Ah, back from the paradise that is otherwise known as Romania. Mmm. Romania. Mmm, business travel. Sometimes I hear people talking at the airport about their travels. You know, business people discussing their goings-to and comings-from in the small-talkish....or possibly one-uppish....manner you often have to resort to with fellow business travelers to pass the time. I often hear: "Yeah, just finished up 3 days in Vegas. Whoa! is my liver tired." Responded to with a "Yes, my clients in New York City took me to a show with dinner in SoHo." Alas, here's what I hear:

"Greg, we need you in Romania, pal. You do you have your shots, right?"

Shots?? Romania?? This is the story of my life.

These trips take the tar right out of me, and unfortunately I do about 100K worth of these a year...which you all know by now as I rant how I balance all that with trying to be uber husband and dad and a bike racer. I am naturally high strung so it's hard to let stuff roll off the back, so business -travel...which by its very design is neither fun, nor relaxing...is the Darth to vacation-travel's Luke. It turns me into Postal Rager....at least on the inside of my overactive brain because I can't stand those fat slob million mile flier fools with bad business guy shoes and haircuts with their idiotic blue tooth things sticking out of their fat heads going ape-shit on the United person behind the desk.

Whoa. Sorry.

I want to now dip into some dark secrets of (my) travel. That being my nemeses and my love all intertwined in this inseparable helix of mind-strain passing guilt and pleasure like a ping pong ball between the hemispheres of my brain crescendoing in ever increasing volleys as if miniature Koreans have entered and made my brain their ping pong table. This dark secret I speak of is of course...

Beer.

I try so hard when traveling to be Pope-like. I figure if I can avoid the sauce, I can maybe try and keep some sort of fitness. Ha. I was DETERMINED on this week long trip to avoid it. I get in my car to DIA and I am chanting it. "Long week man. Stick to your goal. Get the work done, skip the beers, get home. One week. You can totally do it." I get on the plane, first flight, sit in my seat, take off and the lady swings on by like clockwork once we've reached our cruising altitude. "Can I get you something to drink, sir."

Oh my God. Moment of truth.

"Um, sure. I'll take a Ginger ale." She turns her head and begins to start to walk down the aisle and my Fortress of Truth and Righteousness suddenly caves in like the walls of a communist-era pre-fab building in a 9.2 magnitude earthquake. "Oh, miss! Sorry, and whatever beer you have in there. Please."

And so, I have a series of after shocks while in the great City of Iasi, Romania taking on board their golden brown and bubbly delicacies as a mechanism to cope....and because I did not trust the water.

But, I digress and am home. Back in the Republic with fam and friends. I get in Friday night late and spend the day with the fam. My kids never leave my side and we get our play on something fierce. Sunday is riding day with the RM-Izze crew. Can't wait to just BE with my compatriots. We assemble and we have a great crew. Newbies and old crew alike. Men's team and womens. We set the compass to Carter Lake and get our game on. The ride out is civilized and fun. That is until, of course, yours truly smiles, looked a Boups and we go. Game on. I start the first salvo on the rollers out there and go from a nice and calm 144 BPM to a vomit inducing 182 in a matter of seconds. It goes on like this to the top of the climb including sprints and other throw down frolics. We take a breather at the lake's crest. I am absolutely, positively going to vomit. I've never had this ball of not in my stomach. Water rushing into my mouth. I'm done for. This is what you get for not touching the bike or raising your heart rate for 8 days at sea level. OK, 285 feet.

We turn around and I am done for. I have to let the boys go and spin my spin and ensure that if it comes, they won't see me boot. Of course, God himself kicks up an insulting 45 MPH head wind which seems to change direction to face me no matter which way I turn. Indeed, I make it home, vultures circling above me. I crawl off my bike and limp inside. Done.

Oh, yes, we'll be getting it on again next weekend. Wouldn't want it any other way.

Some digital celluloid before we kicked off and I proceed to forget I have the camera.

All of you remember when Georgie's head tube sheared off his Trek on the pave in the Paris Roubaix a year or two ago, Brutal. If not here's a video to remind you...

So with that fresh in your mind, imagine you're driving 120 miles an hour in your (race) car coming into an apex and your removable steering wheel comes off. HA! Well, this is my bro from work. Check out how cool he is when this happens...

I'm going to do a more thorough posting on Nick and the boys great little biz they've opened up here in Boulder called The Pro's Closet. As an 'experiment', I am utilizing their very capable services to sell my 2004 Moots. Go ahead! Lob in a bid!

I'm lucky. I mean, REALLY lucky. I count my blessings every day. Beautiful family, thankfully good health. Trust me, I know the blessings when they are in front of me.

