Vintage 2013: One Day At a Time

While last year's harvest has come and gone, it still is fresh in my mind as I work with wine born during those 5 hectic months. About a month before the first grapes arrived I walked away from a huge part of my life since 2009, competitive cycling. I took me about 6 months to finally realize that training at the level I was attempting to was hurting my future health, not helping it. While it hurt to quit the sport that I still love, my family and friends helped me realize that it was only part of my life, and I am still whole without it.

My timing couldn't have been better as harvest is a beast that few people have the privilege of experiencing. I moved home to train, but also to apprentice under my father, a great winemaker who has taught a number of great winemakers the ropes in the beginning. Having worked harvest since I was 10 I thought I knew the gig, but the fives years spent at University in Santa Barbara racing bikes made me soft. With a Bio degree and lab experience, my responsibilities went far beyond my previous jobs of hauling hose and cleaning all the things. People have asked me what my position is, and the best answer I can give is Principle Gopher; I get things done. I learned to drive a forklift, a not insignificant task which requires four functioning limbs, when I have two that are fully responsive.

I managed labor crews in the vineyard, shocking them every time as I hopped out of the truck speaking passable Spanish. 

In addition to winery duties I helped coordinate harvesting at our vineyards in Arroyo Seco, an AVA close to Greenfield. Nights were spent meeting with machine harvesters and taking grape samples in the dark with the help of a headlamp.

Harvest was: long, exhausting, frustrating, enlightening, and a time of rapid education. People have a romantic idea of a Chateau in France, where wine emerges in a beautiful package. In reality winemaking involves getting stuff dirty and having to clean it.

2012 Track Worlds

It was on the bus from Bilboa to San Sebastian in Northern Spain Where I finally made peace with myself about my performances at Worlds. I had ridden well, setting a track PR in my Kilo for a slight personal best but only good enough for tenth. Sunday found me in a familiar space, in the start position for the team sprint.
I had been preparing for this race for the entire year, having done hundreds of starts and countless hours in the gym building strength and explosive power. With the clock counting down I got ready to explode out of the gate and chase my fast time from the previous day, where I had set the second fastest start lap in the kilo. I hit the gate clean and flew into turn one, where my worst nightmare occurred, the gun went off signaling a false start. It was here last year in Italy where my race had fallen apart, my left leg, had gone spastic and affected my start. This year I had planned for this, knowing I would need a plan for any possible event. I came around for an extra lap then hopped off my bike. As my coach Anje personally placed my bike in the gate, I sat my ass down on the track next to the gate and proceeded to pull my shoe cover down to check my shoe straps but in reality let my leg rest before getting back into the gate. With my teammates ready I nodded to the officials and the clock started again. Once again I got out clean and drilled the first lap, coming off with the first best time and third overall by the end of qualifying. As I got off my bike and got to the pit I put my headphones on, a towel on my face and got on the rollers, unable to watch the final rides knowing we would be on the bubble to make the finals. 20 minutes later We found ourselves in the bronze ride against Spain, having beaten the Czech Republic by 3 tenths, the team that beat us to bronze last year.
With a quick massage and lunch in me I went and hung out with my parents to escape from the ever crowded pit area. I was soon back and pulling on a new skinsuit in prep for our afternoon ride. In a change to our plan Anje told me to put a slightly bigger gear on my bike, in hope of gaining a bit of speed on the second half of my lap. In the past 3 weeks I had learned to never doubt him so I got up and took it for a spin when the track cleared, a good start to my warm up. Soon we found ourselves back on the start line, a mere 22 seconds of racing separated me from perhaps a medal but mostly my trip to Spain! My first start may have been my best one to date, I was absolutely flying when I hit turn one and there again were the two cracks in the air of the official's gun. I came around turn two to see the reason, a Spaniard was laying in turn one proper, not moving. We were called off track and handed our road bikes to spin around on as the Chinese went and upset the Brits.
We were called to the line and I stayed off my bike until the last possible moment, knowing the less time I spent in the gate the better. My final start was like the others, flawless. I came around to thundering cheers as I peeled off and let my teammates take it home, only to hear the call I had in my mind since last year. Team USA- fourth place. This year I didn't feel angry that I lost, just extreme disappointment in myself for not doing enough, and failing once again to podium.
With my head in my hands I sat in my own little world, unable to accept my near perfect ride. I had staff tell me great job and couldn't understand why I was so glum, I didn't care for another 4th place; I wanted to win a damn medal for once at the big show. It was only when I putting my equipment away and I saw my mentor and friend Adam that I realized what I had done, I had executed a ride 4 times in one day, and given myself a shot at making the team for London. He told me, "Yes, it does suck to take 4th, to be the first real loser. But I know one place in August where you would like to take third more than today". It took him saying that to break me out of the post ride haze, and allow me to look forward to my vacation and getting back on the bike.
the rides:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OJjepSedhKU

When Did We Make a Left at Albuquerque?

As usual I spent last night in utter procrastination, sifting through the internet for the hidden gems. I then found this blog and have spent the past few hours devouring the awesome photos.

http://s3.amazonaws.com/data.tumblr.com/tumblr_limqp5fWw81qzooxpo1_1280.jpg?AWSAccessKeyId=AKIAJ6IHWSU3BX3X7X3Q&Expires=1322076207&Signature=ou6taVSIw06QjKhzKRRIkTFExEI%3D.

After several hours I came to the conclusion that yes, people did at one time care about their appearance on a daily basis. As a college student I have been at fault for this numerous times. Late nights and early mornings have caused me to not care how wrinkled my shirt is, or that my hair looks like a squirrel has taken it to be a cozy nest. In an effort to organize my life as I prepare to exit the twilight zone that is university I have made attempts to remedy this with a constant culling of free t-shirts from my dresser and actually buying clothes that fit me. This blog only strengthens this urge to maintain higher standards, and that yes, my leather jackets are rad.

