Relative Something

I can’t figure out what it is about Alberto Contador that explains why I find it difficult to appreciate his incredible abilities as a mountain climber. If you don’t know who he is, you have not been paying attention to cycle racing in the last few years. Ever since Lance Armstrong retired from racing, and even after he returned to try again, Alberto has been the strongest climber, and as a result, the man to beat in the big races. So why don’t I like him? I don’t know. But doesn’t every drama need a villain? I will let him be mine. I’m cheering for Andy Schleck, a guy whom I used to hope would fail in his attempts to challenge Lance. Now I wish for him to somehow find a way to out-smart the wily Spanish rider, Contador.

In the race yesterday, they climbed a mountain where the ascent was longer than the distance I ride to work, and they did it at a faster speed uphill than I can ride on flat terrain. I’m pretty sure I could ride faster if people stood on the shoulder of the road along my route and shouted encouragement. Oh, and if they cleared all the cars off the road and let me blow through the intersections, that would help a lot, too.

You know, if I had throngs of excited fans cheering me on during my work day, I think I could accomplish a heck of a lot more than I otherwise normally do.

Unfortunately, my new hero, Andy, suffered a bad shift of gears just as he was kicking in with a monster acceleration at a key moment of the climb. To make it even more heartbreaking, it appeared he was about to achieve a gap on Contador. Instead, he needed to get off his bike to put his chain back on the sprocket, while the group of key competitors raced right on by, countering his attack with one of their own. As they were pulling away, Andy fumbled with his chain and then he needed to put in an incredibly intense effort to limit his losses on the descent. It wasn’t enough, and the overall lead, signified by the honor of wearing the yellow jersey, passed from Andy to Alberto.

Some people question the sportsmanship of attacking a competitor who has been compromised by a mechanical disruption. Right or wrong, as Alberto stood on the podium, in the ceremony which bestows the yellow jersey, he was roundly jeered by the crowd.

Today’s situation didn’t do anything to dispel my disdain for the Spanish leader of Team Astana. Ultimately, I hope the better man wins.

The month of July, to me, means Tour de France. The attention this particular bike race draws is unmatched by any other, and the camera angles provided on the television coverage are astounding. It feels like you are right there to witness every aspect of this race. If you have ever spent long hours on a bike, you can sense what the professional racers are going through. It adds a lot to the experience of watching the broadcasts of the stages.

There is no denying a positive effect that watching the race inspires in us novices when we get off the couch and out on our own bikes. In our minds, it seems like our riding is pretty much the same thing as what we’ve seen of the race, just on an entirely different scale of difficulty. Those racers function at a level that is worlds beyond what the rest of us experience.

Moving from bike racers to the general population, there is a significant difference of abilities in the full spectrum of bike riders in a community. Too often, I feel like the act of riding a bike gets generalized when it comes to making decisions about design of roadways and trails. The same thing seems to happen for people developing opinions about riders and their behaviors. As I ride my bike to and from work, competing with rush-hour traffic  and struggling to navigate the variety of hassles –natural and man-made– that tend to get more annoying each day I face them, I find myself doubting that anyone beyond a select few really understands what it is like.

One obvious hazard is caused by drivers who take offense at sharing the road with cyclists. That is compounded by road shoulders that have suffered from neglect to the point of being unrideable. Many a day of commuting, I find myself wishing I could bring along a city planner on the ride and let them experience what it is like to ride with a purpose, at 16 or 18 mph, and dodge damaged asphalt, sand piles of runoff from rain showers, broken glass and debris, and encroaching overgrowth of vines and tree branches, to finally reach a busy intersection with no button to trigger the light to change.

If I was simply out enjoying a stroll on my bike, I would not likely choose these routes. Kids playing on their bikes don’t ride these routes. Bike trails to the park are a wonderful idea, but they don’t support riding at commuting speeds and rarely lead to the obvious destinations of someone riding to work. I wonder how many of the people who question why a cyclist would ride the road, instead of a trail, in communities where there are many cross streets, have ever pedaled their bike at 18 mph. It’s a no-brainer, trust me.

