Litter bug

I have a confession to
make.  It is something for which I feel
deep shame and embarrassment.  So please
bear with me while I get this off my chest:

Despite my environmental
ethic, and everything I learned in elementary school and as a Boy Scout, I’ve lately developed a
habit of littering.

This reprehensible behavior
first manifest itself two weeks ago in the first round of the Mountain States
Cup in Fruita, Colorado. 
57 pros lined up for a 31-mile loop through the desert, all vying for a
modest cash payout (that only paid three places deep) and a truckload of
external validation, which most of us were competing for.  In preparation for such a long race, I put two
bottles filled with CarboRocket on my bike and hoped it was enough. 

The start of the race went
exactly like one would expect when 57 cyclists race down a sandy wash.  I saw two crashes and was in front of another
that took out several riders.  About 15
minutes into the chaos I looked down and saw that both of my water bottles were
gone.  The responsible thing would have
been to go back and find them, but instead I bummed a drink from Charlie Gibson
and kept going.

I was fortunate the
neutral water stations hadn’t run out when I got to them, thus preventing a colossal
meltdown in the desert, but I might have learned my lesson about littering if
they had been out.  Instead I continued my irresponsible
ways last weekend at the third Intermountain Cup race at Five Mile Pass.  Even though I got some new water bottle cages
that held my bottles snugly I still found a way to spread my trash around the
trail.  

At 44 miles, Five Mile
Pass is another long race,
so I figured I’d need some food along the way. 
I put two packs of Clif Shot Bloks into my jersey pocket.  This race started more humanely, i.e. less
chaos, than in Fruita, and I finished the first lap with the main group.   At the start of the second lap I enjoyed one
of my Shot Bloks, but while putting the pack back in my pocket the vest I was
wearing over my jersey got in the way. 
After a bit of fumbling which led me to believe it was in my pocket I
felt it bounce off my foot and onto the trail, which told me it wasn’t.  No worries, I thought, that’s why I packed
two.

The next time I snacked on
a Shot Blok I took extra care not to do it again because I didn’t want to run
out of food less than half way into the race and because deep down I know that littering is wrong. 
So you can imagine my surprise when on lap three I reached back for
another snack and felt an empty pocket.  I had done it again.  Lack of control is a classic sign of compulsive behavior. 

I saw both of my packs on
the trail during my third and fourth laps, and I am ashamed to admit that I
never stopped to pick them up.   For all
I know, they’re probably still out there, feeding the ants and lizards.  What has come over me?

There, now I've said it.  I hope this first step puts me on the path toward ending this vile behavior forever.  I feel so dirty. 

Race results are here and
here.