Most cyclists can recall a crucial event or series of events that propelled them into the sport. Some may have grown up around cyclists. For others, cycling may have been a fitness choice, preferable to running, swimming, or tennis. For still others, it may have been the image of looking cool in tight shorts, toned legs, spinning along on an extremely light skinny tired ride at twice the speed of your friends’ bikes. On the surface, some might think that I got into cycling because it was easier on my body than running. Or that I got a really nice bike and had to put it to use in a road club. There is some truth to both. I can train 6-9 hours a week on my bike (when I have the time), whereas that much running would wear me down quickly. And I got what I thought was a really nice bike (until I realized I spent only about 1/3 or less than what most serious riders would spend). The real reason goes back to 9^th grade.
I had a bicycle since I was 4. My dad had raced motorcycles, and I used to pretend my bike was a motorcycle. Our home was surrounded by apple orchards and cornfields. My sisters and I would set up motocross courses and race through them. For part of the course, our bikes would fit neatly between the rows of corn, which in early autumn were several feet taller than us. We’d also ride two miles up to the corner store in the summer, picking up bottles along the way to collect deposits and buy candy or ice cream.
In the summer before 9^th grade, my dad bought me my first 10-speed. Some of my friends were, I thought, fortunate enough to have yellow Schwinn Varsity 10 speeds, or if they were especially rich a yellow Schwinn LeTour (no one I knew had a Paramount, although that was considered the ultimate). My 10-speed was a Concorde. Not, mind you, the real French. A friend of my dad had purchased a truck load of boxed, Taiwan made bikes that had a Concorde label. Shimano components, steel frame and wheels, quick release wheels (actually, they had big alloy wing nuts which broke the second time they were used, and wouldn’t allow you to tighten the rear wheel enough to keep it from begin pulled against the stays in anything but the easiest acceleration).
I lived 10 miles from anywhere, on a dirt road in west Michigan. 10 miles to school, 10 miles to church, ten miles to friends. If I wanted to get anywhere on my own, this bike was my mode. But as a 14 year old, the thought of riding 10 miles was not welcome, unless you had a really good reason.
My reason came with Linda Luckey. No, this is not the name of a porn queen. It was a girl I met early in September of 9^th grade. She lived about 15 miles from my house. I met her at a high school football game. On Saturday mornings I would ride to her house; if I recall correctly, about 50 minutes. I’d spend an hour with her, feeling fortunate, then ride home without my parents knowing where I had been (they had 6 other children to keep track of). I suddenly realized the great potential of a bicycle not just for fun but for transportation (and vice versa). I remember riding into November. After that, our relationship dwindled. It might have lasted longer had mountain bikes been invented by then.
In the summer before 10^th grade, I was in driver’s training at my high school. Carol Smoes lived about 2 miles from school. I’d ride my bike 10 miles to school for driver’s training in the morning. Mid-day we’d have a 2 hour break, during which I’d visit Carol. Return for more premature aging of driving instructors, then the 10 mile ride home. You might think my parents were negligent by not taking me around. But remember, they had 6 other children. They’d take us to church, we rode a bus to school. Most anything else and we were on our own.
Sherry Terry (another name I am not making up) was my 10^th-11^th grade girlfriend, during the time I first had my driver’s license. This, of course, meant the bike sat while the 12 mpg ’69 Camaro SS 350 4 barrel 4 speed with headers and glasspacks rumbled me around. I just can’t recall ever having ridden my bike for or with her.
Then along came Beth Jorgenson, the Swedish-Norwegian beauty I met before my senior year of high school. I drove my ’67 Pontiac Tempest Custom 2-door the 25 miles to her house. But there were times I’d put my bike in the trunk (big trunk) and we’d go for a bike ride. She rode a red Fuji, comparable to the Schwinn Varsity. Riding south from her house were some long and steep hills, one of which, off 92^nd Street, overlooked the city of Grand Rapids, MI about 10 miles to the north. That spot was a favorite for snuggling lovers on clear summer nights in automobiles. But we rode it during the daytime, struggling up it so we could fly down it at gawdawful speeds of perhaps 30 mph. In the summer, we’d ride bikes and play tennis. In the winter we’d go skiing.
After college, Beth and I got married (over 21 years ago!). When we went off to graduate school in Carbondale, IL, my old Concorde went with me. We had one car, Beth worked at the university, and our apartment was 8 miles from school. When I didn’t drive with Beth to the university, I rode my bike.
When we moved to Nashville to continue graduate school, our bikes went with us. Our apartment was only 3 miles from the university. The route involved 1 mile on a very busy street, and two dogs. One dog would often be sleeping on its porch. I’d have to wake it up so it could give me a chase. While in Nashville, I had three bikes stolen. All had been locked, and the locks were cut. I lost my Concorde, a Raleigh Record that I bought used to replace it, and my wife’s Fuji which I rode to replace the Raleigh. Then (1984) I bought a Ross 10 speed, put fenders on it so I could more often commute, and a Kryptonite brand lock. Kevin was born in May 1985. So for several years, the bike sported a kiddy carrier to haul around children (it was perfect size for a bag of groceries too). In July 1986 just before we moved to Toledo, I almost bought a nice Trek road bike. While looking at it, Beth said to me, "Do you think they can put two kiddy carriers on that?" She had to say it about three times before I realized that she was telling me we were going to have a second child, Jayne, putting a financial nix in my plans for a nice road bike (but I don’t hold it against Jayne). The Ross is still my ride to and from my office today.
In November 1996, I finally bought a new, relatively light (22 pounds) road bike of the sort that I had longed for since high school (over 20 years!), at end of season discount of course. And in some way I got it due to longings that were developing in a 9^th grader 24 years ago.