Status

At first glance, you might notice a limp-free stride. But it's there, just a little bit. It's getting better.

The area that hurt the most — the inner groin — feels miles better at this point, less than a week after seeking treatment. The collateral damage — tight, sore upper glutes — is taking a little bit longer to iron out.

I got out for two hours on Sunday with Ryan and Larry, which was nice. I was planning on a solo slog, and I doubt I would have gone that far. It took forever to warm up. Once I did, however, I fell into a nice rhythm. Thankfully, Ryan was taking it easy.

Yesterday was an hour, and I could tell right away that I'd done two hours the day before. Again, after I warmed up, I was OK.

The main problem, right now, is power. When you drive up hills, you utilize more of the muscles in your hips, butt and lower back. A good chunk of that area is still a little sore, so it feels like there's a cap on power. And it's stuck pretty low, really.

But it's getting better. And, oddly enough, the fact that I'm still sore is a good thing. Day-to-day activities have been feeling better and better, which leads to me thinking more and more about doing the Omaha races. "Yeah ... I think I'll be able to pull it off."

No. No you won't. Stop it. That's what I hear when I get on the bike.

Feeling good is nice, but that won't be enough to pull me through when things start feeling bad in a race.

Breakdown

By and large, Jack is a good kid. For not quite being 3, he doesn't cause too many problems. Granted, he tries to push it as far as possible, but rare are the days were he's naughty from dawn to dusk.

Sunday was a pretty normal day in our house. After his nap, we headed out to get groceries and things. He's to the stage where he sees things on the shelves and asks if he can have it. "Can I have that?" "Ooooo! I can I have that?" "Look at those cookies! Can I have those?"

No.

That's the stock answer, and he never seems to get too worked up about it. In Hy-Vee, he was in fine form, asking for everything. And, of course, I was saying no. Hy-Vee is a lot like other grocery stores — along with the food and supplies, there are little trinkets tossed in every so often. There's a little display of scale-model die-cast cars that has caught Jack's eye a number of times, so he asked to see it.

I was in full-on "no" mode. No Jack, we don't need that. No, Jack. No.

Screeeeeeeam!

He really wanted to see the model cars. Also, everybody in Hy-Vee knew he wanted to see the model cars.

I got nose to nose with him and reminded him that he knew the right way to ask for things. He did, of course, ask the right way, but the scream was poor form. He was given a choice: quiet down and sit in the cart at checkout or go straight to the car. Another screech.

Straight to the car it was, then.

Holy crap. You've seen that kid being dragged out of the store, kicking and wailing. Many of you have probably been on both sides — both dragging and wailing. I'm in the club now. Because that kid freaked the hell out. While Chris was left to chuckle in the checkout line, I had a bundle of rage tucked under my arm as I hightailed it out the door.

Once in the car, he tried to get out of his seat. He kicked, he hit. It was a fairly spectacular show.

I got him buckled in, he wailed for a minute more and then got quiet.

"Mom and Daddy, did you see that bird? He was flapping his wings!"

And then we were right back to normal.

The one where I potentially say the wrong things

One of the things I've enjoyed most about working in the shop is the opportunity to talk with people on a daily basis. And when community-wide cycling events pop up on the calendar, I love going to them. I feel like it's part of my job.

I'll be the first to admit I haven't gotten to as many events as I'd like, but with the way things work at our house, it's not always easy to get out. Regardless, I try do as much as I can.

Last night's screening of Race Across the Sky brought out the bulk of the Omaha cycling community. And by the bulk, I mean the ones who are at every event, doing all of the dirty work. They're the ones who are making it easier to enjoy the city on a bike. (And you should all thank them for their efforts at every opportunity.)

While our company sponsored the event, in cooperation with THOR, what I didn't see was a lot of people from the other shops in town. There's a very good chance that I didn't see them because of where I was sitting for the movie (waaaay too far up front).

But it was strange that for an organization like THOR and an event like this -- social hour, cool movie, social hour part 2 -- there weren't more representatives from the very businesses who stand to benefit from a more active community.

Again, I could well be wrong. I kind of hope I am. Or maybe everybody else has been to everything and I'm the one who's been missing in action. That's entirely possible.

But knowing how the shops in town work, I doubt it.

So where was everybody?

This will seem familiar

Nebraska race schedule, 2010: Fin.

