For many years it stood as my inspirational New Year’s Eve tradition once my wife and daughters retired after ringing in a fresh start by banging pots with wooden spoons while blowing horns and donning paper hats.
In the silence of the first minutes I would drag out the VHS recorder and pop in the cassette all queued up and ready to go, having been rewound exactly 365 days earlier.
Typically by only the light of the Christmas tree, I would sit down and watch the final kilometers of stage 18 of the 1995 Tour de France, when Lance Armstrong launched himself like a rocket out of a 12-man all-star breakaway en route to a solo victory to honor his fallen teammate Fabio Casartelli.
I’d watch Paul Sherwen’s post-race stand-up that I’ll remember until the day I die. He said after the stage, Lance went to Italian Television, who wanted to thank him for the tribute, pointing to the skies as he crossed the finish line. “Lance fumbled in what little Italian he knows and said, ‘Oggi la forza di dui omni’ — Today I had the strength of two men.”
Then, I would turn off the TV and sit in darkness looking forward to the coming year with my heart racing and tears in my eyes. Bring it on; I’m ready.
As a dreamer of the highest magnitude, that bittersweet memory reminds me that not all dreams come true, as in Fabio’s case, yet, in Lance’s case, we all seem to have no limits to what is possible. Magic lives. We must dream. Always. And forever.
That inspired me to attack the new year and make my future what I want it to be, rather than leaving it up to fate and destiny.
Over the years, my New Year’s Eve practice changed, and that motivational moment was lost to the march of time. The VHS recorder sits in the attic somewhere, as does the videotape.
As 2023 drew to a close, I sensed a slip into some doldrums. I could probably count the number of times I’ve been on my bicycle since Halloween on both hands. This is my second year of backing off in the off-season.
It feels like a bonus physically. I manage to re-saddle before losing too much fitness and my body feels fresh as spring. Mentally? That’s another story. As my body chills my spirits dampen.
More often than not, cooler temperatures and rain appear to be enough for me to skip rolling out. That and the guilt I feel if I leave my Golden Lab Summer behind for a ride on my own. With little interest in packing everything up to hit the trails with Summer, well, winter takes on a whole new vibe.
Saturday appeared to be much of the same. Cool but not cold, overcast but not smothering, drizzling not raining. Borderline, for sure. Maybe I’d just wait for the calendar to turn before saddling up.
That’s when Summer came over, obviously fed up with this post-Halloween malaise. Instead of just slipping her nose under my arm to poke her head through to stare me down with sad puppy eyes, she wedged her nose in and flipped it up with purpose before leaping backward to hop up and down, tilt her head, and fire off one of her devilish grins along with a Scooby Doo grumble.
Fine. Less than an hour later, she leaped like a pogo stick, anxious for our departure on the logging roads of Oregon’s Coastal Range. I figured I would indulge her with an hour ride, uncertain what my body could endure.
Our ride began with a quarter-mile flat warmup before we hit a steep 1.5-mile climb that relents a bit, then continues climbing for another mile before gentle climbing for the next 5-6 miles.
Halfway up the climb I could feel my labored breathing from an annoying, yet never fully established, head cold while I continually unleashed blasts to clear my sinuses as Summer led the charge, as she always does, occasionally glancing back to see if I’m still rolling.
Then, well, then it all clicked into place. My legs felt great. The cool breeze on my sweat drenched brow felt invigorating.
As I hit the summit, I blasted forward like a rocket for a moment, and could see that old video running wild in my imagination. I just laughed.
The serene forest supplanted the French countryside, my pedestrian pace replaced the racer’s edge, and inspiration welled up from my chest exploding into my head.
Ideas and plans that have been jumbled and mumbled in my head for all of 2023 suddenly crystalized into an agenda for 2024. The clouds gave way to a wonderful sun break as Summer and I rolled on and on for three hours.
Once again my creative juices overflowed as my spirits soared. Maybe I didn’t have the strength of two men. Maybe, just maybe, the spirit of one man and his dog.
Whatever the case, 2024, I’m coming for you.
Time to ride.
Good Dog.
Yeah 2024. LFG!