Forward.

There is no easy walk to freedom anywhere, and many of us will have to pass through the valley of the shadow of death again and again before we reach the mountaintop of our desires.

If you are carrying the burden of hate, anger, pain, bitterness over what someone has done to you, I ask you what are you gaining from this state, what are the benefits? What are the losses, what are the missed opportunities you have experienced from this state of living?  Have compassion for yourself and put that burden down, and feel the lightness of being and see the difference.

-Nelson Mandela

I am free.

2 Years

I first saw this video 2 years ago. It still makes me smile.

Embrace The Cold

Just over 3 years ago I was sitting with Eddy Merckx having an espresso at his house in Belgium. I asked which race he loved winning most & he said Paris-Rubaix. He said, "To win a race like that you have to train through the worst of days. You have to embrace the cold and rainy days. Those are the ones that make you believe you deserve the victory. And you cannot win until you know you deserve to." 

Here's to a brutal Winter.

Amelioration

Every now and then you have to take time out, step back and re-evaluate all that is. To separate all that is important from the noise, the false business of this complicated world. If you take that time, if you boil it all down and look closely to see what remains you can then begin to build again with truth. With clarity of purpose. With sheer conviction, insurmountable drive and absolute dedication.

There is little social reinforcement for the slow and steady, the long term gain, the hard-fought, slow-won victories. However I see the second half of my life and embrace the opportunity to raise my own bar. To produce bigger and better projects, to challenge all my own abilities both creatively and competitively, and to rise to the occasion. To rise to success on entirely new levels or give absolutely everything while trying to reach them.

I've never been one for overly wordy, empty promises. I've never been one for meaningless declarations or verbose announcements. I've never been one to say and not do. There's not much need to proclaim when actions speak louder than any words, especially in this era of instant gratification. This comeback isn't meant for Facebook. It isn't meant for the haters. It isn't meant for anyone but myself. Come with me or get out of the way. Closely attached to the measure of success will be the benefit and entertainment of anyone who glances this way. For they will see things that inspire, uplift and fill the soul with renewed spirit to raise their own bar and perhaps create a comeback of their own.

Enough talk, let the new journey begin. There's work to do.

A Jumbled Path

Posted a year ago this week. Still pertinent. And liked so much it was recently copied (verbatim) by a certain Harrisonburg Gran Fondo's promotion people. I guess imitation is flattery, or something like that. I just want to get this thing over with, get to that beer and then the happiness part.

Meaningful Redemption

Everyone has the ability to pick a battle in their life, for whatever reason. I recently found, tagged on the end of an old e-mail from an old friend was, "What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather the striving and struggling for some goal worthy of him. What he needs  is not the discharge of tension at any cost, but the call of a potential meaning waiting to be fulfilled by him. - Victor Frankl"

She was right in quoting Victor. Doesn't matter what struggle you choose lest it be unhealthy or unproductive. I suppose there are more points in the direction of being 'noble' or 'valiant' if you choose a battle against an oppressor and struggle to gain victory for the oppressed. However what of the self-induced battles that will not change the world as anyone outside yourself knows it? Would they be selfish or self-improving? What of the struggle to find the very limiters of your own abilities and then to boldly push past them or shatter yourself trying? To try so very hard, perhaps fail, then come back stronger than ever with the singular goal of personal success? Knowing there is a limit to it, I hope I find some meaningful redemption in this pursuit.

Call it getting older or seeing the dawn of the second half of my life on the horizon, it's time for a change. I will always look for great challenges and I will always pick a battle of uneven odds to reach past what seems possible ... however these times of 15-20 hours a week on the bike have stifled me as a social person. No longer can I continue to work for myself absent of coworkers or colleagues on top of working out by myself absent of team mates or companions. In creating the most fit, tuned, competitive person I've ever been I have constructed an insular world of solitude. My results do not keep me company on a rainy Saturday evening as I watch yet another DVD in darkness and think about the world outside mine: normal people having fun, being successful in a social arena.