Yeah ... it's just not going to happen. My hip/pelvis is more than a little jacked, and last night was nothing short of torture.

I got a professional opinion this morning from Mike Bartels (Edge PT). He said it won't take too long to get things straightened out, which is good, but the timing is bad to be able to jump into the Omaha races.

So, for the second straight year, I'll stay out of the way. Of course, that just means wire-to-wire coverage of the whole thing on GamJams Midwest. There's a good chance I'll serve the local cycling community more effectively that way anyway.

But what comes next? Well, like Brady, I have a bunch of exercises to do. And I'm going to work on getting back on the bike and feeling comfortable again. And then I'm going to work on getting strong again.

And then ... well, I don't know.

What do I know? I'll be back. You'll know it when you see it.

Equinox

Eight years ago, I was standing on the end of a jetty in Two Harbors, Minn., on the night of the summer equinox. The longest day of the year would be followed the next morning by the longest race of my running career — Grandma's Marathon.

A year's worth of planning and training brought us there. And as the cool night fell, I felt good about how the next day would go. (Note: The next day was good ... enough, with equal parts awesome and horrible all wrapped in one. You know, like most marathons.)

A year's worth of planning has me sitting here, the morning after the summer equinox, drinking coffee. A marathon is not in the works for today. Nor is a run, a jog, or even a bike ride.

Despite what I've been hoping and aiming toward over the last week, it's just not happening. My hip really isn't getting much better. I should clarify: In general, the bruise and resulting nearby muscle soreness is getting better. But there's one spot that isn't getting better at all — and that lack of improvement is troubling.

Why that one spot? Whatever it is, it makes getting on and off the bike hurt like hell. Once I'm on, no problem. But it's the before and after.

Yes, I'm going to have it checked out today.

Regardless of the outcome, it's feeling more and more like another lost summer. The optimism of a week ago is long gone. I planned on using the five weeks between Norfolk and Omaha as a tune-up — a sharpening of skills. I wanted to be ready to really mix it up.

Tomorrow, it'll be two weeks off the bike. I had a tight schedule before the crash and missed a couple of days. They've all been missed days since. Instead of faster, stronger and leaner, I feel slower, weaker and soft.

If I could get on the bike today, I think I'd be OK for Omaha. But given how this thing feels ... I just don't see it. Hopefully I can get back on form by August and get into the fall on the right note.

Right now, though, all of the notes are in minor keys.

Options

If there's one thing available to me in the world of cycling, it's options. That's both good and bad.

Good, because I can try almost anything I like. Bad, because ... well, I want to try everything.

For example, I'm perfectly happy with my Madone. It's exactly what I want in a bike. But would the 6 Series Madone be better? Probably. Hmm ... maybe I'll get one of those for next year.

Oh ... but we have Cervelo now, too. An S2 or S3 would be fun. Or maybe a Trek Cronus.

And wheels! Shimano, SRAM, DT Swiss? Those Look pedals are looking cool, too.

Or maybe I should go for the Cronus CX, because a cross bike would be a lot of fun. But mountain bikes are a lot of fun, too.

Basically, this is what happens when I'm off the bike. Luckily, I'm feeling better and better each morning. I ended up not riding this weekend, which is a good thing. I'll stay off the bike today, too, and get out for an hour or two sometime tomorrow.

Flexibility is returning, as is range of motion. And the deep purple bruises are being replaced by their yellow cousins. In short, I'm healing.

In the meantime, though, I'm still thinking about bikes. A whole garage full of bikes. Hmmm ... .

Hope is not lost (entirely)

When I woke up yesterday morning, I stumbled down the hallway and into the kitchen. I made my coffee, sat down at the table and got to work. Pretty much like every day — including the stumbling. My back is always tight in the morning. Once I get moving a bit, though, it loosens up pretty quickly.

But yesterday's stumbling — and today's, too — was just normal stumbling. It had nothing to do with the softball-(wait, baseball!)-sized lump on my hip. Which is, by the way, "purple and yellow and red and green!" according to Jack.

True. All true.

The swelling is going down reasonably rapidly. Range of motion is returning. Tegaderm patches are coming off. And, probably most importantly, I can actually climb on a bike without crying.

Baby steps, man. Baby steps.

