KROGG MAKE GIF

KROGG HAVE FRIEND. FRIEND HAVE PUG. PUG SILLY BEAST. KROGG CAPTURE SILLY BEAST ON CELL PHONE, TRANSFORM TO GIF, AND SHARE WITH INTERNET. BEHOLD:  MOGLEY AND BINDY!

Let Me Be Exceedingly Clear

Unless you've had your head under a rock this week, you'll know by now that the sponsor of our team, Exergy Development Group, has chosen to end their financial support of the Team Exergy for 2013. This news was not unexpected, but the finality of the announcement came as a surprise. I'd been carefully guarding a faint glimmer of hope that everything would be OK (Read: sticking my head in the sand, hoping the situation would just go away. It's called denial folks, and it's not a river in Egypt.). When I read the news that the team was without a sponsor, and that I was without a job -- I was crushed.

The internet has gone totally bonkers over this news. Reactions have ranged from the dismissive and pessimistic  to the vitriolic and asinine  Personally, I've had trouble refraining from being more vocal over social media. This is something that affected me deeply and profoundly. A large hunk of who I am, and how I think about myself is tied up in my job as a cyclist --  and the prospect of suddenly not being a racer any more is painful. I'd grown rather fond of what my next year was shaping up to be. Getting the rug pulled out from under me like this feels a bit like getting dumped by a girlfriend. It stings. I've said things over Facebook and Twitter that I probably shouldn't have -- comments that, while they've all been centered around me and my personal situation, aren't really the message I want to broadcast. 

So what do I want to broadcast? It's simply this: I am SO grateful for the chance to race my bike these last two years -- and most of that gratitude is directed towards James Carkulis and the Exergy Development Group. Anyone who knows me from my Hagens Berman days remembers how close I was to not becoming a pro racer. At the end of 2010 I'd been "chasing the dream" for five years. I was satisfied with my career as an amateur, but (provided I didn't get a shot at the next level of racing) was ready to move on to other things. I'd reached the conclusion that I was good enough to be a pro, but that much more goes into getting a pro contract than simply having the legs to do the job. Luck, timing, and connections were all part of the equation, and I didn't feel like I failed as a racer just because those other factors weren't on my side. Then, in October, I was offered a spot on Exergy. I felt like I'd won the lottery! It was only because of the management team of Escalera racing, and the insane generosity of our sponsor that I was offered the chance to keep racing. Like I told Cyclingnews, I feel like I was able to hit the snooze button, fall back asleep, and continue dreaming this ridiculously fabulous dream where I get paid to race bicycles. 

You can say many things about James Carkulis, and Exergy Development Group. Yes, he has outstanding bills. Yes, he had to make the difficult decision to withdraw sponsorship of my team. But to imply that he harmed us or betrayed us is just stupid. He enabled us, and the sport of cycling, to a fantastic degree. 

James, it's been a wild ride. 

Nothing lasts forever, but this was gooooood while it lasted. 

Thank you so much. 

KROGG VISIT SKY!

Krogg get opportunity to take ride in sky car. Amazing! Krogg love sky car. Drive around sky like brontosaurus drive around land.  

SKY CAR!

INSIDE OF SKY CAR!

FASTER SKY CAR!

VIEW FROM SKY CAR!

BEAUTIFUL VIEW FROM SKY CAR!

PILOT AND CO-PILOT!

BEAUTIFUL DEADWOOD RESERVOIR!

SNAKY RIVER!

KROGG IN SKY CAR!

Wherefore Hast Thine Blogging Waned?

What's wrong with me? My desire to write in my blog has all but dried up! This latest drought, not surprisingly, coincided with the start of my new job at Trademark Sign Company. I've been working there full time (or very close to it), for over a month, and it's been hugely satisfying. I'm learning a new craft, making a valuable contribution to a promising little company, and really enjoying myself while I do so. My hope is that, by the time the season starts, I'll be competent enough in the skills necessary for this job that I'll be able to maintain my position there throughout the year. Naturally, training and racing will call me away for much of the year, and Trademark has agreed to be extremely flexible about that when the time comes. But for now, alas, my free-time is no longer. I'm feeling swamped in a way I haven't since college -- and I'm not even training heavily yet!

But it's not just the job. The flow of mindless drivel found here at Gliderbison waned to a trickle long ago. Why? Was it just the lack of time? Has my desire to express myself lessened? Isn't there still interesting stuff happening that I have an opinion about? What about Red Bull Stratos? What about the massive implosion of Pro Cycling?  What about all the interesting work I've been doing at Trademark Sign Company? What about my friggin' knee (and the damaged ligaments therein), the triathlon I'm racing tomorrow, Exergy's financial woes, or my overwhelming excitement for the 2013 cycling season?

