"Mark McCormack. Team Saturn. Nice to Meet You..."

DOUG KANTER. Getty Images.

I was out on my bike one morning at the crack of dawn, back in 1998. I was on my daily training ride when I saw another cyclist up ahead. Even though he was about an eighth of a mile away, I could see he was on a colorful team bike and wearing matching team clothing. I assumed he must be some yuppie-type who dumped a ton of money at Colorado Cyclist, a high-end online bike store, in an attempt to achieve the team look.

It was only a couple of years earlier that I saw a guy on my local training loop wearing an impressive cycling kit and riding a beautiful Colnago. I was riding my Trek rigid mountain bike, which I had fitted with slick tires and a one-piece aero bar. I pulled up alongside him near the Holiday Inn in Taunton long enough to chit-chat. He was definitely full of himself, and after being cordial and complimenting him on his beautiful Italian carbon fiber bike, I said, "Have a nice ride." Then I stood up on my pedals and did a full-out sprint that he had absolutely no answer for.

Back then, I could catch up to anybody entering my Private Idaho, but I was having a tough time gaining any ground on this new guy.

I decided to go full out on the downhills, figuring if he let up at all, that's where he'd do it. I pushed a big gear hard and finally caught up to him.

He remained laser-focused on the road ahead but asked, "How'd you catch me?"

I confessed, "I pedaled through the down hills..."

Still focused on the road, he replied, "Good strategy."

"New bike?" I asked.

"Just got it," he said.

I was riding beside him, on his left, when he smiled and then reached across his bike to offer me his right hand. I lifted my right hand off my bar, and as we shook, he said, "Mark McCormack, Team Saturn. Nice to meet you."

I was floored. Mark McCormack and his older brother, Frank, were two of the most celebrated cyclists in America at the time, especially among local cycling enthusiasts like me. The McCormack brothers were homegrown, raised in Plymouth, Massachusetts.

After I introduced myself, I said that riding with him was like having a toss with Nomar Garciaparra. He laughed out loud and downplayed my comparison. He looked over at my pretty, mundane-looking silver Schwinn, especially compared to his bright colored Team Saturn bike, and said, "That bike fits you really well."

I told him that Bill Petersen had set me up on it. Petersen was a local fit guru whose claim to fame was that he set up Lance Armstrong on his bike, as well as many other members of professional cycling teams. It was a good name to drop.

Then he said, "If you're thinking about trying to lure me into a race so you can tell your buddies you out-sprinted me, it's not happening. I'm out here on a training ride and I'm gonna pedal anywhere between 18 and 22 mph for 5 1/2 hours..."

"Oh, no," I replied. "I'm happy just riding with you at any pace you want."

As we rode, we talked, and at one point, I told him I was a self-employed plumber and I had to head home. He asked me where home was, and when I told him, he said he'd take the ride back with me. Before we said our goodbyes, he told me he needed some gas fitting work done at his house in Easton. I told him to call me at Sharon Plumbing, and that he could find my number in the Yellow Pages.

I could hardly wait to tell Susan who I bumped into on the road. I had a subscription to VeloNews, a biweekly national cycling magazine, and Mark and his brother were always featured. Frank joined Team Saturn in 1995, winning two National Cyclocross Championships and two Criterium Championships while on the team. Mark rode for Saturn from 1996 until 2003, the year he won the Road Nationals. Mark also won the National Cyclocross Championship in '97.

Saturns were actually decent cars, until they weren't...

Mark later told me that he was asked to join several professional cycling teams that competed in Europe, but he was happily married, and his wife was a professor at Wheaton College. His family still lived in Plymouth, and so he decided to remain in the United States and compete domestically, where he went on to make his name in road racing.

After he called, I went to his house and he showed me the gas space heater he bought and placed on the top floor. He asked me to give him a price to run a gas line up to it. He lived in an older home at the time, near the center of town, and when I looked around inside, I knew that chasing a gas line through the house would be very labor-intensive.

That's when I said, "Hey Mark, would you mind if I ran the gas pipe on the outside of the house, exposed, up to the second floor? It's a fairly straight shot from the gas meter, a lot easier than running it through the house and making a mess. You can paint the 1/2" gas line to match your house, and it'll disappear..." He was all in.

I returned with the materials the following day and went to work. While I ran the gas line, Mark was up on the roof, replacing the asphalt shingles. He was way up there and appeared unbothered by the height and the potential risk of falling.

I said, "I can't believe Team Saturn would allow you to climb up on a roof. I figured they'd have restrictions in your contract..."

He laughed. "They do. If they saw me up here, they'd go nuts. My contract stipulates no skydiving, bungee jumping, car or motorcycle racing, or working on rooftops..."