The weekend plan: Ride for 1-2 hours on Sunday, nice and easy. And hopefully I can ease back into things next week. There's still time to get back on track and have a productive summer. Sure, I probably won't be at my best for Omaha, but there are lots of other races out there. No worries.

It's gonna be a while

Normally, Tuesday is a two-hour, ride-steady kind of day. Monday is the big work day, so Tuesday's goal is to get the kinks out before Wednesday Worlds.

You could say I have a few kinks to work out.

So, yesterday afternoon, I kitted up, climbed onto the bike and rolled out. Slowly.

Oof.

The worst parts of the ride: getting on and off the bike. That leg swing is higher than you think, and with injured muscles and bones ... ouch. Once I was on, it was OK. There's fairly significant damage to the left hip — which was obvious from yesterday's picture.

The worst thing, though, is that pretty much all of the muscles surrounding that area are really, really sore — and really unstable. So my plan for an easy week followed by a return to normal next week is probably out the window.

Now what? I'll get healthy and I'll get fast again. If that means I'm ready for Omaha in July, so be it. If that means I'm ready for something later in the year, that's fine, too.

I've come too far to get slow again.

Hips don't lie

Rafal asked for a photo. Well, here you go. The overwhelming response of people who saw it yesterday: Oh ... damn!

Try as it might, my phone's camera can't catch all of the colors currently mingling on my hip. The most impressive part is the black and blue area to the south. It's actually a much darker shade, with quite a few deep red parts. And the front view is impressive, too — a huge bulge on the left hip.

But despite how it looks, I'm actually getting better pretty quickly. I'm planning on a short ride this evening, and then hopefully Wednesday Worlds tomorrow. I'm fairly certain I can hang onto at least one of the groups ... even if it's the rec group.

But now, dear readers, you have a job to do: Go to Brady's blog and wish him well. He ate it yesterday in a far worse manner than I. I'm just a little dinged up. He's flat-out banged up. Speedy recovery, Brady.

Well, I guess it had been about a year

Most crashes have a pretty simple explanation. For example, here's how mine happened last year:

• Looked at phone while riding, swerved. Pretty straightforward, huh?
• Brought it into a corner too hot and too low. Another easy one.
• Couldn't see around Fat Mark Savery's fat ass and hit a pole.
  
• Tried to rip corners with no confidence, broke my back.
  

See? Easy.

I merged pavement with skin again on Sunday, though I'm still trying to figure out exactly how it happened.

I was heading down the West Papio trail to meet Jeremy so we could get out on the road before it got wet. When you get onto the Huntington Park portion of it -- it's the section right after you jump on behind HyVee -- you take a right and then start going downhill.

On that section, there's a black spot -- a remnant of years of lawn-irrigation runoff. When that spot is wet, it's like ice. I figured it would be wet, since it was about 6:45. I came around the corner, saw that it was wet and slowed down.

That part, apparently, didn't matter. As soon as my front wheel hit it, I went down. Hard.

Despite the fact that I slowed down (to between 15 and 20 mph) and hit it straight on, my front wheel slid out. I landed mostly on my left hip, which is more than a little swollen.

So I called Jeremy and had him ride up the trail. I tried to get back on the bike, thinking that if we headed back toward my house, I'd have time to figure out if I could keep going.

The problem, however, is that I couldn't put any weight on my left leg at all. OK, so ... let's try swinging the left leg over ... nope. So Jeremy zipped home, got his car and carted me home.

My hip got better through the morning, and the x-rays were negative. I was able to get out and move around a bit later in the afternoon, so it's not horrible. Of course, it's not good, either. Hopefully I can get on the bike for a little bit tomorrow. Wednesday Worlds is clearly out, though.

The worst part, really, is that after Norfolk I was really, really motivated to sharpen up for the upcoming Omaha races. There's still time to sharpen up, but I basically lost a week of prep time.

It'll work out -- it always does -- but ... well, you know.

This should clear things up

I race for Midwest Wheelmasters/Velogear.com. I will wear this for races. I hope you don't yell at me for not pulling when a teammate is up the road. At least this time, he'll be wearing the same costume as me.

(Yes, I'm kidding about the yelling part. You can still yell at me.)

What was that?

You can learn a lot by riding with Shim. What that is, I don't know, but if nothing else he's a good conversationalist.

Right?

