This is a stationary bicycle. It keeps the studio from blowing away. Ha. I last rolled this unit forward at DCCX in October. Since then I move it when the leaves pile up. I’ve used it for some Post Office runs. Maybe six miles over three months.
I knew November and beyond would be busy. A show in Philly to take care of. That long stretch at the Vineyard at month’s end. And thirteen days in December for the Columbus Cento affair. There was enough to do without pinning on a number.
My interest in racing has been on the wane. I’m running out of age groups to hide in. That’s what it’s become – hiding. Because it is. My ability to be part of the narrative is now history. Years, and a lack of motivation to go deeper, are what happened.
I didn’t know until today how absolutely awful it feels to look at a bicycle and not ride it. I mean really ride it. For any reason at all. Not the mail runs. I mean the times when I leave the driveway and just go. And then come home hours later. I miss this.
Being too still leaves me vulnerable. And the more I look at this bicycle, the more exposed I become. It drains all of me. The heart. The head. What’s left is a man thinking about what once was. And muttering to himself all about it.