5:10am

It was still darker than lighter this morning when I locked the front door behind me and went looking for some fresh singletrack. Fresh? Yup….big rains yesterday afternoon washed the canvas clean and it was me, the morning dew, a bit of light, temps in the 50’s, and oh so tacky soil. I didn’t feel remarkably strong and I was thinking a lot about an upcoming local race on Saturday. It’s 30 miles that leaves me pretty beat every time I race it. Not so much the trail, but the level of competition – local races always bring out everything I have for bragging rights. But – a lot can happen between this morning and Saturday so I left it in my head that I’d have a good day come Saturday. Here’s hopin’ that is the case.

Sunday is going to be a small group SS ride on the forest roads from Flagstaff to Sedona. Not race pace, bring the camera and a full Camelbak kind of day in the saddle. Sometimes it’s just good to slow the fuck down and actually take in the scenery instead of always trying to blow through it, or not. Maybe that’s just my way of saying I’m tired and I can’t go any faster today. If it becomes a race, then I’ll get dropped faster than a baby in a trailer park.

August sucks, doesn’t it? Humid, lame pre-season football, everything is about “back to school”, and my office is a g-damn oven in the afternoons. I looked at my skis in the garage and was lamenting when I’ll get to ski some pow pow. I need some new ski boots. Then, I heard Brett Favre is on a plane to MN. I fucking love me some August.