I'm thinking out loud here because I realize deep inside my entire lifestyle must soon change. I've invested heavily in myself and waged war internally against all things that would limit my abilities both mentally and physically. For years I have tried to become a very competitive cyclist and while I have sometimes failed, I have often succeeded. Yet for the most part these trials and victories remain inside while life on a much more grand scale goes by. A team mate recently said, "This really isn't much more than a softball league (with more fit players and better looking clothing)." It is likely I'll always be a competitive cyclist however it's time to find inner peace and move on to being victorious on a level that will help and enrich others, not just myself. But first ... I must face one more self-defining, self-imposed, possibly self-destructive test.

Last year, after a horrible, debilitating crash in a race took the use of my left hand for 10 weeks I lost my fitness almost entirely. Yet I carried on as if nothing had happened. Fool-heartedly I toed the line at the 2011 Shenandoah Mountain 100 after only 3 weeks of 2-4 hour training rides. It should not have been a surprise that after 4 hours of my normal pace things came apart inside. I had digestion problems which led to cramping problems which led to my demise. I've never suffered so badly in a day. I've never struggled so hard to reach a finish line. I've never danced with the temptation of quitting as I did that day. I had reached my physical limit for that moment of my life and tried to push past. I could not. I could only hobble to the end, cracked for all to see and for a handful to mock ... but I kept on determined to push the bike as I walked beside it, falling back on my first goal for each and every race I enter - 'To Finish'. And that pushed me so very close to my mental limit which held fast by a thread of love and encouragement from those closest to me. Thankfully I did not decide to quit, although I don't think it was a prudent decision. My 2012 started the day after that race ended.

You see the Shenandoah Mountain 100, while it was the first Ultra Endurance Mountain Bike Race I ever competed in, sets the bar for all NUE Races to follow. I've traveled the world filming and competing in bike races, both mountain and road. Many times I've had the chance to ride the hardest, toughest sections of courses. Baring adverse weather conditions I say with confidence the SM100 offers some of the most challenging lines a bike can possibly take in a race of this nature. Taken in shorter segments it's one thing, all put together, on the day it's entirely another. From leg-searing climbs where the path narrowly clings to the side of the moss-covered, off cambered mountain side with barely 6" of width peppered with rocks and slippery roots where if you lose balance or veer off line you tumble down the slope; to unforgiving, loose rocks shifting under tire on 25° pitches on headwalls that seem like you're riding out the door of an airplane, to mind-numbing stretches of fire-road climbs which corner after corner only lead higher through cloud-covered fields of high grass and overgrown trail, over rocky outcrops and through swollen creek beds ... the SM100 has set the bar very high indeed.

My 2012 hasn't been measured by months and weeks but instead by hours and minutes, on the bike. I have trained harder, longer and smarter for this rematch - more than any battle I've ever picked. I've studied what I did wrong in 2011 and wrapped the entirety of my cognitive ability around it from all sides. I have plotted and planned alternate angles of attack. I created a schedule of training that took into account 364 days, each of them serving a purpose towards this rematch. I've restructured my nutrition plan, gone from a heavy camelback to lighter & more easy to measure bottles. I have given up pocket fulls of gels for real food. I won't rely on but 2 aid stations and will pass by the rest. Rethinking went into the bike and all its parts. For the first time since my racing career started I'm under a lighter, faster hard tail opposed to the heavy, more cushy full suspensions I've enjoyed for years. I even changed my pedals and shoes - with their lighter weight I will lift with my legs somewhere close to 1,500lbs less over the 100 mile course.

My 2012 has seen my best season of racing bicycles. I have maintained my best fitness and not once been sick or badly injured. I've raced less often but more strategically and with supreme focus on each race. Regardless of the size of field, or number of professionals entered, I've attained the best results in all but a couple of races, constantly placing in the top 25 with a handful of podiums and 2 wins.

Yet one defining result has yet to be determined. The score must be settled, there is one more battle to wage in the conclusion of this chapter.

I know better than most how anything can happen on the day. Top results are all fickle and fall to the mercy of time and tide, luck and chance. Regardless of what happens on the day I can with absolute assurance say I have done everything possible, everything reasonable, taken every precaution and spared no expense for every legal advantage to achieve my greatest result in the 13 years I've been associated with this race. A race worthy of 13 years of my time. All that is left in the days leading up to September 2nd is maintaining fitness and preparing mentally, knowing I will suffer at least 8 hours on the day. And when the dawn of the final chapter of this part of my life breaks the horizon, all that is left is to HOLD FAST. When it's over I plan to never do this race again.

