Suddenly, Autumn!

I've had the opportunity to live in many places across the US - Vermont, Virginia, Illinois, and now Texas.  Every place I go I hear the same thing: If you don't like the weather, wait 5 minutes and it'll change.

Summers in Texas tend to bring very consistent conditions.  Hot.  Sunny.  Convection oven breezes.  There's no "wait for to change", it simply doesn't change for 3 months.

This year was different, with the bulk of July avoiding any real resemblance of heat.  We even set some records for lowest highs with some places reporting highs in the upper 70s.  Seriously.  In a state where July usually means LOWS in the upper 70s, frequently the low 80s.

As cyclists, we were not just enjoying this, we were living it up.  It was wonderful.

Finally, summer arrived in August, and we've been seeing more "normal" temperatures.  With that heat came my typical heat-induced physiological failure: my performance guttered.  For 3-4 weeks, I suffered through having a short wick that burned far too fast, and dealt with much longer recovery times that reduced me to a single hard ride a week - and that ride was still soft.

Demoralizing, every year.  This year, it hit right as we came into the prime of the Texas road racing season, kicked off by Hotter than Hell.  Well, at least it continued to live up to its name.

August is the build up for the grand finale of the year, the Texas State Road Race Championships, ridden on Fort Hood outside Copperas Cove.  The heat played a double-whammy on me this year, waiting until August to shred my month of preparation going into my first "real" attempt to race (and hopefully place) in the Championship.

Tuesday, Wednesday were late-blooming heat waves last week, setting new high temperature records on Wednesday (101F).  I had intended to reel back the effort on my ride Tuesday so I'd be rested for the upcoming weekend of racing, but the group was spritely and I let myself get sucked into 25 miles of attacks, and blistering pulls, and generally hard riding.

Oops.

Cloudy skies on Thursday kept temperatures reasonable as I managed to dial back my effort in our group ride.  I took out the TT rig to make sure it was riding reliably before the second stage of the upcoming race: an individual time trial held on Saturday afternoon.

But as they say, if you don't like the weather, wait a bit.  It'll change.

And change it did.

Texas is amazing in one regard - the ability to have downright radical changes in weather in a very short period of time.  A few years ago at the Texas Time Trials the overnight countryside temperatures reached 32 degrees; we were freezing our asses off.  12 hours later, 4 in the afternoon, and it's 96 - with a 30mph south wind.

That was without fanfare.  More amazing is when fronts roll through, taking 80F to 50F in minutes.  Those tend to have a little more excitement - 60mph straight line winds, at least, as the front passes.

So this past weekend was the Coleman Chevrolet Stage Race held in Douglassville, TX, about 30 miles outside of Texarkana in the east Texas countryside.  And it was 101 on the Wednesday before.

But not this weekend.  Friday morning brought the sound of raindrops on our skylight as we awoke.  It was downright chilly as we drove to work that morning.   WOOHOO!

We were fortunate to have perfect weather conditions all weekend, with highs in the upper 70s and lows in the upper 50s or low 60s.  You couldn't ask for a better race weekend.

This coming weekend is the Texas Time Trials, where I plan to ride the 6-hour solo "upright" (non-recumbent) event.  TTT is technically not a "race" per se, although the promoters make that mistake on occasion.

That said, I have, or had, designs to chase the course record, but again Texas weather will likely get in the way: we're going to get heavy rain Saturday afternoon.  Looks like I'll be taking precautions to ensure I have a safe ride.

I have a State Road Race Championship to prepare for.

My Fleeting Passion for Professional Cycling

As I've said, there's a story behind everything.  Here's my story why I don't watch professional cycling.

There was once a time where I felt passion for professional cycling.  It lasted 7 days.

It's the 20th of July of 2006.  I'm sitting in my assigned room in a secured compound in Kabul, Afghanistan.  I've ridden various Russian-built helicopters across the country 3 of the last 5 days, and I've been out of the relative safety of our compound every single day.

I've been in the region for a week.  I'm still a little jet lagged.  The air is thin, and full of dust and other crap (literally).  I'm tired, constant travel tired.  Constant threat tired; I'd been in dangerous parts of the world before, this was more just a constant wear rather than a new experience keeping me up at night.

At least it wasn't like Baghdad, where you could set your clocks to the morning bombings.  But, again, that's another story.

