My room reeks of 2.5wt SRAM suspension oil.

What is biking all about for me?
Winning. Being faster than everyone in my field. Winning. Basking in the glory of the top step of the podium. Snagging those primes. Winning...

...At least, that is what I would have told you a week ago. Throughout winter, the only thing I dreamed of while spinning away on my bright green trainer was winning sprints for the finish. All I wanted, obviously, was to win. However, a combination of my laziness (avoiding the trainer like it was a rabid nosferatu all winter break) and my Hincapie-esque bad luck (forced off the bike for 6 weeks by a knee injury and two severe crashes) left me in rather poor shape for the start of racing season. I didn't know this yet at the first race at Murray State since I got crashed out only 2.5 miles into the first race, ending up with a cracked frame and a fractured pride. I felt great those first 2.5 miles though, and that inflated my confidence to epic proportions.

One week and a beautiful new 2010 Tarmac later, I was back in the game. My foolish confidence had persevered to the Lindsey Wilson race weekend and I was ready to kill Saturday morning.
At the start line I felt like I had never been more ready for anything in my life. The sun was shining, we were lined up at the very front, and my new steed was faster than a 426 hemi. Conditions were perfect. The official said "go!" and we were off. Everything was going well until the first hill whereupon I blew up like a thermonuclear device. My lungs suddenly imploded and my quads spontaneously combusted. I got passed left and right. I was a paraplegic tortoise in a field of Alberto Contadors. When I finally rolled across the line I was dead last. Joe was reclining in a chair with his legs resting on his bike.

At this point I was pretty severely emotionally (and physically) crushed. I had never been so disappointed in myself. I had let my new bike down, as well as the team. I shouldn't have been racing a on Tarmac for NU. I should have been racing a on Walmart-special for IIT. Sunday's crit was almost just as bad. I spent the next few days bogged down in procrastinated school work and haunted by the disastrously shameful results of the previous weekend. Needless to say, those few days were pretty terrible.

After my final Wednesday afternoon, something caught my attention. It was my recently purchased Yeti AS-R SLc frame that had been sitting untouched in my room for weeks. She is a real beauty. One, of the last batch of AS-R frames to be built in the US, and in unusual, unexplained colors. This rare team-turquoise stunner from Golden, CO makes my Specialized bikes seem like soul-less, manufactured whores.
My school-work was done for the week, so I decided to spend the time to build her up. I ran out of time Wednesday evening and saved the fork rebuild for the next morning. The entire process took 2-3 hours and involved lots of unique-smelling fluids, much of which was inevitably spilled onto my carpet. During this process I remembered this time last year when I was building my first bike, an inexpensive Rockhopper. I remembered the joys of learning how to build a bike, the pride I felt when I had completed it, and most importantly, how I felt riding it aimlessly around town. The bike was heavier than an aircraft carrier and rolled slower than a rectangular wheel, but I was happy.

Now this was greatly confusing. I now have most, if not all, of my dream-bikes and am many times faster and stronger but I'm most unhappy. Makes no sense!!! I put the confusion aside and walked under ominous clouds to tech for history class. When I came out the strangely heavy front doors, the sun was out and it felt very much like spring so I decided to take the Yeti out for a little spin to get her dialed in. I wore jeans and a cotton T-shirt instead of race-worthy kit, just like I did last year. After getting the fork and shock pressures about right and the saddle adjusted, I kept riding even though I had no water and was only prepared to ride 15 minutes or so. I rode around aimlessly, just like I did the previous spring. Pop off this curb, go down that little hill... I just rode for fun. The sun was shining upon me again, but this time I wasn't thinking about beating anyone to the finish. After an hour or two, I stopped at an empty section of the lakefill thirsty and exhausted and realized that I was, unbelievably, once again happy. Suddenly, all my troubles seemed so far away. I felt nothing like I did yesterday.
I sat there in the sun bathing in the bliss of peaceful happiness. I remembered why I started biking in the first place, many many moons ago... to escape from the stress of school and be happy. Sitting there in mud-splattered jeans, I resolved to never lose myself to obsessing with winning again. Today, if you ask me what biking is all about for me, I'd answer simply, "To be happy."