Team Ride

So, I get this e-mail from my bike shop.  It says: ''Group rides for all skill levels. Meet new people - get the healthy benefits of bike riding.' I already know enough new people, but the 'healthy benefits of bike riding' sounds good. 

Further research reveals the rides are grouped in four categories:

‘Relaxed’ – 10-12 mph. 

‘Fitness’ – 14-16 mph. 

‘Road’ 18+ mph 

and... ‘Challenge’ 20+ mph. 

Obviously, ‘Relaxed’ is for wimps. I optimistically sign up for ‘Fitness.’ 

I show up on the requisite Tuesday night. About a dozen men and one woman in their thirties and forties mill around outside the bike shop with their uber-expensive bikes. Most are quite lean and trim, and have no need for a ‘fitness’ ride. Three of us, however, carry noticeable pot-bellies and are clearly qualified.

Tip #1 If several of the riders in your group are wearing identical spandex team jerseys and shorts you might question if this is the ride for you.

Tip #2 If the other riders have bikes that cost more than your car, you may be on the wrong ride.

Tip #3 If you have flat handlebars and everyone else has drop-bars, maybe you're a 'relaxed.'

         $8,000 Trek Madone. A clear warning sign.                                                                 Our only rest stop. Not a McDonalds in sight.

So we take off, following a staffer from the bike shop. Bam! 16 mph right out of the gate, but I'm cool. I decide not to mention I ran in a triathlon two weeks ago. I don't want to embarrass anyone. We ride on the road, ignoring perfectly good bike trails off to the side. At about two miles, Potbelly #2 and Potbelly #3 are lagging pretty badly. The staff leader says to a couple of the racing-team guys. "You know the way, I'm going back to check on these guys." Until this point we had been riding a pretty steady 16 mph. Now, with a license to kill, the new leaders suddenly kicked it up to nearly twenty miles per hour. What's worse, they had the audacity to keep chatting between themselves. At about five miles, through increasingly blurry vision, I saw a McDonald's ahead. "Great." I thought. "They're going to stop there and wait for the leader and PB 2 and 3 to catch up." I stopped thinking bad things about them and started imaging what I would order.     

20+ mph - Drafting the big guys. The leading edge of our peloton. This was where I wanted to be.

I don’t think I have ever passed a McDonalds at 20 mph on a bike before. It feels kinda good. You hope maybe some fat person inside is watching. But as you pass and get that great French-fry smell, and realize that you are not stopping - depression sets in.

I’m still hanging with the big guys, but oxygen deprivation is taking it’s toll. I seriously think of dropping out. My mind deliriously thinks of plausible excuses. As we head out through Medina I imagine shouting out, "Hey guys, I'm pretty close to my house. I think my family is planning my sixty-sixth and a half birthday party and I need to be there." This seemed pretty clever to me at the time. This way, I let them know how old I am and that my family loves me.  Unfortunately, I realize, I can't speak. 

Then, suddenly... miraculously... at about twelve miles... we stop.

There is no food or water around. I am so exhausted that when one of the riders asks me a simple question, I realize I can only come up with a one-word answer. I think it was "yup." This feels like 19,000 feet on Kilimanjaro all over again. Total exhaustion - and no air to breathe. Mercifully, my heart returns to it's normal rhythm.

Finally, our leader rolls up with PB 2 trailing a couple blocks behind. Apparently, PB 3 has died. No one says anything. The moment PB 2 rolls up, we take off again. Soon, we are out on roads that I never knew existed. I'm still riding 20 and the leaders slip further and further ahead. Farms and forests roll past and I give up on holding with the big guys. I slip back. I don't care anymore. They probably won't come to my funeral anyway. I drop all the way to the back. Only PB 2 is behind me. I decide to skip saying anything about triathlons. Ever.

Peloton B. I guess it's where I belong

We ride through old downtown Hamel. A group standing outside a bar jeers at us as we roll by. Slowly, the evening starts to cool. The sun hits the horizon. The slight chill invigorates me. I pass a couple riders at around the seventeen mile mark. I’m riding hard. I start passing everyone in the second group. Then, I’m alone between the groups. I’m in top gear and riding like the wind. By about twenty miles I see the leaders. By twenty two miles I’m back at the tail of the lead peloton. I can’t believe it. Is this me?  We roll into the parking lot back at the bike shop at about twenty four miles. I look down at my cyclometer. My average speed has been over sixteen mph for the trip. This is a new record for me. The matching jersey guys come over and give me knuckle bumps. "Great ride" they say. "Yup" I say, unable to assemble a complete sentence. I may not be able to speak, but I know how I feel, and it feels good.