Clean as a whistle.  I’ve spent the last couple of days baring my life history.  Background checks with the National Center for Safety Initiatives, TC logiQ, Inc., and finally the USOC’s Safe Sport Training Program.  For all my brash, bluster, and bullishness, I’m really just a pussycat after all.

Double naught spy?  Nah, just getting properly certified with USATF.  What, you may ask, is up my sleeve this time?  Taking my coaching to another level.

Overdue.  Jeremy Morris broke the Free State Trail Run cr by 11 minutes.  And still finished 12 minutes behind the winner Jeff Browning.  That’s some crazy speed.

Jeff Gregg has a Boston tale of a lifetime.   Drove to Denver (cancelled flight), drove to KC (trip to ER with flu in the middle of somewhere), flight to Boston, makes the start line, finishes race.  I can’t wait to meet this mate of mine, I like the cut of his jib.

LivewellNebraska.com  Athletic Ombudsman Michelle Bandur has struck up a firestorm with her column claiming bicyclist’s stakes to the highways of Nebraska.  Our Little Slice is a mecca for these spandex suited speedsters, whizzing by alone or in groups, always on the weekends.  I’ve been struck by their fearlessness.  Pacific, Blondo, Dodge, Maple, and especially 264th St.  Flat as a pancake and fast as you want to go.  Its not their speed that awes me though.  Its the speed of the traffic sharing the roads.  Mine own two eyes witnessing half the vehicles staring at something in their laps as they hurry, hurry, hurry, connected, connected, connected.

No shoulders.  Deep, deep ditches.

I see the tandem trucks hauling sand from future subdivisions.  The farm equipment.  The idiots.  The distracted.  And the memorial crosses peppered throughout the landscape, none more poignant than the bike memorial of Millard West teacher Jim Johnston.  I hear the wail of sirens spreading between these two rivers.

Sometimes you can be so right.  Dead right.