After several dead end conversations with the Brazilian American Airlines people, I still have no bag. Actually it’s even less close to arriving than I thought. Customs said I have to be there to pick it up, but I can’t call customs because, “they have not issued you a retention number, but when we have it we can give you the information to call.” This doesn’t make sense to me, and when I finally called the American Airlines people in America, they also thought it made no sense at all. So much so, in fact, that they told me they would authorize me to spend up to $250 on clothing and things I need for the race. Now if only there were a nice bike shop nearby…

Here’s a picture of two dogs that became my best friend when I fed them some of my lunch through the open window of the restaurant.

After several dead end conversations with the Brazilian American Airlines people, I still have no bag. Actually it’s even less close to arriving than I thought. Customs said I have to be there to pick it up, but I can’t call customs because, “they have not issued you a retention number, but when we have it we can give you the information to call.” This doesn’t make sense to me, and when I finally called the American Airlines people in America, they also thought it made no sense at all. So much so, in fact, that they told me they would authorize me to spend up to $250 on clothing and things I need for the race. Now if only there were a nice bike shop nearby…

Here’s a picture of two dogs that became my best friend when I fed them some of my lunch through the open window of the restaurant.

My bike showed up. Now I have something to ride, a uniform to race in, my first aid kit. and a pair of Keahou running shoes. Plus the stuff from my carry on.

My carry on has the following:

• My laptop, camera, and chargers.
• A pair of K-Swiss Training Board Shorts
• Four Clif Bars (3 are now digested completely)
• A K-Swiss Hoodie
• My Toiletries
• My Bike Shoes
• My Helmet
• Some Beef Jerkey
• My Ka’ona Racing Flats
• Dura-Ace Pedals.
• In addition to that, I was wearing:
• A K-Swiss Track Suit (dark blue)
• Boxers
• Socks
• Another pair of Keahou trainers

an d most importantly

• my K-Swiss Long Sleeve Reflective Training T-Shirt.

This shirt is my favorite long sleeve shirt I’ve ever owned. It’s light weight, reflective (who would have guessed from the title) It fits perfectly. I’m wearing the white with blue highlights, and it really doesn’t bother me in the heat. I actually think it’s better than short sleeve because it’s light weight and keeps the sun off and reflects the rays.

This morning after breakfast, and after calling the airlines to find out where my bags are, we gathered at 11am to head to the swimming pool. We were all riding over there, but unfortunately, I have no bicycle. Instead I wore my bike helmet and rode on the back of a motorcycle with the man that was leading the way. Now, I have my motorcycle endorsement, and I have even thought seriously about owning a motorcycle, but thanks to recent events those dreams have been replaced by nightmares and fear of motorized two wheel travel.

Apparently this was not evident to the man driving the motorcycle. The way to the pool was casual. We were leading a pack of cyclists, so we stayed clear of traffic and moved cautiously through the streets. I even worked up the courage to take my camera out and snap a bunch of photographs.

On the ride back, however, the group was already gone, so we were on a b-line for the hotel. Honestly, 25mph feels much faster on a motorcycle while squeezing past other traffic on a narrow road than it does when I’m on my own bicycle. Also,  Brazilian traffic doesn’t seem to mind if cars stay to the right or the left. It’s tackled on a case by case basis. Virgilio used the motorcycle for a draft and stayed right on our wheel, so when we got back to the hotel he looked at me and said, “That was fun, yeah?”

Yeah… fun.

Pictures from the bus  on the way to Guaruja

We made it! And nothing was lost for anyone except me!

My flight out of Seattle ended up being about 90 minutes late, so when we touched down in Dallas I ran as fast as I could from the C terminal to the D terminal (while landing I had looked at the airport map in the American Airlines magazine in order to plot my exact tactic for getting from C7 to D33 – it involved running up an escalator, over the top of a freeway, down an escalator, and through a lot of loitering travelers.) When I arrived at the gate the door was closed and nobody was there except two women at the counter. “Are you Virgil?” They asked.

“No, I’m Ben Collins, is this the right gate for Sao Paulo?”