Anyway, Shim and I were talking toward the tail end of last night's Wednesday Worlds. He mentioned that it looked like I was riding pretty strong. Though I was tired and hurting, yeah -- I guess I was riding pretty strong.

In terms of hanging with the group, last night was the best ride of the year for me.

"You probably had a breakthrough of some sort," Shim said.

If that's the case, there was no "ah ha!" moment. It just kinda happened. Like maybe I woke up in the morning and had fast legs again.

I still think it's somehow tied to that Pioneers Park race near the end of May. Has to be. That was the first time in a year where I felt like I knew what I was doing. Somehow, it's only gotten better.

Maybe I have enough miles in my legs over the past few years that all I needed was a bit of intensity. Hello, Wednesday Worlds -- you're very helpful. Seriously, that might be it.

A ride that amounts to a race per week for two months? Yeah, that'll help.

A proposal

Names will not be named. Specific situations will not be considered. But I have a proposal. I think it makes sense for all involved. I'll start bluntly:

There are a lot of sandbaggers out there.

What's a sandbagger, in my definition? If you follow a season's worth of top-five finishes with a second season of top-five finishes — in the same category — that'd be sandbagging. If you leave a race venue in the money two years in a row — again, in the same category — you're sandbagging.

While these may sound like the bitter musings of a guy who's missed out on the money more times than not, I can assure you I care little about coming home with a check. It's always nice, but it's not my motivating factor when I line up.

What I want, basically, is a fair fight.

There are a handful of guys right now in Cat. 4 who are consistently filling out the podium. They'd all be perfectly fine in Cat. 3. No problem. Similarly, there are a few guys in Cat. 3 who'd do well as 2s.

And if this is their first go-round in that particular category, fine. Ride out the season — build a nice body of work.

But if you've been cashing checks in the same category for a while, move on. Hanging around for multiple seasons seems, to me, like a lack of desire to get better. Racing is about being uncomfortable, managing that discomfort and digging deep.

Also, it's tons of fun. Even when buried deep in the pain cave, it's fun.

Not fun? Showing up expecting to race against people of the same ability level and racing against guys who are, essentially, one category above you.

It makes less of a difference from Cat. 3 to Cat. 2, since we race together semi-frequently anyway. But the gap between average Cat. 4 and good Cat. 4 is wide. That good Cat. 4 is as good as a 3. Upgrade, get the sticker and move on.

Again, this isn't about particular riders, races or situations. These are just things that have been bouncing around in my head for a while. It's only a matter of time, really, before they start coming out.

Extraordinary machine

I've been stealing images from Lois Brunnert for the better part of two days (all of the images from the weekend can be found here), and I'm not going to stop now.

And anyway, she managed to make me look pretty pro in this picture. Though I'd really like to say I'm taking a flyer, I'm most likely in mop-up mode. The group I was with is gone, and I'm just rolling the last three laps.

While I was rolling those three laps solo, head down, happy I was almost done, I had a little moment with my bike. I really, really like my bike. A lot.

There's something about it that inspires confidence. At no point has it felt twitchy or jittery. Just smooth and calm. If anybody needs smooth and calm, it's me. I'm plenty twitchy on my own.

The relationship has evolved over the past six months, though. At first, I wasn't really terribly impressed. I mean, it's a pro-level race bike, so it's not like it's bad. But it just wasn't "wow."

Part of that, I think, is because it's so very smooth. A lot of the "fast" feedback you feel is a road chatter. You can tell you're going like a bat out of hell. Kind of like driving a 1970s muscle car at 100 mph. There's little doubt you're going really, really fast. My Felt was like that. At speed, you could feel it.

But the Madone isn't like that. It took me a long time to get used to a different sort of feedback. (It also took me a while to re-acquire some speed to actually make it go fast.) It's not slow — far from it — it just doesn't advertise speed through vibration and road noise.

In short, yeah, it's a nice bike. Speed and comfort together. Also, it's orange. And orange is awesome.

A pretty big step

It's funny sometimes how one solid day -- not even a good day, just solid -- can make such a big difference.

Slowly, steadily through the spring, I've been getting faster. Week by week, the signs are turning more and more positive. A quarter mile longer with the bunch on Wednesday turns into a mile. Then two. And pretty soon, everything feels right again.

