It’s Monday morning in Boulder. I’m procrastinating packing my bike box, and Rob Lydic has just stepped out of the door to go to work. It’s a beautiful day in Colorado - blue skies, crisp yet warm air, the kind that makes you want to ride all day.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table, sipping my coffee with a little pit in my stomach. The next adventure very much awaits, but in this weird bike racing privateer thing that I call daily life, I can’t help but think I’m always leaving something behind.
This past week has been a mid-season break. There has been riding, for sure, but it has been riding without a power meter or purpose. I've been hiking with friends, checking out cafes, restaurants, and bars that I’ve always wanted to visit when I come through Boulder in training mode. It’s been a mini-holiday before the second half of my season gets going.
I spend months at a time away from my official home in Europe, and I’ve grown resilient to that. And, while there are multiple times each day I find myself wishing Maggie were here experiencing this life alongside me, I don’t get homesick for being in Girona, or Andorra, as much. People, not places, and all that jam.
I’ve built a life that moves. Race to race. City to city. Time zones shift like weather, and I’ve gotten good at pretending that feels normal. Most days, I’m proud of it.
Every time I leave a place I love, it hurts a touch. It’s not dramatic. Just a quiet weight that settles in my chest. A small ache when I close the garage door in a house that has become a home. The dull pain of knowing I won’t see that Gold Hill Cookie, ride that trail, or give Cooper scratchies for who knows how long.
I know I’m not the only one who feels it. This sport is full of familiar faces that cross paths once or twice a season. I’ve written about Ruben, my close friend, in the Pas Normal Studios van. Our paths will cross somewhere doing something for a few days, then it’s a big bear hug goodbye. “See you somewhere at some time doing something.” - I’ll say with a smile.
Last night I headed over to Golden, a town 45 minutes or so drive from Boulder. It’s where my friend, Gabe Multer lives. I first met Gabe a handful of years ago in Girona, and alongside his fiancée, Liani, we shared a beer on the porch that they’ve just had built at what they call ‘Carbs Fuel Global HQ’ - their house - and they took me into town to explore.
Golden is this cute blend of mountain town meets tourist town, with the ever-visible Coors Beer Factory that towers over the top. They showed me one of their favourite spots, we caught up on life. I share with them my plans for 2026, what I want to race, what I want to win and how I want to do it. They share their honeymoon plans, and we endlessly discuss what’s next for Carbs Fuel.
I say, half jokingly, that there’s a small chance 2026 could be my last ‘all in’ season. Laini retorts about corporate life and how the grass is not greener on the other side. I smile. I’m living the dream, and I know it. It’s just sometimes the dream feels like the greatest thing in the world. Other times, it feels like I’m that guy on an extended summer job, watching everyone else grow up while I chase mountains and start lines. It’ll work out, it always does.
I suppose it’s a degree of FOMO - fear of missing out. Having built a life that touches so many different places, people, and races, it can feel like I’m always missing something. My calendar is so diverse, and crosses so many different disciplines and cities that it’s hard not to look on Instagram, or see a race I’ve attended in the past and not feel like I’m missing something.
I could be sitting in Andorra training and see the Good Guys Team racing in New York City at a race I could have done. The same weekend, Ruben Apers, my old teammate, is visiting Vancouver and hosting a group ride around Stanley Park. It’s hard to describe, and I’ve gotten much better at living in the moment, but that doesn’t stop that weird little feeling.
Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to stop. Not to quit racing, but to have a main base when I’m away. To live in a place long enough that a place becomes home. I have that in Girona, I get glimpses of it in places like Boulder or Vancouver, where the routine starts to settle in just before I uproot it again.
There’s a strange kind of limbo to it all. I’m not part of the “real world”. The world with salaries, weekend routine, and office hours, but I’m not quite a tourist either. I live everywhere and nowhere all at once. Deep.
But, we all know that I wouldn’t have it any other way.
From Boulder, Colorado, to Salt Lake City. SLC will be my home for the next four weeks, and then we’ll be finishing this block off in Vancouver. I know I’ll get the same feeling when I leave SLC, and without doubt, Vancouver.
Thanks for sticking with me as this Substack goes all over the place. You never know if it’ll be a race report, business plan, or a diary style entry hitting your inbox.
Right, I suppose I should go pack that bike. My cab arrives in three hours…
While you’re here…
I’ve added a paid subscription and a ‘Buy Me A Coffee’ link to this post. As the year progresses, I’m planning on building this blog and putting out articles which I’ve always wanted to write but, for whatever reason, haven’t wanted to pitch. Your contributions allow me to do that.
https://www.buymeacoffee.com/joelaverick
The following brands are racing partners of mine which allow me to do cool stuff.