cross-roads

Simmering below the conscious, choices, options and an unsettling feeling of dread. Nothing life altering, yet a weight, a feeling of sand being poured into a burlap bag, placed evenly across my shoulders. I have no idea how big or full the bag is. I haven't employed a dual mirror system to check. For that takes reflection, a pleasure I do not have the luxury to devote time to. Tick, tick, you hear it? A deadline approaches, or is it two? I can store large complex decisions, placating them until the proper moment of action, deflecting ripples of inputs that would cause an early maturation of the process. Yet, every so often, a choice is required that can threaten the very existence of the decision, sending it cascading into any number of different directions.

Trailways announced a Sunday rain-date this weekend. Most assuredly, they will use it and I will be forced to chose between that which is fleeting and steadfast. Due to spiraling costs, I'm in the twilight of racing career, I want to race every moment of my being. The reality is that TWs will be the only game in town and will welcome 50+ entrants for 24 positions. I will start upfront in my heat race. A tacky surface should tip the balance in my favor to qualify. Yet without a different set of shocks, my gas Penske's will probably fail me again. Testing my confidence. Failure to just appear places me last the next time I return to the speed palace. A heavy penalty, one which makes the challenge (and lure) that much greater. In the past to avoid a confrontation of desires, I typically and automatically favored a dust filled event capped off by the ever loathsome 2 AM car wash. Yet, this time I'm perplexed. A 3pm soccer game, unimpeded by the weather, awaits. My commitment to the pitch is renewed. Not for the love of the game, but for the camaraderie that exists. Over the last 4 months, a growing compassion, not felt since my days leading my BU hockey mates, is clouding my typical emotions and actions. After college, soccer was never same to me. The game became merely a vehicle for exercise. Soccer can always be there, a sport that I can play regularity with success. It just doesn't feel right to abandon the people that I've grown to respect and care for.

Blasting into a corner with your hair on fire, feeling that car strain under the g-forces, within inches of your competitors... the feeling will never escape me, but then neither will the satisfaction of giving your talents and companionship to others all for the pursuit of common goals. Turn left or right. I guess we'll see.

surprise, surprise

This weekend will always be defined as the emergence of "uncle dougy". I've known Doug personally since 1995. From 1998 though 2000, I spent many an eve twisting wrenches on his ARDC midgets. He's one of the most instinctive and talented race car drivers I've ever met. His social skills are endearing at best. A self proclaimed hillbilly, he's always had a single focus: racing, until Friday. I picked up a set of slightly used digital scales for his expanding traveling race series (the 600 Modifieds) and made plans to deliver them. I was reluctant to foot the gas bill to haul my fume guzzling beast of a pick-up truck to the remote and sleepy area of Kunkletown (nestled in the Poconos) Despite the inconvenience, I gained some quite time during the ride to reflect, and organize the mix of data and emotions that pile up over time. What was waiting for me was a surprise I was somewhat unprepared. Doug had purchased a crib, crib mattress, bed-in-a-bag set and vibrating toddler rocker. I was equally shocked when he did it himself, not charging his mother for that task as I would have guessed. I know he appreciates my work, my guidance and my friendship, this just happened to be the first time he really expressed it. Shim now has an Uncle Dougy.