The Badger - More Than You Wanted To Know

I had a nickname when I was first starting out and hadn't made a name for myself yet. I was known as "The Badger" through most of 1975, my 2nd season of racing. I got that name from two Olympic team members who were members of my club, the South Bay Wheelmen. I trained and later raced with and against them. They were track riders who also were superb criterium racers. Criterium races are generally flat, short course races of about 50-60  miles (in those days) and are nearly always won in a sprint. These guys were very fast. We had a training race series on Tuesday and Thursday nights in an industrial park in Torrance, California. It had a hairpin turn, a long gradual upslope into a strong offshore breeze, a short, sharp climb, and a fast swoop down to the finish line. We'd go about 30 miles. I would ride there from Long Beach, and then ride home. I'd end up with over 50 miles of riding on those days. Anyway, the race was broken up into groups based on category, and I was still Category 3 (there's a whole other story here, but that will have to wait). I decided to start riding with the Category 1 and 2 riders. Ralph Therriout (I may have the spelling wrong) was one of the guys I mentioned above. He attacked in the headwind section right before the climb about halfway through the race, and I went with him. He tried to drop me repeatedly throughout the rest of the race, but I hung on to his wheel like grim death. I came in second, but he never could get rid of me. After the race he said I was like a badger, because I clamped down and wouldn't let go. It was unclear if it was a compliment or not; I don't think he was pleased that a nobody hung on his wheel.  I didn't stay a nobody for much longer, but the name stuck, at least for the rest of that year.  It's been my M.O. pretty much all my life.  I don't give up easily, so now that I'm back at it, I decided to resurrect the name.

2002 – The Year When Everything Fell Apart

And now why everything’s different for me...
I had been living in Las Vegas for three years and, although not racing, was still riding every day. I was considering training for racing again, and looking into what kinds of races might be available.  In February of that year, my youngest brother died. On May 23rd, I was returning from an energetic ride in pleasantly warm conditions. About six miles from home a passenger car pulled up alongside me. The passenger pulled out a small .22 caliber pistol and shot me in my upper left thigh; then the car sped away. I looked down in disbelief at the small hole in my riding shorts and saw blood welling out. I called 911 from my cell phone, and was told to wait where I was until the police and their entourage arrived. It took over 20 minutes. I was informed that I had to be taken to the emergency room at UMC, a hospital all the way downtown; I wasn't given a choice. A Nevada Highway Patrolman offered to take my bike down there in his trunk, and he generously waited until the emergency room people were done with me. On the way down, the medic was unsuccessful in hitting a vein for the saline solution and managed to stick the needle practically all the way through my arm. I told him not to try it again, and the guy in the front seat came back and finally got it in. At the hospital, the doctors and nurses started arguing over who was going to do what first. Finally they got it x-rayed and was told to go home; they were going to leave the bullet in. It was nearly 10:00 at night already, and all I got from them was a lot of grief, a prescription for pain pills and some antibiotics for the measly sum of $12,000, give or take. I wasn’t about to ride my bike home in the dark; fortunately I had a friend come pick me up. Needless to say, I took the following day off work. I slept in and went out for a ride.
Although there were several similar shootings in the same area with small caliber pistols, there never was any kind of investigation. In the summer of 2008 I met a woman cyclist who had been shot at out in the Red Rock area. Her description of the car matched mine exactly. Welcome to the wild west.

In June of that year I was punched in the kidney while climbing Red Rock Canyon by a pickup truck full of teenagers, who held one of them by the ankles while he hung out of the cab in order to deliver the punch. They thought it was hilarious. I called the police again with a license plate number, but nothing was ever done.
That summer my marriage melted down and I was left on my own in Las Vegas. I stopped riding outdoors that fall; preferring the relative safety of riding a stationary bike in my living room while I watched countless movies on DVD. I didn’t ride more than a few thousand miles a year from 2003 through 2007. I made up the exercise by using the stationary and I took a daily 6 mile walk, and went hiking nearly every weekend.
For some unknown reason, in March, 2007, right after the time change, I started riding daily again. At first I rode just to get in shape for riding. By October of that year I felt strong enough to enter the Huntman’s Games road race for guys in my age group. I did pretty well, considering, on an exceptionally difficult course. Outside of a few days when I’ve gone camping and hiking, I haven’t missed a day on the bike yet. I don’t know exactly why I’m doing this again with such intensity at my age, but I am and I’m going all the way with it as far as I can go. I haven’t been able to keep a relationship together since I was divorced, so the only person I can blame is myself if I don't do well ;-). Outside of my age, the only other things holding me back physically is a tendency towards lower back pain (which has been alleviated considerably by doing core strengthening exercises), and a weird kind of chronic saddle sore that doesn’t seem to go away. I can keep it under control (It’s like a kind of eczema, according to the dermatologist. He seems to think it’s just skin damage from 35 years of daily cycling) by using a variety of topical ointments, a whole lot of chamois crèmes, and I’ve had to buy only top quality bib shorts. I’ve also found a saddle that seems to work for me. I’m going to keep going until my ass blows up, I guess.I know, more information than you ever wanted to know. 

The most important thing to know about this now is how driven I am.  I wake up and barely know myself.  Never heavy or overweight, I went from 168 pounds to 147 pounds during the course of 2008 and have maintained that weight since.  I climb well and like long, hard races.  I'm not where I want to be yet, but I'm getting closer all the time.  Racing is intensely personal and I view it as a form of self expression.  The blog is just a way to document this (still new) experience.