RIP Kobi

My family lost a very special member today. Kobi was our black lab/malamute mix who had been with us since 2001.

He traveled everywhere we went, usually in the back seat of Suburban with me. He had this nasty habit of letting really ripe farts rip hile back there. He also liked to sneeze in my face. For some reason Rex got her own row.

When we first got Kobi, we had a dog who would come by the River House on the weekends and hang out. He was a purebred black lab named Bubba. If Bubba's name was mentioned, Kobi would jump up and rush to the door to greet his best bud. Even years after Bubba had stopped coming by, Kobi would still perk up at the mention of his name.

Another word that Kobi learned quickly was "pumpkin." And then "p word." And then he finally figured out that if he stared down my mom around 8 pm he would get his heaping spoonful of canned pumpkin for dessert.

During my junior year of high school I came down with whooping cough. One night, after weeks of coughing until I threw up, I coughed so hard that I threw my back out. My phone was out of reach and my parents room was upstairs so I banged on the wall to get their attention (and maybe some ibuprofen). They never heard, but Kobi heard and came down. He knew I was pretty bad off, so he jumped up with me on the bed and curled up next to me. With him there I finally fell asleep.

My little cousin Mikayla grew up with a house full of dogs and cats, but one of her and Kobi's most endearing moments came when she was visiting us. She had straddled Kobi as he lay on the floor, half asleep. She then stuck both hands up his nostrils! Kobi didn't growl or move. He just opened his eyes looked up at me with the "please help me NOW" look. We got Mikayla off of him and he quietly got up and wandered over to the door to be let out, not wanting to deal with us humans any more.

As he progressed in years, he developed some breathing issues and arthritus. And he became about as deaf as door nail. This last issue made life with him all the more amusing sometimes. My mom sometimes wondered if he was deaf or just getting better at selective hearing. During my last visit home he did't hear us come in the house at 4 am. However, after a few minutes of us greeting mom and unloading the car, Kobi poked his head out the bedroom got a goofy grin on his face as he tried to trot over to me. He didn't move as well as he used to. He couldn't go out in the sun because it made his breathing worse. He didn't swim any more. But he could still welcome me home like an old friend.

So here is to an old friend, no longer with us. May you enjoy wherever you are as much as we enjoyed being part of your life. And may Bubba be there to greet you with a heaping dish of pumpkin. Go in peace my dear friend.

Back on the Bike

Wow... it's been over a year since I last posted and a lot has happened. I have attended my first national championships (ouch), given up on carbon bikes, changed jobs, and last but definitely not least, gotten married. I am sorry that I have not documented any of this for you.

After looking back at some older posts and re-evaluating why I write and what it means to me, I am going to change the track of this outpouring to follow my every day life a little more and my racing a little less. That makes a lot of sense seeing as how I am racing a lot less these days. The new purpose of this will be to talk about the life of a bike mechanic (thrilling), living in north east Tennessee (sometimes exciting, always tasty), and being a new husband (sometimes a challenge, but also always tasty).

On that first one I will write a little bit tonight. I have been working in bike shop for over seven years now in three different states, under four different store names, and six different locations. I have worked on everything from yard sale specials to 20k dream bikes. Dirty mountain bikes that are ridden hard and put away wet. Polished road bikes that never see the wet of spring. Triathlon bikes that have not so pleasant fluids relieved on them.

I would love to say that is a joy to work on all of them. That I get some pleasure out of making something that is not working properly, work fluidly again. Unfortunately, it doesn't always work that way. There are bikes that I work on just to get their corresponding tickets off of my desk. There are bike the I get working to the point of good enough, because to get them working perfectly would just take too long or cost too much money. These can be Walmart bikes and they can be crazy carbon race bikes. Usually the first, occasionally the second. But then there are the good ones.

Every once in a while I get a bike handed to me that is special. It is not necessarily because it is a nice or expensive. Quite often these bikes look rough. Old. Worn out. Tired. What makes these special is that they are more to their rider than just a bicycle. These are the ones where the customers say, "Do whatever it takes." They don't care about the labor or the parts that need replaced. They just want their rides back.

I have a few of these bikes myself and it always wonderful to get back on them after they have been out for the count for a while. Everything just clicks. I find the perfect position on the saddle. My hands find my favorite place on the hoods. The cleats find the the pedals without a look down. Everything just clicks. Just like it should. And the ride. Oh, the ride. A weight lifts off of my shoulders and my legs feel fresh. The bike glides without any effort and responds to my every thought. Sublime. Perfect for the moment.

Enjoy the moment.