 Avocado green Ford Mustang convertible, a 1963 Chevy truck, a 2013 Challenger, or a Lotus Elise. I really appreciate the beauty in hand built bicycles and the melding of modern and traditional designs. The unique ride qualities offered by other builders and materials. We are lucky to live in an era where we have such choices. Being so close to the holidays still and all the top 10 and best of 2013 lists, I figured I'd create an end of the year list of my own. I had intentions for a lugged, leather, and metal list but I'm lucky enough that I was able to complete a list of bikes built in the U.S. by artisans that I hold in high regard. So without further ado, here is my list of dream bikes outside of my current stable:

#6: The bike that started it all, the Seven Mudhoney

In 2003 I came across a titanium crossbike made by Seven Cycles. This was the first titanium bicycle I had ever seen or touched as well as the first time I had ever heard of cyclocross. I was intrigued from the moment I laid eyes on one. It would be 10 years before I finally acquired a titanium cross bike. This bike is technically off my list now that I have a cross bike, however it makes the list because it was the bike that started it all and as such, still has a hold on me.


#5: Ted Wojcik

Early on in my mountain biking addiction, I was obsessed with what frame to replace my low end Trek 4900 (race proven). Around that time a new hire at work quickly became a good friend. T.roy was a mountain biker from Texas with an affinity for steel hardtails. T.roy had been mountain biking far longer than I and opened my world up to all sorts of new manufacturers such as Independent Fabrications, Kona, and Ted Wojcik. The Wojcik caught my eye and my imagination. Built for rocky, muddy, east coast singletrack, the stuff I loved not the always sunny and 70 west coast chuff. It'd be cool to have an Wojcik 26" classic rigid singlespeed built up. Instant classic.


#4: Carl Strong

Around that same time my old high school buddy Brian 9.8 was also looking for a new hard tail and had sent me an email inquiring about a used Strong Frames singlespeed and whether or not I thought it worth the money. This was my introduction and fascination to Carl Strong's work. Owning a steel Strong hardtail would be pretty sweet.


#3 & #2: Soulcraft and Inglis Cycles:

Then came that fateful Off-Road Assault on Mt. Mitchell where we were introduced to the Rev, Ben Thorton, and his Soulcraft. One of our Yazoo team members at the time, Fred, had an old plowboy that he had converted to ss. The Rev's was a 29'er and just as loud and obnoxious as he was. The Rev has been a friend ever since and Soulcraft on the watch list. Watch the video of Sean building a frame. If that doesn't make you want to put your name on his waiting list, I don't know what will.

At the 2007 DSG I got to meet Curtis Inglis. He was a trip. Instantly personable, very funny, and as genuine a person as I have ever met. Eventually SSWC 2008 happened and Curtis was the host. Still one of my all time favorite trips. Not only did Curtis introduce me to myriad magical places, he also introduced me to Sean Walling (Soulcraft) and I immediately took to Sean. Firstly, after almost a week of 800+ crazy singlespeeders invading their town and having only met me the one time, Sean remembered my name and where I was from without hesitation days afterwards. He also new Fred's name when I mentioned a friend in Nashville having one of his bikes. "Oh, that must be Fred" he said. While Curtis's mom, dad, and wife each took time to talk to me and were exceptionally warm and welcoming. Salt of the earth, all of them. Makes me sad I haven't bought bikes from them yet. I dream of an Inglis half road frame painted in his trademark blue and orange.

#1: Cielo

The most recent builder on my list is fairly new to frames, but his other work graces all of my bikes. Chris King began Cielo a few years back. I took notice, but only in a mild interest of liking steel hard tails. I wouldn't start drooling until the recent release of their new cross racer. The classic lines paired to the 44mm headtube and stellar paint job had me hooked at first glance. Such a beaut.

Biskopskulla

Over the years, sharp and distinct memories slowly fade into one another. Eventually melding into a giant timeless blob as if Einstein's theory of relativity doesn't apply anymore. For me, having spent the majority of the last 20 Christmas' states away from family, a small, cold, colonial town now holds most of my mental images of Christmas.

From the brick sidewalks that weave and wave a treacherous river of frozen and slick pavers to the cold, drafty, cavernous yet crowded old church lit by candles for the choir to sing in, to the warmth and enchantment of the candle shop, to the wall of homemade candies in the general store. Everything that feels of Christmas to me is embodied in this town. Memories of walking in the snow fall by candlelight as carolers sing in the distance. 

