Sickly Scent of Desperation

Naturalist missives about the circle of life aside, it is ironic and seemingly pathetic to me how I feel the same ruts, paranoia and passion start and restart the same times each year, a passion victim case study in how difficult it is not to constantly hit 'repeat.'

Now, sitting here in January with the earmarks of a season to come queued up waving in the distance, my little panics about riding and training keep creeping up my back to stand on my shoulder and ask me why 2 degrees is too low, cookies still catch my eye and 8am is too early to meet people to ride.

'New' Chrome store in SF.  Yet another do-over.

At least now, those panics prove to be more archangel that devil, prodding me along as opposed to providing a load bearing weight.  Eight pounds lost.  Bikes restored to standards.  Finding fitness under the dust-covers.

So as the cold temps continue and trainer time turns the movies I own into the movies I quote, it's the little twists that spark fire.  Little steps with War Axe, strides with Susan's Snappy Caps and races viewed with a competitive eye and others for the sake of new experience. 

More space.  More product.  Same great vibe.  Same shitty phone camera.

NAHBS.  Ouachita.  TransIowa.  Kanza.  24hr Nationals all sit in that queue, holding places in line to be filled.  Revamp.  Rewind. Repeat.  I'm ready to let the archangel on my shoulder lead on, even if I am not sure I'm ready for where we are going.