My first impression of Mark was that he was confident, stubborn, and a bit of a rebel. Cyclists live inside their heads. Their motivation comes from within. The cycling community calls it a "Constitution", and some of the greatest cyclists have been known to have 'em. Mark had a very strict one.

I finished the gas line, put it to a test, and while I waited for the gas inspector, I watched Mark prepare his lunch. He had a small food scale in his kitchen, and he weighed everything to make sure he was eating the right amount. Downstairs, in the old stone foundation basement, he had at least a dozen bikes and a couple of stationary bikes/trainers. He told me sometimes, if the weather is really bad, he'll sit on the trainer for 5-6 hours, which the average mortal would consider utter insanity. I can do an hour and a half before I'm toast. But Mark was incredibly disciplined and highly competitive, and he wasn't about to lose his edge because of some bad weather.

I competed in team duathlons and team triathlons. My partner was a standout football player in high school and received a full scholarship to Harvard. He switched sports after a year, became the captain of the wrestling team, and dominated his weight class. He could swim and run very competitively. He and I won a lot of races together, and toward the end of one summer, we entered the last sprint triathlon of the season and were pretty cocky by then. Not only did we want to win every race, but we expected to win.

It was during warm-ups that Pat said to me, "Hey, Vin, did you see the quads on that guy on that fancy bike that just went by? He has more muscle in one of his legs than we have in all four of ours combined!"

I jumped on my bike and went after the guy to see why Pat was so concerned. When I caught up to him, the guy turned around and calmly said, "Hey, Vin. How you doing?"

"I'm doing okay, Mark. What the fuck are you doing here? My partner and I brought our families to the last race of the season, and we've guaranteed victory..."

"My brother-in-law called me at the last minute and asked if I would do the bike leg; he only wanted to swim and run today."

Mark's brother-in-law was a triathlete and the president of the triathlon club in Easton. He was a damn good athlete, too.

"Thanks, Mark. Now the best we can do is second place..."

He laughed. "This is a 12-mile bike leg, and I'm using it to help train for a time trial event I have coming up this week. In fact, I'm here with the team car, and I'm going right to the airport after this to fly halfway across the country for the race..."

I reported back to Pat that first place was no longer a consideration. "The guy in question is Mark McCormack, the best U.S. cyclist who's not Lance Armstrong. And his brother-in-law is doing the swim and the run, and he's pretty damn good, too. We're gonna take second place. I'm gonna go tell Susan and the kids..."

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Mark's brother-in-law was one of the first swimmers out of the water, and when Mark took off on his team bike, I saw that look in his eye... When the times were posted, Mark beat the best cyclist in the event by about 10 minutes, despite it being just a 12-mile race.

At the awards presentation, I congratulated Mark on his victory. I figured immediately after that he was gonna jump in his team car and head to the airport...

Nope! There was a raffle with a prize, and Mark stayed to hear the winning numbers read. I watched him stand there, holding his raffle ticket between his thumb and index finger, which had both turned white from the grip he had on it. When they read off the number, Mark had won the raffle, too. It just wasn't fair...

Mark called me one last time before he moved out of Easton. His downstairs toilet was acting up. I always carried a good assortment of tank flappers in my van, and it only took me a few minutes to fix it. When he asked me how much he owed, despite my hourly rate being $75, and the flapper costing a few bucks, I enjoyed seeing him, so I said, "$50 with the flapper..."

He snapped back quickly, "I have an almost brand new set of Michelin Pro Race tires in blue, I might have two rides on them, and they're worth about $100. If you can use 'em, then take 'em, we'll call it even..."

"Sure," I said. "I'll find a bike for 'em."

That was probably the last time I saw Mark. I heard that after his racing career ended, he became a personal cycling trainer. One thing's for sure, he's probably become one of the best, and if his trainees are listening and doing what he says, they're probably winning races.

When the tires on my '86 Club Fuji wore out, I installed Mark's tires. I was still racing on the Schwinn and training on the Fuji, so the Fuji was my "beater". 

The morning of the race, I was ready to leave, and the rear tire on the Schwinn went flat, and there wasn't time to change the tube. So I loaded the Fuji into the van, and Pat and I headed to the race.

The Fuji is much heavier than the Schwinn, and a little big for me. The shifters are on the downtube, too. But something strange happened. I kicked some serious fucking pedal that day, we won the event, and my bike leg was tops in the team competition, and top ten overall.

As much as I'd like to take full credit for the win, I couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't a little 'McCormack Magic' in those Michelin Pros. I think there was...

The Fuji is still wearing those blue sneakers...