In all honesty, I probably only experienced Christmas in Bishop Hill a handful of times when my step-mother's vocal group was singing, but for some reason my brain has melded it into the embodiment of Christmas. I remember the joy of picking out flavored candy canes, horehound candies, and licorice bites at 10cents each, making wax candles, and hanging out at the pottery building (of which was one of my favorites) to warm up when I was to young. Then, while in high school (and my first time to drive there solo) I remember walking to the church in a heavy flaked snow fall, the kind out of a movie where the flakes are so large they fall slowly and in sharp contrast to the black night sky, in my letter jacket along the quickly disappearing brick sidewalk wishing I had a girlfriend with me to hold mitten covered hands, drink hot cocoa, and listen to the chorus sing (Yeah I was a pretty pathetic romantic having grown up on too many John Cusack and John Hughes movies). Pretty much the only things missing from this Utopian Christmas memory town is an outdoor ice skating rink and Macy's storefront windows.

But those memories are just of what Christmas "looks" like to me. What Christmas is to me is simply being with family. The sound of stomping snow off of boots on metal edged linoleum stairs paired with percolated coffee and a hearty "Well hello there!" brings Christmas at my maternal grandparents house back to vivid life.  While creaking floors, the smell of clam stuffing, and a tightly packed small kitchen harken back to the Grandparent Hoffman's house. Soft shag carpet on bare feet, the smell of turnout gear, tobacco, and cinnamon cider hold memories of the Losey Street home while nativity chess (sorry Nu), tinsel, champagne and Marshall Fields boxes recall Academy Street. Echoes from many years past. Merry Christmas.

Cookevegas Cross

The final race of the MOAB Cup happened last Sunday. We ended up with one sunny race, one rainy but warm mud race, and one wet, muddy, and cold race. Unfortunately, we missed out on the forecasted snow/sleet. Ah well, can't have it all.

The course was on the 300+ acre farm owned by Jason Moore and his family. It had everything a great cross course should have and more. Steep hills, steep long hills, off-camber sections, a scenic lake, old trucks in the woods, a fire pit, beer keg, roasted weenies, and lots and lots of mud. I can't wait to go back next year.

This wasn't just the last race in the series, but also the last cross race of the season for me. Sadly the state championship race falls on a Saturday this year. A Saturday off in retail during the holidays? About as likely as a Saturday off in the Spring/Summer rush. I miss the good ol' days when mountain biking and cross racing were on Sundays and roadies had their Saturday events. Meh.

We're hoping to grow the series to 5 or 7 races next year. With UphillGrind's Cross The Way series gone due to Brian and Melissa moving away and infamous Dan "White Lightening" Werle's Nashville cross series folded up with his move to Portland, there is a serious cross drought in the midstate. Since I can't change races to happen on Sundays, I can do something about more local cross racing.  Lookout, I have grandiose ideas for next year. A night star-crossed event, maybe a Bilenky inspired debacle, and possible a double cross event if we can get trails cut at Neighbor Corey's.

So with these last images of mud and lost glory, it's time to hangup the skinsuit to win-suit and put cx to bed for the year. Adventure rides and cold base miles will have to suffice until the 2014 race calendar gets sussed out. Plans are slowly taking shape. Bucket list events being weighed against bucket list trips and family time.

I walk away without any podiums but a mechanical free cx season, a new found love of tubular carbon wheels, and a strong thirst for the state champ jersey. Luckily it's 12 months away as I have a long road to hoe to get anywhere close to quenching that thirst.

Wet Toes and Tombstone Tour

Word came in via New Neighbor Corey yesterday that the Godfather would be making an appearance in Rockvegas and was up for an adventure ride. As soon as I got home from work I dug out my old trusty DeLorme Gazetteer and started scouting potential gold. There is a region southwest of the farm that runs along the Duck River that I've been wanting to investigate but haven't ever had willing cohorts to venture "off the beaten path." The day was not to be wasted.

I showed them a few gravel roads close to the farm, then about 15 miles in we got our first taste of one of the many "unimproved roads" I'd plotted along the route. Before we headed down the lane, Stanley pulled his phone out and used one of his apps to see if the road really existed. He said it showed it not going through. I said my map showed it crossing a creek before connecting to the highway and asked if which he wanted to believe the phone or the map. As Corey and I consulted the map Stanley disappeared. Soon he was out of sight, already making his way down the lane, laughing most of the way. Stanley is the biggest kid I know.