It may not be the Tour de France, but biking to work can be its own endurance test. I don’t have what it takes to race. Some days, I find I don’t even have what it takes to bike to work. In July, I find plenty of inspiration from seeing what the professionals endure, to help me push on against the relative hazards I face.

Thursday evening, June 17; the last night of tenting on this year’s Jaunt with Jim bike camping adventure…

By the time we started walking to dinner, the first hints of big weather began to appear in the sky over the bluffs. I fretted a bit over having left my jacket in the tent, because it looked to me like it would be raining by the time we were ready to head home. Turned out, it wasn’t moving quite that fast. Well, the storm hadn’t moved in yet, but the threat seemed to be building significantly. With the storm looming, we were informed that it would be a better option to head back to our tents, and the shelter of the school, than to linger long in the restaurant.

During that walk back, I peeked into some of the buildings along the main drag and discovered that the town of Rushford still hadn’t completely recovered from devastating floods that had occurred 3 years ago. The people here had an understandable apprehension when the weather gets intense. Reports were coming in that Lanesboro had received 65 mph straight-line winds and 1 inch hail. We were advised to take down our tents and move into the shelter of the school building.

I asked Jim if the directions were mandatory. He admitted that they were not. I chose to stake down all the lines of my tent and snugged everything tight. A short time later, there came additional urgings from the town Mayor that we all leave the tents and move into the school. Thus far, all we had seen from the storm was lightning and thunder. Out of respect for Jim, the local authorities, and the rest of our concerned bikers, I and the others in the tents around me agreed to step into the school, to wait for the worst.

It was all rather anti-climatic. After about 30 minutes of waiting through bouts of wind, rain showers, and lightning, all of it less than threatening, we went back to our tents. I did hear moments of intense pressure on the rainfly from wind-blown rain, but my shelter performed as it was designed and I was lulled to a pleasant night’s sleep.

In the morning, as per usual, Jim’s wake-up whistle appeared at 30 minutes past 5:00. When Jim reached our vicinity, he asked for Rich, who was in the tent directly next to mine, and I heard Jim ask a favor. He was desperately interested to learn if the trail ahead would be littered with downed trees and the bridges dangerously slippery, before sending the group off after breakfast. He was hoping Rich could make the ride to Lanesboro before 7:00, and then phone in a report.

It was a lot to ask, as it meant leaving as soon as possible and without breakfast, and riding at significant pace to cover the full distance in that constrained amount of time. Sounded like good adventure to me. I volunteered to go with him.

I don’t know if it was a good thing or not that we had just ridden this same route the day before in our quest for additional miles. The morning clouds were touching the ground and we collected moisture of the prevailing mist as we rode. That combined with the significant sweat we generated by striving to work hard enough to cover the distance in the allotted time. With our vision diminished by the conditions we raced along to judge the acceptability of the trail.

How do you test a wet bridge deck for risk when you are in a rush to check for fallen tree limbs on the miles ahead? Beats me. We finally gave up on the plan of reaching the destination of Lanesboro in time and stopped to call in our findings. There were a fair number of sticks and small debris to contend with, but nothing stopping our progress. Rich specifically detailed the two bunnies and deer in two different locations, but word is they didn’t make Jim’s announcement to the group when he finally gave them the go ahead to proceed down the trail.

About a mile later we came upon the first downed tree across the trail. Luckily, it was mostly dead and we were able to snap the wrist-sized limbs off. That done, we combined our strength to lift and roll the remaining portion enough to clear the path. All that was left while we waited for the group to arrive behind us was to find breakfast in Lanesboro. We were directed to the only place with cars parked in front of it. Of course! (As in D’oh!)

On the second to the last day of our week-long bike trip, there were rumors of a potential for afternoon or evening storms. We were aware of this because after so many days of rain, we had become fixated on finding a forecast of sunny weather. When that forecast for sun finally arrived on Wednesday, it came with the caveat of less friendly weather to follow. So, even though the day appeared harmless, with plenty of sunshine, many of us shared an inkling that it wouldn’t last.

We reached our destination that Thursday morning in the amount of time it usually takes us to get to our first break. This was a short day. We had been warned that the available grass area for our tents outside the Rushford school was pretty small and advised to place our tents as tightly as possible. We made it our first priority to get the tents established, before a small number of us set off to add miles by riding the Root River Trail to Lanesboro for lunch. Julie was dead set on showing us the fantastic burgers available at Pedal Pushers Cafe. I think we all appreciated her initiative. Personally, it was their hand-dipped deep-fried cheese curds that won my highest praise.

