We meet outside as does everyone else to find out that not only Cabbagetown, but Atlanta itself had been struck by an F2 twister. Wow! The neighborhood has been destroyed. There’s a tree fallen on a car two houses up to my left. One block down three massive oaks had fallen directly on three consecutive houses completely crushing each of them. All you hear are sirens and see debris all over the streets. Everyone is out checking to see if everyone is ok. One of my neighbors comes by and tells me a house 2 blocks away has had its roof torn off. It is quite a mess. Ricky comes walking up the street. He tells me he has a few branches impaling the roof and siding on his house. He asks, “Are we still going?” I say sure “What else are we going to do tomorrow?” The Cabbagetown Twister has left an indelible mark on our neighborhood, but it wasn’t about to throw off the beginning of the Hollander 2008 racing season.

The alarm goes off far too early. 5am is not fun, it’s still dark, there is no power and the neighborhood looks like my hair after a windy afternoon of Frisbee. By 5:30 we are off to Perry, GA which is about 15 miles south of Macon and an hour 45 away from C-town. The Perry Roubaix as it is affectionately called is the second stage of the Georgia Cup Series. I guess it is similar to Wisconsin Cup points at certain WI races. The race is an omnium based on points. On Saturday morning, which is why we are leaving so early, is a 10.4 mile time trial; Ricky is doing I am not and in retrospect I should have because I would have been in contention for the overall, but I didn’t. At 11 there is a 30 mile circuit race for the Master 30+. Ricky has some teammates that I know, and I said I would help them out as much as I could given that its the first race of the season for me. The course is relatively flat, one headwind section and one tailwind section into two small turning straights. During the race it didn’t appear that anyone would be able to get away. Boy was I wrong. It seemed as though there was point sprints every other lap and with about 7 to go on the 1.7 mile course I popped a third in one of the sprints. It was my second sprint of the season. I have plenty of miles on and sitting in the field was easy, but at times I could certainly feel that I am lacking the intensity that racing requires.

Anyway about 6 laps to go they ring the bell for another of these points sprints. I was gassed and just sitting in but I saw the Aqua man surfing his way to the front and by the time the sprint was over our superhero was out strokin’ all the other fishes in the field 25 seconds up the road. “5 laps to go”. Ricky’s out there solo. Can he make it? His teammates and I follow wheels, 3 laps to go he still has 25 seconds. He’s going to make it I think to myself. One other rider gets away and is chasing solo. We can see both of them but no one in the field is doing anything to try to catch. At the beginning of the race I didn’t feel so hot, but now late in the race everyone seemed tired and I was feeling decent and spending a lot of time at or near the front. “1 to go!” We make the back stretch Ricky’s two teammates and one other guy driving it with me in tow are sitting in good position for the sprint. A rider makes a hard jump on the left, I follow and by the time we make it to the final corner I can feel him fading. I stay on him as long as I can trying to judge how long my sprint will have to be. I jump left and immediately on my right 5 guys pass me. I move right and hang on and finish 6th in the field sprint. Ricky wins it. Day one is done and I don’t think it could have gotten any better considering the night we had before. On to the hotel for some rest.

As I had mentioned in an earlier email, I will attempt to write some stories about the season as it progresses for the entertainment of all the men in orange. This is my inaugural posting. So sit back, clear your mind, wrap your lips around that beer in your hand and prepare yourself for a journey into which the eyes will have to see to believe.

Ah, springtime in Georgia! Sunny, warm the trees are starting to blossom, sweet smells in the air and people escaping to the outdoors from their long, harsh winter retreat (that is my attempt at sarcasm). It’s Sunday the 15th of March around oh, 4:20 in the afternoon and Ali and I are lounging in the street in front of my house in Cabbagetown. As I sit there relaxing I mull over the last 48 hours and how crazy they have been……

Friday afternoon began innocently enough, some rain showers and sprinkles on occasion and in the mid 50’s. Not an altogether bad afternoon. Ricky “Aquaman” Fuqua (whom you will all meet as he will be joining us for a few summer months on the team in Wisco) and I are going for an easy ride to spin the legs and talk about the upcoming races during the weekend. We ride for about an hour and get rained on, nothing to severe. We go home and decide that we will be leaving for the race at 5:30 in the morning. Yes that’s right; I am getting up in the dark to ride my bike. Something is definitely amiss in the universe. Little did I know that that wouldn’t be the last time I saw Rick that day.

After the ride, I have a few leftovers and take the dog out for a walk to find some beers. I walk the neighborhood searching high and low for someone, anyone that will give me some beer and conversation. I end up seeing my friend Grant and we sit on his porch watching the day end as a true southerner would on a late Friday afternoon. After much sitting and a little bit of drinking, Ali and I head to Carroll St. Cafe. It is the lounge, brunch, bohemian cafe in Cabbagetown. There I tie Ali up outside and step in for another with my friend Jay and my old neighbor Dave. Its about 8:30 and the place is filled with fine things to see. After a beer Jay and I step out for a cigarette and then head home for the evening. Little did I know that this would hardly be the end of my evening.

Ali and I get home about quarter after 9pm and I head directly to bed. Now mind you it had been raining off and on for most of the day and there were more severe storms expected for the evening so I wasn’t that surprised when I woke up around 10pm to the sound of thunder and Ali pacing around downstairs. I get up and climb down from the loft and grab his 80lb ass, sling him over my shoulder to carry him up into the loft. We made it about half way up the ladder when we heard a loud crack and the power went out. Upstairs I get Ali into the bed and try to calm him down; he was shaking like a leaf. In the loft I have one double hung window that faces due west about 5ft from my bed. I look and can see the rain coming down and the wind blowing, I close my eyes and realize that all I can hear is the sound of the wind. The sound is getting louder, I open my eyes, the trees are really moving, close my eyes, the wind is getting louder, holy shit. “Ali, come on!” I grab the dog, get him back over my shoulder, and down the ladder as fast as we can, it sure sounds like a tornado, and it’s on its way and soon. Downstairs I have only one interior room, the laundry closet which is about 3×5. I pull the washer/dryer out of the way and sneak behind with the dog in tow. Not more than 10 seconds later it’s over. I call my neighbor to see what the hell happened.