Latin Music Always Got Me Amped Up & Ready to Ride...

It was 1995, a lifetime ago. I just had my first knee surgery at age 39, and after recouping, I started rehabbing by walking outdoors. I became addicted to it, and my one-mile walk quickly grew to five miles. It was taking a long time, so I tried running. Before I tore my meniscus, I always ran outdoors. In high school and after, I ran in work boots and not sneakers because my football coach said running in light sneakers on the road wouldn't help running on grass football fields in heavy cleats.

I ran around the lake in Sharon back then, and with the little section I added down Harold St, where both my former coach and girlfriend lived, it was a five-mile run. 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.

Then, while at my friend's house installing baseboard heat in his newly framed basement, I had to move some things, including his bicycle.

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-speed Cannondale aluminum road bike, light as fuck. Apparently, while I was going from job site to job site, doing plumbing and heating work, bicycles had gotten a lot lighter, faster, more expensive, and more fun to ride. 

For my fortieth birthday, my family bought me a Trek mountain bike, and I quickly put some road tires on it like the local cops had on theirs and started training.

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. It was a Schwinn 12-speed, much lighter than the mountain bike, and with a more aerodynamic riding position. I started going faster and further, and I started kicking Bobby's ass out on the road.

I heard about Union Cycle in 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.

I loaded my bike into my plumbing van early Saturday morning, pushed my favorite Gloria Estefan tape into the cassette player, cranked up the volume, and headed to Union Cycle, singin' and dancing the whole way. Latin music always gets me motivated to do almost anything; it's so fucking upbeat!

When I arrived, other cyclists were already in the parking lot, snapping in their wheels and getting their bikes ready. Some of these guys were pros, and others were competitive amateurs. The plan was to ride to Seekonk and connect with another club, and all of us would complete a 30-mile ride together.

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.

When we arrived, I couldn't believe all the people dressed in multi-colored bike gear, and there were so many exotic and high-end bikes. My 1988 silver and white Schwinn Premis didn't garner much attention. It does have a lugged steel frame made with Italian Columbus butted steel tubing. And it was built in Chicago and was one of the last American-made Schwinns, but it paled in comparison to the other bikes…

I still have the Schwinn. It's 37 years old and needs a good cleaning…

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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. There were no fewer than 40 riders, and while we were all spinning the cranks, there was a lot of laughter and conversation. These people were all friends, and you could see and hear the camaraderie.

After a few casual miles, I sensed the speed picking up, and then I heard people ratcheting up their shoes, making them tighter… Then, suddenly, one rider at the front took off in an all-out sprint. Everyone else chased. I found out later it was the first of several town 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. My training ride was flat, and I sucked at climbing, and this group ride made me realize just how bad I was.

I was more of a spectator than a participant on that ride, taking it all in and trying to learn how to ride in a peloton. I was cocky. I thought I was in great shape; I was kicking ass on my friends and anyone else who wandered through my home turf in Norton.

But that ride made me realize I was just a big fish in a small pond and needed to get out more…

What impressed me the most on this ride were the women. They were just as good as the guys, and some were competitive riders I couldn't keep up with. 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. The Union Velo riders had put in close to 40 miles, and I was having a tough time keeping up with the peloton, which was now moving like a non-stop train running on a tight schedule.

I started falling off the back, and as hard as I tried to keep up, I drifted further away. 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. I had bonked.

We were in the middle of East Bum Fuck, and I was getting concerned I wouldn't be able to find my way home. I didn't bring my flip phone, so I'd have to find a place to call my wife so she could come pick me up. How pathetic would that be? "Honey, I'm a wimpy cyclist. Come pick me up. I need a ride home…"

As things got increasingly bleak, I saw a bike coming back towards me. 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 explained drafting and how I would ride a foot behind his rear wheel, careful not to let my front wheel contact it. He said if my front wheel hit his rear, I'd crash. He said he'd pick up the speed, and I wouldn't have to pedal very much because he'd be pulling me along. He cautioned that if I over-pedaled, I'd hit his rear wheel and crash. He told me to soft pedal and stop pedaling when I got too close and let the draft pull me.

Then he slowed and drifted behind me out of sight. Just when I started wondering where the fuck he went, I felt one of his hands pressed against the middle of my back. He gave me a big push. It was crazy, but that push propelled me 10' and took all the pressure off. Even though it was just for a brief moment, it was like an oasis for a tired biker, allowing me to relax and regroup.

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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. That guy rescued me from what could've been a disastrous and humiliating first ride, and we didn't even know each other. His help was a pure act of kindness. Uncommon.

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. By that time, I was ready…

On the way to Union Cycle for the Saturday morning rides, I always played some Gloria Estefan to get myself amped up and ready to ride. Nothing compares to Latin music… CRANK IT UP!

To be continued…