Another huge blessing is being able to be competitive in the sport I love and I race with some of the best guys in the country, weekend in and weekend out. But to do this, takes a lot of sacrifice and dedication. So, of course when the time comes each year, I get on it and watch the diet, train in the wee early morning hours to ensure the balance with fam and work, etc.

But this element, called "work" often injects some fairly sophisticated barriers to surmount (puns semi-intended) in order to be as on top of my game as I can. Heavy stress, people management, business growth, and of course 100K mileage years on United are all part of the drill managing a world wide product management organization and product portfolio.

On the travel tip, I get to see some crazy places around the globe and meet super passionate software geeks like me. But then I get exposed to things like the following IM I had this AM with my lab director in Romania. Put this into context on how I need to try and keep some fitness while on the road...especially in the late summer as I am trying to ramp it up (lots to do with keeping my mind sane, less the body at this time of year):
So many obstacles. So little time. So next time you see me out there smile and it will surely mean the dogs didn't get me.

At the expense of sounding like a weenie/show off, I've always been a good wheelie-er. I guess it's my BMX stuff that's never left me. But Chance shows some absurdity here on this vid...

What did you do today to elevate your heart rate folks? I mean besides throttle your computer? Whatever you, me, all of us with the taken-for-granted ability to wiggle all of our appendages are doing by staring at our PowerTaps and putting in our miles to keep fit and reach our goals this season pales in comparison to the depth Chris digs day in and day out to get it done. My boy Klebl, the same kid who is responsible for getting me on a mountain bike in 92 and falling back in love with two wheels (Damn you Klebl. Damn you. I could be a happy fat drunk Irishman at this point), won his 8th national cross country ski title amongst throwing down in Europe. Read his blog here and next time you throw your leg over your carbon fiber, smile and get it done. Chris is.

The system works! I do not know what else to say. Over the course of a year or so, the Parks and Recreation board and City Council members of Boulder have listened and reacted to the needs of cyclists...in in our case 'crossers in particular...to prioritize a facility in Boulder designed to allow for us to get our knobby tired game on. I've posted on this project in the past, but it is amazing to see this project get wings. Bobby and Pete have been using an incredibly soft-style evangelism with the City that has expressed the needs of mountain bikers, 'crossers and off road enthusiasts in a manner that wasn't condemning 'the System' and shaming it into the realization we have no facilities, but rather enrolling them with the true need and a participatory manner. It worked! The project is now top priority and being examined for implementation as early as next year. That is unbelievable considering I was prepping myself for the fact that *if* the project got approved, it likely would be something my children would benefit from when they come of 'crossing age.

The conceptual image of the park above is still in major flux but as you can see, so much is being accommodated. Awesome. Smooth trails, cross specific trails, technical single track...you name it! I love the fact that a staircase feature was injected into the plan for cross specifc needs. Imagine if you will a set of stairs with a bunch of local sponsor labels on it. Look at the image to the right and replace Duvel with New Belgium and inject RockyMounts, Boulder Cycle Sport, VeloNews and so on. Rad. A set of barriers along the cross course would also be great. Perhaps something that could be moved in terms of location.

In other news, there may be some surprises this year with respect to some yummy UCI courses here in Boulder. New courses that is. Stay tuned....

'Cross on.

No, irreversibility is not a word. It just feels like the right word. At this moment. Especially as it relates to the bubbling thoughts that have woven though my mind lately. When the brain starts firing again through paths of synapses that carry the good thoughts, not the bad ones, it is so immediately recognizable. It starts to ensure the trend towards what you want has its first domino flicked; irreversibly. What makes that happen? Some trees, some fat tires, some decent weather for sure. But an element is the group....in other words the right combination of people that were meant to be surrounding you on days when you need it. And it was a varsity team collection of good doers, non-naysayers, tail-waggers, joy-grabbers.

A crew of the kind, fit-tire appreciating folks assembled at Hall Ranch to get our 7,000 feet of frolics on. Conditions were a 6 out of 10 in terms of staying 'on trail' due to remaining high altitude snow and mud but the grins ensured mud met teeth and that is the methadone for the brain I speak of....often.

On the ride, one gear again, without fail brought smiles. It is so ridiculous how a single speed can make you feel. I don't know what to say. It's perfect. The rhythm you get into of swaying that bike and it's near silence in doing so is sort of like the perfectly thin foam on a nitrous poured beer sitting on top of the brown gold. It's what you want, and the mustache it leaves on your lip often induces a smile. It is simply not like riding a bike with gears. You have to not fight the bike but rather you join it. I'm not trying to sound all spiritually symbiotic here, but it is the truth. You make the 1 x 1 have rhythm and it helps you. Propels you. Gears make you think about suffering, and...well they just make you think. All the while I'm looking for the perfect solution to find 'Channel Zero' for my brain. Synaptic snow. And, yeah, while you need gears some times, you pick the places ad times where the 1 x 1 can bake the brain into peace.

