It was 1995, a lifetime ago.
It was taking a long time, so I tried running.
Before I tore my meniscus, I always ran outdoors.
I continued doing it long after high school ended.
After the surgery, I couldn’t run.
My knee was better, but not perfect.
The orthopedic surgeon who had done the arthroscopy never promised it would be.
He said I’d get 85% back and be able to work.
I was a self-employed plumber with three kids at the time.
I needed to work.
I continued walking outdoors through the winter, and with a Walkman, I enjoyed it.
I couldn’t believe how light it was when I picked it up.
I always rode heavy steel 10-speed bicycles.
His was a red/yellow, 16-speedCannondalealuminum road bike, light as fuck.
I got myself in great shape, dropping about 12 pounds.
I started riding on the road with my friend Bob, a competitive cyclist.
I bought a used road bike for $50 from one of Bob’s former riding buddies.
I started going faster and further, and I started kicking Bobby’s ass out on the road.
I heard aboutUnion Cyclein Attleboro, so I took a ride to see the bike shop.
I met the owner, Rick Desmarais, a hardcore cyclist who seemed like a great guy.
He invited me to ride with his club,Union Velo, on Saturday mornings.
I was so excited to ride with them.
Latin music always gets me motivated to do almost anything; it’s so fucking upbeat!
Some of these guys were pros, and others were competitive amateurs.
It was about 12 miles from the Union Cycle to the mall in Seekonk, where we met up.
Rick said it was a good warm-up ride.
My 1988 silver and whiteSchwinn Premisdidn’t garner much attention.
It does have a lugged steel frame made with ItalianColumbusbutted steel tubing.
I still have the Schwinn.
It’s 37 years old and needs a good cleaning…
Rick was a celebrity.
A real rock star and everyone made their way over to him to say hello.
I never knew anything like this existed.
I felt like I’d died and had gone to bike heaven.
I was in awe.
We took off in two rows, side by side.
These people were all friends, and you could see and hear the camaraderie.
I found out later it was the first of severaltown line sprints.
Whenever a sign comes up that marks entrance into a different town, someone starts the sprint to it.
And the sprint can start anytime, sometimes as far back as a half mile from the sign.
The winner gets pats on the back and bragging rights.
Hill climbs were similar events.
It was a race to the top.
Some of the riders were incredible climbers.
I wasn’t one of them.
They were in incredible shape and easy on the eyes, too.
We were a little more than halfway, and I was starting to feel it.
I tried pedaling harder, but I wasn’t gaining any ground.
At one point, the last rider disappeared from sight.
I had become a lone wolf off the back of the pack.
How pathetic would that be?
“Honey, I’m a wimpy cyclist.
Come pick me up.
It was a guy I recognized from the ride.
I figured he must’ve fallen off the back like I did…
He turned and rode beside me and told me he would help me get back to the group.
He said if my front wheel hit his rear, I’d crash.
He cautioned that if I over-pedaled, I’d hit his rear wheel and crash.
Then he slowed and drifted behind me out of sight.
He gave me a big push.
It was crazy, but that push propelled me 10' and took all the pressure off.
I got behind him and kept my front wheel a foot from his rear wheel.
It was the first time I’d drafted, and it was amazing.
We were doing 25 mph, and I was barely pedaling.
He took on the wind and did all the work.
I was basically being towed in like a broken-down car.
Suddenly, I could see the group in my sights.
His help was a pure act of kindness.
When we returned to Union Cycle, I knew I had a lot of work to do…
I went home, found some hills in Easton, and concentrated on climbing.
I had one hill I started doing three times on my daily training ride.
I increased my interval training, including multiple full-out half-mile sprints.
I ate healthy, kept myself hydrated, and trained and stretched afterward.
I continued training hard for two weeks before I returned to Union Cylcle for a Saturday ride.
Nothing compares to Latin music… CRANK IT UP!
