This One Is For All Of The Non Cyclists Out There

I was inspired a little while ago by an article written on bleacher report, a writer was commenting on how cyclists are all jacked on steroids and contribute nothing to the world.  Well here is my take on it. 

I was never a gifted athlete. I always wanted to be. I tried out for football in high school at 5'2 100lbs as a freshman I played guard and tackle. I guarded the Gatorade and tackled anyone who took too much. 

I tried out for baseball. I played left out. 

In the summer of 1993 I was out of school and at 15 my mother knew I needed something to occupy my time.  She introduce me to David Berger.  He was the manager at the restaurant my mother worked at.  He was also starting a company that promoted mountain bike racing.  He was building a course for an up coming race at a local motocross track in Florida. 

I didn't really know what I was doing other than chopping trees and digging and busting my butt in the sun.  After a few days we were done and Dave asked me if I wanted to work at the race on Sunday.  He would pay me 25 bucks.  I said sure and caught a gig on weekends collecting gate fees and being a waterboy during the races. 

At the time I was not impressed with these goofy people wearing spandex and racing a bicycle.  To me at the time it was incredibly boring, although, every once in a while there was really good crash or I'd catch somebody getting creative with the course markings, but I was not into it at all. 

At the time I was racing motocross and felt these hippies were trespassing.  Four years later, both of my motocross bikes were stolen and I was left twiddling my thumbs.

I left that part of my life behind me, got married, bought a house, and was working in law enforcement at the time.  I was 25 and was bored out of my mind.  My job had taken over my life and I was miserable.  A guy I worked with suggested I find something to do outside of work.  I was caught in this rut, get up, lift weights, go run, shower work, sleep. Day in day out same routine, same path to work same path home. 

That all changed in April 2002. I had to re-certify for my job which meant a half day of work.  On my way home I stopped at a local bike shop.  My life changed that day. 

I was greeted by the owner who had just opened the shop a few months before.  I told them what I was looking for and we looked at several models.  Then I called my wife to ask for permission (yeah I know).  She said no more than $500.00. I thought I was going to be laughed out of the shop when I told the owners this, but it didn't happen. 

He walked me down the aisles of bikes and he showed me what was in that range and actually there was a fair amount.  We settled on a Specialized Hardrock for 400.00 a helmet and a camelback.  I was then invited to go riding with the shop ride on Saturday morning. 

A few days later we rode together—it was cool. They even waited several times for me between being slow and throwing up a few times.  But it was the most fun I'd had since I was a teenager racing motocross. 

I started getting up early to go ride before work, sneaking in rides when ever I could.  I did my first race three weeks after buying that bike.  I finished second to last but I didn't care.  I just kept plugging along.  I raced several more times and met Dave Berger several more times. 

I raced the beginner men's class. I never won, but never finished last.  I started to get frustrated by lack of results.  I trained all the time, but I just could not crack into the top three. The best result I ever had on a mountain bike was fourth. 

A friend of mine let me in on a little secret:  Road bikes.  They all rode road bikes for cross training.  Why not I thought, so I found a good used GT and started riding everyday.  After a while I noticed my mountain bike was collecting dust. 

I entered my first road race in 2004 and finished 9th out of over 40 riders in my class.  In July of 2005, I was training for a race and was hit by a hit and run driver.  I didn't get hurt, just some cuts and scrapes and I knew I was very lucky.  A week later I was riding my mountain bike and broke my wrist.  I took three days off and was back in the group rides on Thursdays with my arm in a cast. 

I continued my training and it finally paid off in October 2005 when I won my first event.  When I crossed the line first, the only thing I could think of was the car accident and my wrist.  I remember riding up to the start on a 99 GT and having people kind of laughing at me a little.  I took all of that frustration, and anger and took off from the start and did not look back.  Half way into that race it rained, I kept pushing the pace like a pack of wild dogs was chasing me.  

I kept training through the winter. In Florida it is possible to ride anytime of the year, for the 2006 season.  The season kicked off with crit racing on New Year's day.  I will be the first to tell you I HATE crits.  I half heartily raced the opening race.  I was looking forward to the longer road events.  

Later that month my wife and I discovered we were going to have a baby.  At first, I thought there goes everything I've been training for.  I was still able to ride and had a full plate of races ahead of me.  In March or April I was planning on doing a race, but plans were abrubtly changed by what we thought was my wife miscarrying.  Saturday and Sunday came and went I did not race or ride or even leave my house. 

The world didn't end and I had more on the line than a bike race.  After a few more days and some doctors appointments we learned that we were probably pregnant with more than one fetus but it did not survive, however they had one really strong heart beat, but my wife was restricted in what she could do.  She was pretty much limited to bed rest until she delivered in September.  I was allowed to continue training, but my rides were shorter.  I bought an indoor training and a cheap bike to ride inside. 

My weekend rides were still kind of long, but I made them as fast as possible.  I cut out a few more races and stuck close to home and racing without my wife to watch did not have as much meaning. 

The summer came and went with no problems. We found out we were having a girl.  We welcomed our daughter, Morgan, kicking and screaming into the world on September 16, 2006.  After a week of being home my wife kicked me out the door to go ride.  My next race was in October.

Race day rolled around. This time I was not sporting the 99 GT. I had a new bike and I was wearing numero uno and I had a picture of my daughter taped to my bars for luck. 

We rolled from the start slowly. After a couple of miles I went for it and again no one went with me—I was alone and going all out. It was deja vu all over again.  I was almost caught coming to the line but managed to hang on and squeak it out for the second year in a row. 

After this race I only raced one more time in Florida in February 2007.  I finished 10th? at the Tour de Orlando.  I found out I was moving to Georgia. Not by choice but by job transfer.

We relocated to where we are now in GA.  My first ride, the very first weekend I was here, I was riding near a lake in the middle of no where when a guy in truck threw a whole bottle of Mountain Dew at me, hitting me right on the shoulder.  Since then on the same route I have been hit with a beer can, and a Skynard cassette tape (not making any of this up) not to mention being called every derogatory name under the sun, honked at and pushed off the road. 

So after all of this story what is the point?  Every cyclist, from the guy who has raced all over the world to the lady who rides a touring bike, to the old couple on the tandem bike, to every amateur and pro racer.  We are all dedicated to the sport that fuels our dreams and ambitions. 

For some so called sports writer that has no clue about what the sport of cycling actually is, to say were are all steroid ingesting schleppers who do not contribute anything to society, sir when was the last time you rode an MS 150 or a Team in Training event?  When was the last time you put the donuts down and rode a bike anywhere.  Cyclists—pure cyclists are everywhere. One doper does not make up for the millions who do not.