I had that feeling, slightly, in Lincoln a couple of weeks ago. Right there with the group, taking little digs. But I was holding on by a very thin thread. Several times, I was just a few seconds away from being blasted off the back.

This weekend in Norfolk, though ... everything was right. It still hurt like hell, of course. But when it was time to go, I went. When things needed to happen, I was ready, reacted and made it happen.

In short, I went to a race and actually raced. God, it felt good.

Saturday
Sixty-four-mile road race through hills, heat and a bit of wind at the end. The 1/2 and 3 fields were together, but scored separately. I knew it was going to be pretty tough to stick with the group, but I was hell-bent on making it happen. Part of the reason things have felt good lately is confidence. I feel like I belong in the lead group, not off the back.

After a couple of guys from the 1/2 field rolled away -- and they were gone for good -- I figured it was time for the 3s to get things rolling. A couple of times, we had a good, solid group of five or six guys with a gap, but every time a 1/2 guy pulled us back. And he had a teammate -- who was in an entirely different race, mind you -- in the move.

Nice.

But as the miles rolled on, the pack whittled down more and more. Pretty soon, there were six 3s left. We hit each other pretty hard a few times, and the last 20 miles or so were tough. Lots of time in the gutter, lots of time digging out and chasing moves.

With about five miles left, everybody was showing the effects of a long day on the road. Lump me in that group. It was hard, I was suffering and I wanted it to be done. One of the guys alerted us to the presence of a fairly large pack coming up behind us.

It turned out to be the Cat. 4 leaders, but you can imagine what was going through my head: I worked hard to be in the lead group. No way was I going to let guys who got dropped catch on again.

So I went to the front and pulled as many times as I could before completely blowing apart. That line -- completely blowing apart -- came at about 1K to go. I ended up fifth, on the podium, in the money and completely shelled.

A bit later, someone said, "Sweet, you're back!" Not really. Not unless I could do it again the next day.

Sunday

I did it again the next day. Sort of.

I thought back to my most successful crits. On all of them, I parked my butt on the front row and made sure I put myself right at the front when we got rolling.

So I did that, and it paid off. I made the five-man split -- the chase group, rather -- but I wasn't much good to those doing most of the chasing. I was working really, really hard to stay on board. When I could pull through, I pulled through, but when I couldn't ... well, I just tried to hold on.

Thanks are owed to Eric O'Brien, who interpreted my panicked, slurred, hollering as a call for him to help pull me back up to the group when I fell off. That could have been ugly, but he saved my bacon.

With three laps left, I went to the front again, knowing full well this would be my last minute at the head of the group. The boys were getting itchy, and I knew they'd jump soon. Yeah, they did.

And I went off the back. Like, fast. But with three laps left and sitting more than a lap up on the closest guy to me, I wasn't worried. I just tried to finish it steady and not embarrass myself.

I ended up seventh. Not great, but not too bad.

And how did I feel in the corners? What corners? I said it on Friday, but the corners and speed were the least of my concerns. At no point was I nervous. I just wanted to go rip it up.

So that's that. I'm back ... sort of. But I'm still not where I want to be. Saturday was closer -- attacking, chasing, being a factor. Sunday was desperation, though it was a fairly satisfying brand of desperation.

But if I'm going to be in a chase group, I want to be able to chase. That's the next step.

Comfort level

It's kind of strange how racing in Nebraska goes sometimes. There are a handful of established races and venues that, no matter what's happened since the last time you've been there, you feel instantly comfortable.

That would be Norfolk. This will be my fourth trip north, and as I get things rounded up I'm reminded of what happened upon my return trip last year. Fed up with wussing out on corners, I headed into the half-completed subdivisions of northwest Omaha and started working on cornering.

That, as you recall, didn't end well.

Heading into the Norfolk weekend — RR tomorrow, crit on Sunday — I'm not worried about any of that stuff anymore. Right now, the focus is on regaining the speed I had before it all blew apart a year ago.

And, honestly, perspective matters quite a bit. It's just a hobby, really, but that doesn't mean I can't be good at it. And if it turns out that I'm not that good at it, so be it.

In the meantime, though, I'm having a blast.

No alarms, no surprises

I could tell as soon as I got up yesterday: Wednesday Worlds was going to hurt. More than usual, I mean.