So far the phone proved to be wrong and the map right. In fact, the map was accurate all the way up to the deep, wide creek crossing. Unable to find a shallow or dry path across, and no real sign of it continuing, we turned back and vowed to come back in warmer temps.

We made our way over and around towards the section of the map littered with unimproved roads, but unfortunately we were met time and time again with "Posted no Trespassing" signs. Ugh. Sign of the times.

We did, however, find many, many cemeteries along the route. One particular site had over 5 separately fenced cemetery plots. The oldest surrounded by a rock wall, others by old wrought iron fencing,  a raised rock bed plot underneath twin magnolia trees, and a small plot of 3 stones outside the fences tucked behind a large tree and small evergreen. We also met a new friend, a friendly Aussie-husky mix.

We wound our way along the Duck river until daylight was getting short and the headwind we'd been riding into started changing direction out of the Northwest, making it a headwind all the way home. Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, and Tailwinds - four things you'll never see. Our 4 county wet toes (yes I got my feet wet) and tombstone tour was coming to an end. Just as I thought it would be a boring ride home along familiar roads, Stanley noticed a stone in a field. It turned out to be a marker erected for a Revolutionary Soldier and his wife. A weathered monolith quietly standing guard in a solitary field in Marshall County. A silent reminder of all that is still out there to be rediscovered.

Thankful

Another year, another official day to be thankful. The official day that kicks off the madness that is "Black Friday", and now even "Brown Thursday". The crazy commercialization of the holidays. I'm so thankful H. and I aren't into shopping, or crowds, or frivolous spending. I'm thankful we both love country living, farm life and it's endless lists of chores, and that we both have hobbies/sports that we enjoy and keep us outside and active.

I'm thankful for my pond, my dogs, and their love of running single track with me as I ride. I'm thankful for the ability and health to continue to ride and race bikes. Thankful to the people of MOOTS Cycles for not only making dream bikes, but allowing me to represent them via their GrassMoots program. Also for their continued support and friendship. I hope to get back to the mothership this coming year for another family reunion.

The Godfather presenting the coveted Godfather Cup.

I'm also thankful for cycling bringing such varied and interesting people into my life that I now call friends. Especially my Smith County Mafia crew. I'm thankful for Steven and Ruthie for altering the day's plans to accommodate H.'s crazy work schedule. Thankful for their continued hard work to put on one of the best renegade events of the year, The Godfather Cup. Thankful for Stanley and his infectious laugh and love of exploring via bike. His eternal "wonder where that road goes" youthful exuberance. Thankful for all the friends they have introduced into my little world.

Nathan was worn out after the ride. He's lucky we didn't grab the sharpie. 

Also thankful for their shared love of pranking and joking. Life is unfair, painful, and sorrow-filled but a lot more tolerable and fun to experience with as much humor as you can pack in.

Thankful for my family. Growing up in a small town I saw them a lot. As college and young adult life took off, distances grew. Free time to travel home diminished. Now it's once or twice a year that I get to physically see them. Something for which I'm not thankful. I miss them. I miss the Sunday lunches at Grandma Hoffman's, the dual big family dinners at X-mas and Thanksgiving, the summertime family reunions, the booming "well hello there" greetings from Grandpa Spence and riding out to the farm with him, throwing horseshoes and picking onions with Grandpa Hoffman, 4 o'clock happy hours at Dad's. Social Media has made keeping in touch easier, making the many miles between us feel a lot less distant, and allowing rare treasures such as old WWII photos of my Grandfather's to be shared. I'm thankful of my family's love of picture taking and that these old photos have found new life in a digital age.

I'm thankful we were able to go visit my sister, sister-in-law, and niece out in Salem. I love them, especially that little blue-eyed wonder child. I wish we had more free-time and money to afford more frequent trips, but grateful for the moments we were able to share. I hope to get back out to see them again next year as well as visiting a few other friends scattered around the states (look out Montana, Colorado, & Minnesota).

So this Thanksgiving do something for this old kid (aka me), take a moment to enjoy what and who you have in your life and not what is on sale or when the stores open. What's in front of you and not what's on the tv. Take a moment to look around outside, to look up at the night sky, to enjoy that cup of coffee or tea across the table from loved ones. Take the time to listen to their stories, to breath in their lives. Those are the moments worthy of keeping and are far to fleeting. Happy Thanksgiving,