Love and Suffering...

The Rapha NorthEast Gentlemen’s Race. 5.4.13.

There is the bigger story, the idea, of RGR. And how the Rapha Continental changed things, at least for me, in 2007. Days like RGR give us something that has largely been taken away. Adventure. Challenge. Strength. There is a certain sense of risk.  Nothing critical. Our lives are not at stake (though there is a sense these days, as more of us take to the roads on two wheels, that we are moving targets…but that’s another story for another day). But we risk failure. Failing to meet whatever expectations we have set, for ourselves and our team. And the consequences of failure. There is a bond between those of us who take part, an understanding. What it’s like to ride 8 hours. What it’s like to rely on someone else to get you through a moment of doubt, or to be charged with keeping a group together. We are responsible for ourselves. And each other.

There is the belief that a long ride is so much more than simply time in the saddle. There is the shared excitement, or dread (or both) of a “Pavement Ends” sign. There is respect and admiration in the knowledge that we do this because we love to do it. First or last across the line, we are proud to be a part of it all.

And then there is the ride itself.

130 miles. Nearly 10,000’ of climbing. Dirt. Gravel. Rocks. Water.

Quite a day, for sure. For many of us, it was our biggest day ever on a bike. Not just in terms of miles. Or climbing. It’s nearly impossible to put it all into words, and even more difficult to do it with the sense of eloquence and respect the day deserves.

How do you describe what it’s like to ride on roads like Cuttalossa? If I tell you to imagine riding your bike through the Shire, looking for Frodo Baggins, would you understand? Or what it’s like to find a giant windmill in Holland, New Jersey? (The “I can’t believe this is New Jersey” theme is one I would hear quite often throughout the day. It’s no surprise to me. I grew up out here. I know how good it is. And I have NO IDEA what exit you need to take to get here.) Or how good the Coca Cola and Munchkins tasted at the Strava van on the top of Adamic Hill Road? How about trying to figure out what a Chicken Dog is? Or the white pickup/weed whacker “incident” while we were trying to escape from Pennsylvania? Or what it’s like to be thirsty enough that you’re willing to pay a man to stop washing his car so you can use his garden hose to fill your bottles?

I keep thinking back to the essay I wrote to gain entry into the RGR. I think about the bike, and being alone, and how the company we keep can make all of the difference in our lives.

“I think we’re always alone, in some sense, when we’re on the bike”…

When you roll out as a group of 6, and there are 25 other groups rolling away with the same intent, it’s hard to imagine you’ll ever be alone. But you will be. At some point, it’s inevitable. Something will creep into your head. Or your heart.  Or your legs. And you’ll be forced to focus on it. And you will be alone.

Nearly 10,000’ of climbing…

Some moments are obvious. When you’re off the back on Uhlerstown. The switchback on Lodi Hill. The second wall on Adamic. When you hit something that steep. And loose. Legs talk on climbs like that. They stop turning circles. They grind. Each leg suffers through the pedal stroke for that brief respite at the bottom. They hurt so much they groan. They say “enough”…and they make some of us walk to the top.

130 miles…

Some moments are more subtle. The shake of the legs after 105 miles…or even worse, the dread when you feel the need to shake them out after you’re only 60 miles in. When the sun starts to take its toll after 6 hours. You feel your lips drying out. Your salt-laden helmet straps scratch against your sunburned face. Your head doesn’t feel quite the same inside your helmet as it did earlier this morning. Your pulls get shorter because you’re tired. It’s harder to dig in and grab the wheel when you let the others pull through.

“On the other hand, I don’t think we’re ever alone on the bike. There is always the bike. On most days, there is no better companion.”

156 rolled out with 156 stories to tell. There were Cat 1’s and Cat 5’s. Some might not know the difference. Writers, editors and photographers. Shop owners. PhD’s. Kids at home, on the way, or not even on the radar. Each of us as unique as our setup. But we all share one thing. There is ALWAYS THE BIKE. We all understand each other because of the bike. We understand the need to ride when we hurt inside. We know why we celebrate days like this. In a quiet moment, we might admit that we think we’re a little better for it. And we’re all likely to agree that on most days, there is no better companion than the bike.

“The company we keep makes all the difference. Proper companions elevate us…when added together with the bests of the bunch, the whole becomes so much greater than the sum of its parts.”

It’s easy to look back now and feel very good about the decisions we made regarding our team for the day. The “bests of the bunch” came to the fore during the day:

Chris is the kid with a lung capacity only matched by his ability to wear a smile through ANTYHING.  He was tested early, on a missed turn, and an unfortunate miscalculation of the depth of a roadside ditch. Less than 10 miles into the day, watching him eject and launch over the bars, I was certain the day was over before it really even started. 2 hours later, hearing him carry on a casual conversation about frame colors and paint schemes while nearly everyone around us was getting shelled on Lodi, I knew I had no need to worry about him for the rest of the day.

