At the end of last month I set off on my Bos/Tréal ride, covering 400 miles in 5 days, staying in campgrounds along the way.
I learned a few things, most of them obvious. For example, camping in Vermont over Memorial Day weekend can be chilly. I had a winter baselayer, thermal cycling tights, a long-sleeve jersey, fleece arm-warmers, gloves, neoprene shoe covers, and a raincoat, but it was not enough. Not in the cold, driving rain of the second day. I tried to ride faster to stay warm, but by midday I was on the verge of hypothermia, my toes and fingers completely numb, my teeth chattering even after a stop to dry off in a small town library. Fortunately there was a support van. I rode with them to the next town, where I bought soup and dry socks and new waterproof thermal work gloves before continuing. Even then, it was an incredibly hard day. Mud and rain and mud and rain and grit and cold. Water pooled in my new rubberized gloves like a wetsuit, macerating my fingers until they were as soft as soaked raisins. That evening, while helping prep dinner, I cut my fingers with the dull side of a knife.
I learned a bit about being more decisive and independent. I’d sort of forgotten how to be on my own. Sure, this was a fully-supported group ride. But I spent a lot of every day alone with my own thoughts and my own plans.
I learned that camping is not really my jam. I’m not picky. I don’t mind a shared bathroom. I didn’t even mind sleeping on the ground. But I did not like waking up at four in the morning in a pile of cold, wet nylon.
I learned (again, as I continually learn, as I suspect we all do) that my perception of myself differs from how others see me. I’m used to people thinking I’m younger than I am, probably the result of 25 years of devotion to the great indoors, but my fellow-riders also thought I was more experienced, better organized, and more easygoing than I think I am.
I learned to ride in a paceline, one rider following the next in a tight pack, each taking turns to block the wind for the others. It’s quite difficult to hold a pace so consistently that others can follow closely behind you. It’s tricky to know how long to stay at the front. It’s tricky to follow someone else. It requires a great deal of trust.
I learned what happens if you get tired and careless in a paceline, as was almost inevitable around mile 370 or so. I don’t know if I was an inconsistent lead, or if the second rider took his eye off my wheel, or both, but I felt a tiny bump as he tapped my rear wheel with his front. Then I heard the sound of carbon fiber and aluminum and steel on asphalt. Then came the yelling: Goddammit, I broke my collarbone AGAIN! The first thing I did in Canada was call 911. Everyone’s fine now, but I don’t think I’ll be in another fast paceline any time soon.
Most importantly, I made some friends. That’s not easy to do as an adult, especially in the Boston area, but I’ve made some friends. We’re gonna go on some bike rides next month.
Also
An analysis of selling out and poptimism titled Stop Eating Lady Gaga’s Oreos. It seems that it’s actually quite difficult to manage to follow the poptimist precept “let people enjoy things” while still acknowledging that some of those things people are enjoying aren’t actually any good. There are some gaping logical holes in the piece, of course, but it’s worth noting that art and commerce, although inextricably intertwined, are not synonymous.
Secretly Ironic 