38. Thirty eight. Years passed and stuff learned. And yet I never felt younger. Should it come, I'd be satisfied. Failing it coming, I can look forward with wide eyes and determined nerves. Happy.
I crave it, year after year. The changing of the leaves, the donning of fleece, the running of thinner knobbier rubber...and yet Colorado makes it difficult to envision the season of the changing leaves with it's desert like surroundings. The rain pours today like it has for days and it's green. All green. And wet. And Belgium...and I slip back to Mol...
I watched my Rhino rip into the peat-like earth. I brought the tire back to its place of birth. And while I should have been watching the bends in the lush singletrack they call a 'cross course, I couldn't help but look down and watch as the cotton casing and the perfectly pliable rubber bent and molded to the earth, sending small wakes of peat into the air as I turned the wheel left and right. Perfect. God's good earth given to us to race on.
Ned reminded me of this last night with Whit-J and Dubba. After work frolics to blow the tubes out on soil that should have been dusty and hard. Instead, our 29" wheels and tires dug into the earth in the same manner, getting me stoked for the season to come.
We're here. What did you do to get ready for cross? Years ago I would have said intervals or barrier work or suffer or...well, honestly anything naive. And now...simply....carve. Just let the tires do the work and smile.