|Goodbye Team Hat|
|Dillman Delighted at Worlds|
I haven’t watched the entire replay of the World Championship TV feed yet because I fear the sound of cowbells and flashes of color would push me toward some sort of post-cyclocross-stress disorder. My two bikes still lay mud caked in my man cave, grass and goop dangling from carbon wheels like brown garland, cotton cased tires mummified. Although it was a hoot, I haven’t spent much time looking at pictures from the race or the foam party. They still make my head swim in nausea. A pair of mud crusted bright yellow rain pants with suspenders drape from my bike stand waiting till it’s warm enough to hose them outside. I skimmed through the World Championship stories on Cyclocross Magazine and Velonews, more out of habit than genuine interest, no offense to the sport’s promising young racers like Drew Dillman who rode with their hearts on the sleeves of their skinsuits. Rubber boots, my trainer and pit bucket sit on the floor in my garage amongst more dirt and grass than the floor boards of a back hoe. Right now, none of that is a priority.
|We Celebrated The Most Memorable Season of Our Lives|
|We Left A Everything on the Course|
|The Perfect Mix|