Bailey Hundo - An Emotional Day Out

FYI - the photos here are cut off a bit. Sorting thru the issue but you can catch the same read at www.grippedracing.com

The lightning gave way to hail just past 8,000' with 20 miles left in the race. At first it seemed novel, I'd never raced through hail before. But it hurt. 20 minutes later when the hail turned to driving rain and the course turned downhill, 'novel' gave way to 'intense'. The 2012 Bailey Hundo was delivering heavy on the "Epic" scale.


I had no expectations for this race. I'd never raced at altitude before and this would be the longest day in the saddle for me this season. To prepare I got to Denver a week early and stayed with "24 Solo" star Nick Alexander.

He's still doing well in the Tri-scene even amidst the tough, uber-fit crowd from Boulder. Nick took me riding up Lookout Mountain in Golden, the legs felt great but I could feel the lack of O2 in my lungs as expected. Nick stayed on the road while I took a trail down the mountain and met one of the locals.


As part of my acclimation process I spent a day riding above Colorado Springs with 2x Olympian and World Champion Alison Dunlap.

It's always good to see Al and now she's a Mom with little Emmit keeping her busy. Her husband Greg, also a super-fit rider couldn't join as he was busy managing things at SRM. A true cycling-family. We rode from her house in Colorado Springs up into the hills close to what is now an inferno. It had been years since I rode with Al and she's still fit, still fast and her technical skills are amazing. I had a few 'hold my breath' moments descending through some tight little rock chutes. Al rips. Check out her riding camps - www.alisondunlap.com

The sunset on the drive back to Denver was amazing - tho a bit of foreshadowing. Considering this was taken as I drove past the Air Force academy that is now threatened by flames, this could be a sunset, could be a wildfire.

I took a couple days off and then it was time to drive to Bailey & set up camp. This event has huge potential as they have a great finish area with camping next to a gorgeous trout stream. My tent was about 6' away from the cool water and I wished I had a fly rod. Nearby is Bailey, a tiny town along the side of route 285 at the mouth of the Pike National Forest - better known as "South Park". In town they had Bailey Day complete with a contest for best pony tail and mullet, so we heard.


Race day would start early - 4am to start breakfast. The race would begin at 6. The temps were in the 30's. I was freezing cold but felt lean and ready.


State Senator Mark Scheffel got it started with a shotgun blast. Old school, wild west style.

With the pain of last years' SM100 still in mind I played my cards very conservatively this day. Started out slow amidst the 'Mens Pro' field (I'm far from a Pro, not sure who put me there).  I let a lot of folks pass me on the first few climbs then settled in and began passing them back. This was the first climb, shot by Nick who leapfrogged around the course to cheer me on and take photos before volunteering at Aid 8. Nick's awesome.


Course knowledge is everything and had I known better I would have pushed more to get ahead before the amazing single track began. There was almost no room to pass and clearly there were some folks in front of me who don't like to go downhill like I do, even through blinding dust and a brilliant sunrise. I patiently waited to pass and sometimes guys would just pull over and let me by. Have to say the people were great, super polite and everyone seemed stoked. Nick caught me eating a little mid-morning snack.

I was absolutely loving my new Flash 29'r hard tail. It was my first real mtb ride on it and it was blazing. Huge thanks to Cannondale for the support.

I think this was near Aid 3, I never even saw Nick but heard someone cheering for me as I continued to make up ground. The course went through a forest burned back in the 90's - and it never grew back. It was a surreal landscape making one feel they were at 10,000' but luckily for me it was only about 7k.

