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| The photo I ran 20 years ago. Guess which one I am? |
By John Rezell
Saturday mornings. Nothing else like 'em.
My love affair with Saturday mornings started during childhood. It was the time that my little brother and I got to drink coffee. Lord knows what my parents were thinking. Sleeping late certainly wasn't on their minds.
There we were, each Saturday morning, barely double-digit age, if that. Drinking sugar-coffee-and-milk and watching "The Bugs Bunny and Roadrunner Hour."
Needless to say we didn't just sit and watch cartoons. Oh, we started just sitting, but soon we'd be bouncing off the walls. Sugar-Coffee-AND-Milk! Breakfast of champions.
The early pick-me-up was followed with the nearly religious trip to the Bakery. Bright and early, Dad would round us up and head to the Bakery. He'd drop the paycheck there.
"A dozen long johns, a dozen crullers, a dozen French doughnuts, two dozen kaiser rolls, that cheesecake over there, a couple Elephant ears, ooooh, that apple strudel looks good, and how about streusel cake ..."
We'd leave with a couple of bags in each hand. Hit the car and bags were open. By the time we got home, well, time for more SUGAR-COFFEE-AND-MILK!
Mom cooked brats for lunch. Life in Milwaukee. It's the best.
Graduation
Things changed in college. Saturday mornings were either for extreme recovery or, in the case of football Saturdays, a little of the hair-that-bit-ya. No matter what the course of action, it all started with, you guessed it, SugarCoffeeAndMilk.
Once real life took hold, Saturday mornings evolved. As a sports writer, Friday evenings mean high school football or basketball, depending on the season. Saturday morning was in the office, rounding it all up. In the quiet newspaper offices that buzzed like a hornet's nest all week long, Saturday morning was special. Time to write. Time to relax. Time for SugarCoffeeAndMilk.
Now I have kids. Two little gals. Saturday mornings are our time.
They give morning kisses that are sweet as sugar.
They sniff — NOT SIP — Daddy's coffee.
They drink milk, and we have a blast.
What's all this have to do with anything? Well, Saturday mornings will be quiet time for bike.com. Family time. And time for Raz. This is the debut of my weekly column. Check it out, Saturday mornings. Maybe over some coffee.
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| Jack and Raz still hitting trails after 50 years. |
All in a name
Most of the people I know call me Raz. It's a nickname from childhood that sticks, mainly because everywhere I go there are always a couple of extra Johns around making life confusing.
A lot of nicknames have cool stories behind them. The story behind Raz is more embarrassing than anything. It all started with hero worship of runner Steve "Pre" Prefontaine.
He stood for everything I wanted to be. I wanted a nickname. My buddy Jack and I spent a whole summer working on it, bouncing on our trampoline.
We tried a number of different options. With school around the corner, it came down to two finalists: Raz and Re.
I like to think that was my first brilliant editing choice. It would suck to have the nickname Re.
The long road
One more tidbit about background, and that's it. Next week we get into serious storytime.
How'd I get here, the ultimate cycling stop in the dot-com world?
It all started with newspapers and sports writing. First in the Midwest, then California. Did an eight-year stint with The Orange County Register. I covered all levels of sports, but watched a lot of young uns.
Orange County ain't a bad place to cover young athletes. I saw Tiger Woods swinging the clubs at 12, soccer star Juli Foudy at 13, Rob Johnson slinging the football and Miles Simon banging the hardwoods in their high school years.
I got to meet and got to know Hank Gathers. Saw Tommy Hearns box at the Forum. Interviewed the San Diego Chicken. And surfer Dino Andino. Watched Ty Detmer go crazy in the Holiday Bowl.
Basically, though, I had the best beat on the staff. I'd cover beach volleyball, surfing, triathlons and cycling. Great stuff.
I started a weekly cycling column at the OCR and went from there to freelance for three years covering cycling. It was a lot of time on the road, scrapping to get by, but some of the best memories I have of working days.
Then I took the gig at VeloNews for three years, did the Colorado scene, and now I'm here.
My title is Director of the Sandbox. This is where we have fun, enjoy cycling and want to get you on your bike. Let me know what you think about anything, at anytime.
See ya Saturday morning.
RAZ'S PS: The column has morphed over the years. My ONWard columns like this one on OutdoorsNW.com were the latest incarnation, aside from what I've written on my own blogs. Those little gals I wrote about 20 years ago have flew the coop. But Saturday Mornings remain a special time I share with others.
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