Where am I?

I must be the least suspicious person going through customs because I never know the answers.  I assume terrorists probably answer questions with confidence.  Me?  I think I was in Holland.  Europe.  I was in Europe.  And I’m going to the United States.  Duh.  Did I come into contact with livestock?  Ha!  Does ingesting several ounces of cow shit count?  When did I get here?  Two weeks ago.  No, three.  Yes, three.

Terrorists must rehearse these things.  Or, if they’re smart enough to use reverse reverse psychology, then maybe they should take lessons from me.

In my defense, I don’t often know where I am, so how am I supposed to answer a question about where I was?  My plane tickets get booked for me, and there’s always someone to pick me up at the airport when I land.  Staff is awesome like that.  It’s not my job to get myself around anymore.  I become a commodity.  It’s my job to pedal and it’s their job to minimize my stress so I can focusing on pedaling.

I’ve always kinda liked it that way. When I hit the road, I live hour-to-hour.  I go where they tell me and my brain shuts off.  It’s my chance to get away from school, to get away from thinking.  Sometimes my brain takes it to the next level, though, because  I’ll have trouble remembering what happened in a particular race, even if it was the race I just finished five minutes ago.  In the team meeting, I scrunch up my brow and really try to recall the actions leading up to why I made or didn’t make the split.  It’s a stark contrast to Andrea who recounts epic stories of girls sliding across cobbles, clinging to walls with their fingernails, and punching each other mid-turn.  Were we even in the same race?

Well, there are a few things I remember about this past trip. The general feeling I had as I was getting on my flight home (wasn’t I just on a flight to GET here?) was that the trip was complete chaos.  Sometimes I wonder how anything gets done when there’s so much chaos going on.  In the first race over there, I crashed BEFORE the start while trying to hop a slanted curb in the rain.  I spent the ten minutes before the start running around to all the mechanics trying to get my shifting fixed because, of course, I crashed on my right side.  Then, in Drenthse 8, I remember thinking “oh wow this rain feels really hard” and then realizing a second later, after I saw the rain bouncing off the pavement, that it was hailing on us.  I saw crash after crash all week and, the last day, dug Theresa’s backpack out of the van as she sat with the doctor to determine if she’d fractured her knee.  I just got an email from her a couple days ago saying she’d gotten the MRI results back and it was fractured.  We are missing her at San Dimas right now.

I get back to America and it’s like a time warp has happened.  Everything is where I left it and I can’t remember what I did while I was gone.  But there’s no time to dwell, ’cause I’m off on my next trip.  California.

The pictures are just some leftover ones I had from my camera.  Europe is weird.

 

 

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Posted on March 16, 2012, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. Thanks for the chocolate. TADS loved it.

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