Why?

Jour·ney·man Etymology: Middle English, from journey journey, a day's labor + man Date: 15th century
1 : a worker who has learned a trade and works for another person usually by the day
2 : an experienced reliable worker, athlete, or performer especially as distinguished from one who is brilliant or colorful.

I am sick and tired, literally. I have a head cold and I am fatigued from training in the cold. To reverse this condition I have been doing nothing. I'm on the koala training plan - sleep, eat, move slowly, sleep. I just wish my lentil stew got me as high as the eucalyptus gets the koala, cause I've been eating lots of it. Maybe it is working, because now I see that the koala also looks like a Chinese sage and, like a Chinese sage, I've been reflecting on my life. Unlike a sage, I've been reflecting on my bike racing life.
This year I will be living the nomadic life of the journeyman racer for the first time. I hope to be marginally employed, homeless, living in the clothes on my back, maybe in a van if I'm lucky. The squares in the audience won't believe it, but this is a step I've been working toward for a few years. I'm lucky to have the luxury of a simple life.
What has brought me to this point, this promontory, this abyss (don't worry, it's a good abyss)? Many things, some simple, some not. Michael Jordan is a prime factor, his awesomeness touched me at the impressionable age of seven and inspired me to be a hard working mini athlete and, later, a "problem gambler." Later, when I had realized that my ancestors weren't tall enough for me to play basketball, I saw a new path in the pages of Mountain Biker magazine. I've always had a soft spot for the shiny and high-end, so when my friend brought the 1996 Interbike issue to class, I was as wall-eyed as any barrel fish. I became a Wraith, seeking the one [purple anodized chain] ring to rule them all... my precious.
Mountain biking also brought me into the world of OBRA or the Oregon Bicycle Racing Association. As a 12 year old, I didn't know what was going on around me. Now I can see what a fertile bed OBRA makes for the state's cycling youth. I didn't win any races as a junior beginner but I had so much fun being cheered on and oogling bikes that I kept going back for more. Those were heady times for a young cyclofiend; more suspension configuration than I could handle sometimes and the v-brakes, oh the v-brakes. Wait, wait, did you say four inches of travel? With what color elastomer? Somehow, I never even saw a road bike until I was 19 or 20. I'm sure they were there for all my years of bike shop loitering, but I can't remember any. It was like they were in a different wing of the museum, I was in American Contemporary and they were in Rococo, not much crossover, at least not to my simple mind.
I drifted away from bikes as I moved around in high school. At college in Hawai'i I bought my first road bike. I got a steel Masi with downtube shifters and started doing long rides. I soon had more interest in riding than studying and decided that, rather than divide my attention, I should just ride bikes. I knew OBRA would be a good way to get back into racing, so I returned to Eugene. I also knew I wasn't interested in losing beginner class races. Any endurance sport has a development period of at least five to 10 years, so I signed up for the 10 year plan, figuring I would get a few years of good racing in my late twenties.
My first step was to get a job as a bike messenger. The stop and start nature of the riding was not ideal training, but I got used to riding all day, eating well and dealing with bad weather. That year I had success in the intermediate mountain bike class but found that the longer expert races were too hard for me. I also bought a steel Basso road bike and started doing the local criteriums. Road racing was a new challenge and I found it's higher intensity to suite my natural abilities.
My first real road race, something longer than 50 miles, was the first day of the Eugene Celebration stage race. For the week before the race I had consulted everyone I knew who had done a stage race, going to different shops, picking the elders' brains. Most found it amusing that I wanted to know how to win a stage race. My naiveté was genuine, however, and once they stopped laughing I got good advice, that is, do as little as possible and take excellent care of yourself between races. I took it to heart, massaging my legs every night, eating well and preparing carefully. I borrowed a bike from the venerable Joe Peck, an aluminum/carbon Trek with STI shifters, and got down to business.
That weekend of racing was exceedingly gratifying. Let me put it in perspective. They (crack journeymen) say that the first hit of the crack pipe is the best and that the subsequent craving to reach that same euphoria is the root of their desperate state. Another passionate group, sexing humans, generally say the opposite, that things don't get euphoric until they've practiced a bit and developed some chops. Believe it or not, this is where bike racing comes back into the picture, between crack and sex. See, training is like masturbating and racing is the real deal. Unlike "doing-it" (as the kids say), winning a race doesn't get sweeter with repetition, in fact, the first time is the hook, a'la crack. But, like coitus, the next victory isn't lesser than the first, it just enhances the bond. This is getting complicated. Basically, if you want to know how it feels to win a bike race, pick a highly addictive hard drug that you haven't done yet (if applicable) and imbibe therein while "on the good foot, doing the bad thing," with the one you love.
Now, if you're still with me, imagine three "victories" in less than 24 hours and you'll have an idea of how fun my final day of racing was that weekend. I won the crit, I won the final road race and I won the stage race overall. Whether it's crack or sex or winning, three times in one day is a plenty. I was in a hazy stupor for a while afterwards.
In fact, I'm still in the stupor. I'm still chasing that high. Hopefully soon I'll be chasing it in a van, down by a river.