“Yes, but who are you? What’s your last name?”

“Collins, here’s my ticket”

“Seattle? How did you make it in time?”

The passengers had been held up for some guy named Virgil, and were told that the plane was having trouble with the water tank. Turns out I made it, but Virgil and my luggage were stuck in Dallas for a full day.

The flight was long, but uneventful. I had three center seats to myself, so I could lay down, but every time I wanted out I had to ask the people on the isle to wake up and let me stand up. In Sao Paulo we met up with the race director, Virgilio, along with the French Team, led by Benjamin Sanson. It was 11am, but the Canadians and Mexicans were scheduled to arrive at 2pm, so we had to wait. in the airport.

Now it’s a little after 6. We didn’t leave the airport until almost 3pm, and the drive was nearly three hours. I’m just happy that I’m here. I’d rather be without bags in Brazil than without bags in Dallas.

I’m sitting in Seattle waiting for my delayed flight to leave. I had a 40 minute layover in Dallas, which was tight, but now my flight is delayed an hour because of weather in Chicago,but since Chicago is an American Airlines hub, the flight to Sao Palo from Dallas is delayed 50 minutes. Now, for those of you who have passed 3rd grade math, that leaves 30 minutes for me to rush from one plane to the next in Dallas. And for those of you who have flown through Dallas, you’ll know that the international terminal is not the same as the domestic terminal, and I have to take a shuttle from one concourse to another. This could be a serious process. I recall one similar situation in which I ran nearly a full mile in the airport because the train was broken. I’ve also spent nearly 40 hours in the Dallas airport waiting for a flight that was delayed, cancelled, rescheduled, and delayed again. I specifically asked not to go through Chicago in winter, but I didn’t realize Dallas was the only other option.

Also, American is now charging for both checked bags on all their flights, except going to Brazil. That’s cool. Except they’re charging $100 for my bike, which was free on international flights a year ago. I think it stems from an American disgust for all things progressive that don’t benefit the corporate economy (e.g. cycling for transportation, walking for transportation, non-internal-combustion-engine transportation, local farming, organic farming, non-petroleum based fertilizer farming… etc.), but maybe I’m projecting too far. And maybe Obama will fix everything. I’m a skeptic, but I will raise my glass to hope. If nothing else, if we all start believing that we can make a difference, them it’s a lot more likely to happen.

That was a tangent… Maybe my flight will be leaving soon… I wish I could have spent this extra hour at home… I’m hungry…

Wednesday I leave for Brazil. The race is called Fast Triathlon, or Triatlo Rapido. Last year Team USA placed third behind Brazil and Canada. Now, I won’t go into all the excuses we had for getting third, like me deciding not to eat for two weeks, Victor being a full time law student and Matt crashing during the first round of the race, but I will say, the team of Victor Plata, Matt Chrabot and myself will be returning to Brazil this year and doing much better.

My itinerary is this: Wednesday afternoon I fly to Dallas, where I get on a flight with Matt and Victor to Sao Palo on the red eye to arrive Thursday morning at the race site in Guarujá, which is driving distance from Sao Palo. The race is Sunday February 1st, and the rest of the 18 man field will leave that night. I, however, am staying in Brazil until the 9th of February so that I can race in the Santos International Triathlon on the 8th.

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On the 9th I fly to Honolulu, rather than Seattle, where I will live and train through the end of March.

This is why packing is taking me a long time to do. I have a week and a half in Brazil, two months in Hawaii, and likely four races on my Calendar before I get back to Seattle. If I want to minimize shipping costs, I would be wise to make sure I have the everything I need. If I want to maximize my ability to get from destination to destination by myself, I would be wise not to over pack.

I’ve been really nervous cycling on the roads since Adam’s death last week. So when Brian asked if I’d like to accompany him on his commute to work yesterday I was a little hesitant. It seemed like a great opportunity for some jerk to swing his door into me, or for some redneck to try to see just how close he could come to running me off the side of the road (do those people realize that if they mess up and hit me it’s vehicular manslaughter and they’d be ruining both our lives? Seems like a big risk to take in order to prove that a) your truck is bigger than my bike and b) you are an asshole. Seems like you could do something safer and still prove that you are in fact dumber than a retarded chimpanzee. Like the video below…).

