OF BROTHERS AND SISTERS
by Steve Strain, Club President 1996-1999
March 2002
My bride,
fabulous woman that she is, gave me a whole pile of cycling videos for Christmas. There
was the traditional ten hour tour tape, the Belgian classics and "The Road to
Paris." The Paris video chronicles Lance
Armstrong and Postal's campaign for the maillot jaune from last year. In the first part of the tape Lance is getting
ready to ride. The rear hatch of the station
wagon is open and he is talking with the crew about the weather and what to wear. It is the same conversation, minus the driver and
director, that we all have at the beginning of a ride.
How many times have we gathered around on some lovely winter day with it
spitting rain and debated how many layers to wear?
I watched
this after Christmas (even before Paris-Roubaix) and got inspired. I set off by myself on a cold nasty day. I was thinking of the Three State and Mt Mitchell
and trying to find my climbing legs. And as I
left Tiftonia in the biting cold I thought of cyclists all over the world thinking of
spring and starting their training. We may not
have the staff and the endorsements and a car following us but we are in essence doing the
same thing that the big boys and girls are doing this time of year. Are we on the same level? Of course not.
Except for Byron and Tabby T.
But we are
riding our bikes. We are thinking of the
upcoming season. We are not home in front of
the tube watching other people exercise and drinking beer, although that is a recognized
training regimen at the Strain household. It
is very helpful to train by watching bike videos while eating hot dogs and drinking cold
beer.
I also
learned some things this winter. I learned
that fitness flees faster than it returns. I
learned that some days it is just too cold and windy to get out. Having left from the park during the Christmas
holiday I finally figured out that the reason I was going so fast was the tailwind. The temperature was on the low side of thirty and a
vision came to me. It was Mr. Wizard his
ownself and he told me that the wind would no longer be a tailwind when I turned to head
back to the car. To test this theory I changed directions and the wind bit through my
Italian windproof jacket like a knife through butter.
And the wind stayed in my face as I raced along at fourteen miles per hour
with visions of chili at T-Bones dancing in my head.
So join our
brothers and sisters as we venture forth on days that aren't seventy. Watch some race videos. Go do a race. Wear
some team stuff from across the pond. And in
those Walter Mitty moments we are all on Alpe D'Huez with the crowds screaming and glory
to be grasped. And when you come home and tell
your significant other how you kicked butt today, it will be just like the pros. My bride has taught me that. She smiles, nods, says that's nice dear. "Now can you go to the dump?" I wonder if Lance has to take out the garbage.
Steve
| 