It's my first down day, if you can call it that.  We were supposed to travel today, but circumstances wouldn't allow; instead, I spent the morning meeting with the local staff, then met with our travel coordinator after lunch to plan the flight for my team the next day.

So, I'm sitting in my room.  After the constant buzz of activity and motion - the constant flip of attention between the road and the objects alongside the road - I can't focus without noise.  I need input.

I flip on the television.  Which, surprisingly, works; and more surprisingly even has English channels.

I start to flip.  Flip.  BBC News; nope, too close to my world.  Flip.  Indian daytime dramas (soaps, if you could call them that); nope.  Flip.  Middle-eastern music videos...

There's something a little surreal about watching a Middle-Eastern female in a westernized female lead-singer mixed with belly-dancer outfit shaking her rump to a large group of men in traditional solid-white middle-eastern garb.  Nope.

Flip, nope.  Flip, nope. Flip, nope.

Flip, Floyd.

A pair of British announcers are discussing the man on the screen, Team Phonak's Floyd Landis.  It took me a minute to realize: this is live.  I'm watching the Tour de France, live, and I'm watching possible history being made.

I take in just enough to realize the Landis, an American, was way out ahead, before the announcers cut back to the previous day's events that had put Landis on the ropes and effectively ended his TdF hopes for the year.  I watch as Landis crumbles mere miles from the finish, disintegrating in a way that was clearly psychologically crushing.

I had heard about Landis through my monthly reading of Bicycling Magazine, a habit I no longer keep.  He struck me as the kind of person we wanted to win the Tour, painted in such a good light, painted as truly different from Lance Armstrong's in-your-face, dare-you-to-accuse-me, hyper-aggressive way.

Floyd seemed to be a real person, down to earth rather than on a pedestal like Armstrong.   While I had little interest when I read the articles, I suddenly found myself glued to the screen.  America's boy was about to become a hero, and I was watching it happen.

I wanted to Floyd to win.  I wanted to be like Floyd.  I wanted him to win, because if he could, I could.

I watch the miles dwindle away.  I feel the relief every time the gap is put on the screen - it's holding.  I watch as he grabs water from the team car, pouring it on his head.

I feel a little more confident when Landis' coach says Floyd can hold 400w for an hour under these conditions, he's well within the his limits.

I start to worry when I learn Landis' radio had failed, likely shorted by all the water he was using to keep cool.

I watch as the lead begins to dwindle.  First, by seconds, little concern.  Then more seconds, piling up to minutes.  The gap has closes past the time he needed to take the lead.  I am on the edge of my bed, trying not to scream at the TV "THEY'RE CATCHING UP!  GO!  GO, DAMNIT!"

Finally, Landis crosses the line.  He's done everything he can, it's up to the chasing peloton.  I sit, counting the seconds, then the minutes.  A couple climbers finish, then the main peloton.  Landis puts 5'42" into the next finisher, jumping up to third place.  Lots of punditry - Landis could do it, just needs to hold on for the last couple stages before he could seal it all up in the Individual Time Trial.

As I travel around Afghanistan for the next few days, I'm constantly checking the results, looking for Landis, looking for our guy to come through.  I stay up late to see the replay of the ITT, watching the times as Landis makes 1'29" on first place GC Pereiro to claim the overall win.  I watch the procession into Paris, the yellow jersey on the back of a heroic American who overcame a cataclysmic failure to win the Tour in the closing days.

I'm a believer.  And I'm a pro-cycling fan.  The days of questionable victories by Lance and others are over, a new brand of winner has been crowned.

27 July 2006.  Landis' A test comes back positive for testosterone.  My faith is shaken, but I focus on his innocence and await a second test.

5 August 2006.  Landis' B test comes back positive for testosterone.  Landis is stripped of his win.

As quickly as I started to find a passion for professional cycling, I lose any faith in the sport or its participants.

So, today I have little interest in professional cycling.  Instead, I ride.  I race.  And I do everything I can to be honest about it.

I don't care about professional cycling.  I want to believe, but my faith has been crushed.  You can blame Floyd Landis for getting me interested, and you can blame the whole peloton for pushing me away.

24 Hours in the Canyon

I attended my absolute favorite bicycling fundraising event this past weekend.

One of the most beautiful things about cycling is that we're a truly generous bunch.  All an organizer has to do is set up a safe route, provide support at 15 mile intervals, give out t-shirts, and hundreds (or thousands) of cyclists will pay $30-40 for the privilege to ride.  These little rides put a few thousand dollars into the pockets of valued local charity organizations every weekend.

