Boundary Lines

I rolled up to our meeting spot, clicked my cleats out of my pedals and placed both feet on the surface of the bridge. Jim and King of The Mountain offered greetings. I reached into the back pockets of my jacket and pulled out a second pair of gloves. After taking off my half finger wool gloves with the mitten covers, I put these full-fingered gloves on and then my glove/mittens over the top of my previously pocketed gloves. Joseph commented on the cold and I asked him about his new bike. “The jury’s still out,” he said, adding that he made some adjustments and was looking forward to testing it today. The three of us chatted while we waited for the others. Soon, Rod, Stoney and Miz arrived- Rod and Stoney from one direction and Miz from the other.

“Is this everyone?” someone asked.

“I think so,” Rod replied, “I don’t think we’re expecting anyone else.”

“No Fro?” I inquired.

“No, he wasn’t able to make it today.”

Rod announced the plan, to ride 2-3 hours and everyone was agreeable. Jim said something about keeping a moderate pace which I was happy to hear. It didn’t occur to me that I had been anticipating a shorter ride, I was just happy to be out for a ride. Rod suggested the Showcase Loop and we set off.

Through the winding roads we eventually hit the highway overpass and turned right at the bottom. Miz and Jim were at the front and after we rolled through the stop sign, they pulled off and drifted to the back of the pack, leaving Joseph and I in the front. We continued on, the six of us, conversations buzzing, sometimes involving only the guy next to you and other times including the whole pack. We climbed a small hill and near the top Rod called out, “Hey, hey! Brian takes the town line sprint.”

It was mostly a joke. Rod may have been the only one who even realized or cared that the town line had been approaching. I suspected he was pointing it out to encourage me more than anything. We all know that, had there been a sprint, I wouldn’t have won it, especially on a climb. Yet here I was at the front of the pack taking a regular, solid pull.

We rode on, the roads twisting and turning. The guys who knew the loop would call out the turns to the guys in front. Eventually, while riding next to Jim, I turned to him and asked, “Is this the climb?” Jim said it wasn’t, but it was coming up. I always wonder what real cyclists think of this particular hill. Do they consider it a real climb? It always seems like it’s easy for everyone else while it’s a struggle for me.

As we approached the climb Jim said to me, “Just relax, don’t kill yourself.” I realized Jim often says this to me when we begin aclimb and I chuckled to myself. I also realized that Jim and I were at the front of the group. I was determined to keep pace with Jim so as to not disrupt the flow of our little pack. Besides, Jim didn’t seem intent on flying up the hill, so it seemed like a reasonable goal. Somewhere along the way with Jim a bike length ahead of me, I noticed Rod beside me. “Try to keep a steady cadence on this next section, just like Jim is.” His words barely registered but I kept pedaling. Eventually I heard Rod say, “Nice job, Brian. Good climbing.”

I looked up and realized we were at the church at the top of the climb. Rod and Jim turned into the U shaped parking lot. In my haze it took a moment to register... “Usually they pull in here to wait for me, but I’m here…why are they stopping?” I looked over my shoulder and realized that the other three were still climbing.

I followed them into the parking lot and followed its “U” to the end. I stopped near the street, reached for a bottle and took a long drink. I slumped over my handlebars, breathing heavily. Joseph rolled over to me saying with a smile, “Ah! The things we willingly do to ourselves!”  Soon, Miz and Stoney rolled in and we continued on. Miz, now next to me picked up a conversation from our last ride. I told him all we needed was the punch line because we had the front-end of a joke on that ride: A pastor, a Unitartian Universalist, and a nominal Jew went for a bike ride…

The next hour passed uneventfully. We rode smoothly, pushing the pace at times. At one point Jim stopped to peel off a layer. I was wishing I had brought a banana and gladly accepted when Rod offered me a handful of some trail mix. We continued on. I rode with confidence and, most of the time, with ease. The miles passed and I felt great. One of the guys was struggling and we’d have to back off now and then to allow him to catch up. I had never been on the “back off” side of the equation, at least not in this group.

Around mile 48 I began to feel some fatigue. We were almost back where we started.  I told the guys I was going to take the direct route home rather than ride to the next town over. This decision shaved 5-6 miles off my ride. Stoney and I made quick plans for a Monday ride and I said goodbye to the group. The last few miles home were a bit slower than the previous 50 or so. I pulled into my driveway, my odometer reading 55, 16.8 avg. I sang in my head (with apologies to Sammy Hagar, of course) “I can ride 55.”

It was the longest ride I’d been on in 4 years. 

Riding With Friends

The flag on the pole was pointing straight at me, confirming what my legs had known for some time: I was riding straight into a headwind.