The end of Summer School

The past few months have been pretty routine. I have gone to school, trained, and raced here and there while enjoying a beautiful summer in Santa Barbara. The past week put my life upside, foreshadowing what I imagine fall to resemble, a full load of school and hard training days leaving me desperate for more hours in the day.
My week started as I went home for three days to hang out on the ranch and see my parents for one last time before Thanksgiving or potentially Christmas. I had turned in my term paper for my plants class two days prior and only studied for my final the following Thursday for a few hours, the others I sent riding, eating, and remembering the joy of target shooting. On Labor Day I packed it up and cruised south, ready for a few good days of cramming before my test. The next two days found me far behind as my teacher dumped another 400 slides on us to memorize before Thursday, bringing the total material to 1700 slides over 17 lectures.
I made it to the test on a potent mixture of fear of failure and a constantly full cup of coffee in hand. I took my exam and spent over two hours recognizing slides and labeling plant genetic trees, and left the exam having received a suspicious text message while finishing up. I pulled out my phone expecting a message from friends to hang out. Instead I found that my roommates had discovered another aspect of living with a national team athlete, the unannounced visits from USADA testers. For those unfamiliar with the United States Anti Doping Agency (USADA), I will give a short primer.
Due to my status as a national team member on the Paralympic cycling team I am required to give my location at all times to USADA. With this information testers can test our country’s elite athletes with no prior knowledge of the athlete. Being paranoid to missing a tested and thus testing positive I am diligent with my whereabouts and last Thursday put that I had my final exam until 10:30 pm and would be home after. Around 9:30 I received that text from my roommate, letting me know that testers were waiting for me until 11 pm. Thankfully he messaged me knowing that the finish to finals are a usual cause of celebration and that I might not come straight home.
I sprinted home, due to this being my first out of competition test I did not want to keep USADA waiting. I got home and started the monotonous paperwork after I met the testers at my door. In theory drug testing doesn’t sound so bad, it’s just a urine sample, right? Well, when giving that sample requires a person to watch you pee with your shirt at chin level it is a whole different matter. Thankfully my levels of modesty are in the basement so after the initial shock last year when I was first tested at road nationals I now see it a minor inconvenience of competing at the national and international level. With a test and class out of the way it was time to enjoy my short-lived summer break, with a trip to Los Angeles to ride on the track before national on the first weekend in October.

Barry Wolfe Grand Prix

So instead of attending to the mountain of homework piling up before finals I figured I would write something about my race yesterday. With the team putting on the race and my assistance required later in the day I raced for the first time in about a month. With weeks of training weighing heavily on my body and mind I made my first mistake of the day in lining up in the back row. From the gun I felt sluggish and spent the majority of the race hanging on the back of the field. I gave a generous amount space to the numerous sketchy riders who proceeded to crash themselves and others out a total of five times before the race was through. After avoiding the largest crash with two to go I time-trialed my way to the finish, with a large number of riders sprinting past me to beat the crippled kid for 45-50th place. Bravo!!!! While the race wasn't the greatest for me I had a great time being cheered on by my teammates course marsheling during my race, allowing to dig myself that much deeper into my personal pain cave. Afterwards I hung around until the end of the day to help clean up alongside my U25 teammates, ending another successful day at the races.

School and training don't mix well

After two solid weeks of training I'm completely fried. In the past few days I've really come to realize why many aspiring athletes postpone upper level study, it's hard to do both at the same time. With a two midterms, assignments, and a final paper in the past 2 weeks, my fifteen hour weekly training schedule laid me out cold. While a 3-4 hr ride is a solid effort, having to be in the library and relatively productive afterwards makes it that much more difficult.
For a week my sleep was good, recovery was sufficient, my body was dealing with the heavy load on my shoulders. about mid week this week I began to feel as if my body was rejecting itself, always tired, I felt like shit. After I turned in my term paper for my environmental studies class I went home and passed out for a hour. At 11 am!. While I am no stranger to naps this signaled to me that I was scraping the bottom of the barrel of my abilities. I knew would have to grind it out until my gym session on monday and the start of two light weeks while I navigate the waters of dead week and finals.
Although these past weeks have been miserable at times they have taught me a lot. In order to train like I did in my lead up to worlds, I need to manage school better. I can't wait till the last minute to pull an all-nighter to finish papers and study for exams like I have in the past. So here is to pulling closer to both finish lines, graduating university and the Paralympics! It's gonna be a roller coaster, so hold on tight.

Dear Mom, I'm Sorry

In the past few years cycling has taken skin, eyebrows and a fair amount of my blood due to careless mistakes of my inexperience. With every crash I couldn't understand why my mom was always frantic until she talked to me, only calmed by me saying, "I'm ok, just a little banged up and sore." While this wasn't always totally truthful, as in the case of Colorado in 2009, it let my mom go about her day without worrying herself about me.

Today made me realize why my mom hates to watch me race, hates to watch me absolutely fly on my bicycle. Today in the Giro someone lost their son to the sport in Wouter Weylandt. As a bike racer I am conscience of what could happen if I fell at 45 mph, or clipped a car on a tight curve, but almost never think of them. Today I was forced to acknowledge that my sport can be a fatal one, and I cannot take racing and training lightly. I make the choice to kit up and roll out the door each day, from here on out forever thankful of my health and my understanding, supportive family.

Mom, I love you and am sorry for all the times I called Dad before you after hitting the deck.

And to cheer everyone up here are some UCSB kids celebrating easter.