There's even national events touring around the US.  These events are enabled by major sponsorships and attract tens of thousands of riders who cover tens of millions of miles, raising millions of dollars every year to support worthy causes.

Bike MS150
Tour de Cure
Ride to Defeat ALS

Great events, great people, great causes.  As cyclists, we're a truly giving group of people.

There's one event that's unique.  This event provides for riders of every type, gives the opportunity for each participant to push themselves as hard as they want, and is set in one of the most beautiful places in Texas.  And it's the only combined and simultaneous road and mountain bicycle racing event in the US.

It's a race against the clock, just like the disease it fights.  It has races ranging from 6 hours to 24 hours, with awards for those covering the largest distance.

That's right.  24 hours of racing.  Cancer never sleeps.  Why should we?

24 Hours in the Canyon

Ryan Parnell, the event director, is a gift to humanity.  He's truly a great man, an all-around good guy; I have an immense amount of respect for him.  It's clear he puts a tremendous amount of time and effort into making his event, 24 Hours in the Canyon, happen...flawlessly.  The attention to detail, the personal touch for every person who comes in contact with him, the selection of such high quality, wonderful people to help him make it happen.

I just wish I knew more names!

Ryan leads a huge team of volunteers to put on the 24 Hours in the Canyon event every year.  They handle every detail, make sure everything is sorted, make sure everyone (racers and support) are informed.  They have great sponsors, enabling Ryan to put on a variety of events throughout the weekend while giving him access to resources that make his event far and away the best I've ever experienced.

If Ryan and his team make the event, the attendees make the event even better.  These are some of the best people in cycling, people who sincerely believe in giving, work hard to raise money to support the cause and the event.  These are people who sincerely believe in using the bicycle as a way to give a little more.

Even more, there are many cancer survivors among the competitors.  I have the greatest respect for them, they are truly the most hard-core riders I'll ever meet.  The very fact they come out and push after such challenges is amazing; that they do it to help others going through what they survived is truly inspiring.

For many of us, cancer strikes close to home.  One of the members of our 4-person 24-hour mountain bike team is a survivor.  He had the second fastest laps on the team, and put in 7 laps over the 24 hour race, day and night, with little sleep.  I passed many survivors on the course, most riding 12 and 24 hour events, and was awed by their sheer will.

I have nothing but the greatest respect.

As the host location, Palo Duro Canyon State Park is home to some of best, most accessible MTB riding in Texas - a nearly perfect package trail quality and scenery, all within reasonable distance of civilization.

It has roads, too.  There is no discounting the road portion of the event, or the beauty seen from those roads.  For me, the trails are the main attraction.

24 Hours in the Canyon provides no shortage of opportunity for personal challenge.  Friday has a hill climb, a 1 mile race up the 10% average grade switchbacks leading out of the canyon.  There are categories for both men and women, and categories for road bikes, geared mountain bikes, and single-speed mountain bikes.

I can't imagine doing that climb on a single speed, particularly not a single-speed mountain bike.  That's truly hard-core.

There are cash awards for the fastest climbers, but that's really not the point.  A good friend of mine was the last one up the climb last year.  He is fighting cancer, yet still rides 3-4 days a week and rode in the 2013 two-man 12 hour race after finishing the hillclimb.  For him, finishing the climb without stopping was a great accomplishment, one that I give immense respect.

Then there's the main events: solo or team, all male / all female or mixed, 6, 12, 24 hours, road or mountain, single speed or geared.  It's almost guaranteed there is an event for you.  You don't have to be there to win; the fact you're there, the fact you're challenging yourself, is a victory itself.

The starts for the main events is staggered through Saturday and Sunday, culminating in a common end at noon on Sunday.  The start of each new event infuses new life into the course, adding a palpable excitement even as fatigue begins to wear at the longer-distance racers.  As 6 hour racers begin to pass the 12 and 24 hour racers, you can feel the transfer of excitement, an increase in will; the pace picks up.

If you're looking for an exceptional event, with truly wonderful support and exceptional participants; if you're looking for a personal challenge with opportunity to race your own race, as you want to race; if you want to support a worthy cause and know that everything you do is going to support that cause, this is your event.

Ryan and his team of volunteers run 24 Hours in the Canyon as one of the best organized, friendliest, professional, and beautiful endurance races in Texas.  Don't take my word for it.  Come down and see for yourself.

