My First Bike Rally
This past Saturday, in Bonham, Texas, I did my 341st bike rally. Two days from now, in Waco, I do my 342d. I did my first bike rally 15 years ago today, in Seagoville. It seems like yesterday. Here is my journal entry for that auspicious day:
9-30-89 Saturday. My metroplex map must be wrong. Based on the scale of miles that appears on the map, Seagoville, a suburb to the southeast of Dallas, is sixty-one miles from my apartment. But my car's odometer indicates that it's only 39.3 miles away. Because of the error, I arrived early in Seagoville for the Farm-to-Market Tour. That gave me time to relax, register, and eat the cookies and banana that I brought. I even had the woman in the car next to mine take a picture of my bike and me. At one time I resented the idea of paying to ride, but after today's tour I understand and accept it. What fun! Not only that, but the tour organizers distributed tee shirts, water bottles, balloons, and assorted other souvenirs to the participants. During and after the ride, there were refreshment stands where riders could get Gatorade, water, bananas, and cookies. I rode the entire 70.98 miles without stopping, but I did accept a banana from one of the tour volunteers early on. Several people stood by the road as the bicyclists went by, handing them bananas and cups of liquid (Gatorade, I suspect). At one point in the ride, I saw a sign that said "Kaufman 6", which means I was within six miles of the town where Ed and Judy Rowbotham live. For all I know, I passed their house! But I couldn't and wouldn't have stopped even if I had seen their house, because I was gunning for a high average speed.
What an average speed I had! The tour began with a cannon shot. I was careful to avoid other riders during the first few yards, because I've heard horror stories about accidents and pileups during these moments. By the time I got free of the congestion I realized that a pack of bicyclists was way out in front. Determined to stay with them as long as I could, I pedaled furiously on rough roads to catch up. At about the six-mile mark I was swallowed up by a large chase group, and together we caught the lead pack. We must have been going twenty-five miles per hour as we approached the starting area. Knowing that I had a long way to go, and doubting that I could maintain such a high rate of speed for long, I decided to dart into the lead. I went ahead of the pack at the 8.66-mile mark and held it for nearly a mile. When we whizzed past the spectators and riders of shorter distances, I was several yards in front of the pack, which contained three to four hundred riders. Talk about adrenalin! I was as high as a kite. To the spectators, I must have appeared as a red blur. Not only is my bike a bright red, but so is my helmet. My black riding shorts have red patches on the sides. I noticed people taking pictures as we whizzed by.
Having had my moment in the sun, I settled back to conserve energy. After all, it wasn't a ten-mile race; it was a sixty-two-mile tour. The other riders gradually swallowed me up, and before I knew it they were flowing over the hills and valleys of the Seagoville countryside like a shadow. I couldn't keep up. I rode 20.87 miles during the first hour, which is nothing to sneeze at. From there I set my mind to staying on the bike for the entire tour and averaging over eighteen miles per hour. This is my first tour, I had to remember, and hence a learning experience. For the next two and a half hours I zipped through hill and dale, sometimes alone, sometimes in the company of other riders. I got valuable drafting experience and even found two UTA students among the crowd of riders. The three of us had been riding in a pace line for several miles when one of them asked me if I were a professor at UTA. "Yes!", I said; "How did you know?" He told me that he and his friend (both named Alan) attend UTA and had gone to an early bike club meeting. What a coincidence! We rode together for many more miles before one of them tired and the other slowed down. I went ahead. The final ten miles were uncomfortable, not only because I ran out of water but because the wind was in my face and my back hurt. I can see that I need a triathlete bar. Without it, I have only two riding positions. Also, I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere along the route, because I ended up with 70.98 miles rather than the expected 62.14 (it was a 100-kilometer course). I don't mind the extra miles; I just wish I knew about them so I could have planned for them.
My average speed for the day was a phenomenal (for me) 18.65 miles per hour. I have no idea how fast the lead pack went after they left my field of vision. But it's too early to compare myself to them; I'm just a beginner as far as racing is concerned. In retrospect, I didn't spend enough time drafting. When I did form part of a pace line, I noticed that the pedaling was much easier, especially going into the wind or uphill. Of course, I expect to carry my share of the load; I'm no parasite. But I found myself riding alone for too many miles, and that wore me out. Statistically, this was my best average speed for 70.98 miles or more. My previous best was 16.28 miles per hour for an eighty-mile ride on 3 April 1988. I rode 1404.6 miles in July, August, and September, a period of ninety-two days. That's an average of 15.26 miles per day and 106.8 per week. All in all, I had a fun, successful tour this morning. I enjoyed the ride home, thanked my lucky stars for good (albeit windy) weather (it was partly cloudy and eighty-four degrees), and spent the rest of the day enveloped by a glow of accomplishment. I can't wait until next Saturday, when I ride a hundred miles in Waco.
In baseball news, Toronto defeated Baltimore for the second straight day to clinch the American League Eastern Division title. I dislike the Blue Jays, but I rooted for them to defeat the upstart Orioles, whom I despise. Now I want Oakland to crush the arrogant Blue Jays. There was also an individual accomplishment this evening, the next-to-last day of the regular season. Texas Ranger pitcher Nolan Ryan, the ageless wonder, struck out thirteen batters to reach the 300 mark for the season, the sixth time in his career he's done it. What a feat! This was his last appearance of the season and he needed an even dozen to reach the coveted figure. He bore down and struck out thirteen.
It seems like yesterday.