Life - My Dad

My dad passed Wednesday, October 19.

He'd been struggling for a while, and, now, finally, he's at peace.

Walking back in April.

I'm to the left, he's to the right.

Although he could walk on his own I didn't want him falling so I held his hand while walking.

We walked a little less than a mile in 21 minutes that day.

For those that don't know my dad has been at my house since the beginning of 2016. He's been unable to care for himself for a while so, after many years of one of my brothers looking after him, I accepted the "care baton". We had no idea how much time he had left. Initially I thought maybe a year, but that was just some random guess/feel thing. After a month or two, with my dad totally stable in his abilities, I thought that he could stay stable for years.

Of course that wasn't the case. Every month or so I'd notice a decline somewhere, and, cumulatively, it was more than he could bear.

Hospice

I initiated hospice care the Saturday before which was October 15. I didn't really "start" it, it was really like "signing up" for it. Actual care really started on Tuesday when the first person showed up, and, I suppose, it really started Wednesday when his regular nurse arrived for her first, and, unexpectedly, her last visit.

For the uninitiated hospice care is basically "end of life" care. The expectation is that the family would initiate hospice care up to 6 months before death, with government coverage designed to handle at most 6 months of hospice.

The thing is that I didn't think he needed hospice just yet. Maybe a few weeks ago I got him up in the afternoon. Junior had just fallen asleep for his afternoon nap so it was a perfect time, I could pay attention to my dad and not worry about Junior getting tangled up in our feet or asking me about dinosaurs or whatever. I showered and dressed my dad then walked with him out of his room.

I meant to walk him to the kitchen table (the only eating table in the house) to feed him. Instead he veered off intentionally, heading directly to the steps leading upstairs. We'd gated the stairs off when he first moved here because he immediately started going up and down the stairs (with us spotting him). We were worried he'd fall down if he got up them on his own. Recently, though, we removed the gates since we always walked with him due to his somewhat unsteady walk.

That morning, at the first step of the ungated stairs, he paused and looked at me.

Then he looked up, lifted his foot, and started up the stairs with a purpose.

Although a bit wary I let him climb the stairs, one step at a time. If he wants to go up the stairs then he should go up the stairs. He wobbled a bit as expected but I never had to really support him, just spot him, and he made it up to the top of the stairs. Then he walked directly into Junior's room, walked around his bed (the bed has walls on three sides), and stood at the open side looking down at the napping Junior.

Junior's bed. The doorway is in the background, Bella is hanging out.

You can see how walking around the bed would give a better view of the bed.

After watching Junior sleep for maybe a "moment of silence" amount of time he turned and walked out the room, to the stop of the stairs. I quickly got past him at the top of the stairs to spot him from the front. Although this time I had to catch him a few times he made it down pretty well. Then, after visiting the front door and the kitchen he finally walked to his chair at the table and waited for me to help him sit down.

This didn't seem very "end of life" to me.

He did weaken significantly in the next couple weeks but still, this was something I remember pretty vividly.

We got this in late September.

We borrowed a wheelchair from a local medical closet and took my dad to the Big E.

We figured he'd like more trips like that.

Nonetheless we started talking about hospice, eventually resulting in me asking for a meeting with the hospice care providers for a meeting. I figured I should at least figure out what I need to do when he was closer to "end of life". That prompted the Saturday visit by a nurse. She did a preliminary assessment, declared him relatively fit but at the same time definitely meeting the criteria for hospice care. These include the person being not ambulatory on his own, not intaking much, not talking, losing significant weight, and being incontinent. My dad was all of them; at that point he weighed about 109 lbs, down from the 130 lbs in January, and his normal 160 lbs or so.

That Saturday, October 15, we made appointments for various people to visit the next week. The nurse wanted to have a health care aide 5-7 days a week. I initially declined because, you know, I can do all that stuff myself, but then we compromised and decided maybe 2-3 days would be good. The first visit from the aide would be Tuesday. As standard protocol the nurse had a counselor schedule a visit, as much for the family as for him. That was scheduled for Wednesday. Then of course his assigned nurse would come in, do a more detailed assessment, and bring me up to speed on what I'd need to do to care for my dad. After some negotiation we decided that the nurse would be at the house Wednesday as well.

Keep in mind that at this time I didn't think he really needed hospice care. I did know that things were changing, but to me it seemed hospice might be a few weeks away.

Once initiated the hospice program gets a lot of things rolling. Before hospice I was sort of struggling to learn things as it became necessary to learn them. It wasn't like I had to learn all sorts of complicated things, but it was still stuff that I'd discover the hard way, either asking my brother for tips, Googling things myself, or realizing I needed to do this or that otherwise my dad would do that or this. Although perhaps just one small thing at a time, it was a constant "learning and adjusting" thing.

In contrast, after hospice kicked in, I felt like I suddenly became part of a well oiled machine, all the parts humming along. Everyone had a task, they were good at it, and they took the newbie (me) in like I was a new teammate in a cohesive team. I learned a lot of little tricks in the two days hospice care people visited the house. Even the admitting nurse taught me some tips that Saturday.

A significant thing is that they knew the drill. They knew what to expect, what was normal. For me every change was sort of like "omg what do I do now?!" For them it was just another normal, expected thing.

My dad made it four days from that Saturday, one visit per person. I guess if nothing else my dad was super efficient. No wasted resources there. For anyone that knew him it was completely appropriate.

Family

My dad and me, 2007.
I know, he must be so proud, right?
Photo by Matthew Wagner

My dad existed for his family, living his life as a duty to provide for his wife and his kids. By "provide" he felt the duty to support his wife until her death and support his kids until they were married. Apparently this was his definition of "leaving the nest". I was the last of the kids to get married, in 2007, and at that time he told us: "My wife is dead, my kids are married, I've fulfilled my duty, I am ready to die now."

