Grief's Alchemy: Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust, Fe To Gold
November 19, 2017
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Part IV The Hard Way
October 1, 2017
Rural Retreat, VA
Round 12 Virginia Championship Hare Scrambles Series "Iron Mountain GP"
Languishing on the start line, trying non to retrieve nearly the finally few days or the exhaustion creeping its agency inwards to my bones too soul. Crashed difficult at speed inwards practise yesterday. Was a proficient wake upwards telephone outcry upwards that I demand to pay the fuck attending to what I'm doing. Today promises lots of dust, mud, rocks, sphincter clenching ascents too descents gibe for a billy goat.
And pain.
I merely wishing it wasn't starting hence early. A grand human foot long drag race through a poorly mowed champaign until the outset turn. Engine screaming inwards quaternary gear, encephalon screaming, begging for mutual sense. Ignore it. Jockeying too jostling into 5th place. Trying to larn my caput into locomote mode. A steep downhill alongside an undercut banking at the halt puts me on my donkey correct quick too I wonder if it's going to live ane of those races. Don't retrieve similar that, larn upwards too ride the fucking thing, halt whining.
There's a lot of self-wrought pull per unit of measurement area weighing downwards the day. Some dream of a plumbing fixtures tribute to Phil, sending him off alongside a race win, belongings that trophy high overhead, wondering if somewhere inwards the cosmos a trivial sliver of his someone powerfulness come across it. The proficient ever locomote out us earlier nosotros are ready, earlier we've gleaned all their wisdom. It is hence upwards to us to figure the residue out. What a bitch. Shrug off dubiety too lassitude too 3rd charge per unit of measurement philosophy. There is run to live done.
Wheedle my agency to 3rd place. Pete Jenkins inwards second, Jason Miller somewhere out at that spot inwards front, enjoying the life of the blessed. I force Pete, but don't create anything stupid. He catches a downhill high temperature funny too gets tossed similar a bad salad. Slow merely plenty to inquire if he's OK. Getting the nod, I bear on, trying to convey the golden calf to slaughter. Gonna live 5 laps of this dusty, rocky, hilly hell. Still got 3 to go. With Pete behind, gunning all the time, amped on adrenaline subsequently falling down.
Course deteriorates, ruts lengthen too deepen, air total of fine silt waiting to clog noses too lungs patch dropping visibility to null at the worst moment. Carrying on at speed similar this requires a real proficient retentiveness to know what's coming next, every bit good every bit stupidity. Body beaten into submission acquiesces, loosening up, performing to a greater extent than similar a xl something than an lxxx something. There is much to a greater extent than ahead. Guys are stuck all over diverse dry out hills, turning their motorcycles into smoking trench-diggers, falling down. It becomes a game of thread the needle through steaming bikes too tumbling bodies. Every instant determination gains or loses. The proficient ones alternative upwards tenths of a second, the bad ones cost, big time. Pun intended.
And somewhere inwards the dust, I come upwards out ahead. Scoring covert confirms it subsequently lap four, flashing "P1" at me. Sinking feeling follows elation. Never saw Jason. I tin only assume the self-proclaimed "Holeshot King" is unopen behind, preparing a pounce, to conduct maintain his rightful house too remind me of mine inwards this world.
Nothing. Racing yesteryear the timing booth, dark-green fields on ane side, cement trout runs on the other, total of fish wondering what the hubbub was. All the patch waiting. Up the hills, downwards the hills, sideways across them alongside rocks skittering, setting off a dozen smoke bombs to obscure. Through ashen clouds that brand Dune await similar an isle vacation. Still waiting. A negative corner anticipates the instant an orangish too white KTM XC300 blurrily blows yesteryear my faded reddish heap to dash hopes.
But some other part, an idea, begins to grow. Conquest is at hand. The volition shall agree every nut too bolt on, locomote along the spark plug sparking, crank turning, engine running, the trunk volition perform good the tasks necessary to ride this outdated pile. And the mind, a clattery contraption that hence oft fails, is going to oversee all, too locomote far happen. Fuck Jason, fuck Pete, fuck this course of report too fuck all the blasted bad luck I've had this season. This ane is mine. And fuck the universe too, if it thinks it's going to conduct maintain it from me.
There volition live no failures this time, mechanical, mental or otherwise. I'm going to win this race, non because I deserve it, non because it is a prissy halt to the story. I'm going to win this race because I can. And it's high fourth dimension I proved it.
So I do. Fifth too terminal lap ends alongside a cautious river crossing earlier the complete describe of piece of employment taped off similar a criminal offense scene. I am alone, running the gauntlet to a estimator covert that volition say me if I've done it. "P1" flashes every bit I scroll through, non breathing. Dust is certainly to blame for my watering eyes every bit realization sets in. There are no cheers, no pats on the back, merely 2 officials who tape the race number, sending me on my way. The instant is austere too reflective.
No celebration emanates, rather slumping forwards on the handlebars a trivial bit. A corking weight comes crashing downwards too is lifted off at the same time. I powerfulness conduct maintain briefly looked upwards inwards an unstained heaven for something which may or may non conduct maintain been there. A instant of corking loneliness descends too forces me to human face upwards it, stare it down.
Today is the best possible outcome: a victory. The affair I run for similar an idiot alongside obsessive devotion. But I'd give it back, all the victories of 20 years racing back, for merely a few to a greater extent than hours listening to my friend say his stories.
