The Mad Madder's Blog

For a fallen friend | November 13, 2009

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

I stomp my pedals faster and faster as slick tires eat up the miles.

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

Aching lungs expand and contract.  I gasp as the burn in my brain reaches my straining legs.

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

A throbbing heart tests the confines of my cracking chest.

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

When I pedal hard enough the wind strafes my face, stinging forth the tears I no longer know how to hide.

She’s gone and I don’t understand.

I want her back please. I want to be able to stop pedaling. I want to go home and call her.  I want her to be riding with me. I want to stop thinking. I want my friend back.

Natalia started me biking.  She gave me her old blue Trek 1000, complete with a biopace crank and geometry designed for someone else, the word aluminum proudly emblazoned on its side.  She put up with the temper tantrums that came as part of my cycling learning curve. I hate being bad at things and, knowing me well, she let me pout and swear and generally suck the joy out of our rides as I figured things out. She taught me how to spin a high cadence.  She forced me to learn how to draft.  We explored the four corners of Saratoga County and beyond, wandered through the Battlefield, lunched in Luzerne, took mid-ride breaks to swim and sightsee. She was with me when I completed my first century.  And my second.  Then my first triathlon. And my second. And slowly and steadily, with the infinite patience she brought to so many aspects of her life, she gave me the greatest gift a friend could give.

Since that somewhat inauspicious beginning, my love of bikes has expanded to the level of an obsession.  I’ve gone through a number of bikes since that first Trek.  I’ve added a mountain bike. And a ‘cross bike. My racing has expanded from a hobby to a lifestyle.  I’ve raced all across New England and even traveled to Nevada twice for the Xterra USA Championships. Bikes are such a big part of who I am and I can’t separate that from her.

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

As my muscles near exhaustion, I try not to picture that day, the indelible images that tattoo my memory. I try to forget convincing her to race. I try to forget our jokes at the start line.  I try to forget her smile as we struggled miles behind the leaders.  I try to forget those last moments before she fell.  I try to forget the trip to the hospital. I try to forget that awful moment when the doctor closed the door behind him and I knew she was gone.

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

Maybe if I pedal hard enough, if I push myself hard enough, if I go far enough, if I go fast enough, I can forget.  Just for a second, I can forget.

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

But I don’t want to forget.  I don’t want to lose her.  I know I will carry her with me forever.  She is such a part of what I am, what I’ve become. I know that I can’t keep this up forever. Eventually the ride will end and I will have to face the truth. I know she’d be mad at me for this, for punishing myself, and I don’t want to let her down.

I blink back my tears, cadence slowing.

She’s gone. Nothing changes that.

But I can still see her up ahead. Just on top of the rise.  Laughing at me. Waiting for me to figure it out.  She knows I’ll get there.  And because she believes in me, I know I will.

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