That statement notwithstanding he cared for the earlier grandkids, the first of which arrived just a week and change after my mom passed. He helped out around the house as much as he could. But slowly, inexorably, he deteriorated.

In the end it's how he arranged his things that says a lot about how he and our mom raised us.

Before his facilities diminished too much my dad gave each of us four siblings equal and complete power of attorney over everything in his life. No checks or balances, just 100% outright power in each of the siblings. The lawyer writing all this up was pretty surprised at this, even questioning us to make sure that the law firm wasn't misunderstanding anything, or perhaps my dad wasn't aware of the implications.

He was.

This meant that any one of us could have, say, changed his will. Any one of us could have absconded with all of my dad's assets, legally, without telling anyone else. Even though none of us did that stuff, at the very least there might have been arguing about who should do what. Instead we all agreed on everything, together, without hesitation. To me this is a reflection of how our parents raised us, taught us.

A related thing is that we felt it necessary to look after our dad at one of our homes. This wasn't a specific wish of his, but it's something we felt necessary. We put some of our own lives aside in order to do this; one brother really took the brunt of it, and when he finally started cracking my other brother and myself both stepped up. Because of various logistical reasons we all decided that having my dad come to my house made the most sense. He moved in with us the last day of 2015, I think we finished getting him settled in a little before 11 PM on Dec 31st, New Year's Eve, 2015.

I can't begin to describe how much time, energy, and stress caring for an elderly person can put on a family. I've spoken to a lot of people who have gone through the same thing. It's not anything super intense, like say dealing with a fire or a flood, nor is it super complex, like neurosurgery, but it's just relentless. I can sort of relate to the never ending stream of, say, mail, and the whole "going postal" thing. The continuous demands of caring for a family member can be very draining psychologically, which affects you at every level.

It got to the point where, a couple months in, I was privately wondering if our marriage would survive, it was that bad. The stress ended up tempering my relationship with the Missus instead of breaking it, making it stronger, but like the initial stages of heat treating or welding, it didn't look very good for a while.

The End

Although we went through this end of life thing with my mom I seemed to have forgotten a lot of details in the 13 years that have passed. The hospice nurse explained to me some things, like if he was breathing a bit quicker it meant he was distressed. We'd treat him for discomfort (pain and anxiety) per his wishes.

The hospice nurse made her first visit on Wednesday, October 19. I had a weird night going into it, meaning on Tuesday, October 18. Normally I don't drink alcohol but for some reason I decided I needed a drink sort of late on Tuesday night. Usually when I have a drink it's because someone offers at a special occasion, but for me to initiate wanting a drink is pretty abnormal. Out of the blue, before I really realized what I was saying, I announced to the Missus that I wanted a drink. She was surprised but, perhaps, in some way, it wasn't too outlandish, given the situation. After all the whole year had just been one thing after another.

I got some tequila out to make a margarita. We keep the alcohol in a cabinet up high so I was standing on a stool to retrieve the bottle. I bent down and started pouring myself a bit into a cup below me on the counter. I couldn't tell how I'd poured because I was looking at the cup from above, not from the side. Also I'm no bartender so I don't instinctively stop at an ounce or whatever. The Missus watched me pour.

"That's a lot of tequila!" the Missus exclaimed.

I quickly stopped pouring.

When I climbed down I realized that I'd probably poured myself two shots worth of tequila. I put in a lot of mix, took a sip, and started coughing. The Missus couldn't help but giggle a bit. Although I didn't look up through my watering eyes and state through my coughs that "wow, that's pretty smooth", I think that's the only thing that was missing from the picture.

The Missus got me a couple ice cubes, I waited for it to dilute just a bit, then I drank it. It hit me like a ton of bricks and I went to sleep.

About 4 or 5 hours later I snapped awake. My first thought was the only reason I'd wake up like this was because of my dad so I hurried downstairs to check on him. He was breathing very heavily, normal cadence but it sounded labored. I wasn't sure what to do so I watched for a while, he seemed to be stable and asleep, so I headed back upstairs.

For me the operative term was "stable". "Stable" implies no changes so it's a good thing.

I woke up again and after some breakfast waited for the nurse. She arrived, watched him for all of, I don't know, 15 seconds, and started getting busy. She did all sorts of stuff, arranging him on the bed, raising and lowering bed stuff, asking for blankets and pillows and putting them here and there, and giving medication to clear my dad's mouth and make him feel less distressed. I noted what she did and basically my dad seemed a lot more comfortable. He was laying on his side, curled up like Junior taking a nap.

At some point she said that we were in the "days or weeks" time frame, not the "hours or minutes". That's one of those things you want to ask but you're not sure when it's appropriate. You don't want to blurt out, "So how long, nurse?", but at the same time you really want to get some kind of a time frame. It was good she mentioned it on her own. I figure it must be protocol.

Somewhere about that time I decided to call my siblings, I think while the nurse took care of some tasks like cleaning up my dad and such. My two brothers could drive from work immediately. One had probably 4 hours to get here, the other maybe 7. Unfortunately my sister couldn't make it that day because she had to fly across the country and that isn't a "right now" kind of thing - it would be tomorrow night before she could arrive.

A few hours into her visit his breathing was a bit fast, about 30 breaths per minute. Normal is a bit slower, 15-20 or so. We gave my dad some medicine but it generally takes a bit of time for it to kick in, especially since he stopped swallowing anything in the last day or so. For practice the nurse had me give him the last dosage of everything he'd gotten so I felt okay taking care of him. The nurse double checked that I was okay with the medicine procedure, I told her yes, we reviewed my tasks, and she left.