Perhaps I've simply found a substitute for the satisfaction my blog used to provide me. I've always acknowledged that writing a blog was simply a way to make myself feel better about what I do (i.e. selfishly spending all my time training and racing). That, and my greedy little appetite for emotional connection with other humans was hardly ever fulfilled, and spewing words into the void somehow sated that hunger.

Over these last few months, it's not like I haven't been creative. Or felt satisfied. But I miss the blog. And I'm not done blogging --  I'm sure that once I return to the cycle of training and rest, of preparation and perspiration, I'll also be compelled to share my silly thoughts. Hang in there, dear readers.

People do Things

The world is a crazy little place. People are crazy little creatures. Right now, people everywhere are doing things. Some of them are doing awesome things. For instance, an astronaut floating high over our heads just fixed the goddam space station with a goddam tooth brush, like some kind of goddam spaceman MacGyver. Look: 

But some people are doing idiotic things. For instance, there are skilled humorous writers who lack both common sense and a willingness to read (or follow) directions are applying powerful chemical solvents to their genitals -- much to my online delight. 

Happy Tuesday. It's going to be a good one. 

It Happens Fast

It happens fast. One minute you're locked into the rhythm of the stage race, the rhythm of racing and recovering, of meetings and massages, of eating and eating and endless eating. The next minute -- bam -- you're driving back to Boise so you can watch the race on TV.

It can be a tough pill to swallow.

Yesterday morning I awoke in a lavish hotel room in Beaver Creek, Colorado. I stayed quiet for nearly two hours and stared at the ceiling, ruminating; after all, my roommate Serge was still in the race. I was not. I'd be a very poor teammate indeed to deny him any extra sleep. Finally Serge's alarm started bleating, and we both arose and packed our bags. Serge placed his outside the door for the soigneurs to bring to the van, and trundled off to the dining hall for breakfast, whereas I brought my bags down to one of our team cars. The car was loaded with the bikes and bags of racers who'd abandoned, bikes and bags, no longer needed, bound for Boise. Bikes, and bags, and racers. I said my goodbyes -- this is the end of my season after all -- who knows when I'll see my teammates again, or our staff. I wished the mood were celebratory; it was almost morose. It's odd: I certainly didn't want to leave, and nobody wanted to see me go, but driving back to Boise was the only thing I could tolerate.

I had to get out of there.

On my way to the highway, I stopped for a(nother) coffee with Daniel and Emiliano. We waxed philosophical about racing bicycles, about getting dropped, and about the close of a season, the last paragraph in an exciting chapter, the other bookend. After another round of goodbyes, I flicked on the radio, found the on-ramp for I-70, and headed west.

Somehow, the cosmos united me with a fantastic radio station, and a stunningly gorgeous stretch of road to send me off. Here's a slice:

A poem, read to me by Garrison Keillor.

Debtors

by Jim Harrison

They used to say we're living on borrowed
time but even when young I wondered
who loaned it to us? In 1948 one grandpa
died stretched tight in a misty oxygen tent,
his four sons gathered, his papery hand
grasping mine. Only a week before, we were fishing.
Now the four sons have all run out of borrowed time
while I'm alive wondering whom I owe
for this indisputable gift of existence.
Of course time is running out. It always
has been a creek heading east, the freight
of water with its surprising heaviness
following the slant of the land, its destiny.
What is lovelier than a creek or riverine thicket?
Say it is an unknown benefactor who gave us
birds and Mozart, the mystery of trees and water
and all living things borrowing time.
Would I still love the creek if I lasted forever?

A song my math-dork friends would adore.



A winding highway through a misty canyon.

A Real Humdinger

TO THE GENERAL PUBLIC:

It is the object of this blog post to alert the public that the stretch of road to the South and and to the East of the township of Aspen, Colorado, commonly known as Independence Pass, has dealt tremendous harm to both my person and my mind. While several lesser offences have accumulated throughout the previous year, today marked an insult so grievous it is my civic duty to pronounce it a scoundrel and a brute! 'Twas not but six miles from the beginning of the race that the hostilities commenced: pain of legs, shortness of breath, fire of crotch, dizziness of mind, questioning of self worth, and hatred of Jens Voigt -- I suffered all of these and more! An honorable road Independence Pass is not! Upon my arrival at the summit, I found myself near twenty minutes abaft, a discovery as shocking as 'twas demoralizing. I place the full weight of my decision to abandon the race squarely upon the shoulders of that loathsome road.

Independence Pass, from hence forth, we are enemies. 

Despisingly yours, 

Sam Johnson

August twenty-third, two-thousand and twelve

Beaver Creek, Colorado