The next battle we faced was deciding about dessert. We all knew the pie shop in Whalan was almost too enticing to pass up, but Rich chose not to wait and settled for a pretty incredible slice of chocolate cream pie at Pedal Pushers. The group splintered a bit on the return ride to Rushford. As we passed Whalan again, Tim and Julie stopped to indulge at the Aroma Pie Shop, where the hummingbirds feeding just outside the window are as plentiful as the varieties of pies. I had an alternate agenda driving me to get back as soon as possible. I wanted to catch at least the second half of the afternoon’s World Cup match.

It was a pretty hot and sunny afternoon, especially in comparison to the damp, overcast weather of the previous days, and our little extra jaunt for lunch meant we were now approaching 60 miles on the day. When I pulled into Rushford, I was ready to be done. Luckily, I immediately found Rhonda crossing the street and she directed me to the most likely bar where people were watching the game. As a person who doesn’t drink alcohol, I found myself in more bars this trip than I usually visit in a year. I was very hot and thirsty, and I gladly put my trust in the bartender to serve me up a safe concoction to sooth my ills. It was heavenly. Being able to watch World Cup games with the select few riders sharing this common interest, and who had somehow found each other in the same places each day, made it truly special.

At this point, all was calm on the weather front. That was going to change…

It all started when Kubel went yard. By now you may be able to figure out that the primary allure of the annual Jaunt with Jim adventure is not the biking. After 36 years, it has become much more of a social event. I have met some very dear friends by doing this ride. Many of them are almost as silly as me. The opportunities for belly laughs are plentiful. Only part of the time do we ride our bikes.

We have more fun than can be explained

One evening, Julie kept receiving text message updates from her boyfriend who was at the Twins game with her brother. Our group includes a large number of Twins fans and Julie was taking great pleasure in announcing the score to everyone when the runs were reported to her. When she received the message that “Kubel went yard,” and didn’t know what it meant, Rich and I hatched a scheme to pull one over on her boyfriend. We convinced her to try to out-do him with baseball slang.

This was not a feeble effort. Rich dug right in with a reply that implied Julie knew who would be coming up to bat soon, as he instructed her to type that she hoped Mauer and Morneau would both get a ‘dinger.’ Julie was convinced that he would know it wasn’t her writing and she wanted to tell him, but we convinced her to hold off for a few more texts, to extend our fun.

There was a time on these bike trips when I used to go the whole week without phone contact with the real world. Now, there are cell phones everywhere I turn. I was able to see the current radar image on people’s fancy phones. There were lots of large green blobs on the screen. It was pretty funny to be standing amid the tents with Rich and Julie, huddled together in anticipation of the next text message. When her phone would beep its little signal of incoming text, we would be all giddy with anticipation about how our little ruse was progressing.

“What’d he say, what’d he say!”

Whether or not Julie’s boyfriend was enjoying our little game, we thought it was hilarious.

It set the stage for bigger laughs later on, after we had all climbed into our tents. Rich texted Julie a silly message which got her laughing. It led to more messages and then prolonged and uncontrolled laughter that is incredibly infectious to hear, and even funnier when picturing that it is someone right next to you, alone in their tent, surrounded by over a hundred others in their tents. I marveled the next morning, as we relived the humor of the night before, how the message would leave Rich’s tent and travel up in space to a satellite and then return to earth to reach Julie’s phone, just a few feet away from Rich.

Sometimes space limitations force us to get really close to our neighbors

I spent some quality time in my tent this year. Due to the wet conditions we were experiencing, it was less convenient to pull out my guitar and play in areas where people spontaneously gathered. On several occasions, alone in my tent, I pulled it out before I laid down for the night, to do some quiet fingerpicking (the nails weren’t ideal, but certainly adequate). I was aware that people in tents nearby would be able to hear, and sometimes they clapped or voiced appreciation, but I was surprised how far it actually carried and how many nice comments I received on the following mornings. Luckily, folks were polite and only voiced that it was a pleasant sound to hear when falling asleep.

