State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 19
Road season: over.
Spent the weekend doing the last two criteriums 'round these parts. First up was my club's Saco Bay Crit, held this year not in Saco but in Biddeford. I spent the first six hours of the day volunteering, which entailed building, then disassembling, then re-building the registration tent, hurriedly and in a somewhat confused fashion dragging barricades out on to streets I'd never seen before and hoping against hope that I was actually shutting down what would be the race course and not actually someone's driveway (turns out I accomplished both in a few cases) and being yelled at by the local wildlife as I attempted to keep a tricky intersection clear of [mostly] drunks who were actively using all means of transportation available. It was fun. Then I took half an hour to change and pin up. And then I tried to race. That did... not go so well. And I so did not care. The highlight of the day was trading pulls off the back for several laps with my good friend Jim Johnson. Saco was Jim's first mass start race since a horrific crash in the circuit race at Fitchburg this year. As I told him on one of many laps up Main Street, "Jim, I've always wanted to be in a break with you. Just not this one."
Sunday was the Portsmouth Crit, which for me is going to be a sort of annual parade, I think. This year, like last, I just tucked in, rode it mostly easy, tried not to get killed, and finished anonymously toward the back of the group. And I'm so very cool with that.
Now it's cyclocross season through December. That means, for the most part, shorter but more intense (OH JOY) training sessions. And also beer. Because of both intensity and alcohol, lots of pain this morning. And that's probably why this came on.
T - O - R - T - U - R - E .
How long? 55 minutes at Z3 with sprints every 5 minutes to be exact. Ironic twist: I'm from Kansas and they don't even like KANSAS there.
After that block, pedalling home easy and reflecting on various, this.
And for good measure, I'm throwing this in. Because there aren't enough jazz tuba groups covering Zappa these days.
Click to share:
This is a recurring installment wherein I examine the effect of mostly cheesy music video absorption during the '80s and early-'90s and its intersection - in my brain - with bike racing. Read up
for the backstory on State-Dependent Memory and all the rest. (Or this stuff is going to make no sense whatsoever.
Which is fine, I guess.)
»Back to Whinge
»My Gift to You
»The Last Coffee Ride
»State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 19
»State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 18
»State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 17
»State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 16
»State-Dependent Memory, RWE
»State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 15
»State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 14
»State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 13
»State-Dependent Memory, Vols. 10-12
»State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 9
»State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 8
»State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 7
»State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 6
»State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 5
»State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 4
»State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 3
»State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 2
»State-Dependent Memory, Vol. 1
»Nobody Blogs Anymore
Click to share:
Sign Up For Updates
Would you like to know things? Things like: what Mike has eaten recently, or which bones he has broken lately, or if a certain ointment is worth buying? Or like, where you might catch one of his shows? Then you should most likely sign up for BansheeWerks.com updates. You'll get all of the above and more, on an almost certainly irregular basis. We won't share your email address with nobody, nowhere, no how. Fields marked with an asterisk are required.