Fatigue vs. Burnout

I'm tired.

This past Saturday morning, like many Saturdays here in Texas, presented the opportunity to ride in a bicycle rally.  These are organized, pay-to-ride events with rest stops, support vehicles, and law enforcement protection, put on to benefit a non-profit or another organization beneficial to society.

(They're also called T-Shirt Rides because they always give away T-Shirts printed with the event name, logo, and sponsors.  I have a ton of T-Shirts from these events.)

Not to say I ever stop on these rides, nor do most of the people I ride with.  For us, it's a race, but lacking prizes or any sanctioning.  A somewhat dangerous, disorganized race.

And I was tired.  My legs felt like blocks, my heart rate would skyrocket at every moderate effort, and my stomach would turn if I burned the wick too long.

To explain, I have to go back a few more days.  Last Saturday I raced in two circuit races (which I didn't win), and by the end of the second race my legs were shot.  Not wise enough to rest, I rode trails on Sunday, another 2 hours on the bike.  Still not resting, I did hill repeats on Monday, which are about as fun as they sound.

(If you're from a hilly / mountainous area and have been to North Texas, you're chuckling at the phrase "Hill Repeats".  Trust me, you'd not be chuckling after you did a few of them with me, despite the short length of the climb.)

After that my legs were really screaming.  I knew I was in trouble, so I took two days off, then went on a group ride on Thursday planning to take it easy.  Or not, as I once again poured what little I had left out on the pedals.  Wisely, I rested Friday.

So we're at the local rally on a perfect Saturday morning, I'm lined up at the front with 1000+ riders behind me.  Most are recreational riders, but there's a small spattering of ridiculously fast racers.  I felt the twinge of lingering fatigue in my legs, but hoped it would burn off after warming up.

Sadly, that wasn't to be the case.  I was on the ropes within 10 miles and never really was able to get myself put together.  I was a non-factor at the end of the ride.

So, yeah.  I'm tired.  I still want to ride, but I just have little more I can give.

Once I've hit this point, where deep fatigue sets in, I have to lay off the bike for a bit.  It's like all things.  Once we hit our limit, we have to dial it back or risk something more than simple fatigue.  We risk getting sick; getting moody and irritable.

We risk burnout.

Fatigue is a funny thing.  It's not necessary tired in a physical, or even mental sense.  It can be the wearing down of interest - we can become tired of watching the same TV show, eating the same food all the time, or playing the same games.  We get tired of our commutes, and we certainly get tired of our jobs.

We can burn out on all of those, fun or not.  I try to avoid burning out on bicycling, while I'm not always successful I've found ways to help reduce the chances.

Know my limits.
I listen to my body and mind, I try to hear the signals when I'm getting worn down.  It could be the immediate acid feel in my legs when I push, or the irritation at little things while on the bike.  If I'm too tired to perform at the level I want, frustration can build.

It need not be my well being, but how the environment affects me: heat takes away my mental focus - motivation - at an incredible rate.  Lack of sleep has a profound impact on my desire to ride in general (and is the primary reason I have stopped riding in 24 hour races).  I am very sensitive to these limits about myself and strive to stay within them.

Mix it up.
About a year ago I hit the motivation wall.  I had zero interest in the bike.  I would ride, come back frustrated and disinterested.  I'd take a week off, but it wouldn't change.  2 weeks off.  3 weeks off.

I dusted off my old mountain bike and did a trail ride.  And absolutely stunk.  So I did it again.  And stunk.  Again, and stunk, but a little less.  I started to ride again.

I find new and different things to do.  New routes, new groups.  New intervals, new riding styles.  I don't get stuck in a rut; I take advantage of different opportunities, I thrive on them, and I create diversity when I need something completely different.

Take breaks.
No matter how much I mix it up, there will be times when I simply lack the fortitude to ride another mile.  This is really hard for me, I have very poor throttle control when I'm on the bike; but, since I know that, I know a break for me is completely off the bike or scheduling rides with people who are much slower than I am.

I've realized I'm at my limit now, so I'm taking a full 4 days off before my next event.

It helps to remember that you only get faster when you take the time to recover.

Have purpose.  (Or) Set (good) goals.
Motivation comes from having a reason to do what you're doing.  There is only one reason someone would ride their bicycle in North Texas in July afternoon 110F heat: they have something they are trying to accomplish.

