The Little Pueblo has made it to the Big Top. Participating in our annual bicycle race are such luminaries as Lance, Floyd Landis and Levi Leipheimer. There is even an age 40+ category for men.

Bicycle and running races have done a lot to promote exercise for us old fogies. I've known some folks who have taken athletic competition very seriously into their seventies. What do their progeny and spouses think of it all?

There is something valiant about defying age with physical fitness. Nevertheless one's athletic performance is on the down-slope. It just doesn't seem fair to take something so seriously and then, not to make progress at it. (Grading on the curve doesn't count.) No matter how much fun it is to be iconoclastic about Progress on a societal level, I want to experience Progress on a personal level.

I think we can all agree that experiencing progress in old age--that is, increasing excellence--cannot be expected in the arenas of physical or athletic performance, personal appearance, memory, eyesight and hearing...good heavens, why don't I just stop there! (groan)

So what do we get better at, with age? Whatever it is, the profession of retirement (aka, independence from employment) should be concerned with the pursuit of it.

Self-control is a good candidate, as well as wisdom, historical perspective, and mental independence.

It's strange to think that at various times in human history there have been cultures that put a high value on wisdom and expected more from old folks on that score. In our society the subject seldom comes up. Is that because wisdom is no longer associated with age, or because general wisdom is uninteresting?

A couple days ago I bicycled up to the starting point of the time trials. Arriving just before the first racer took off, I found the anticipation and eagerness of the audience palpable. A hundred gawkers were waiting for Lance Armstrong to step out of his luxury motorhome (a Monaco, snicker). I would not condescend to take part in the Lance-vigil. Besides, I was sticking for Floyd Landis. Armstrong seems to be carving out a niche for himself as senior statesman of American cycling.

Jockeying for position next to the starting point with my bicycle as a shield, I was only one body-length from all these great athletes as they waited their turns out the chute. Soon Landis was standing right next to me. One of the unique charms of bicycle racing is that a spectator can get up close and personal with world-famous athletes.

I almost asked him whether he would return to the Leadville 100 this year. Also I wanted to tease him for shooting pool and drinking beer with the locals the night before the race, like he did two years ago. But a good reporter should not interject himself into the story.

Instead, I just listened to his nonchalant joking with the crowd. He had a likeable sense of humor and perspective. He has the makings of a fine old man, someday.  The rollers he was about to challenge were significant enough to send him back to the starting line at 55 mph. But they are nothing compared to the career roller-coaster he has been on, the last few years.

No one knows better than he that, "the race is not [necessarily] to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all." (Ecclesiastes 9:11)

The public-address speakers blared out music at times. They played the venerable Gipsy Kings, and like Jeff Bridges in "Fearless", I felt an irrepressible smile melt over my face when hearing this music. I dunno, maybe it's just the endorphins tawkin'. At any rate it was the first time in my life I deliberately moved closer to a loudspeaker.