I checked my dad often. I remember being sick as a kid, laying in bed with a fever, and my mom and dad coming in to check on me. They'd wipe my forehead with a towel dipped in a water and rubbing alcohol solution, the alcohol evaporating quicker to cool me down better. I don't know if that was a known thing back in the day or if it was something my chemical engineer dad would have done.

We knew it was serious if they then had us take an aspirin, an orange flavored chewable, I think they were St John's or St Joseph's or something like that. After they finished with whatever they'd wrap me up, tucking in the blanket under our sides. My mom was a bit softer, the blanket wasn't as far underneath me, and of course it would loosen after a bit. My dad would tuck the blanket in more; when he tucked in the blanket you knew it. It felt like you were a snug little burrito. It'd still be snug when you woke up an hour or two later.

I didn't snug up the blanket around my dad but I made sure he was all covered. His torso felt really warm although his extremities were a bit less so. I made sure his face was clear so he could breathe okay.

I was expecting his breathing to slow down once the meds kicked in. Problem was that his breathing actually sped up. I called the nurse and reported that his breathing wasn't slowing at all and in fact it was up to about 60 breaths a minute, one a second. If you try breathing that fast (I tried it while I was counting) you'll realize that it's very, very fast for someone that's super weak and laying in bed. The nurse told me to give him the various "use in case of emergency" doses of medications as he was clearly distressed.

She also told me that my dad was deteriorating even quicker than she anticipated and were were now in the "minute and hours" range. This was a big change from the more relaxed "days and weeks" statement just a few hours before.

I hoped my brothers could make it here quickly.

I gave my dad the various medications (something to clear phlegm and two other things). I waited for a half hour, rolling his wheelchair up to the bed so I could sit in it while I watched him. His breathing didn't change much at all. At some point I went and moved one of the cars out of the driveway so one of my brothers could park next to the house - he'd be arriving shortly, like in 45 minutes; the other I expected in a few hours.

When I came back in my dad was breathing extremely slowly, like a breath every 10 to 15 seconds. I called the nurse again. At her request I timed his breathing. Three breaths in 32 seconds, 5 or 6 breaths a minute. Obviously this was a significant change from panting at 60 breaths a minute. After a brief discussion she let me go after making me promise to call her as things changed. Now that I know a bit more I have a feeling that she knew what was happening and she wanted me to be present with my dad for his last minutes here, not be talking on the phone.

I hit the Off button on the home phone. I sat there in the wheelchair, next to my dad on the hospital bed. I had my stopwatch (an app on my smartphone) in my right hand, the home phone in the left. I was counting breaths, which, at that point, was more like counting how many seconds between breaths.

I reset the stopwatch and waited for him to take a breath.

He took a breath so I hit the start button. The timer started racing along, counting off the seconds until the next breath. In a bike race, when I'm timing a break's gap, time crawls by so slowly. I figure the break has to have 20 seconds and it's really 12. Here it raced by; I was hoping for 10 seconds and it was already, whatever, 15 seconds.

My dad looked as comfortable as he could be, curled up in bed, wrapped in a blanket. His hands were up across his chest and neck, his legs bent a bit and his knees up a bit. His eyes were mostly closed so he looked completely at ease, curled up like maybe Junior when Junior's asleep.

I resisted the temptation to tuck in the blankets firmly around him.

My dad took a breath, a big one.

I glanced down. The stopwatch showed 32 seconds. 32 seconds. That was a long interval. I let the stopwatch run. My mind wasn't really processing things. I wanted to make sure I didn't miss the time when he took his next breath. Otherwise there were no changes, no movements or anything.

Stable is good, right?

At some point, out of the corner of my eye, I saw 32 flash by again. By the time I focused on the stopwatch it showed 1:35, a minute 35, numbers racing by even as the 32 registered in my head.

It meant that over a minute had passed and my dad hadn't taken a breath.

That got my attention.

I looked closer at him. He didn't look any different, still curled up like he was taking a nap. I got up and crouched over him. His fingertips were cool, but they were before. His toes were cool, but they were before. His head was cool up top, warmer toward his chin, like before. His chest was warm.

Like before. That was stable, right?

I held his wrist.

I thought to myself that I hadn't taken his pulse recently so I wasn't sure how it would feel. I couldn't feel anything but I was starting to get a bit agitated and I couldn't calm myself down to feel for a feeble pulse. I checked his neck for a pulse also, but, again, I wasn't able to do it. I didn't know what his heart rate was when the nurse checked in the morning so I had no point of reference. I did notice one thing.

His chest wasn't moving at all.

At some point, I don't know when but I think after about 2 minutes, I realized that he still hadn't taken a breath.

I straightened up.

I walked out of the room and down the hallway, the one my dad walked through over and over just a few months ago when he'd do laps around the first floor of the house. I remember it was a bit dim, I don't know if the light was on or not, or maybe I wasn't seeing quite right.

The Missus was standing there.

"I think my dad just died."

After

We had a very simple gathering for him. We knew he wouldn't want anything for himself but I think it was for all of us to pay our respects to him. I think of it now and it felt like a celebration of his life, which was perfect.

As a bonus we learned all sorts of stuff about him. It's unfortunate that the stories come out after the fact, but, still, now at least we can enjoy them. I learned a lot about his professional career, just how significant it was to those of us in the modern world. I am thinking about putting something together something on that for later, but I'm not sure what I feel comfortable posting. We'll see.

