GOBA 2000
by Mark Reiter
Part I (Part II is Here)

For a week I got paid to ride a bicycle from town to town in Northwest Ohio.
I ate six to eight times a day. I talked to hundreds of people about bikes and bicycling. There were always plenty of riders to draft behind. It was a cyclist’s dream
But there was a hitch. I had to write about it every day.
For me it was a labor of love.
Among the more than 3,000 bicyclists on the 12th annual Great Ohio Bicycle Adventure was me, Mark Reiter, a staff writer for the Toledo Blade. The ride began June 17 in Fremont, and went to Tiffin, Marion, Bellefontaine, Bluffton, and Bowling Green. The recreational ride, which is billed as the largest family-oriented ride in the country, returned to Fremont June 23.
I was rider 2,990. It was my first-time on GOBA.
I will admit, with shame, that I was initially turned off to the idea of riding with hundreds of others on a week-long tour. I, after all, turn thousands of miles each year, many with the Maumee Valley Wheelmen, on a featherweight, 18-speed racing bike.
That’s right. I was a roadie snob. Too good and fast I thought to ride leisurely through the flats of Ohio.
I lost that "I am better than you" attitude on the first day. It was somewhere between Clyde and Tiffin, heading south I think, along a cornfield on a cloudy day. It was a week I don’t want to forget.
The idea to send me and a photographer out on the road was hatched more than a year ago. A then-assistant city editor suggested it. A similar series had been done by a reporter at his former newspaper in Pennsylvania. He said the readers loved it.
When he became city editor earlier this year, I told him about GOBA. He liked the concept and got it approved. I thought what the heck. If it will get me out of the office for a week, I will do it.
So off I went with Darrel Ellis, a staff photographer, to write daily stories for the newspaper. I packed a laptop computer, cell phone, pager, and a dozen notepads with my sleeping bag, tent, and other belongings, and off I went. I was ready to ride up to 50 miles a day and write a story each day on the ride.
Darrel, who grew up in Brooklyn, N.Y., didn’t ride a bike on the tour, but he attracted attention. He drove along the route in his black, 1978 Porche 911, taking pictures on the road, in the camp sites, and at the many food stops.
The first day was spent at Ross High School in Fremont, where I interviewed people about their aspirations for the week ahead of them. I quickly learned that few were novices and making friendships on the ride came naturally. Most, about two-thirds, had rode the tour at least once before.
I pitched my tent late Saturday evening on a soccer field beneath what I thought was a star-filled sky, and finally settled into it about midnight. A short time later rain pelted my dwelling, The rain continued through the night.
About 5:30 a.m. I got the courage to crawl out of my comfy sleeping bag and face the driving rain, which pelted me as I took apart my tent, packed up, and carried my belongings to the luggage trailers, I noticed that more than half of the campers had already left.
With the rain still falling, I elected to wait in line for the pancake breakfast in the high school cafeteria. That was my introduction to Chris Cakes. Owners Steve and Margie Smith entertained the hungry flock by flipping hot cakes into their Styrofoam plates.
The Maumee Valley Wheelmen jersey that I was wearing caught the attention of Jim House, who rode with the Wheelmen from 1973 to 1977.
Jim, 44, who lives in Hollis, N.H., graduated from Ross High School. He said it felt strange to be eating pancakes in the cafeteria where he ate lunch during high school.
He was with former Wheelmen, Scott Livingston, 47, of Columbus, and Bruce Weiler, 47, of Findlay. Jim was riding with his son, Andrew, 11, and Bruce was his daughters Meghan, 14, and Emily, 13, and son, Matt, 17.
Jim, who is a computer consultant, recalled a game that the wheelmen use to play called the "hare and the hound." A lead rider would paint an arrow on the pavement for the other riders to follow. The goal was to catch up with the leader. Whoever tagged the leader won the right to paint the arrows the following week.
The discussion at the tables centered on soggy tents, wet sleeping bags, and lack of sleep due to the noise made by the rain and thunder. A car race that last until about 11 p.m. at a nearby speedway also contributed to the insomnia.
Among the first people I met on the road were a father and his 14-year-old son from Mount Vernon, O. Steve, the father, and Seth rode a tandem. It was their second time for riding GOBA.
I also made the acquaintance of Kyle Toy, 6, and his dad, Dave, of Huber Heights, O., Kyle, who rode on the back of a tandem with the help of a crank extender, kept a sharp eye for road kill. He seemed infatuated with the dead animals. They had matching t-shirts that read "Road Kill Inspector 1-800-555-GOBA." It was third their GOBA.
A stiff northeast wind slowed the riders at they followed the well-marked route to Clyde. I quickly learned that a map really wasn’t necessary. Unless you were extremely late in starting out, all you had to do was follow the hundreds of two-wheel travelers who were ahead of you.
At Clyde the ride turned southeast, putting the chilly wind to our backs. The sun came out from behind the clouds and greeted me as I rode into Tiffin and into Hedges Boyer Park.A Tiffin native, I know the town and the park very well. I spent many a summer afternoon in the park’s ball fields, pool, and swings.
By then, the sunny skies were a welcome sight to campers who dried their sleeping bags, tents, and clothes on fences and make-shift clothes lines.
On the second day, the chirping of birds and unzipping of tents replaced the rain and thunder that we experienced the day before. A heavy dew had coated the tents and grass. A half-hour before sunrise, a long line had already formed for the portable restrooms. The 30 or so people waiting didn’t complain. They didn’t care. They were on vacation.
The people on the ride came from all walks of life. There were teachers, doctors, lawyers, factory workers, grandmothers, Catholic priests, farmers, and youngsters of all ages.
The training for the ride varied like the riders themselves. Some had rode a lot. Others had trained only a little. Many found the hills at the end of day 3 going into Bellefontaine a little too much, and they elected to walk their bicycles up the inclines.

Continued in Part II (Click here)

Last Updated 12/28/09