I think I enjoyed sharing my music from within my tent at bedtime almost more than when I’m visible to my audience. Does that reveal something about me? Maybe I’m more of a shy person than my silliness suggests, after all.

Not all the entertainment on our bike trips comes from the riding. There are always a variety of options from which to choose after we reach our daily destinations and put up our tents. Sometimes, just getting the tents up is a game.

Steve is calling for a break from Rhonda's "Kate Smith" impression.

I don’t remember quite how I triggered it, but while we were working on putting up tents in Huston, I inspired Rhonda to provide us with her impersonation of Kate Smith singing “God Bless America.”

I think Mary was off hunting geocaches with Rich, so after I got my tent up, I pulled out hers and slid in the poles to allow it to air out and dry. I was thinking that if she arrived soon, she could select the best spot and orientation to suit her desires, so I didn’t stake it down yet. Then I headed for the showers, hoping no wind would suddenly appear and send the upside-down tent tumbling away. When I stepped back outside, it was the first thing I looked for.

There was no wind, but that tent had disappeared. All that remained was Mary’s duffel bag. I immediately suspected a prank by my tent neighbors, but played it cool, hoping to buy time while I gathered more data. It didn’t take long for them to reveal their ruse when they discovered that they hadn’t stolen my tent after all. They thought they were taking my tent when they stuffed it inside Curt & Suzanne’s larger palace of a tent.

This year, some of the days had short mileage and several times we found ourselves wandering toward the business centers in search of lunch. I should admit that I also had an additional goal of finding a sports bar at each stop in hopes of catching the afternoon broadcast of World Cup soccer matches.

It was around 2:00 one afternoon when I joined a small group to look for some food to tide us over until dinner. As we approached the area of restaurants, one of our fellow bikers told us of a burger joint that was just closing. He said the grill would still be hot and we should go directly there and tell them “Charlie” sent us. It worked. We got in and sweet-talked the staff into serving us. Just after we placed our order, one more of our pals slipped in and we were able to include him, in the nick of time. The thing is, we were very visibly seated in the window and from all outside appearances, it looked to be a great option for lunch. It didn’t take long for two more from our bike group to show up in hopes of food, just as our lunch was arriving. By this time, the woman serving us needed to draw the line and had to turn them away.

Through the glass of the window we tried to communicate the confusion of our being served in a restaurant that was already closed, as they made faces of sadness and woe over their being left out and they lingered for a bit to offer us their hungry stares at the scrumptious offerings of burgers, fries, and onion rings that we were about to devour.

I’ve ridden in a lot of rain over my years of cycling. During this year’s “Jaunt with Jim” we had more rainy days than sunny days, but it was far from the worst weather we’ve ever experienced. Some days we received just enough rain to get things wet and then the clouds would sort of drape down out of the sky and offer their mist to anything exposed to the elements. This is just about the worst possible formula for riding across old bridge decks of treated wood. In my extreme focus to maintain the intended upright position of my bicycle, I neglected to capture a photo of the Caution signs at each bridge, warning that they are slippery when wet.

Unfortunately, under the conditions experienced during this year’s ride, we suffered more crashes than any other year I’ve ridden. What’s worse, almost all of them led to visible injury. There were scraped hips, ripped shorts, bloody elbows, wicked bruises, and even at the extreme, one broken hip. The story of that one is already legend.

I was told that the second person who stopped to help was Rich, our favorite Geocache enthusiast. After they established the severity of injury was going to require EMS response, Rich marked the location on his GPS and then headed off on his bike in search of enough signal for his cell phone to function. He was able to direct the responders to the exact location on the trail. Did you know the bridges of the Root River Trail are just wide enough to allow an ambulance to cross?

I was lucky to survive the bridges without incident, but all the attention directed at that potential hazard might have contributed to my lapse of attention on the safe, flat asphalt. For the first time in all my years of cycling, as I was intending to return my water bottle to its cage, I missed. I glanced down to take aim, placed the bottle where I thought it was supposed to go, and let go. It was one of those moments that seem to slow down dramatically in our minds as several thoughts process faster than our reaction can do anything about it.

