First Day at Nats

It was a long day.

I had our two girls at home with me (school didn't start until today), plus I had two neighbor kids, whose parents were in the same situation as us. And two dogs. I was trying to work at home, and it was actually happening. But then I found out that I had to pick up my race number for masters national championships several hours earlier than I had expected, and it takes about an hour and a half to get to the track from my house.

So, do I drive to Colorado Springs from Denver with all four kids (and dogs?), get my number, come home, drop the neighbor kids off as scheduled, then drive back to the Springs and pretend to race? Or do I take the neighbor kids with me, and bring them home with my kids at nearly 9:00 PM (and surprising their parents)? It's the day before the first day of school for all the kids, you see.

I must have good karma or sumpin. About 45 minutes before I am having to start driving, I got included on an email thread. The officials have run out of blanks for their starter pistols. All stores in Colorado Springs are out of stock. Only one place in Denver can be found to have the ammunition, and it's 10 minutes from my house.

I immediately cut a deal: I'll get your ammo, and you let me pick up my race number at my convenience. Everyone is happy. I don't have to drive to the Springs twice. Neighbor kids' parents don't have A Situation. Sun comes out. Birds were singing. (Well, that's not true. We had a lightning storm in Denver, and the Springs were clouding over. But you get the idea. Maybe the birds was tinnitus.)

The kids got lunch, saw a movie, went on an ice cream run. We finally dropped the neighbor kids off as scheduled, and all of us (including dogs) went to Colorado Springs. Kimberly wasn't entirely happy that I brought the dogs, but they gave the girls something to do, so it all worked out.

We had a rain delay, but it cleared up into nice race conditions, and I rode well. Bolstered my credentials a bit. I got to sleep not too late; I get to work on time the next day. Everything is back on schedule, unless it rains again. Right now, it's lookin' good for Friday. I am confident, reasonably well-rested and motivated. It's a good place to be. (Too bad I can't get that nagging problem fixed at work....)

Oh, there's one more piece. When I got to the track to pick up my number, I was reading over the forms I had to sign. USA Cycling prints the stuff out based on this automated system that supplies my license number, address and stuff. They got the wrong Ken Rodriguez. We breed like flies. Interestingly, I have found this imposter in the USAC database of results. He's just a few years younger than me, and a roadie, the traitor. He lives in the town where I grew up. I moved away when I went off to kollidge, over thirty years ago, well before I ever got a racing license. I think he's assumed my identity for some reason.

Anyway, the form I had to sign was all wrong. Cue the bureaucratic Keystone cop routine. It all got straightened out, but I was unflappable at that point. I had been through the fire already, and was hardened.

AND ANOTHER THING. My shockingly expensive power meter gizmo that records how hard I'm pushing the pedals died at the last minute. Luckily, my coach had a shockingly expensive spare gizmo.

I'm telling you, I must have some good karma from somewhere. I think I'm burning through it pretty fast, though.