(sorry for the re-post; for some reason the photos weren't included the first time and I wasn't able to add them directly afterwards; I've added a link to a slideshow at the end).
This was a picture taken of me March 1, 2008. It captures my memories of this day and the ones that were to follow it quite unintentionally. If you look very closely at the reflection in my sunglasses you can see a vague outline of the photographer as she held her camera to her face. This was the first time I'd met her.
I remember not knowing what to expect of Kristy. We were on the same team and I'd seen a number of her emails and read many others on her behalf from teammates who had the misfortune to train with her or the joy to see her race. Kristy was a phenom on the bike, one of those rare talents that come along so rarely their appearance is dazzling, violent, and disruptive all at once. I expected her to be brash and arrogant, to slip in praise of herself every other sentence or hint that I should provide it for her -- this behavior is not uncommon in the world of cycling even among people with half her ability.
I remember dreading the question that would be first on her lips after our very brief introduction, "Why'd you pull out? You were keeping a pretty good position."
Still circling us on the block we stood was the rest of the men's Elite Cat 4 field. I wasn't with them because the course and the way the riders were racing it were seriously freaking me out and I couldn't get comfortable; 7 weeks earlier I had broken my collar bone in a race in Sacramento and I was still gun shy racing with a bunch of riders who liked to dive bomb corners. So 30 minutes into this 45 minute race, after seeing and avoiding two crashes, I told myself it wasn't worth risking another crash just to finish this race with the pack.
But one of my pet peeves, especially on the bike, is: The Excuse -- and this felt like one to me. So I fessed up the other truth that didn't feel like an excuse (or was at least vague in it): my fitness isn't ready for this sort of intensity.
Already though, I was starting to realize that my expectations for her were off. She didn't come off as arrogant, she never brought up her win earlier in the day, or her largely undefeated status for the season (her one 2nd place finish was against a pro field which she controlled and made a suffer fest for everyone), she didn't bring up any lofty goals, or make any excuses for not performing to her expectations. Instead, she was warm in her curiosity and friendly in her joking manner.
If I had written all this down all these months ago I'm sure I could outline one or two specific moments that made me a fan of Kristy that day in the five minutes we spoke -- instead all I have is the sense that when she said goodbye and walked back to her perch across the street to continue taking photos, that not only was she on her way to bigger and better things but that she deserved all the accolades she had and would receive.
A few minutes later the peleton rushed around the corner on the bell lap and I watched a rider break away on the back stretch.
There's no way he can hold it, I thought to myself. And for the second time in ten minutes I was surprised; he won with about 50 yards on 2nd place and the sprinting peleton. At the road race the next day I made a point of congratulating him on his gutsy victory the day before. Even 24 hours later he was bubbling with excitement over the win -- something I would later learn had been a goal of his -- winning this particular race in this particular manner -- for several years. He introduced himself to me as Matt Peterson. And I should mention that Kristy, again, won her road race this day as well.
(Matt Peterson & Kristy Gough)
Fast forward one week and I'm out in Berkeley doing a Time Trial with a friend and former teammate. When it's over we head out and ride around the East Bay hills for an easy 30 miles. We spent a lot of time talking about Kristy and how exciting it was to see her ramping up to fly through the ranks of competitive cycling. When we finished I had a phone call from a good friend and teammate who was out of town but had just heard something on the radio about an accident involving some cyclists in the Santa Clara area. I hadn't heard anything about it yet but quickly ran through a quick list of people I know who might ride in that area on a Sunday morning -- no one came to mind.
It was only a few minutes later when I checked my email on the phone that I discovered Kristy was one of the involved cyclists. Details were initially scarce, just that Kristy had been hit by an oncoming car, had been seriously maimed and was being flown to Stanford. The following emails provided further information.
I called Pat back to relay what I'd just learned: Matt Peterson was struck first and killed immediately, Kristy had survived her flight to Stanford where her mother was rushing to meet her; she died shortly after. A third cyclist had a broken bone or two but looked good to recover. I remember words being slow to follow at this point and a little bit later we hung up, each of us needing some time to absorb the shock.
I found myself constantly thinking of Kristy and Matt for the next month on the bike. I couldn't ride more than 5 minutes without an image of them popping into my consciousness. Training felt curiously 3rd person and life clearly unfair.
I expect it might be hard to understand how this could affect someone so much who confesses to have had no close friendship to either Kristy or Matt. To fully appreciate it you'd have to understand how small the competitive cycling community is. We are formed by a small grouping of people who find the cost of admission the sport demands to be acceptable. That is to say, the sport is brutal in what it demands and stingy with what it rewards -- no one has ever stood on a race podium that I know of who has not sacrificed the better part of the year in pursuit.
I know, without ever having talked to them about it that Matt and Kristy knew the sacrifice of time with friends for time recovering with sleep in bed for the morning's workout or race. I know, that even before their fatal encounter with the Deputy Sheriff's patrol car, that they had likely been harassed no less than once a month by drivers with road rage -- drivers who swerve at you and run you off the road at the peril of your life -- all because you happen to be riding on the bare minimum amount of asphalt you can physically occupy of the public road you happen to be on. I know they had seen any number of horrible bone shattering crashes strike literally before their eyes in just about every race they competed in. And I know that they took these costs and deemed them Just. Because in the end they kept training and they kept racing.
http://garrytanphoto.smugmug.com/photos/swfpopup.mg?AlbumID=4520832&AlbumKey=UDkxb