Mary demonstrates the proper orientation: upright, wheels on the ground

I let out some short exclamation of warning, because I was smack dab in the middle of a double pace line of multiple riders. Closest to me, and at highest risk, was my sister, Mary. I was sure I had doomed her to a crash, but she proved her cycling prowess by maintaining control and staying upright as she rode both tires right over the bottle. I have never been more relieved for one of my mistakes to NOT bring harm to another. I am in debt to Mary for her ability to out-navigate the hazard I had created.

Just a short moment later, as I was working to catch back up to the group after turning back to go pick up my dropped bottle, I saw the most startling sight. Something was all over the road right behind Bob and Julie! Critters? Two of them appeared to cross the road and two others just stayed put. What in the heck? I was working my mind to determine what it could be that I was one second away from needing to deal with, when the hilarious reality of what I had just witnessed, registered. They had just dropped two water bottles each in a spontaneous bombing raid for me.

It was classic. Genius performance art. And the main reason I was able to enjoy it so much is because Mary didn’t crash. Thanks, Mary.

I’m struggling with myself on what to write about this year’s “Jaunt With Jim” bike trip. Part of my sense of storytelling is strongly attached to chronology of events, and that has me inclined to want to go back to the very first day and describe events in the order they occurred. At the same time, the most recent events are fresh in memory and seem to hold increased value over something further removed in time.

Jim presented a cake for the newlyweds at breakfast the first day.

The moment that Gary and I pulled into the school parking lot in Chatfield on Friday the 11^th, the first people we see include my very good friends with whom I have shared the most continued interaction over the years. What story could be more worthy of telling than the amazing news that Curt and Suzanne immediately share? That very morning they went to a little church in Iowa and got married! They are sporting matching shirts that declare their new status and will spend the week, which newlyweds traditionally reserve for a honeymoon, riding bicycle with us. The “Jaunt With Jim” ride is just the kind of adventure that attracts this kind of behavior.

But regardless my inclination toward chronological storytelling, I am interested in entertaining a move away from my pattern of excessive orderliness in processing. I didn’t consciously plan for this trip to involve a theme, but one did seem to materialize. Steve noticed that I didn’t write about my prolonged pre-trip planning and packing phase like the previous year. That is because it wasn’t the same this year. I performed a last-minute review of the lists I have been keeping and reusing since the early years, and then I just stuffed it all in my duffel. I would refine the organization in Chatfield.

I think part of me was trying to knock me out of my old patterns; to try practicing being more in the moment. Personally, I find this trip to be a VERY hard place to take on such a task. I’ll expand on that later. Then my sister, Mary, made a comment about deciding not to put my tent up for me one day because she wasn’t sure I would be satisfied with the way she did it. I was “anal.”

That was good for me to hear. I have no interest in creating that impression about myself to others. There are definitely times I have made fun of my tendency to exhibit behaviors that remind me of the USA Network television detective, Monk. How many times must I have uttered the phrase, “a place for everything, and everything in its place?” In reality, for any sense of order I am able to achieve, there are equal parts of disarray that I live with that certainly help offer some balance. I wonder how often the disarray part of my life appears as the impression others perceive?

Chaos in the duffel

With so many people to greet and visit that first night, I end up giving less attention to my ‘system’ of managing the various details involved with comfortably navigating a week-long group bicycle camping adventure. The first thing I discover to be missing this year is my travel watch for checking the time when I awake in the middle of the night in the tent. I rally to solve the problem with a perfectly functional, though less convenient solution. I can use my iPod. I will just suffer the brightness the display beams into my night vision.

I have always found this trip to require a lot of thinking ahead. If you want to be comfortable, make sure you drink enough water in advance. If you drink enough water, make sure you visit the restroom before you leave any rest stop! When you pack your duffel in the morning, make sure you leave out anything that must be with you on the bike during the day. If you are going to walk all the way to the shower, make sure you think ahead about what you plan to wear after you dry off. Did you even remember your towel? Did you bring your money with you for the walk to dinner?

For all the freedom from planning that this trip offers, with the route assigned in advance, food menu selections determined, place to sleep set and wake-up whistle automatic, I see now that I still make an awful lot of mini-decisions all week long. Stories about some of our adventures will follow in the days ahead, as time allows.