Take away the cookies

I've been eating a sleeve of cookies. Got then up the street at this strange little Polish Grocery store and they're half gone. I can't read the label so I feel like I'm eating exotic euro-cookies. A closer inspection reveals the stamp of KRAFT. I've got the week three of training camp metabolism going pretty strong, not that I've ever known anything different, so that means I get to eat cookies for dinner. Every night. After fantastic Veggie stir-fry. I'm working the dawn patrol shift at CycleHawk now. 5:55 AM is my new first thought of the day followed by coffee. Always with the coffee... February 13th, man, I'm doing my first Gritty NYC Allycat race. It'll be good to meet more of the people I see every single day on the streets but never get to talk to. I've had snippets of conversation with a few of them mostly while carving through gridlock traffic staring into mirrors and through windows. At this point I recognize most people I see if not because I know them or I just know their pedal stroke. Now Stoned Tone, I've run into this scene mainstay a few times and once literally the other day riding down Broadway at Wall st. I was rolling pretty fast and jumped through a hole in traffic to the right when I heard a loud "Whoa, son!" When I realized I cut off another rider I turned around to acknowledge the shitty move and it was Stoned Tone. He had on all his winter gear with his jacket hood pulled tight over his head, a loaded bag and puffing down a Joint the size of a mini bike pump. He was just cruising down broadway past the storm trooper NYPD check point for a downtown drop, blazing the whole time. We touched fists, he said to say hey to Kid, and I jumped back through traffic and dove down Exchange Street. The security down there, especially broad street, is absolutely retarded. It's likely to keep people from strangling one of those guys for absolutely screwing the world's economy and getting a bonus for it. Christophe Dupouey, famous doper MTB'er from back in the day, committed suicide today. After he retired from racing he transitioned from dirty athlete to drug ring organizer. And when he got caught and was slapped with a massive 3 month sentence, he became so despondent he ended him-self. It's sad even though he was a cheater. The fact is, regardless of good or bad, elite athletes should have access to post career psychiatric care. I know all to well how quickly darkness can descend when you're not able to be active. Even a rest week can be a devastating experience from all the chemical changes that take place during inactivity. RIP Dupouey.

I overheard this the other day in a fancy restaurant I was delivering to way up on 7th ave: They were two old ladies. One sitting and the other standing by the door starring out the window. The one sitting asks "How much longer are you planning on standing there?", the one standing answers, "All day if I have to. I'm telling you, Ida, I'm really in a lot of discomfort. The food's just sitting there". The one sitting chuckled and shook her head and the one standing uncomfortably just stood there looking out on 7th ave. I had mixed feelings about this strange sneak peak of future decrepitness that we're all headed for one way or another. I can't help but feel weird about even being near these seemingly "rich" people on their fine dining lunch break. My people are not in those places. You'll find us pulling out an awesome lunch from our bags anywhere we find hospitable heat and shelter.