I found out yesterday afternoon that another one of my teammates has died while racing. Pieter Ombregt crashed at Matteson while on a solo breakaway and severed his carotid. All the sadness and . . . bleakness . . . I started feeling when Beth died have rushed back and filled me. Like a kick in the gut.

I didn't know Pieter other than to say hello. I didn't see him often. My first awareness of him was reading a race report about last year's Spring Prairie race --- one of Pieter's first with xXx --- in which he shattered the field with an incredibly strong pull. He was "that guy" --- that guy with the enviable strength and quiet and humble demeanor. Many of us on the team have been surprised to discover that Pieter was an accomplished photographer . . . did he simply not talk about himself much or did he keep the parts of his life separate? Or is it just too easy to take the quiet guy for granted?

So . . . we wear a black wristband with Beth's initials on it . . . do we get another wristband for Pieter? Lately, I've felt a bit uncomfortable with Beth's wristband. Yes, its a tribute, a memorial. And a necessary one. But I also feel like reducing a whole life to a wristband is wrong. I'm not saying that the team has done that, I'm saying that I'VE done that. Maybe I'm not coping very well, but Beth's wristband makes me angry. There was SO MUCH to her . . . and all that's left is a strip of stretchy terrycloth.

Death is so difficult for the living. Aren't we selfish.