My mind drifted to the last windy ride I’d experienced just one week prior. That day came one day removed from a long weekend ride. My legs were heavy and thus I was thankful to be able to hide from the wind on “Diesel” Dave’s wheel. Diesel’s tall frame proved to be a great shield. Today, there was nowhere to hide, no shield, so I suffered alone. [1]

The road curved and came to what could almost be called a fork. I leaned to my right, guiding my wheel onto a street whose name I didn't know. I was familiar with the street only through following the guy in front of me on group rides. As the road arced upward, I recalled rides gone by on this mystery street. Images flashed through my mind.  One vivid memory was of slowing for Stoney just a week or two prior. When he caught up I offered, more than I asked, “Tough day, today?” He grunted in agreement. “Hang in there, bud.”  I recalled how odd it felt to have our normal roles reversed. That was weeks ago, but today I was alone and halfway up the hill. I rose out of my saddle to finish the climb. Mystery street rolled on as I turned right. The wind remained as did the absence of any wheel to grab.

She sat across from me, wiping her hair away from her face, her eyes brimming with tears. “I want to tell you something that I hope you don’t find cheesy.”

A privilege of my calling is to listen, pray and to be with people as we navigate this life of faith. My friend had been through a time of suffering. Like those hills that flatten out and lull you into a false sense of security before rising up again, she’d encountered what she thought was the end of the climb more than once, only to discover another section to climb. Some hills are higher than others, after all, and some days the legs just don’t bounce back the way you expect. Still, she’s turning the pedals.

She described a recent time of prayer. “I didn't feel like He offered any reason why, but I felt like Jesus was saying, ‘This is the road we’re taking,’” she motioned with her hand as she spoke, indicating the direction Jesus had pointed. In my mind I pictured mysterious uphill street. “It’s strange, I suppose, but it was comforting to think that Jesus is with me on this road.”

I didn't find it cheesy at all.

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[1] (I hope my dear readers will forgive my use of the word “suffering.” In the grand scheme of things, it is wholly inappropriate to call what we do on a bike suffering- sort of like describing a football game as “war.” Yet, I hope you’ll allow this license on my part because, aside from the fact that I can’t think of a better word for it, the small suffering voluntarily endured on a bicycle can, I think, inform real suffering in other contexts.)

Writing Uphill

I was out with Diesel on a windy but not too cold afternoon. (I decided to dub him "Diesel" mid-ride and told him as much. "I'll take it!" was his response. Why "Diesel"? Dude just goes.) He asked me about the blog. I confessed that I wasn't sure what I was doing with the blog or where it would go but that I was enjoying it so far.

I work on my posts when I can- I'll steal some time at night or on a day off. I'll read what I've written, fix a word here and there, add to it, cut and paste, revise etc. At some point I convince myself that I have to hit the "publish" button and be done with it or else I'd edit and revise endlessly.

I've got two long-ish posts that I'm working on. One just isn't coming together even though I've been working on it for a couple weeks now. It's as if I'm writing uphill and hitting the wall- a writer's bonk, I guess. Someone said the blog would be like riding "It'll be easy some days, hard others, sometimes too hard but hang anyway. The rewards come." I think they're right. We'll see.

Mt. Hope

I wasn't quite at the top of the hill when a car full of teenagers drove past me. And then there was another. And one more. “Of course,” I thought, “Mt. Hope's letting out.” I considered turning around since I was heading toward the school and certain to encounter more traffic than usual.  I dismissed the thought and kept riding. It seemed easier to maintain my direction, so I continued up the hill.

As I rounded the corner I saw groups of kids walking in bunches toward me. A group of boys, including one on a skateboard, approached. One of the boys called to me, “Hi, biker guy!” I smiled and offered a nod in his direction. I wondered if my old-school-Denver-Broncos’-orange-and-blue ugly, yet beautiful jacket was attracting undo attention.  Old guys in lycra are easy targets for teenage derision, never mind the colorful jacket. When the next group-  a mix of guys and girls- failed to even notice me as I rode past, I dropped my concern. Besides, having worked with teens for so long, any ridicule I might have been subject to would be received with amusement.

Teenagers are a funny bunch; awkward, funny, passionate, searching and surprisingly vulnerable behind the façade of cool. The teens I rode past fit the bill.  Some loud and boisterous, others staring at the ground or the screen of their phone. I scanned the road in front of me, looking a hundred or so feet up ahead and that’s when I first noticed her. It was her outfit that caught my attention; fading jeans and white tank top, tight and small with a low neck-line. Over her shoulder was a boy’s winter coat covered arm, slung carelessly yet somehow purposefully over her. She leaned against him as they walked, bracing herself against the wind on this 40 degree day.

“She must be freezing.” The thought entered my mind at approximately the same time I was close enough to see their faces. He, unsmiling, she smiling and bounding with a nervous energy, attempting to appear both aloof the obvious cold while trying to keep warm next to him. I guessed she was 14 years old. She seemed to enjoy the attention, but I thought I caught a trace of sadness in her eyes as I rolled past.

A silent sadness enveloped me as I prayed for her and rode on. I hope tomorrow will be a better day for her.

