Coach

Friday, August 15, 2008
Coach
As I was driving down the road, going over the mental list of things to make sure I'm ready for the race this weekend, I'm taken back. Reflecting on my first childhood race.
My brother Marty teaching me to ride. Believing that I could do anything on that Huffy Cactus Flower. And let me tell you I could. As long as he was there. I launched that thing off a six foot dirt mound at the speed of light, all the way to the moon. Neighborhood boys would request a performance as they stood in disbelief at the fearlessness of....yes a girl! And there my brother would sit on his GT beaming with pride arms folded across his chest. Crooked little half smile.
I was going though a box of pictures recently and I came across one of him on his bike. Sitting on it. unconsciously one with the bike, even in stillness. Polishing the gooseneck. Loving his bike. If I had a scanner I would show it to you. You can tell just by looking at it that he has got it. That thing in him. Only another biker can see. . Sometimes you run across them that have this "thing". It's tangible. An aura around them that you can almost feel. The spirit they carry. Like the old pictures of the Saints with the halo's that denote enlightenment. Yeah that was him! The eyes that say "It's no secret. Just ride. You're chosen. You belong." That was my brother.
He was the only one who could have ever talked me into doing some of the things we did on those bikes. It didn't matter if it was jumping dirt, bombing down hills, laping the bmx track in our yard for hours, or blazing new trails in the woods on anything with pedals. If he told me I could do it then I could. He had that gift of encouragement. Those of you that have it please don't take it lightly.
He groomed me and tutored me. He was my coach...and the one who told me I was good enough to race. So thats what I did. Powder Puff all the way. I remember that first race like it was yesterday. I could hear him bragging me up to his friends. He handed me a piece of Bubble Yum just before our heat took off. He grabbed my shoulders and said "This will make you faster, you can do it. Your gonna win!" The gate dropped. My ears honed in on his voice cheering from the sidelines, coaching me all the way through. Past the pile of flesh and steel of the other two(yes, only two!)girls that crashed on the first burm . Over the table tops and whoop-dee do's. I could hear him cheering as I crossed the finish in first place. Let's just say that at that moment I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was proud to say that I was his little sister. After that day we could look each other in the eye and see that "thing" reflected to each other.
I wish I could say that those days carried on into our adulthood. But the story goes more like this. Marty took up four wheels with an engine instead of two with pedals. He died three months after his 16th birthday. Until recently part of me has been buried with him. I only rode when it was neccessary after that. From point A to point B.
Years later I ride again. I'm racing as well. I can hardly believe it. People have been telling me since last summer that I should. I would just say to myself "Whatever! those days are long gone." Eric told me that if I entered the lottery he would pay my Ice Man fee if i got picked. I entered thinking it was safe. I wouldn't get picked. I made the second round! I was seriously contemplating selling it and giving him back his money until a few weeks ago. Last month I met someone with that "thing" is his eye and that crooked smile. He told me at just the right moment in space and time that he thought I should race. In August! Gulp! Maybe it was that cocky grin, but I began to believe that perhaps he was right.
He got a road bike the other day and I was giving him crap about abandoning the trails. I've talked to so many people who get a road bike and they stop treading. His words were this. " I live to mountainbike. This is just another tool to improve that. It's life support." How profound. That it is, Double D! Life support!
This Sunday is more than just a race, and my mount, more than a bike. This is picking up where I left off so many years ago. This is life support. Climbing out of my brothers grave. That 14 yr old girl, built like a boy is riding . Her brothers voice and that crooked smile, seeing Her through to the finish. And so this is Mountain Biking..".the church of the rollng wheel"....
Where the dead are resurrected.