The four-day weekend (for me, at least), started with working all day, a ride and then deck work on Sunday, more of the same — but longer — on Monday and then, finally, more of the same on Tuesday. The kicker with Tuesday was the "scraping away dirt and clay to level the steps" part. That sucked.

So I wasn't exactly fresh heading into Wednesday. But still, I was out to get some work done. First hill, no problem. Second, no problem. Up Highway 36 with the leaders, no problem. I came off a bit on the hill sprint — which is perfectly fine. I'm not going to sprint into traffic.

And then through Omaha Trace road, the hill that typically pops me popped me. No surprises there. At least I had enough to stay there until then.

Down through Boyer Chute, I could feel the effort of the previous days. The legs that typically are warmed up after that first charge were still heavy and tired. It wouldn't end well.

And it didn't. I'm tired. Luckily, I have my recovery process fairly dialed. Between the right amount of rest, no deck building and my good friend from Skins, all will be well.

It has to be, because with two races this weekend — both slated to be hot — off the back isn't an option.

Home improvement

I don't spend a ton of time building things, mostly because I don't have a ton of time to spend building things. Similarly, the project list that every homeowner has seems to progress especially slow around these parts. Again, it's the time thing.

But I'm happy to say that I knocked this thing out in, basically, two weekends (spread three weeks apart). It all could have happened in about four days had there been four consecutive days in which to do it. Of course, I'd be toast for a month by doing it that way ... .

Despite the mess around the bottom part — we have a few landscaping issues to take care of — it's done. I guess I have to figure out what kind of railing to build for the steps, but that's not that big of a deal right now.

To give you an idea of how our old deck was, check out the light-colored paint on either side of the sliding door. Those were the sideposts for the old deck. It was 8x8. The new one is 12x16. That should give us room to stretch our legs, huh?

Credit should be given to Dave Mortensen (Dave's Decks — look it up in the phone book), our neighbor, who poured the footings, built the frame and gave me the materials list. All of his instructions were scribbled on a half-sheet of notebook paper. There were three instructions, really. The rest he said, was easy.

And given that half-sheet of paper with which I worked, I'm pretty happy with how it turned out.

Ride lots

Oh, summer. You're awesome.

Now that Chris is out of school and can go do her workout whenever she likes, it frees up my schedule for early morning rides. Take Sunday, for example — Mike Miles and I left at 6:30. Back by 10 with three-plus hours in the saddle. Nice.

Monday was a gathering of like-minded individuals for the first Capo ride of the ... well, ever.

The backstory: Until the last 10 months or so, I've always felt like I was on the outside looking in when cool bike-shop stuff came up. That includes, of course, when I didn't actually work for a shop. It was always like, "Oh, man, where did you get that?" "One-time deal at the shop — awesome, isn't it?"

Sigh.

But when I heard we were going to do a very limited run of Capo Custom store apparel, I was psyched. So psyched, in fact, I ended up with two sets. White and gray. And that's when I realized that pretty much everything in my clothes basket was substandard.

Again, sigh.

But then we started carrying Capo in the stores. And people were buying it — lots of it. And luckily, I do have the hookup now. And I jumped at the chance to get more Capo kit. I went with the Monza setup — white jersey, blue shorts.

And that got me thinking. Lots of people with Capo (Mark, Jeremy, Me, Mike, PB, Brent and about a half-dozen others) means lots of people who should get together and look all super-pro on a nice long ride.

So that was Monday. Granted, not everybody on the list was able to make it, but it was a classy-looking ride regardless. Proof? Check out the picture below, taken by Mark.

Two Modena kits at the head of the line, me third in the Monza and Brent fourth wearing the dark custom kit. Mark, of course, was in full-on Italian mode, going with the dark Giro jersey.

All told, it was 89 miles and change for Jeremy and I, a few thousand feet of climbing and a not insignificant amount of gravel. Here's the thing about gravel and me: In small doses, it's pretty fun. Descents are hairy, though. That's due mostly to confidence — I just haven't done that very much.

I was, of course, fairly cooked when I got back, but it was a good ride. When Jeremy was hitting the hills hard at the beginning, I was right there. And when Mark was drilling it at the end, I was right there. Well, sort of — I was strong enough to hold his wheel, but definitely not strong enough to pull through. Maybe that'll come in a couple of weeks.

And now, on with Tuesday. It's my day off, so I have projects to do. Coffee. Now.