For me, it's not some grandiose, over-the-top goal (although some would disagree).  I have a simple goal: podium in the 6 hour race this weekend (see? not grandiose).  My riding goals typically range week-to-week ("win" this week's rally), punctuated with targeted events (win a specific race).  Last year at this time my mid-range goal was to place in the Hotter than Hell 35+ 4/5 race and my long-range goal was to upgrade to Category 3.

I find myself in no-man's land now as I accomplished both of those goals and haven't committed to a new long-range goal.  I'm happy with that, which is why I suggested goals be "Good".

Change what I can, accept what I cannot.
The Serenity Prayer.

There are plenty of things that present opportunities for stress.  Rain when I want to do trails, the weekend before a major trail event.  Heavy traffic.  Rough road surfaces.  Flat tires.  Summertime heat.

Or maybe my own limitations.  Tired legs on a rally day.  Getting dropped by faster riders.

I know what I can change and decide if I'm going to; and I know what I can't change and I work around it or let it go.   I strive to prevent stress from becoming frustration.

Have FUN.
This is the perfect guide to end on.  I sincerely believe that everything I do should be fun, even when it's work.  Make no mistake.  I work on the bike, I work as hard on the bike as I do at home, at work, and every other place.

I ride because I enjoy riding.  I work because I enjoy working and the work I do.  Whether it's driving the pace in an aggressive group, or a relaxing pace on a sunny morning with my son, I'm having fun.  The moment it stops being fun is the moment I stop, just as I did when I lost motivation in early 2013.

So, I'm tired...

...but I'm taking a break, my legs slowly recovering.  I've set goals for this weekend and sincerely believe I can accomplish them.

And I'm just not going to worry about all the other stuff that really doesn't matter.  Soon enough, it'll just be me and my bike.

Soon enough.

Winning...or Not

This may come as a surprise, but I don't watch televised bicycle racing.  (That's a story for another time.)

Needless to say, I haven't been watching the 2014 Amgen Tour of California; heck, I was only vaguely aware that it was happening.  (I saw it on USA Cycling's website - I didn't qualify to register.  Surprise.)  But, interestingly, I know exactly how this guy feels:

Credit: The Daily Mail

No, he didn't win.  Neither did I.

You see, our team raced this past weekend, a full day of racing at Texas Motor Speedway.  We fielded the largest team we've ever had at a single event, 11 racers, covering every single race save one.  (That's when we ate lunch.)

Despite the large team, overwhelming odds in a couple events, and some strong and very successful racers, we didn't place very well.  Clearly, this wasn't our weekend.

Although many of my teammates had good reasons for their placement, I did not.  I had registered for the Masters 40+ race, a category filled to the brim with talent with accents from maturing Pro/1/2 racers that are still ridiculously fast and quite competitive in their skill category.

This race was no different.  Ridiculously fast, smooth as silk, flowing like water.  25.3mph average on a circuit race with 2 tight corners.  It was quite calm, no major attacks as the storm of the faster category was to follow our race; most of the faster riders were saving their matches for the big purse in the next race.  I was able to easily move around the pack, taking good positions so in the event an attack did happen I could bridge up and try to play with the big boys.

The time dwindles away, I'm watching the officials count down the laps, carefully counting the fingers as we roll by.  Three fingers.  Then two.

We pass the line, officials holding up one finger.  No bell, strange.  I'm in the middle of the pack.  I figure I just can't hear it over the whoosh of the headwind blowing down the front straight and the sound of fast-moving carbon wheels over smooth asphalt.

Halfway through the lap, an escapee!  I move up the pack, looking to see if I can catch a wheel to bridge up and evaluating if the racer stands a chance.  He's slowly walking away, looks good.

Another escapee!  He came from the left, I was on the right and didn't have an opening.  I move to the front 1/4 and take an aggressive position with open air in front of me, watching the duo.  The second rider looks a bit worn, catching the leader as they head into the second tight corner on the course.  The pack accelerates, then slows to take the tight corner.

I take a wide line, braving open air to try to keep my speed up.  I exit the corner with a big speed advantage, stand and launch from the pack.  A couple racers try to catch the wheel, but the delta was big enough that they fell back into the rapidly accelerating pack.

I make the catch.  The second racer is already falling off, the first escapee is pulling strong.  I take his wheel and find the draft to recover for a moment.  We're in the last, long sweeping corner leading to the start finish, it opens up to the front straight.  I see the start-finish.