Peace. Yes. With people who felt the same today.

Digital Celluloid....

You notice my lack of updates?? I guess I am going to have to issue a standing apology as it's been psychotic these days....or rather I've been psychotic these days. I'm not going to piss and moan in this space as I hear from you my friends that M & C is for your entertainment....so I try to keep it light and make sure you leave here with a smile. So let's try and balance some piss and some moans while keeping it light, shall we? I needs me to vent, and I needs you to laugh. I'll break it down this way:

• Re-entry from Za Trip was....and still is....nothing short of insane. I come home and it's as if the conspire-ers at work had it all queued up for me. "Ah, Greg, you're back from you wittle boys bikey ride. Hope you enjoyed it. Cause that's the last you'll see of your bike...oh! and your family for, hmm, the next 3 months." Followed by a boo-wah-ha-ha-ha-ish evil cartoon character laugh. The onslaught of workload was slid across the proverbial table to me and the writing is indelibly on the wall: Get on it or get the f-bomb out of the way.
  
• We got a dog. And we get this creature like 2 days after I get back from Za Trip and have the aforementioned work implosion. I love animals, dogs in particular, but we've just essentially adopted our third kid. She is a crapping machine who is teething and likes to chew everything, including our cat. Oh yes, we have a cat. Oh, and a 5 and 3 year old boy. Circus is the adjective for our house these days.
  
• I'm old. I can't tell if I've been going so hard for so many months that my body has collapsed or if I suddenly am feeling ancient. Shit, I am getting back pains, kidney pains, toe pains....I told my wife last night I thought I was having a heart attack because my chest felt like some linebacker punched me dead on right in the middle of my sternum. I told her to donate my bikes to charity should I shit the bed in my sleep.
  

So if you see me show up to cross next season 46 pounds overweight with a crazy look in my eye, it's likely because I need to ramp up the alcohol consumption and meds to keep me on the trajectory I am required to be on these days. Just humor me and help me pretend that I am still young and sort of fast.

So during the pinnacle yesterday's work mele, my wife brings in the mail and hands me my pile. I need to take a break before I put my fist through my new Lenovo StinkPad (Work stress + Windows Vista constantly blowing up = sphincter quivering drama) and I see that my ProCycling mag for the month is here. I flip through it quickly while taking an 'I'm on the can so you can't bother me' break (my only solace) and get the biggest shit eating grin:

I wrote this letter to the editor a couple of weeks ago about their exceptional 'cross coverage. Truly, I expected nothing...and in fact heard nothing....but saw that I wn their Letter of the month. Friggin RAD! Ha! So I guess the Universe is not all conspiring to get me.

So there you have it folks. Will you still hang on and read my dribble? Can you hang with me while I get my proverbial poop in order in my semi-charmed life these days? You know what. Don't answer that...

'Cross on.
GK

Mmm. Trees. I am turning that corner from racing to remember that I love to just...ride. This was an extremely confusing, stressful, anxiety filled week. Sitting underneath that swirl is this void...like a deflation that I guess must be like a 'now what' sort of void. All that pent up 'get 'er done' emotion blown out in the Motherland and...now what. The re-entry into real life's atmosphere has been difficult but a Chimay and an unbelievable conversation with my wife last night sort of rattled my mental cage back into some sense of reality. I don't expect anyone reading this to understand this hollowness, 'cause I don't think I get it at the moment, but maybe...

I took a bit of the edge off today. Two wheeled methadone to treat t he shadows in the brain and reminisce with the trees to make 1 + 1 = 3. Or maybe 1 x 1 equaling 3. It was yum. Crisp air, trees, silent single track and 5 minutes from my house. I hit Heil today and communed with my 1 x 1 and grooved in and out of the trees, up and over the baby heads, through the snow packed elevation, past the fir trees all who seemed to smile and give me a whisper of whatup. I said whatup back. Out loud. No one was around so that doesn't make me crazy as far as I know.

I need more of it. A little more mental furniture rearrangement and a bit more singeltrack. Travel this week so the mind is going to get all crazy like trying to cope with the machine guns and the anxiety. I'll run my haunts and let the endorphiones anesthetize me.

I'll start to write some good stuff soon. I gotta straighten out first my friends.