OK, hell. So this isn't just a sick joke. I didn't figure it was.
This is going to be one of *those* posts.
Damnit. I take one year off to heal up and the whole organization evaporates. What the hell?
Over the last year and a half, while I've been healing up, I've worn a NESBA shirt to work at least once a week. It's like a badge of honor, you know.. a reminder of humility when I'm arrogant, a reminder of immediacy to my current reality and remembrance to fallen riders, a reminder of overcoming odds, and pain. I look in the mirror and I know I'm honest with myself, about my abilities, and limits. I was able to become more of a human being, a better human being, than I was before I joined the organization and met all of the wonderful people. People that I sweated with, and cussed at, and laughed at, and laughed with, and shared in triumphs and failures. (Speaking of sharing Triumphs, I don't recommend occupying the same space with a moving one. Just sayin')
NESBA, as an organization, was a set of rules and a place that rented tracks and let us share the costs.
NESBA, as a family, was a hell of a lot more than that.
I sweated on the same baking hot July days as everyone else. I shivered with everyone else when it was 30 degrees at Road Atlanta and we nutted up and ran the track anyway. I drove overnight with friends to go to tracks a thousand miles away, I stayed up far too late, got up way too early. I played the rain game, the bump game, and the life and death game. I was hurt but not beat.
I shared camp fires, stories, parts, and paint with the best people on earth. I learned from the best, and I was part of the best.
I rocked on the good days.
I bitched on the hot days.
I worried on the wet days.
I bled on the bad days.
I cried on the worst days.
But every day.. every day I spent at the track, was time spent with family.