After Reno, I packed up two bikes and headed to the airport. A flight to Minneapolis would kick off seven weeks of travel starting with Tour of America’s Dairyland.

I built my bikes in my parents’ garage and prepped for 10 days of racing. I knew the fields would be larger and stronger than I was used to and that the courses a little more technical. I did everything I could to prepare for the trip, being as diligent as I could with my training for the weeks leading up to the event. I was confident going into day one, but after a few hiccups in the first few races as I adjusted to the increased field size and the difficulty of racing in high humidity, that confidence started to wane. After a few races, ever so slowly, the self-doubt, or “brain gremlins” as I’ve heard it referred to, took its hold.

Brain gremlins, it turns out, is a surprisingly apt description. The relationship between confidence and self-doubt is not unlike the mid-80s horror film plot line: what starts out as a fuzzy, curious creature turns into a seemingly unstoppable havoc-wreaking force of nature that destroys everything in its sight. In the film, it’s the illogical and insignificant act of eating after midnight. In the case of this analogy it’s the similarly illogical conclusion that a few lackluster results in a season of great ones make someone a bad bike racer. While there aren’t little monsters chewing the electrical wirings in my brain, at times that would feel almost preferable. That fix would be a quick and easy one, while remembering to believe in oneself can be anything but.

My friend Beth Newell just wrote a piece in response to the recent Olympic selections. As a member of the US National Team, she’d been named to the Olympic long team in March but wasn’t listed in the final selections. On her journey to becoming an Olympian, she writes:

…I can say I probably did not enjoy the journey as much as I should have during the time. Just writing that list above, makes me think to myself: how could I not have enjoyed and appreciated it?!? But, for me, I know I really let the stress and pressure get me. In the end, I didn't care so much about the journey, I really wanted to achieve the goal. And being so laser focused on a goal really made it hard to take the process in stride.

After reading this I remembered something: it was just a few short years ago that I drove to Los Angeles and raced my first fixed gear crit and fell in love with bike racing. I wouldn’t be here in Wisconsin had it not been for that race in LA.

I took the next day off racing to clear my head. The humidity had finally dissipated so I hopped on my road bike and followed the shore of Lake Michigan with no particular destination in mind, eventually stumbling upon a sign “Beach” with an arrow, which I followed. It was the perfect reminder of why I fell in love with cycling in the first place. The respite.

The next day I lined up for the Fixation Open - a fixed gear race incorporated in this year’s Tour of America’s Dairyland and a nice break from all the road crits. The field was strong and largely made up of elite level athletes but I played it smart, happy to be back on a track bike. In a late race attack, one rider and I went off the front and stayed away, landing me a second place finish. After the podium ceremony, I celebrated with my teammates. The sunshine had killed the last of the gremlins, and my confidence was back.