I also got to see him as more of a peer, at least in the grand scheme of things. To me my dad was always "my dad". We called him Daddy, even now; my updates to my siblings were titled "Daddy update". To me he was one of the two adults of the family and I was always one of the kids. But to his peers he was a peer. He was the guy they met when he got hit by a car and declined getting x-rays because he was "fine", or the guy that taught them how to be the best engineer possible, or the guy that unexpectedly cracked jokes at work, or whatever.

As my mom deteriorated back in 2003 she realized that the Nutmeg State Games were coming up. She asked me if I was going to go defend my fortuitous 2002 Nutmeg State Games gold medal. I told her no, I'd do that "after". I also told her I'd win the Bethel Spring Series for her. She knew what I meant by "after" and she was okay with it. I didn't tell anyone else about my promises because, really, how could I possibly tell someone I was going to accomplish those two things? Plus, at the time, I weighed something like 210 pounds, and, yeah, I could barely ride a bike. In fact I had to size up because I couldn't pedal the bike without kneeing myself in the gut.

Nevertheless, after some intense races (and losing a lot of weight), in 2005 I won the Series in a super tight finish. In 2006 I got the Gold at Nutmeg State Games.

2005 Bethel Spring Series

I didn't commit myself this time to doing anything, even privately. The end came so quickly I ended up wrapped up in the details of things instead of thinking of bigger broader. Whatever I do, though, I hope to do honor by my dad.

Racing - CCAP Tuesday Night Race - Bs, Too Cooked To Know To Sprint

My normal ritual on Tuesdays is to start preparing for the races by about 2 PM. The Missus gets home just before 5 PM and the goal is to have my dad and Junior in the packed car, idling, waiting for her.

This has not happened yet.

My race prep actually starts a bit earlier than that, with shifting tasks earlier to free up the time from 2 PM on. So, as expected, at 2 PM, Junior was upstairs napping, and I had my dad at the table. It's been a difficult last few days, with a minor leak with the toilet (due to my dad's uncontrolled descent onto the thing, slamming into the tank with his back). So with all the stuff that's happened in the last few days things seemed to be going well.

Normally my dad takes a minute to get going so I checked the weather. It was supposed to be partly cloudy, virtually no chance of rain, and in the mid-upper 80s by race time.

Fine.

The first hint of the derailment was that my dad didn't start to eat for 90 minutes. I tried all sorts of stuff but he'd either not open his mouth or he would just hold the food in his mouth. It's food that he eats regularly so it wasn't like I was feeding him something yucky. He finally started to swallow food but now I was starting to have some schedule anxiety. Junior would be up shortly and then my race prep efficiency would drop pretty dramatically.

Then it started pouring.

I refreshed the weather site and now it said thunder and lightning for the next little bit, clearing up by 4:00 PM or so. The cloud cover seemed to be over us at that moment but moving out of the area.

When I checked the hourly at the race venue it said no rain, but then it said that here also. 

With race time at 6 PM I hoped that the course would be dry.

Junior did get up but then played quietly on his own, allowing me to gather my race stuff. I'd need to get the bike, SRM, and shoes from the basement. Helmet, cam, gloves, and heart rate strap from the "stuff to bring to the race" spot upstairs. I needed to pack the cooler with bottles of ice water, a couple sandwiches for Junior. Then from the garage the folding chairs for the non-racers, my race wheels, and the first aid kit.

I got the upstairs stuff out to the car fine, plus the chairs. I decided to get the bike on the roof because that's part of the stuff I can do outside. I prefer to put the cooler and the race wheels in the car last because it's usually so hot outside and I don't want the race wheels baking in a 180 degree car oven.

I went to go downstairs but got distracted by one of our cats rubbing his butt on the floor, something unusual. He left a trail of poo and so I cleaned that up, washed my hands, all that kind of stuff.

I sensed the time slipping away.

I trotted downstairs to get my bike. The bike room is off limits to the cats so the door is always closed. I opened the door and actually swore out loud.

The "slightly leaking tank" upstairs had translated into water coming through the ceiling and into the bike room.

The rug was soaked. Everything was wet with water spatter.

I grabbed my shoes, literally being dripped on from the (finished) ceiling, and ran upstairs. I ran around a bit, got an empty litter box bucket (we buy in buckets, not jugs), and put it under the water coming through the ceiling.

I tried to shut off the supply line. Although it slowed it didn't stop. I removed the flapper so that the water wouldn't build up in the tank. I mopped up the floor as best I could. And I directed a fan onto the floor to increase evaporation rates (and kept the AC cranked to keep the air dry). I put my shoes on the floor in front of the fan, to dry them off.

Time was bleeding pretty quickly now.

After some quick mental calculation, some time-money-life balance factors, I decided that I'd still prepare to go to the race. If in the next hour the water was pouring into the basement then I'd skip the race, but I really wanted to race and I thought that any damage would be limited to whatever already got damaged.

I spent some time picking up the cluttered bike room floor. Got my bike out of there and onto the roof of the car (getting the bike outside involves two staircases, two 180s, a number of 90 deg turns, and a lot of scuff marks on the walls). Pumped up the race wheels but left them in the cool garage. Bike locked, rear wheel strapped down, I went back inside.

I started assembling the cooler. I was putting water in the bottles at the sink when I looked outside.

It was pouring.

I thought for a moment about the bike on the roof. Then the car. Did I open the windows like I normally do? Was the garage door open? I carefully thought.

I did not open the car windows. I closed the garage door.

I kept filling the bottles.

I got Junior dressed, shoes on, everything. Cooler was assembled. Dad dressed. I can't remember what I was doing when the Missus came home but she came in and one of the first things she asked me was where I had my shoes. She's taken inventory of the car in the driveway and noticed that the shoes weren't in the car.

