Just yesterday, my friend Greg told me he likes to draw an imaginary circle around himself and every person with whom he has a relationship.
Speed. Strength. Endurance. You’ll need all three if you’re going to tackle the Keweenaw Trail Running Festival.
How I traveled halfway
around the globe to find the passion in my heart.
I’d forgotten what cycling
meant to me. After 10 years of racing, I’d met Ms. Right, married and started a
family. Daddyhood replaced club rides. My USCF license lapsed. I loved family
life but felt something missing.
Then a neighbor invited me
to join his team for the Cape Argus, the world’s largest timed bike race. Over
30 years, the Cape Argus Pick ‘n Pay Cycle Tour has grown to a mythical status.
It attracts a Fenway-size crowd—some 35,000 riders—from all over the world to
its scenic route along the Cape peninsula. South African national television
broadcasts the event live for eight hours with commentary by Phil Liggett. The
2007 Argus provided the chance to share the 68-mile route with Jan Ullrich,
Steven Rooks and Greg LeMond, not to mention the usual lineup of baboons and
penguins.
I accepted the invitation.
Eight years after my last race, I planned to return to competitive cycling.
The audacity of my
comeback hit me when we scouted the course by bus. Not only was it long—about
25 miles longer than my longest ride in years—it was hilly, with five major
climbs that far surpassed anything on my Twin Cities training routes. Worse,
the rapid descents threatened crashes. My stomach churned.
Worries occupied my
thoughts for 45 minutes in the chute while my group crept toward the start line
behind the waves leaving before us. I tried to convince myself that the CCR
song blaring over the P.A. system—“I see trouble on the way”—was not perverse
foreshadowing. We finally reached the line, counted down 10 seconds and shouted
the traditional, “Opa!” as 550 of us rolled onto the course.
The pace quickly surged,
riders jockeyed for wheels, and we hit the first hill. Sure enough, there was a
crash on the descent, but I navigated past safely. The second climb, a shorter
but steeper pitch, escalated my heart rate, yet I crested it without too much
trouble. On the descent and a 25-mile relatively flat stretch, I tucked into
the pack and enjoyed the familiar sensation of being swept along by the group,
a sensation that can’t be replicated on a solo ride.
When we hit Smitswinkel, a
three-mile climb, I slipped into a 39 x 21 and settled into a rhythm, which
brought me over the top with a large group only to discover the pack had split.
I chased with four others, pushing the pace as hard as I could, but by the time
we reconnected, I felt my limited training and 42 years conspiring against me.
I forced myself to eat a
Clif Bar and rode through the halfway point at 1:28. For the next half hour, I
clung to the rear of the pack, heart rate soaring, legs whining, lungs wheezing
until we hit a brief, steep rise and—goodbye! I slid off the back.
Dropped. My hopes to break
three hours now laughable. My desire to prove myself race-worthy doubtable.
Frustration and defeat slogged through me.
Until another group,
riding at a more moderate pace, absorbed me, and once again swept me along. In a
race of 35,000 riders, I realized you’re never alone on the road.
Pedaling more reasonably
on the fourth major climb, Chapman’s Peak, I marveled at the scenery: the road clutches the edges of craggy
cliffs that rise above the blue sea. All around me, riders pressed up the hill,
not attacking but coaxing me along with their presence. On the other side, we
whizzed gleefully around the bends. Soaring down that hill, climbing the next,
and finally crossing the Argus finish line with thousands of cyclists before
and after me, I felt part of something bigger than myself, a community bonded
by our common passion for pedaling.
That’s what had been
missing. I’d traveled to the other side of the world to find the passion in my
heart and the connection with others who shared it. Returning home, I
understood that as a 42-year-old father of two small kids, I may not be able to
secure a spot on the podium, but there will always be a place for me in the
peloton.
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