I was ahead of schedule and Nick missed me at Aid 5. I was busy having an absolutely amazing day out, feeling no pain and dancing on the pedals. I got emotional. After so many races gone bad, this was going good. Really good. The bike and I were one, flying over, around, back and forth, faster and faster. No one was ahead of me. No one was even in sight. I looked down the valley and it seemed to go on forever. I smiled, a tear swept back across my cheek. I was so alive in that moment. Then I washed out on a corner and hit the deck pretty hard. Ok Mr. Emo, pull it together and stay focused. Little did I know the dance would soon turn to a waltze, then a shuffle, they a crawl. After 20 minutes of the most amazing downhill I reached the switchbacks above, literally above, aid 6. Not a place to make a mistake. I grabbed my drop bag, refueled and set out on the refreshing road section complete with tail wind, then the course went back onto dirt roads and shot straight up. Here was where the race began or for a few, ended. Scroll back up - this was the "HELLA STEEP" part. Yes it hurt but I just felt great and made a point to keep passing the carrots ahead of me.
I spent less than 2 minutes at aid 8 visiting with Nick, he was really excited and got me rolling again quick but the sky ahead was dark and rumbling. "Do you need anything else?" he asked as I left, "I need it to not rain on me" I said. Soon after the hail began.
I had about 20 miles left. I passed the mountain top aid station knowing if I stopped moving I'd freeze. Although the thought of descending through the piles of hail stones and puddles for 2,000' wasn't warming me up either. There was a guy chasing me down - perfect motivation to keep pressing forward. When the climb ended at 8,247' I smiled, "I got this" I thought and tucked in. I was taking big risks on the loose fire road and figured maybe I shouldn't apex the corners so much since the roads were not blocked off to traffic. Seconds later I narrowly missed a massive 4x4 around a blind right hander. The guy chasing behind me was totally out of sight and while 'sight' was very limited I knew a crash at 47mph would wreck the day and any chance at a good result. I was freezing but the end was somewhere close. Had to be. The road leveled out and I saw the final aid station. As I rolled past I asked "How far from here?" and a volunteer yelled back, "About 5 miles"
I hammered out of the saddle into what I thought was the final climb. About 2 miles into it I saw a big sign, "5 Miles to Finish!" That hurt. My last match was burning up quick. The guy chasing appeared again, he was also out of the saddle hammering. I kept at it. I'd be damned if I was going to give up a spot now. More downhill and godammit more climbing. More downhill and the valley floor. This was it. A mix of rain, sweat and tears poured from my eyes. I was getting emotional again. 100 miles of amazing mountain biking will do that to you.
I crossed the finish line a minute over 8 hours. There was my team mate and good friend Jessica. I was so cold I could hardly talk. She got me a blanket and let me curl up in the back of her car & after about 30 minutes I stopped shivering and made my way to the beer tent. I talked to Jess and other finishers, everyone was very stoked. Nick finally showed up and I got into warm clothing. We left for Denver and a big pasta dinner near Nick's place. There was a great band playing some funky hillbilly fusion and I was, in every sense of the word, stoked.

As predicted I didn't make the top 10 (came in 13th in Pro) but I did make the Top 10 for Fundraisers (6th)! Top 20 are in the photo.

Thanks to the race promoters and other racers for such a great event. Thanks to all those who donated in my name. Thanks Alison and Nick. And a sincere thank you to Lucas McCain who got this ball rolling. Sorry we didn't get to race together my friend - but I hope you'll join me when I return to this amazing event next year! Cheers,
 
Thanks for reading.
-JB

XONR8

Lies can destroy lives.
Man exonerated in rape case after 10 years
Click the link. Watch the interview.

His accuser: "I was immature then."
But no apology.

His attorney: "It was a he-said, she-said case with no evidence"
"Brian took a plea deal because he was looking at 40 years in prison"

His story: A Southern California man exonerated last week on a decade-old rape conviction was looking ahead Thursday to try to relaunch a dream taken from him because of prison time he served in the case, the chance to play in the National Football League. Brian Banks was a football standout at Long Beach Polytechnic High School and had been offered a scholarship to play at the University of Southern California when he was accused of rape.

Fearing a potentially long sentence, he followed the advice of his attorney and pleaded no contest to assaulting a classmate. But he maintained his innocence throughout nearly six years of imprisonment, subsequent probation and registration as a sex offender. And, according to the California Innocence Project, the woman later admitted that Banks had not kidnapped or raped her during a consensual encounter.

A judge in California tossed out his conviction last week.

His future:
It didn't take long for NFL teams to start contacting Banks with tryout invitations, according to news reports, with six in line to work him out. First among them was the Seattle Seahawks, coached by Pete Carroll, the same man who offered that scholarship to Banks a decade ago, according to a report in the Seattle Times. "I feel very confident in getting that tryout and producing on the field," Banks said. "I've been working extremely hard for this opportunity." Banks was a linebacker in high school, and his team won a state championship when he was a junior, according to the Seattle Times report. A Super Bowl championship is obviously a long way away, but the 6-foot-2, 245-pound Banks told ESPN's Rick Reilly he has been working out since October and is confident he's ready to take the first step in the NFL. "I'll make 'em happy," ESPN quotes him as saying. "After all I've been through these last 10 years, I can still do some things that will impress you."