Wait...wait...GO.  I launch, sprinting toward the line.  I break away from the other escaping rider and make a huge gap *ding* on the chasing, still-accelerating *ding* pack, crossing the line with a large gap *ding* on the pack.

*ding*

I cross the line as the signal from my ears is finally interpreted by my oxygen-deprived brain.

*DING* Is that the bell?

What I said next I cannot put here.  I spend the (real) last lap on the rivets, cursing myself violently for such a mistake.  My mood is colored by it for the rest of the day, brightened only slightly by a 10th place finish in a race that afternoon.

So, when I learn that Eloy Teruel did the exact same thing, I'm heartened.  A little.  A little proof that bone-headed mistakes happen to everyone, from amateurs like me to pros like Eloy.

Thank you, Eloy.  I'd never heard of you before, but, today, you're my hero.

(Until I make another bone-headed mistake.)

On Intent

My first blog, my first post.

I've intended to start a blog for a long time, but I always found a way or reason not to do it.  I can be easily derailed; the last stutter before I started this blog was whether I would compose under a pseudonym or my real name.  I believe what I say, and such intend to be open and public about my thoughts; yet, as you can see, I decided not to follow my intent and have gone somewhat incognito.

Before that it was the decision which blog service to use.  I intend to use easiest to access, easiest to use service; instead, I found that Google had a blog engine and just ran with that.  Naturally, that means if you hunt around enough on Google+, you'll find me.

I intend to also make everything easy, which by my nature makes it all difficult at the same time.

I guess I live intentionally; to coin a phrase.  Sometimes I live intentionally to do what I intend; other times I intend to not to what I intended, break the mold and live outside what I would expect of myself.  All that means is that when I get outside the box I'm still walking familiar paths.  I'm still in the box.

Much of my life is spent in the idea of "intent".  The work I do can be described as "setting intent", the concept that I describe the attainment of certain, high level organizational goals, guiding the activities, means, and methods in accomplishing those goals.

I also measure (read: police) our attainment of those goals, but that's a conversation for another time.

The idea of organizational intent, leadership intent, is a powerful one.  Simple statements made in a single breath by someone with positional authority becomes work responsibilities for a team of staff.  Intent sets the stage for everything; it puts the focus on what is important, and de-emphasizes what isn't.  It tells us where we're going, why we're going, what we're going to, and how we're getting there.

Who: those dedicated to setting and achieving that intent.  Are you in?

Intent is powerful.  It provides meaning, purpose, it gives definition to what we do and understanding to why we do it.  And it applies everywhere.  I am an avid bicyclist; I intend to be faster than I am today, stronger than I am today.  That intent drives me, sometimes even consuming me.  I am unwilling to accept my limitations.  I am unwilling to live within the confines of my current abilities.  I intend to break through; get a few more seconds on the rivets before I pop (and then a few more); get a few more watts out of tired legs; stay on the wheel of that competitive racer for just a few more pedal strokes.

Intent is powerful.  It's also dangerous.

All too often, we fail to set or properly describe our intent.  We never know what we're trying to accomplish.  We never know what we need to accomplish it.  We never know how to get help, and others don't know what we're doing to offer to help.  Rudderless and windless.

When we set intent, we still must be intentional about it.  Intent is directive: it can be collaborative, engaging, community; or it can be individual, solitary; but must be a decision, and it must be action.  Intent is worthless when there is no decision to act; nothing accomplished, frustration results.

Spirits fly on dangerous missions
Imaginations on fire
Focused high on soaring ambitions
Consumed in a single desire
In the grip of a nameless possession --
A slave to the drive of obsession --
A spirit with a vision is a dream with a mission...

Rush, Mission

Together we'll find out how dangerous intent is, at least with regards to my intent to start a blog.  I intend to make this an interesting read, covering a variety of subjects within my interests.  I'll range from cutting-edge science (less about the field of science, more about significant discoveries) to application of technology, fitness and nutrition, musings on other subjects that might strike my fancy.  Oh, and bicycling; there'll be plenty of opportunity to read about my passion for the bicycle.

I don't intend to cater to everyone's interests, but rest assured if someone suggests a subject I'll have a few words to share about it.

Thanks for taking the time to read my inaugural post, I hope you'll join me as we start this journey.

-- TechieRoadie