New England

It's strange what a few rides in the high 20's or low 30's will do to you. For instance, you might find yourself excited about the prospect of a 40 degree ride. Balmy! Come's with the territory, I guess.

Bike Haiku

My friend George pointed out that a recent Facebook status read almost like a haiku. Thus, I've attemtped to turn it into a real one: 

Riding with new friends

Suffered most of the thirty

Saw some turkeys too

Life Dope

I was supposed to ride with Joseph Saturday, but it didn’t happen. Joseph, if you read my previous post, is better known to you as the King of the Mountain on the Pinarello. An email had gone out earlier in the week with a list of rides that different guys were planning on and an invitation to join in. In between preparing for hurricane Sandy and then the aftermath, it would have been a week to the day since I last got a ride in. I was itching to get out. (We were fortunate in this area as the Hurricane was a non-factor. Others weren’t as fortunate as you undoubtedly know.)

I have three wonderful daughters, all of whom had various degrees of colds and I did not escape unscathed. It left me feeling pretty blah and so I backed out of the ride. There’s always a tension when deciding to skip the ride due to illness or time. Sometimes the best decision is to just ride, even if only for a few miles. The time you “lose” on the bike is more than made up for with the energy and clarity gained post ride.

Some weeks ago, when the Lance Armstrong news was hitting, Carl had stopped by office in the afternoon. That morning I had been on a great ride- a fun, sometimes brutal and yet beautiful ride. Carl, who purchased my Trek from me after I bought my new bike, had recently taken up cycling. We chatted a bit and I said, “You know, I don’t know about bike doping, but cycling is life dope.” The comment reflected how I was feeling that afternoon: energetic, focused and productive. Carl agreed, acknowledging the positive effects of a bike ride.

You often hear of the “runner’s high” but I’ve experienced it on the bike as well. While I don’t experience the “high” on the bike on every ride, the post ride effects are remarkably consistent: better mood and focus, increased energy and overall sense of well-being. There’s science to back this up and you can read about it here.

All that to say, I’m feeling a little tired and somewhat blah this morning, so I’m hoping to do some life dope this afternoon.

A Blast From the Past

I wrote this post back in 2007 and published it in a now defunct blog. I found it while looking for the information from Bill Strickland's book for a post I'm working on. Instead, I decided to re-publish this old post. I wouldn't be surprised if, in an upcoming post, I flesh out the story of how I got into cycling more than I do here, but I enjoyed this blast from the past. I hope you do as well. From 2007:

Well, I discovered that there may be as many as 5 people who read this blog and so I'm feeling a little guilty for not posting my long promised blog about my recent foray into the masochistic world of cycling. Sorry 'bout that...'course if you've been reading for awhile, you knew it would take some time. Without further ado...

My friend Tim is a crazy good cyclist. He's a category 3 racer, which, as far as I can tell, means he's semi-professional. In order to get to the level he's at, Tim does a variety of stupid things. For instance, he'll ride up a hill (that looks more like the side of a mountain) turn around at the top, ride down, and turn around again and ride up. He'll repeat this 10 times or so. He rides in the winter. He rides 4-6 days a week. He'll do 20 mile "recovery rides." Stupid. (Though, I must say, it was pretty cool to see him lose 100+ pounds and transform his whole lifestyle in the process of getting to where he's at now.) Well, one day Tim said, "Come for a ride with me," and my life has been very different since.

There was a time in my life (prior to children, though that seems like a weak excuse) where I was in really good shape. I was working out at least 4 days a week and had about 9% body fat. Those days passed, and while I still play street hockey and softball regularly and never let my weight get too out of control, I wasn't exactly what you'd call "in shape." When I went for my first ride with Tim, it was a bit of struggle to do the 15 or 20 miles at a 14-17 mph pace. Since that day in August, I've lost about 10 pounds (and wouldn't mind dropping another 10) and Saturday got in 40 mile ride in pretty tough conditions. I definitely struggled at times to keep up with the superior cyclists I was riding with, but I was with them at the end of the day. In other words, I've come a long way since that first ride.

Between that first ride and today, I've grown to love cycling. Even the parts I hated at first (like climbing hills) I've grown to love (if in a sick and twisted sort of way.) I've had dreams about riding and trouble sleeping the night before a big ride mostly due to excitement and anticipation. I now do some of those stupid things Tim does (though I've a LONG way to go before I reach his level.)

In his book 10 Points, Bill Strickland recounts his harrowing upbringing, his quest to achieve 10 points in a local weekly bike race and the healing that took place in the process. In the book Bill references a study that indicated that cycling produces the same brain waves that prayer and meditation produce. There is something to be said for being on a bike by yourself early in the morning. In my quest to be a fully integrated being, cycling has definitely helped. It clears the mind, adds discipline to my eating and sleeping habits, and energizes me. I've met and am becoming friends with people that I likely wouldn't have met or befriended otherwise. Cycling is a physical endeavor, but it is more than that too. And I love it.