Congratulations on getting your life back Brian. Roll on, up and OVER.

The Price of Love

Image by Jim Wilson
Baltimore, MD. Memorial Day weekend, 2011. Sunny & hot. Really hot. At about 3:40pm I was laying on the ground in a mangled mess of bikes, carbon wheels, chains and from some unknown source, blood.

I've raced bikes for 12 years now. Talk to a non-cyclist about why and it's like trying to describe a color. You can find words but until you've seen that color or been through that race - the heat of the battle, the rush of adrenaline, the sheer suffering followed by the triumph of finishing and ever so rarely winning. It's either in your blood and you live for it or you are an 'also-ran' and you try it but it just doesn't stick. It's a lifestyle, sheer passion, total dedication ... in a word, love.

A few days before Memorial Day weekend I was hired by Versus to help film the Tour de France. In a month I would leave for 5 weeks in France. I would produce my own segment, daily insights behind the scenes. So for the first time in 5 years I purchased new road shoes. Obnoxiously expensive shoes. Shiny, white, carbon, fast. I knew I would be faster. Carbon makes everyone faster.

I could justify the expense of new shoes, I was in the big leagues now.

Saturday, May 28th I lined up to race the Mens 3/4 category - 2011 Kelly Cup Bike Jam in Baltimore, MD. I was fired up, excited, electric. The race was fast and with the slight exception of one loud guy behind me screaming directions, it was controlled. I jumped into a breakaway with one lap to go. We got caught and I was toast. But when I finished I still smiled because Jens would be proud ("I'd rather take the 10% chance then Zero - isn't it logic?"). My new shoes definitely made me faster, just not fast enough.

Image by Jim Wilson
35th wasn't going to help me cat up so I raced again, same day. I was determined to get out of the hazardous Cat 4's. The Mens 4 pack was smaller and thankfully a little slower. 19 laps down and with one lap to go I felt great. No breakaway to catch it would be a sprint. I can sprint. The visions were milliseconds but clear - should I put one hand in the air or both? A win would launch me out of the 4's. I knew I would win. Instead I crashed. No, it wasn't my fault, it was some out of control guy who fell into me. Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.

My GPS read 31mph right before it read 0mph. I couldn't get my left hand off the bars, the guy who fell on top of me pinned my hand to the rough chip-seal asphalt and there it ground to a stop from 31mph. I opened my eyes and took inventory. Oh no, my hand is mangled and worse, my new shoes were ruined! And my wheels. And my pedals. And my handlebars. And my skewers. Oh, joy, the derailleur was ripped clean off the bike. A few guys lay on the pavement as well. 2 ambulances, 5 EMT's.

When they took my once-white left glove off blood spurt out like a squirt gun. I felt ill. I was hurt, bad. They called a third ambulance. Geoff Hughs drove me instead. I got to know him a little better that afternoon - and what a character he is. I am still thankful for his help that day. This was before they gave me morphine. No bitterness, no anger. This was still better than Wonderland.

The ER doctor took a few photos. "I've never seen a hole in a hand like that before."

They gave me no antibiotics, just wrapped my hand in gauze. I was treated and released with the caveat, "You need to see a hand surgeon, soon" It was Saturday, Memorial Day Weekend. "Go see a hand surgeon soon." Riiiight. I knew I was f-d. A day later the swelling set in amidst constant icing. The infection grew and so did the pain. I went to an Urgent Care facility and got a big shot in the ass. "This probably won't help much"

2 days later I got in to see my primary Dr. He immediately had me admitted to the hospital. The infection was bad, the swelling was scary. It took days to go down. It was the first week of June - I was supposed to land in Paris on the 29th of June. Despite fearing the worst I tried to make light of the situation.