Doh! They were in front of the fan in my dad's bathroom!

I went and checked. Shoes were dry. Floor was damp but not puddled. Went and checked basement. Okay. Very little water in the bucket, no more water coming off the ceiling.

It was race time!

We headed out a little after 5. I was already pretty frazzled but the drive to the race was pretty calming, and we got there with a bit of time to spare.

Waving to Junior while doing a warm up lap.

The wind was just howling when we got there, the sky blue with white clouds everywhere. As far as I could tell the downpours at home hadn't been here.

I decided to use the Stinger 4 front wheel, the 45 mm tall wheel, instead of the Stinger 7 / 75 mm wheel. I figured that would be better for the wind. We'd gotten there early enough that I could do a lap or two, and the Stinger 4 felt stable even in a strong crosswind.

Start of the race.

A decent number of people showed up for this week, the last one of the season. For me this would be my last race of the season, period. With no more venues this close to the house I really can't think about doing any of the upcoming races.

Gaps opening up by the end of the first lap.

The racing started pretty quickly, with a move causing a gap to open within the first lap of the race. I struggled to get going; I hoped this wasn't a sign of things to come.

Wind from the left.

The wind really hit us from the left on after Turn 3, on the final stretch. This meant sheltering to the right. The final stretch curves left but the wind was such that even at the start/finish you really wanted to be seeking shelter to the right. This meant rolling up near the curb each lap, something that can get tricky if everyone is looking to shelter there. At the same time it's sort of fun, to be fighting for wheels on the curb, I felt sort like it was actually bike racing, not just riding my bike.

Race neutralized.

At some point in the race there was a crash after Turn 1. The race got neutralized as they got everyone off the ground. I stopped to offer the first aid kit but it seemed that everyone was okay without it. One rider went to the hospital, a Junior. Hopefully he's okay.

Race back on.

After a number of neutral laps, where everyone really did go neutral, the race was back on.

Big attack.

I found myself withering out there. The heat, the relentless attacks, I was absolutely at the limit. I remember one time sitting on wheels near the front when someone attacked. Everyone responded except me. I couldn't get out of the saddle, I couldn't spin.

Gapped off temporarily.

Finally someone rolled by me, I clawed my way onto their wheel, and we got back on. A short time later, maybe within a lap or so, there was even a bigger move.

An even bigger attack.

This time I couldn't go at all. I watched them ride away from me. A teammate warming up for the A race rolled by, yelling encouragement.

I hoped that the field would ease a bit but I figured that my chances of catching back on were minimal at best. I started to roll near the start/finish. Then I noticed the field soft pedaling. They had not just eased up, it looked like they had just stopped racing. It was like...

Oh.

That was the sprint.

The race was over.

I don't know the last time I was so cooked that I didn't realize it was the end of the race. In reviewing the clip I could see and hear the bell but when I was actually racing nothing registered.

After the race.

I rolled around to the start/finish again and spotted Junior. He was trying to find a garbage can so I helped him with that. Then we headed over to base camp, where the Missus and Pops were hanging out.

Junior and the bike.

We had to get going, with the water situation uncertain at home. So after a brief rest, where I recovered a bit and watched in amazement as the As raced around at warp speed, we headed out.

At home I was zonked. Luckily the water was better - the basement was basically dry. We've since installed a new toilet (the next morning) and nothing, touch wood, is leaking.

For now, though, that's my 2016 racing season. I've done, what, like 8 races, all of them Tuesday Night Worlds. I started feeling a bit better towards the end, the sufferfest above notwithstanding.

I'm also already thinking about what's up next for me for racing, next season.
 - Lose some weight. I've been hovering at around 170-175 lbs most of the season. Being 160 lbs makes a huge difference. 155 lbs would be insane. 150 lbs is a dream.
 - Get the rocking trainer better. It's already helped a lot but I have ideas on making it better.
 - Do some outdoor sprints. Rocking trainer or not, I need to be able to do 100% jumps without worrying about slipping the tire or something. Even if it means sprinting up and down my street I think it's something I need to do a little more often than "never".
 - VO2 max intervals. They really helped in 2015. This year I did 6 total days of intervals, 3 weeks worth.
 - Get my SRM spiders working. Not having power is a bit frustrating because I have no idea if I'm actually stronger or not.

And, of course, clean up the bike room.

Racing - CCAP Tuesday Night Crit, July 26, 2016 - Bs, led out sprint after a hot-for-me race

The last two times I raced I got shelled here, and in fact last week I got shelled so badly that I didn't even finish the post about the race. It was hot, I felt "blocked" (which is really another term for "not as in shape as I wanted to be"), and it was an exhausting outing to make it to the race.

This week seemed to be about as hot, expected temps at race time in the 93-94 degree range. I seemed to melt in the heat before so I was careful to pack some insulated bottles with lots of ice and a bit of water.

I also let myself eat some more carbs in the prior two days. With my A1C (historic blood sugar as measured on red blood cells) a bit high I've been focusing on not eating a lot of carbs. I realized that after almost 8 months of this that I lack some energy in races, the top end I need to push when it's tough. My guidelines were from my sister - 15g of carbs for breakfast, 45g for lunch, 45g for dinner, and 15g for a few snacks during the day.

To put things in perspective I was probably consuming a full day's worth of carbs in just one meal, and probably a day's worth just in the hour before a race. A can of soda is about 45g of carbs; one slice of bread would kill my breakfast budget.

