Reluctantly crouched at the starting line,

Reluctantly crouched at the starting line,
Engines pumping and thumping in time.
The green light flashes, the flags goes up,
Churning and burning, they yern for the cup.

They deftly manouver and muscle for rank,
Fuel burning fast on an empty tank,
Wreckless and wild they pour thru the turns,
Their prowless is podent and secretly stern.

As they speed thru the finish the flags go down.
The fans get up, and get out of town.
The arena is empty except for one man,
Still driving and striving as fast as he can

The sun has gone down and the moon has come up,
And long ago somebody left with the cup,
But he's driving and striving and hugging the turns,
And thinking of someone for whom he still burns.

He's going the distance.
He's going for speed.
She's all alone, all alone in her time of need.

Because he's racing and pacing and plotting the course,
He's fighting and biting and riding on his horse.
He's going the distance.

Yeah!

No trophy, no flowers, no flash bulbs, no wine.
He's haunted by something he cannot define.
Bowel shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse,
Assail him, impale him with monster truck force.
In his mind he's still driving, still making the grade.
She's hoping time that her memories will fade,
Cause he's racing and pacing and plotting the course,
He's fighting and biting and riding on his horse.

The sun has gone down and the moon has come up,
And long ago somebody left with the cup.
But he's striving and driving and hugging the turns,
And thinking of someone for whom he still burns.

Cause he's going the distance.
He's going for speed.
She's all alone, all alone in her time of need.

Because he's racing and pacing and plotting the course,
He's figting and biting and riding on his horse,
He's racing and pacing and plotting the course,
He's figting and biting and riding on his horse!

He's going the distance.
He's going for speed.
He's going the distance...

NoHo Pre-registration race starts in 5 minutes...

How many countless hundreds of New England Cyclocross racers are poised at the starting line...

Deftly manuevering their credit card,
practicing punching in the digits on the number pad,
dreaming of the holeshot,
planning on a front row starting position,
Hitting refresh at bike reg every couple of seconds not knowing what 10:00 means on their server...

refresh... refresh...

Yeah... how them fingers doing? Ready to go? It is NoHo baby. Two days, with a frites truck this year... killa course...

it is almost time...

poised...

and...

yeah...

it is cross season for real now.

heddwch
G