Season's deletings

Yard Sale. Christmas and New Years, just one big yard sale. You intend to dump all the stuff you don't need and make your next year's journey lighter. You can start with the obvious physical stuff; the front Mavic cosmic with the bent skewer that can't be removed without a blow torch. Or the tools that can't fix anything post-1999 in the bike industry. Or you can get rid of the eight punctured tubes in a biscuit tin, the MTB tyres with ripped sidewalls and memories. Perhaps its time to jettison the hacksaw blades worn flat, the rounded allen keys, bludgeoned mallet and six and a half Aldi rear lights that refuse to flash. Someone else will surely make use of the two musty helmets, wheel bags with mouse droppings or the 42-chain ring that has no home. Once you have cleared that space and set up the turbo its time to clear the mental stuff. Kinda like unfriending on Facebook, the mental yard sale is a state of mind where you offload the negatives without actually, physically removing anything. I guess if my brain is a hard-drive then clearing my head is just putting things into the waste basket. There is always people that need removing. But better still is creating space in your own head by opening your mind. This time of year is to create room for positivity and giving the negative stuff the cold-shoulder. I, for example, have to persuade my head to compete again. Despite more hair-growth in my ears, nose and back than on my head, I have to park my own inner-ageist to one side. No easy task when you have 50 shades of grey without the sexy bits. Similarly, I must coax an old body into a young sport. My Dad, God rest him, used to groan as he stood up in later years. I am beginning that trend again. Therefore I need to create a happy space in my head that ignores arthritic conditions, and permanent tiredness. I ain't no Lemmy from Motorhead. Then theres the happy places to create. An educational psychologist asked a group of us in 2001 to draw our happiest place. I drew the road to Kilkenny, criss-crossing the serpentine Nore all the way. Most of the other's had drawn their house or a park. Kilkenny is still my favourite solo cycle. I need to create a few more of these bolt-holes. Harvey.'s coffee shop. The La Concha bar. Sliabh Coillte in the rain. The ramp after Dunbrody Abbey. Ronda. Any of those places are positive. Places in time where the detritus of ordinary life can be shook off. Places in my psyche. Similarly, there are objects I carry around with me that could be cast aside. A phone. At present I only ever am away from my phone when I race. Imagine just putting it...down. Blasphemy! The Garmin. I don't get it all. I know I'd be a better cyclist with a power meter but how many are not? I like gathering the elevation stats and knowing the temperature or distance but recently my 500 has started to read uphill as a minus gradient and I'm pissed off seeing 13 degrees in mid-December. Time to leave it at home. Natural intervals. Love 'em. Anyway, there's that dude that shows up at open races with an old steel bike, nothing electronic in his possession and can't be got rid of. Watts, me cellulite-engraved ass! And what would I keep, not put out in the yard for sale? The Zondas that seem built for Belgium, my happy Ridley built like a brick shithouse. The amalgam of components I call a groupset that seem like a cycle jumble but never let me down despite our abusive relationship. The race wheels that contain an unquantifiable substance called FGF that boosts performance. That's Feel Good Factor. And a framed photo from around 14 years ago [I was a Princely 33 years old] riding a storming 56 minute 25 mile TT while hungover and humming. Don't know many that would want to buy that photo of me anyway as there is no carbon or electronics or yaw factor in it. Its a keeper. So there you have it. Time to empty out the unused stuff and clear the ether for your next big adventure. Its worth it. I might even pop around and grab a bargain. Got any old oval ball-bearings or left-hand cranks in need of a home?!