So in the 24 hours prior to the race I went a bit hog wild. I didn't count every gram but realistically I had 400-500g of carbs. Ravioli. Bread (in the form of maybe six sandwiches). Sugary stuff also, like some Nutella, a serving of danish my dad had refused for two days, some left over ketchup from one of Junior's hot dogs. I hoped that this short term sugar sacrifice would pay dividends at the race.

Our tight schedule got derailled a bit by my dad with some untimely stuff out of our control but we got on the road only a little later than planned. We got to the course in decent time, not too much standing traffic, and it left me with a solid 5 minutes to get ready.

Now, back at home, I'd already done stuff like put on my bibs, pin my number, and collected everything possible for the bike. I also pumped up the tires. I know the tubes lose air hourly but if I pumped up the tires at home it'd be maybe 90 minutes before race time. That's not bad.

Oh and the pin job. Heh.

28 pins.

I tried not to make the number hard to read so the pins go on the perimeter or on the number.

I was feeding my dad and had a lot of time on my hands. I'd pinned the number already and decided to get Junior's "bin of pins". An unexpected side-effect of promoting races for a couple decades is that you end up with safety pins everywhere. Junior loves to put things where they belong so when Junior finds a safety pin he puts it in a little container that I designated the right place for safety pins (if only I was so organized). I checked the pins because they eventually rust or they bend, tossed any that seemed even slightly off, and net result?

Lotsa pins.

I left a few pins in the bin to sort of plant the seed for newly found pins, meaning he'll look at the bin and think, "Oh, this is the right bin for safety pins."

For some reason the pin job reminds me of one of those people with lots and lots of piercings.

We headed out to the race. Although it's a short drive, about 35 minutes without traffic, with the time being about 5 PM aka rush hour when we head out it's usually a bit longer than that. We got there with maybe 10 minutes to spare.

After getting my dad situated with the Missus and Junior I signed in and put myself together for the race. I rolled out to the starting group, realized it was a Junior group doing a final "after the race review" thing, started to roll away, and then the official called us to the line. So I warmed up for about a hundred yards.

Island Rider at the start

I don't think I ever posted this but one of my five outside training rides in 2015 was with Island. He lives a town over from where I used to live, he cut his teeth racing at Bethel, he consciously went out and supported the sponsors of the Series, his teammate helped me a ton with the website, he's sort of involved in cycling discussions online, yada yada yada. He normally doesn't meander up this way for a weekday race so it was nice to see him. I don't think I've talked to him in person since our training ride a year or so ago.

I did notice that he had some nice HED wheels. The front looked awfully tall. I touched the wheel with my finger.

Me: "Is that a 9?" (Stinger 9, 90mm tall)
Island: "No, it's a 7." (Stinger 7, 75mm tall)
Me: "Oh! That's what I run!"
Island: "Where do you think I got the idea?"

Heh.

I looked at his wheels again. Yes, they did look like mine, except his were newer. And it looked like he rode them more often than I did mine.

Left side wind exiting Turn 3.

Means sit to the right exiting the turn.

Taking advantage of the fact that I know Island, I'll use him as the "drafting example". The wind was moderately strong and it required decent Wind Management to save energy. The trickiest part of the course was exiting Turn 3 through to the start/finish line. The wind hit you from the left as you exited the turn, forcing you to sit to the right. In the picture above I'm behind and slightly to the right of Island. This was about where you wanted to be to get maximum shelter.

Front wind halfway to start/finish area.

Means sit directly behind the next rider.

Problem was that as you traveled along the curved bit the wind direction changed. In the picture above the wind is hitting us head on. I've adjusted my position behind Island based on the wind direction.

Right side wind at start/finish area.

Means sit to the left a bit.

On the start/finish straight the wind hit us from the right side. I've had to adjust my position relative to Island once again.

This happened every single lap. It's a bit tricky, shifting over like that. It requires vigilance on your part as well as understanding from the other riders. If everyone is reading the wind properly then everyone understands how critical it is to stay sheltered, and you naturally adjust and shuffle around to let people get into and stay in shelter.

It's when riders aren't aware of the wind that it becomes tricky. To someone like that I probably looked like a pretty ragged rider, slowly drifting from one side of the rider in front to the other.

The heat didn't help much. Every week I'd been pretty good about waving to Junior. This week I probably waved twice, maybe three times. I was absolutely smashed by the heat. I kept dumping ice cold water on myself out of my Podium Ice bottles, taking a sip, but it didn't really make a huge dent on the heat. I guess I really haven't ridden in anything like this regularly. Not only that, I've been indoors most of the time, so my ambient temperature for the last two months has probably been mostly 75-80 degrees. This mid-90 stuff was killing me.

I continued on, stamping on the pedals (more on that on a different post), my awareness constantly narrowing to just the wheel ahead of me. I checked my SRM a couple times, mainly to make sure that I wasn't in real physical difficulty, else I'd just sit up and withdraw from the race. The SRM duly reported that I was "well within parameters", at least for heart rate.

I didn't feel like it.

Over the winter I paid to do a fitting, the first fitting I ever paid for. The fitter, CP, lives in my home town. I'd hoped to see him at the races at some point, but after a few weeks of not seeing him, I sort of gave up. Fitting is a retail business and Tuesday evenings are a retail kind of time.

At some point in the haze of the heat I realized that the kit next to me was one of the Stage One kits. CP rides for Stage One - their core team members basically joined for life. CP is a big, powerful rider, reminding me in his style of Johan Capiot, and here he was, Capiot himself, next to me.