Late one night the highly recommended hand surgeon came to introduce himself and take a look, "You severed the tendon on your middle finger, without surgery it will never work again. They should have done surgery right away. Now it's going to be weeks for that swelling to go down. Can't operate till the swelling is gone." I took a deep breath,
"But sir, I'm going to the Tour de France to work for Versus - I need to have surgery and be out in 3 weeks. It's the biggest opportunity of my entire career."

"No way that can happen. Sorry son. You need to re-evaluate how serious this is. If something goes wrong you could lose the use of your hand! I'm not going to do this surgery and let you leave the country a few days later. No way."

I was devastated. I was scared. The most horrible feelings swirled in my head and in my gut. I thought about it for hours and hours. I thought about it for days and days. I completely wrapped my head around every aspect of it. What had I done? Why did I take that risk? I threw away my chance to work for Versus at the Tour de France for a local cat 4 race! I lost sight of the moment, lost sight of happiness. Knaves poked fun at me from afar as only vengeful cowards will. "You got what you deserved!! KARMA BABY!!!" Ahhh, such a wise contradiction in terms.
That's when my priorities started to change - getting released from the hospital became my next goal. One day at a time.

Through it all I was asked, first by the EMT, then the ER doctor, then the urgent care Dr, then my primary Dr, then the hand surgeon, then my Mom,
"You must be angry at the guy who caused the accident?"
But each time my answer was the same.
"No, not really. That's racing. And it was a beautiful day to race."

The real answer is this:
Even in that hospital, alone and scared I was the most happy I had been in a long time. I was clear of weights I cannot with words describe. I had survived the most horrible fallout from a nuclear breakup, an entire Winter of suffering, pain and wondering how truth could be so twisted. But with true work and honest introspection, realizing I could only control myself, I came out the other side better for it. With help from true friends I realized I did not have to be caught up in an angry world of bitterness and blame ... for he who angers you defeats you. I walked away thankful my time in that twisted, backwards Wonderland was over. Unexpected solidarity found me, offered support & corroboration and I was no longer the only one who had been down the rabbit hole. I put my energy into the bike and all Winter I trained. Hard. Spring turned to summer and the weight of so much negativity was gone, regardless of "Anonymous" cowards trying to kick me while I was down. All that mattered was the moment - on the bike, in the pack around the turns and to the finish line. And then getting out of the hospital. And then surgery. And maybe if I was lucky the Tour. Either way I still had the truth of love. Love for racing. And love from those around me.

As I think back to May 28th, it was a beautiful day of racing and I was alive. I had shiny new shoes and friends in the pack and the sun was out and the fans were screaming. It was a beautiful moment which I won't soon forget, right up until I hit the deck. As much as that sucked I cannot deny how great I felt seconds before, all day before. Feeling for a moment I could win. Knowing it could be mine. I was so close. There is no denying the intensity of what happened before or after. After the crash I experienced love from my friends and family. There were people who reached out to me whom I had never talked to before. People who put aside the bullshit lies they heard about me and gave me support and encouragement. Those people are now close friends, true friends & I am damn lucky to have them in my life.

I will not be bitter and I will not hold a grudge against the people who took me down. I will continue to race in the 4's until I work my way into the 3's. I will hope to avoid crashes but know I may not. Crashes are part of racing and if you race long enough you will go down. The only question is what price will you pay? That is a risk I find worth taking. I race because I love every beautiful, exciting, expensive, painful, joyful second of it. I know to my core I would rather live passionately, loving the good and bad of what I do and who I do it with - then to hold back fearing what hurt my come from either. I would rather eat shit at 31mph having almost tasted glory then to have sat home that day wondering "what if?"

I am 42 and still learning.
This past year more than ever.
Truth.
Love.
I will gladly pay for both. Even when it really hurts.

PS - I got a second opinion. "Ok, we'll get that hand fixed a few days before you head to France. No problem. It's a risk but chances are it will be ok" They scheduled my surgery one week before I would land in Paris. Although the surgery took much longer than expected they reconnected my tendon and got a bunch of gravel out of my hand. Dr. Hattwick, my sincere thanks.

I even got a Tour-Yellow cast.

So I went to France and worked my ass off amidst my useless hand. My crew took good care of me and we got our work done.


Seems bullshit can follow you anywhere. Even to the Tour de France.

What happened there was even more epic. Another story entirely. Stay tuned...
A French Toast

To those who were there to pick up the pieces, you know who you are, Thank you.