Mike and Dennis are my guys, two of my most faithful clients and friends, who have trusted my advice regarding cycling, and to some extent, living. We’re in the same boat most of the time, the three of us. 40-something dads trying to carve out a path and find some balance. We’ve leaned on each other and the bike in the past few years as we’ve gone through some difficult changes and suffered some terrible losses. Dennis loves the work and is as steady as they come. He NEVER cracks. EVER. And Big Mike is our horse. He will bury himself on the flats and rollers, pull as hard as he can until he pops, and find the energy to keep doing it, over and over. He was sure going into the day that his hell would set in some time around mile 75, but he let us reign him in and we were all better for it.

Sam and Tom are the center of the bike universe here in our little corner of New Jersey. When they opened Hilltop Bicycles in Summit last year, it was apparent that it was not going to be a typical retail bike shop. They’ve given the rest of us a canvas, a venue to express ourselves and tell our stories on the bike. They were literally working 14 hour days, for 14 weeks leading up to RGR, getting things ready to open a second shop in nearby Cranford. They’ll admit their fitness wasn’t where they hoped it would be. But there were no excuses. And there was NEVER a thought of bailing on the day. That’s how they roll. When it comes to bikes, they find a way to get it done.

As for me, I feel like I played a familiar role, and one that I cherish. The guys trust me now. They might not always want to hear me, but they listen. They take it easy when I ask them to. They don’t chase wheels if it’s too early or too fast. They eat. They drink. They let me do my thing.

And I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my wife, whom the fates smiled upon last weekend as she spent the day taking stills for Abigail Thomas Photography in the Rapha photo van. It’s hard to describe what it’s like to see her up the road throughout the day, in her element, during those moments when I am feeling alone. We should all feel so lucky to be filled with so much love while we are simultaneously suffering. Love and suffering are a powerful cocktail, indeed.

I’m certain now that we could have ridden faster. If I had known how to properly use the Garmin 800, we would have saved ourselves a few minutes (and some tense early moments). We had a flat. Chris rolled into the ditch. But every team has stories like that. I know we could have put together a faster team. A younger team. Climbers. Guys that can roll like monsters. An invitation to RGR is a bit like the golden ticket. In the weeks leading up to May 4^th, I heard the criticism, the rumblings of discontent. But I never wanted it to be about the race. I wanted it to be about the ride. I wanted to share and enjoy the day. I did. I am certain we all did.

“I am grateful to have found such company in my life. It is a blessing, and I am honored to be a part of it”

Catching Up

It's only been 12 days since Hell of Hunterdon. Lost in the blur of the post ride cheer and Easter candy crash and burn,  I realized I never posted the link to the photos my wife took of the day. I dropped the ball on this one, BIG TIME.

http://abigailthomasphotography.smugmug.com/Sports/Cycling/HOH2013

Thanks again, babe. You made a great day even better. We're looking forward to seeing you up the road in the weeks to come (we've got some BIG days planned, for sure)

Rapha NE Gentlemen's Race

There are 10 spots available for this year's Rapha North East Gentlemen's Race. I just threw the Hilltop Bicycles/Allez Endurance hat/helmet into the ring. I have no idea how many applicants there are. There are no rules or standards for entry. You need to put together a team, fill out the application and write a brief essay (it's been a while since I've had to write an essay...like almost 20 years, I think) based upon the following thought:



"This year's race will be in the area where George Washington famously crossed the Delaware River during the Battle of Trenton. He once said "it is better to be alone than in bad company." Agree? Disagree? Please explain."


This is what I came up with...


I think we’re always alone, in some sense, when we’re on the bike. I don’t know that anyone ever sees the road the same way. Ask the six of us to describe the ride, the day, a stretch of gravel, and I’m fairly certain you’ll get 6 different answers.

On the other hand, I don’t think we’re ever alone on the bike. There is always the bike. On most days, there is no better companion. History tells us that General Washington had a favorite horse, Nelson, upon whom he received the British surrender at Yorktown. I can imagine that even during the darkest, coldest moments of the Revolution, as long as General Washington was with Nelson, he never felt truly alone.

The company we keep makes all the difference. I would indeed rather be alone than in bad company. The days are hard enough already. The struggles beyond the bike can be so overwhelming. We are working so hard to find something. To find a balance in our lives. Our families. Our careers. Our loves. A poor choice of companions can corrupt the purest intentions. Their presence alone is an illness, another struggle to overcome.

Proper companions elevate us. The group finds the best in each individual. That unique quality is brought to the fore, and when added together with the bests of the bunch, the whole becomes so much greater than the sum of its parts. I am grateful to have found such company in my life. It is a blessing, and I am honored to be a part of it.

The Classic Season

So much to celebrate...Easter, the arrival of Spring, the Ronde van Vlaanderen. And for those of us who ride bikes here in our little corner of the world, our first "classic" of the season, The Hell of Hunterdon. A great day with the gang from Hilltop Bicycles. Sharing a few pulls with the strong young men from Philadelphia Ciclismo. Beers with the MapSo team. Thanks to Jed Kornbluh and the Kermesse Sport crew. What a great day. More photos to come...