He rolled to the front, I duly took his wheel. His is a strong, steady wheel, very easy to trust. I know because I spent some significant time on that wheel in the early years of the Bethel Spring Series, on his wheel, watching his TriSpokes whirling around. He was always super strong in a sort of Cancellara kind of way. He could put down solid power for minutes at a time. I actually dreaded seeing him at the Series. I remember thinking to myself during those days, "Oh, man, CP is moving up again."

Then I'd be groveling on wheels for the next couple laps as he did this or that at the front.

CP to my left, of Body Over Bike

So it came as no surprise when he started to put some pace into the race. A move had gone off the front, no one was helping him, and he felt the need to do a pull. Of course no one was helping him, I was the one right behind him and I wasn't in a position to close much more than about a couple foot gap. He did what was natural for him. I could see his body language change just a bit as he hunkered down for the effort.

Then, hands still up on the hoods, butt still planted firmly on the saddle, he accelerated.

I watched him ride away.

Others rode after him, maneuvering around the mobile chicane in the road, aka me.

The moves came back, a three or so rider move went clear, and the race came down to its final laps.

With Island being a here a real treat I decided I'd try to help him out at this probably unfamiliar venue. I gave him some advice on the wind, I tried to point out some of the strongest riders willing to make moves, and, at two laps to go, I rolled up to him and told him to follow me.

Another rider I think misunderstood me and got on my wheel, Island letting him in. I started going a bit faster at the bell but someone attacked at the same time so I really only neutralized the attack. Then on the backstretch I started to open it up. I wasn't out of the saddle, I didn't want to jump (I think I really couldn't do a proper jump at that moment), I only wanted to "go faster".

Going through Turn 3 I must have done something off since the gap opened up there. I kept going, hoping the rider behind would get back on my wheel, but the reality is that in such a situation the leadout man has to ease up, wait, and try to coordinate with the sprinter getting back on the gas again.

I didn't do that so I gapped myself off the front. I sat up after pedaling a bit and watched the riders roll by me.

The field did a little sprint, behind the break. I realized after the fact that my approach to the race has been "if there's no break lead out the sprint, if there's a break then I'll sprint". I forgot that mantra in my heat-induced haze and I didn't sprint even though I probably could have done so without feeling too guilty.

At any rate I was okay with watching the rest of the group sprint for the line.

I picked up a fresh bottle of ice water from the Missus, told Junior I'd be right back, and got out to roll around for a minute or four. I needed to cool off a bit and I needed that constant slight breeze from being in motion on the bike.

As a bonus Island was rolling around as well. We rehashed bits of the race, I clarified some tactical stuff, we talked briefly about life, and then we called it a day.

I rolled back to our base camp, Junior waiting for me.

Junior after the race.

Xander, behind him, had just given him a high 5, hence the big grin

One of the Juniors, Xander, was walking by and gave him a high five. This absolutely made his day. Another rider played with Junior for a bit, doing stuff with Legos. I know it made Junior's day because the first thing he told me was that, "Kevin played Legos with me!" He was so happy.

(On an aside calling Junior Junior gets confusing with Junior racers around.)

Junior, the Missus, and Pops

We had to get going as I didn't want Pops to be in the heat too much. I even patted his face, neck, and arms down with some ice-water dampened towels. But before I could do that Junior wanted to play with the pedals and cranks on my bike.

Junior with my bike

He was super disappointed that "Mr Esteban" wasn't around. My teammate had made a Craigslist purchase for me, some Thomas the Engine blue train track, and Junior went absolutely nuts over all the extra track and the drawbridge and the stations and stuff we got. I had told him Mr Esteban was giving us some Thomas track. It's simpler than saying he got it for me, plus it dilutes the "Daddy buys me everything" deal - I want to pass around the credit. So his new best friend is Mr Esteban, who, unfortunately for us, couldn't make it this week.

Once he understood that Mr Esteban wasn't around he wiped away his disappointment and went back to telling me about the race and such. We walked back to the car together with him helping me steer my bike.

At times he looks so big, like when we're messing around on the couch or on the bed. His legs go from here to there, if I hold him across my arms he sticks out everywhere, feet out that side, head out the other, arms dangling to the sides. At other times, like when he plays with my bike, he looks so, so tiny.

At the car he started to melt down a bit. Doing even the earlier B race pushes his sleep schedule pretty hard, making the trip home tough on him sometimes.

No race next week as the venue isn't available. Two more after that and then I think it's done for the year.

And that'll be my 2016 racing season. I know I'll be able to race a bit more in the future, I just don't know when. It'll happen when it happens and that's good enough for me.

Ah, life. It's a cycle.

Life - Music, emotion, and, well, "life"

A while ago my brother pointed out that music can get "worn out". A song's searing emotional effect can fade if you listen to the same song too often. In fact there is one of his songs that I've never used in a cycling clip because it's just too much for me. I want to keep that song precious for me and I actually rarely listen to it at all because its powerful effect on me.

The clip below is a song that I'm trying to save a bit for later (meaning for myself, not for a cycling clip), if that makes sense. Still fresh for me right now, even though it's a commercial top hit. Although I haven't made any clips using commercial music, I have thought of particular projects using particular songs. I was into one moderately commercial song in 2006 when I read and heard about a special pro race in Europe (so it ended noon or so our time, while I was at work). I was so pumped after the race ended, and it tied in so well with the music, that I could see the whole clip in my head before I drove home. Unfortunately I never finished the clip and it's not timely at all so it'll linger for a long time.

Having said that now I have another inspiration - I'd love to make a cycling clip using this music, inspired by the lyric video linked below.

For me music has a lot of power. It tugs at my emotion strings, as much as a hint of a scent, a sample of someone's voice, all those human emotion things. Music evokes in me what I'm sure is a measurable physiological response.

