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.