The Call

Let's just start by backing the truck up a bit here.

I stopped racing in late 2007. Stopped riding soon after that. Early 2008 I was going crazy and decided I wanted to start racing again.

I started training, got injured, got sick or had real life get in the way. Rinse, repeat. 2008 was a write off. But I had base.

Enter 2009. Consistent training over a few months and starting to feel a little frisky on my last few rides and at the last training race.

A regular job, a start up, a family and a nasty cycling habit makes for a pretty tight schedule. But there are times when things are ticking along nice and steady.

Then there's the call.

It took me back to the call I received when my father was dying. It was early afternoon and I was getting ready for a ride. I was on the next plane, taking off, 6 hours later. I traveled 24 hours straight to get to my father. He died when we were in the car leaving the airport on our way to the hospital.

The last time I touched my father's hand it was already cold.

This is what I thought of when the owner of the small company for which I work told me had had received the call last night and could I cover for him if he really needed to go home.

"Of Course."

I have a new team for 2009 and although it is a rather rag-tag bunch there are a few riders I like. I also I think I may actually see two diamonds who currently ride like coal. It could be possible to cook this unruly group down to 6 core riders for 2010.

There is a race in 3 weeks that suits my skills more than my fitness. This is good. The first 100km are rolling and flat and a bit technical. Then there is a 14 climb. Ok. So I'm out. But, there is another rider on our team who is riding well and is pretty smart.

I want to work to keep the tempo up (actually get others to do it for me) and then place him in the lower section of the climb. After that he needs help from someone else on the team or he's on his own.

It's early season so the real goal is to execute tactics. ANY tactics, as a group. A good result would be a plus but cohesion is the first step.

I've worked for a lot of people and I can't say it's been very often that I've truly liked the people I was working for. I think I'm very fortunate to consider my employer to also be my friend. And this was a friend who just got the call.

My father was sick for years. The doctors had him so heavily medicated and cross medicated that he would sleep away most of the day in naps or sometimes only get up to eat and watch a little TV. There were several things wrong with him but nothing that was terminal or immanent.

Once I was older and no longer lived in the same city as my family if the phone rang late at night this was the thought that jarred me from sleep. When I finally did receive the call it was daytime and it had pretty much the opposite effect; Everything that followed, for days, felt like a dream. They kept telling me that this was normal and it happened to a lot of people.

"Ok."

And then I was back home and back on the schedule and half a world away.

I remember seeing footage of Delgado climbing off of his bike while in yellow and getting into his team car. His mother had died and he just couldn't go on.

Even for the man in yellow real life gets in the way.

I saw a bit of all that in my friends eyes reflected back at me when he asked me if I could put in some extra time so he could go home: If he really had to.

"Of course."

The race will still happen. I will still go. I may have to hide in the bunch a bit more. Especially in the second 50km. We haven't raced together as a group but we should be able to place our guy in the front group when the selection happens if I can get one or two of the other team mates to pitch in when I ask them. If we can execute it will be a good start to a new season.

I've always felt that jumping right back in is good. It gets things going again. Gets the head back in the game. How you do is not so important.

The thing I remember the clearest was the strap in my hand and that when we were told to lower the casket I couldn't. I knew I was supposed to but my hands wouldn't unclench. My uncles and the funeral director had began to let the straps slide through their hands, and my fathers' casket inched its' way away from me, but my hands wouldn't let go. No matter how hard I tried and for the briefest of moments I could not let go.

Then a shallow breath and my grip slackened.

Results don't matter for this one.