Back in the day, on emotionally charged rides, I found myself feeling unstoppable. In the times before heart rate monitors and power meters I didn't have an objective metric, but the climbs I did in the big ring all over the place, trembling with adrenaline, all while humming particular songs… there had to be something there.

Based on those kinds of rides I tried to conditionally train myself to have adrenaline rushes. I would grip my bars a certain way before doing any major effort, trying to get the adrenaline flowing just by returning to that "sprint only" grip.

This worked for many years. I'd intentionally stay away from the "sprint grip" (basically on the drops but just a touch higher than normal so my forearms were a bit flatter) during races so that at 1 or 2 to go, when I finally went to it, I was well into the adrenaline boost mode.

In my younger racing years I had plenty of opportunities for spiky emotions, like any young person experiences. As I got older I realized that the spikes were flatter but more robust. As a teen, or in my early twenties, I'd be super high and super low within the space of a day or two (usually related to stuff like girls and such). As I got older the spikes seemed a bit blunted but the breadth of the emotion felt more expansive. Instead of feeling a week or three of intense "crush" emotions, they went on for months, even years.

The emotions could be triggered by anything. When I was racing the track in 2009 I'd drive up feeling the normal pre-race excitement.

But on the way back?

I felt like a kid again.

I had no idea why. I felt totally inspired, I felt that crazy rush for whatever reason, it was all I could do not to drive like a nut. I'd crank the music (which only increased the adrenaline thing), drive in the summer heat with the AC on (chilled air seems to amplify said adrenaline thing), and, well, just revel in the rush I felt.

It wasn't even like I was racing well at the track. It was something else, I don't know what it was.

Back in 2000-2003 my mom was battling cancer. It was a super emotional time for me, and I think I emotionally "used up" much of the music I listened to then. I spent a lot of time driving with the music cranked loudly, burning through the music's power over me. I'm just now starting to listen to that music now, and it's still a bit burnt emotionally. Most of those songs I listen for 10 or 20 seconds and I click to skip it; a few I listen for a minute or two, but there are none that I listen and listen and suddenly it's the end of the song.

Now it seems it's my dad's turn. He's physically healthy but other than that… He stopped recognizing me early this year, maybe around the Spring Series time. He has difficulty getting up. He hasn't spoken a word in years because he hasn't been able to say anything.

My SPS ("significant personal stuff"), a term I mentioned before, is to take care of my dad.

The plan is to move him into our house, for me to look after him. It'll be hard, for sure, but I feel compelled to do this.

My Pops, me, and Junior, when Junior was a day old.

I had just returned from the second 2012 Bethel Spring Series race.

I remember his vibrancy when I was a kid. We'd rake leaves, shovel the driveway, cut wood for the fireplace. When I was a little kid he couldn't afford gravel for the driveway so he'd break rocks with a hammer. There's a picture of me sitting in my diaper on our driveway, hammer in hand, rocks in front of me.

He drove carefully. I could tell when he was serious because all of his shifts were so methodical, his motions to use the turn signal perfect, no wasted energy, everything "just so". When he was distracted he'd let things slip a bit but then he'd catch himself and become more deliberate again.

He was always methodical about what he did. He tried to have back ups, when he understood what he needed to have a back up. As a chemical engineer he was appalled by one manager's response to a non-functioning eye wash station in a huge plant. The fix? They hung a sign that said, "Out of order".

He'd rake or chop wood or whatever like a machine. Even as recently as 10 or so years ago the tree guys would joke that my dad would put them out of business, he was clearing so much stuff (the tree guys would get the high stuff; he got the low stuff).

He worked really hard for the kids, and, really, for the grand kids. He felt a duty to provide for them, and I never understood even a little bit of it until now, and I honestly am still coming to terms with just how powerful this urge is for me. At times it was tough, but I think that's the case with anyone. He went from growing up in war torn Japan to being able to provide for his family in the US. After traveling all over the world, living on three continents, in the end he adopted the US as his home, choosing to live here instead of anywhere else in the world.

My dad can't care for himself any longer. My brother has been caring for my dad for many years but is reaching the end of his tether. My other brother and I both volunteered to take over, and, for mainly logistical reasons, my dad will be moving in with the Missus, Junior, and myself, toward the end of the year.

This means I'll be his 24/7 caretaker for the foreseeable future.

My brother told me that it's hard to explain just what it'll be like. It's like having a kid - you can explain and demonstrate and all that but until you experience it you just don't know. Likewise, this will be an unfathomable thing until I do it. I just hope to be up for it.

In preparation for this I've mentally written off 2016. I really can't leave the house much so no racing, no training outdoors. No real dinners out, no trips, etc. I'm trying to figure out a way to make the Aetna Spring Series a reality - it's still in the forefront of my mind, definitely more important than my own riding. I have strong hopes of pulling it off, although I'll be physically absent from the actual races.

The Missus, also, has accepted this, supporting my urge to care for my dad. It'll really disrupt her life but she's behind this 100%. She's always supported what I've done - the racing, the promoting, job stuff - and she's once again throwing herself into the effort. So to her, a thank you in advance, and many more to come I'm sure.

My last day working at the car place is next Wednesday - I have three work days left. After that it'll be a frantic two weeks to get the house ready, and then we'll bring my dad here for what we think will be the rest of his life.

I have no idea what that means, to tell the truth. I've written off a year already. A second year seems distant but possible, in terms of both caring for him as well as him continuing on. After that I may need help, and it may be that my dad will need more than I can provide. Whatever happens, we'll see when we get there. For now it'll be me taking care of him.

In the meantime?

I'll listen to music and I'll revel in this special thing called life.