Why Blog About Cycling?

I thoroughly enjoy anything that pushes me physically (except running...unless Chick-fil-a is involved). That's why I like CrossFit.  It's challenging and I leave feeling like I have accomplished something awesome enough to remove the guilt and shame of consuming a big bowl of Bluebell ice cream. Even though I'm a creature of habit, I do enjoy trying new activities.  So when a friend from the gym asked me if I was up for riding gravel roads with her, I immediately agreed.  I wanted to see how my ability in the gym translated to something different; truth be told, I just wanted to see if I could keep up with a seasoned cyclist who could easily lap me.   

When I agreed to ride with Lori, I had no idea what to expect. I prefer trails, handling downhills, and maneuvering around trees. The thought of sitting in a saddle doing the same monotonous motion without the thrill of dodging a tree seemed overrated.  

This one-time gravel ride quickly turned into weekly rides.  Lori would ask if I would be up for another ride and I would show right back up.  She has been gracious enough to answer all of my questions and even put up with my frequent grumbling.  This grumbling is often from a distance because I tend to be chasing her more often than not.  

                                                                  

My mountain bike

Our first ride went great! The only problem was I felt like I was working ten times harder than Lori and I could barely keep up, especially on the climbs.  I knew that she was going to stay ahead of me for the majority of the ride but I didn't expect to lose sight of her more than once.  Was it me? Was it the bike? Or just a healthy combination of both? 

One thing I did notice that caught my attention was how different our bikes were.  Handlebars, wheels, suspension, etc.  I started asking questions and picking her brain, but her answers didn't suffice.  Truthfully, I wasn't convinced that a bike made that much of a difference.

Lori's cadillac

                                                                

When our local bike shop caught wind that I (a newbie) had been frequenting the gravel roads with Lori (a veteran cyclist), they approached me and asked if I would be interested in documenting my experience.  They wanted to know what it would be like from a rookie's perspective. 

I'm not a blogger.  I have a few talents but blogging is NOT one of them. But when a good opportunity comes at your way, you jump on it. A "gift" of mine is the ability to not say "no". Combine the two and you have created the perfect storm.

So I'm blogging and documenting my experience(s).  I know very little about all of this so I feel very much like a newborn giraffe trying to walk, but I'm learning and enjoying the process along the way.  

All Bikes Are Not Created Equal

For as long as I can remember, I have always enjoyed a good challenge. My brother and I would make a competition out of anything and my goal was not only to win but to prove to him that I was as tenacious as my hair was big.

There’s just something about healthy competition.  Whether it’s against an opponent, the clock, or against yourself, there is a deep sense of accomplishment when you finish something you set out to do.  Long suffering and perseverance is sadly a lost art and one that I'm slowly learning to love. 

In 2012, some friends convinced me to do a local adventure race with them.  It’s basically a big team scavenger hunt with multiple tasks through each course of the race. Your goal: collect all the stamps for your “passport” and cross the finish line before everyone else. You run. You canoe. And you bike.  I like to call it a lazy man’s triathlon even though it leaves you exhausted when it's all said and done. The first adventure race I completed was an urban race and it was a blast. So I immediately agreed to the next one.  Little did I know that it was located at Kincaid Lake in KisatchieNational Forest.

At the time I had what I thought to be a decent bike. It was a hybrid that was more comfortable than my SUV. My bike did fine in the first race so I assumed that it would do great in the next one.  I didn’t know that all bikes are not created equal or that mine really wasn't designed for what I was putting it through. It was a lesson quickly learned and forever remembered. It’s hard to forget crossing the finish line while others are packing up and leaving because they have already eaten and enjoyed the post-race treats.  Did I mention how humbling it was for someone who thoroughly enjoys anything competitive?

I sensed these races would be part of the norm and I refused to drive the struggle bus again the same way I did at Kincaid so I invested in a mountain bike.  Nothing fancy. No bells and whistles.  Just an entry level mountain bike.  I was so proud! If I didn’t know what I was doing, at least I looked the part riding a bike that was better suited for what I was doing.  I still wanted to tackle the same trails that kicked my tail, but I had no idea where to start or what to do. 

Thanks to the kindness of a friend at the local bike shop, Red River Cyclery, that changed.  Matt was an experienced cyclist who specialized (no pun intended) in mountain biking. He had special shoes that were attached to the pedals. His gloves matched his shoes and his helmet didn’t look like the WalMart special I was sporting. But my hair did look better than his.  He frequented the trails as much as I frequented the local CrossFit gym and it was evident that he knew what he was doing. Though he was a veteran, he was kind enough to slow down, teach me the basics, and give me helpful pointers that enabled me to actually enjoy the very thing that demolished my pride a few months prior. 

My time on the trails had been utterly redeemed and I absolutely loved it.  There was something unique about that morning.  As kind and generous as Matt was to let me tag along, it wasn’t him.  Maybe it was the stillness of the morning and the ability to step away and unplug for just a moment. Or maybe it was the sheer silence from the hectic patterns of the everyday hustle and bustle.  More than likely it was the lightning speed of lactic acid building up in my quads combined with the desperate need of oxygen; that kind of feeling isn’t one you ever forget no matter how awesome the experience.

Though several years have passed and my skill level has improved slightly, I’m still a newbie trying to figure out this whole recreational cycling thing.  However, the lessons I’ve learned thus far and the respite it has provided in the midst of an ever increasing pace of life has been a good gift from a Greater Giver and for that I am utterly thankful.