Pastor Jeremy Stephens

Last fall when we learned that we were expecting Molly, one of the things that concerned me was my expanding waistline.  I’ve managed to put on a lot of weight through the last few years and I decided that now was a good time to do something about it.  Most husbands gain weight through a pregnancy just like their wives do (but without the legitimate excuse!). My goal was to lose as much as Kim gained.

With this goal in mind, and with my new passion in mountain biking already making a dent in my weight gain, I went out and purchased a road bike this spring.  Mountain biking is a blast, but for a consistent fitness schedule, it’s much easier to ride from your house several days a week instead of driving a half hour to 45 minutes to hit the trails.

They tell me that the real joy of road biking comes from participating in a group ride, but I’ve been reticent to join one.  I have a ton of great excuses!  I’m still pretty heavy, so I look like even more of a dork in lycra, I’m not that fast yet, so I’m confident I’ll get left behind or “dropped.” And Kim is due any day now with Molly, so I’m afraid I’ll be 25 miles from home with a flat tire when I get “the call.”

Today I finally manned up and rode over to join a ride that leaves from my local bike shop.  This one is intended to be a little slower and leaves at 10 in the morning, which is almost a reasonable time to be awake on a Saturday.  I pulled up to the shop at 9:45 to see about 15 skinny guys in bike shorts with their incredibly expensive bikes leaning against the wall.  I knew I was out of place, so I checked twitter about 30 times and texted a few people in an effort to avoid eye contact.

The shop officially opened a few minutes before 10, so I went in to buy a new pair of gloves (because I needed them).  While there the tech I usually talk to warned me that the guy who usually led the group ride wasn’t there, and the guy who was leading it today may have clinical mental problems.  Great.  He turned to point out the window to the person who he was talking about, just as the group was pulling out of the parking lot!  Adam quickly tore the tag off the gloves and gave them to me.  He said “pay me when you get back!” and off I went.

I clipped into my pedals and started flying down the hill to catch up.  On the way I saw a woman on a bike pulling out of her driveway, cursing that they left like a rocket.  We pooled our efforts and tried to chase down the group with me in front setting a “strong” pace.  When they came into view, she said, “There they are!” and pulled around me and shot like a rocket to catch up.  I kept spinning at my “strong” pace.

We got to an intersection that she pulled through.  I quickly pulled through as well, dodging a few cars, and continued my effort to catch the group.  I knew a few short cuts on the route, so I thought I would take one and try to head them off.  It worked…sort of.   I pulled up to the route just in time to jump in line with the group, but then the traffic prohibited me from joining them and I was even farther back.  I tried it again, and it forced me even farther back the second time.  The short cuts left me farther behind (there’s a sermon illustration there, expect that one some day soon).

I settled into a fast rhythm and figured I would see them on the very long straight away around the bend ahead.  When I came around it I saw one rider about a half mile ahead.  He was a heavy-set guy like me and I recognized him from the parking lot at the shop (he was the only other guy there self-conscious smart enough to wear shorts over his bike shorts).  I settled into that time trial position I saw the guys in the Tour de France do with my forearms resting on my handlebars.  After about a minute I realized that said position must be much easier without a gut, so I sat back up a bit.  I was making good time on the other guy.  As I approached, this was the internal dialogue:

“I’m almost there!”

“Shoot, he’s not wearing a bike helmet”

“Shoot, it’s a backwards baseball cap”

“Shoot, he’s riding a 1991 Raleigh mountain bike”

“Shoot.”

He wasn’t in the group at all, just some guy out for a nice Saturday morning spin.  I buzzed by him and kept up my effort. I knew that the halfway point was also a rest stop in a park.  If I didn’t catch them there, then I could at least see them coming back home on this out-and-back route.

I got to the park-no one there on a bike.  I rested for a few minutes, turned around, and pedaled back home into the headwind (which at the Shore is always there, no matter which direction you’re going).  I kept my pace up but felt defeated.  A little while later I cruised back into the bike shop to pay for my gloves.  Adam saw me and said, “What did you do? Leave them in your dust?”  The group still wasn’t back.  I looked at my watch.  When I tried this 25-mile route with strong winds the first time on my mountain bike I rode it in about 2 ½ hours.  My first time on the road bike was in about 2 hours.  Today? An hour-and-a-half.

So I pedaled home.  My first group ride was a pseudo success, considering I never rode with the group.  Maybe I’ll give it another try next week.