October 1, 2017
Rural Retreat, VA
Round 12 Virginia Championship Hare Scrambles Series "Iron Mountain GP"
Languishing on the start line, trying non to retrieve nearly the finally few days or the exhaustion creeping its agency inwards to my bones too soul. Crashed difficult at speed inwards practise yesterday. Was a proficient wake upwards telephone outcry upwards that I demand to pay the fuck attending to what I'm doing. Today promises lots of dust, mud, rocks, sphincter clenching ascents too descents gibe for a billy goat.
And pain.
I merely wishing it wasn't starting hence early. A grand human foot long drag race through a poorly mowed champaign until the outset turn. Engine screaming inwards quaternary gear, encephalon screaming, begging for mutual sense. Ignore it. Jockeying too jostling into 5th place. Trying to larn my caput into locomote mode. A steep downhill alongside an undercut banking at the halt puts me on my donkey correct quick too I wonder if it's going to live ane of those races. Don't retrieve similar that, larn upwards too ride the fucking thing, halt whining.
There's a lot of self-wrought pull per unit of measurement area weighing downwards the day. Some dream of a plumbing fixtures tribute to Phil, sending him off alongside a race win, belongings that trophy high overhead, wondering if somewhere inwards the cosmos a trivial sliver of his someone powerfulness come across it. The proficient ever locomote out us earlier nosotros are ready, earlier we've gleaned all their wisdom. It is hence upwards to us to figure the residue out. What a bitch. Shrug off dubiety too lassitude too 3rd charge per unit of measurement philosophy. There is run to live done.
Wheedle my agency to 3rd place. Pete Jenkins inwards second, Jason Miller somewhere out at that spot inwards front, enjoying the life of the blessed. I force Pete, but don't create anything stupid. He catches a downhill high temperature funny too gets tossed similar a bad salad. Slow merely plenty to inquire if he's OK. Getting the nod, I bear on, trying to convey the golden calf to slaughter. Gonna live 5 laps of this dusty, rocky, hilly hell. Still got 3 to go. With Pete behind, gunning all the time, amped on adrenaline subsequently falling down.
Course deteriorates, ruts lengthen too deepen, air total of fine silt waiting to clog noses too lungs patch dropping visibility to null at the worst moment. Carrying on at speed similar this requires a real proficient retentiveness to know what's coming next, every bit good every bit stupidity. Body beaten into submission acquiesces, loosening up, performing to a greater extent than similar a xl something than an lxxx something. There is much to a greater extent than ahead. Guys are stuck all over diverse dry out hills, turning their motorcycles into smoking trench-diggers, falling down. It becomes a game of thread the needle through steaming bikes too tumbling bodies. Every instant determination gains or loses. The proficient ones alternative upwards tenths of a second, the bad ones cost, big time. Pun intended.
And somewhere inwards the dust, I come upwards out ahead. Scoring covert confirms it subsequently lap four, flashing "P1" at me. Sinking feeling follows elation. Never saw Jason. I tin only assume the self-proclaimed "Holeshot King" is unopen behind, preparing a pounce, to conduct maintain his rightful house too remind me of mine inwards this world.
Nothing. Racing yesteryear the timing booth, dark-green fields on ane side, cement trout runs on the other, total of fish wondering what the hubbub was. All the patch waiting. Up the hills, downwards the hills, sideways across them alongside rocks skittering, setting off a dozen smoke bombs to obscure. Through ashen clouds that brand Dune await similar an isle vacation. Still waiting. A negative corner anticipates the instant an orangish too white KTM XC300 blurrily blows yesteryear my faded reddish heap to dash hopes.
But some other part, an idea, begins to grow. Conquest is at hand. The volition shall agree every nut too bolt on, locomote along the spark plug sparking, crank turning, engine running, the trunk volition perform good the tasks necessary to ride this outdated pile. And the mind, a clattery contraption that hence oft fails, is going to oversee all, too locomote far happen. Fuck Jason, fuck Pete, fuck this course of report too fuck all the blasted bad luck I've had this season. This ane is mine. And fuck the universe too, if it thinks it's going to conduct maintain it from me.
There volition live no failures this time, mechanical, mental or otherwise. I'm going to win this race, non because I deserve it, non because it is a prissy halt to the story. I'm going to win this race because I can. And it's high fourth dimension I proved it.
So I do. Fifth too terminal lap ends alongside a cautious river crossing earlier the complete describe of piece of employment taped off similar a criminal offense scene. I am alone, running the gauntlet to a estimator covert that volition say me if I've done it. "P1" flashes every bit I scroll through, non breathing. Dust is certainly to blame for my watering eyes every bit realization sets in. There are no cheers, no pats on the back, merely 2 officials who tape the race number, sending me on my way. The instant is austere too reflective.
No celebration emanates, rather slumping forwards on the handlebars a trivial bit. A corking weight comes crashing downwards too is lifted off at the same time. I powerfulness conduct maintain briefly looked upwards inwards an unstained heaven for something which may or may non conduct maintain been there. A instant of corking loneliness descends too forces me to human face upwards it, stare it down.
Today is the best possible outcome: a victory. The affair I run for similar an idiot alongside obsessive devotion. But I'd give it back, all the victories of 20 years racing back, for merely a few to a greater extent than hours listening to my friend say his stories.
 |
| Always graceful too error free...bloodthirsty spectators honey a proficient crash. I aim to please. |
 |
| I know my fucking dignity is merely about hither somewhere, I retrieve it's inwards the gas tank... |
 |
| No throng of cheering fans, non fifty-fifty a friend to greet me every bit I cross the describe of piece of employment for the finally time. |
 |
| A dingy selfie, because when y'all are on your own, y'all gotta create everything yourself. |