Anyway, I wanted to see Brian, because I don’t get to see my friends nearly enough when I’m training this hard. I met him on the Burke Gilman Trail and headed south to Downtown Seattle where Brian works. Then I rode home. It was a casual and chatty ride, and I was amazed that the drivers near downtown Seattle seem to be a lot nicer than the drivers in the rural areas where I normally ride. Yes, there’s way more traffic, stop lights, and opportunities for being “doored” by a parked car. But the people on the road seemed to be aware of how much space to give a cyclist, and I was never told to “get off the road”, “ride on the sidewalk”, or (my favorite) “get a car”. All this was surprising to me because I’m not normally commuting by bike during rush hour – I just assumed traffic would be a dangerous nightmare. Then I dropped off my friend and headed back to North Seattle. Suddenly it became obvious why downtown drivers are better at dealing with cyclists on the road than rural drivers: there were hundreds of bikes headed toward downtown! When you’re riding in the same direction as the other cyclists you don’t really notice how many there are, but once I was riding the reverse commute I could see everyone descending on downtown. There were all kinds of bikes, all sizes of people, plenty of yellow rain jackets… I saw hundreds of cyclists riding in the opposite direction, within four miles of downtown. It was great to see that kind of dedication to health, and the environment. It was cold and dark, but Seattle’s cyclists are committed.

I was riding with my Garmin Edge 705 and my Quarq Cinqo Powermeter. It was impossible to ride steadily in traffic and I logged 15 minutes of pause time in a 2 hour ride, which is really high for a focused training session. I wouldn’t recommend trying to do your interval training on the way to work, but it’s certainly a great way to log extra miles and get in recovery rides. If you’re training and have the opportunity to commute, I say join the crowd. The more people that ride, the safer it will be for everyone, and the ride is certainly better training than sitting in your car watching brake lights.

 On January 13th Adam Havrilak, a great friend, passed away in a hospital after suffering serious injuries in a motor scooter accident. He would be 23 next month.

Adam was one of the most inspiring people I have known in my lifetime. From the first time I met him (back in 2006) it was apparent that he was the type to make the most out of every moment of his life. At the time, I had a job that started at 6am, so I would start my running intervals at 4:30am. I sent out an email to the Volcano Triathlon Team asking for people to join me, but not really believing anyone would show up.

Adam was there the very next morning with no sleep in his eyes and no signs of grogginess. He showed up at the base of this massive 18% grade hill near Diamond Head Crater and said, “So how many times we running up it?” We were instantly friends. Hanging out with Adam was like acting with an improv group, you never knew what was coming next, but you could expect it to make you smile. He had an infectious personality that just made everyone around him want to join in on the fun. It could be 10pm trips to a driving range, sneaking into Hanauma Bay to take pictures of ourselves snorkeling, or unplanned social outings to meet David Hasselhoff on Christmas Eve. In the two weeks I stayed with Adam and his father last winter I remember several sudden U-turns in the mini-van so we could follow one of Adam’s whims.

Adam’s biography would be much better written by someone who knew him longer, but from our short time together I knew Adam made the most out of life. He moved to Honolulu right after High School and was charged with the task of figuring out his own life. He worked as a caddie at the Waialae Country Club, sold vacation rentals around Oahu, went to school and managed to spread laughter to everyone that shared in his presence. Last year he started school in China after spending most of 2007 working in Shanghai and learning Chinese. It seemed to me that no matter what happened, I could count on Adam to land on his feet, turn water into wine, make a sow’s ears into a silk purse, find the silver lining, and turn my frown upside down.

[Above: Adam Havrilak, Ben Collins, and Bob Havrilak]

There was not an ounce of shyness in Adam’s blood. He could make a conversation in a room of strangers, or make a silent crowd clutch their stomachs from laughter. There was a twinkle of adventure in his eyes and it made life more fun for everyone around him.

Adam, we will miss you dearly. As our friend, our brother, our son; thank you for the memories.