I DID NOT GET DROPPED.

Let the record reflect.

Now that the record is reflective, let me explain. Couple summers ago I did some bike racing back home, and I got dropped. Every single race. With the exception of one. And that was fun. But yeah, twice a week pretty much, I watched the pack pull out and ride away, usually within the first half-hour of the race. And that is a hopeless feeling. Because you're exhausted and everyone else is strong, you're legs and lungs are gone and everyone else is chugging along, you have to ride out the rest of the race by yourself while everyone else gets to draft.

Actually, you could quit the race. But who the hell quits races?

So yes, I was the 2003 points winner in the American Cycling Association for the catagory of "Moral Victories."

It's quite an accomplishment. Makes you stand proudly in the mirror and tell yourself you never want to race again. Enough to make you so sick of moral victories. And leave you with that fear in your stomach every time you go out to ride with well...other people. Because what if I get dropped? I hate getting dropped.

Fear. Fear of getting embarrased. Even on a meaningless weekend race. Because it's a pride thing.

But then it's fear on the other side too. Fear of what if I don't do this? Then it's a self imposed limit. I can't have those. I start to twitch. And while I can accept failure, I cannot cannot cannot accept not trying.

And even more fear on top of that. I have to compete. Not just because I am, well, competitive. But because it brings out the best in me. It allows me to focus. It enables me to break a big-ass world down into something I can understand. No interviews, no possessions, no money, no idea what I'm doing? Sweet, whatever, race on Tuesday, so today must be a hillclimb day. And no matter what happens to me, I still have this one area of my life that brings out the best in me. And I understand why.

Focus on the now, focus on what's really important. Don't worry about the other stuff that bears down on us if we let it. Just pedal, pedal, pedal, let it out and go.

Everyone has to have some area of their life where they put themselves on the line everyday. Otherwise...well...um...what did you do that day?

My heart is a flame that pains me if I do not light it on fire. Someone besides me said that. Although I'm not sure who. You get what I mean though.

It was nice to actually race. And not just race, actually do well. Doing well involves staying with the bunch, and not puking that one time I was convinced I was going to puke. Not only do I think I did well, I, actually moved up a category after my race. Not that I beat anyone. I did beat a couple people, even though I was the only category E entered. But I stayed with the Category D's, and thus, have been branded one of the bunch.

Waddup.

New Zealand is awesome. So beautiful, so many things to see, so much to do, and yet I am perfectly happy in this tiny, crappy town called Richmond (Rich-whuut?). The armpit of...actually if you look at the map it's not even the armpit of the south island, it is in fact the crotch of the Tasman District. But it's got people for me to ride with. And race with. And put it all on the line with.

What more do you need?

Oh, family is nice too. But hey, that's 13 km away in Nelson.

When I'm up, I can't get down.