The mistakes I made, and how I paid for them

The first mistake was the biggest.

I believed that I was a pretty hot cyclist.

So when I heard about this group of riders that meet at the Red Eye Brewing Company in Wausau, I was intrigued. I've been doing most of my biking alone, with the exception of the Northern Minnesota touring slog along the Mississippi River and a few rides with my buddy Dave. It has been going well. I had been popping off rides of 30 to 45 miles at about an 18 mph average.

So I thought the Red Eye group, which calls itself the Rib Mountain Flyers, would be a good on to join because I was told by a couple of people that it was "fairly low key." I believed them. Mistake No.2. "Low key" is a subjective descriptive, and the word "fairly" seems to soften it. Or at least that's what I wanted to believe.

I began to envision a spinning jaunt for 25 or so miles through the countryside, followed by the good natured quaffing of beers. Mistake No. 3. Always, always assume the worst when entering a group riding situation, and adjustments should be tempered later.

As some of the Rib Mountain Flyers rode up, I noticed that I was the only one to have a stomach that folds upon itself when I sit. But still I stayed. Mistake No. 3.

I asked how long the ride would be, and was told 43 miles. Hmm, I thought. That should be OK. I noticed that I was the only one with a "triple" front crank, which means my bike has a granny gear -- definitely not the equipment of a high caliber rider. But I figured, what the heck, I'm strong, and I'll gain the benefit with riding in the group. It'll all be OK. Mistake Nos. 4 and 5.

By the time we were cruising up the hill on Troy Street north of Wausau, I knew that I was in over my head. My heart was spinning in circles inside my chest, and my lungs were started to feel stretched out, like balloons just before they burst.

For the next 50 minute or so, or about 17 miles, I rode the best I have ever ridden in my life, but most of it was spent at the back of the pack, just clinging on to whoever was there. We climbed up and down hills, and I knew that it was all going to come crashing down on me like a brick wall, but it was too late. I stuck it out as long as I could. Mistake No. 6.

I should have bailed earlier, but the guys in the group, a friendly bunch comprised of doctors, a lawyer, an engineer, a green builder and more, were encouraging. One came back for me and dragged me back to the group. I could ride with them on the flats, but any incline at all, and I would fall back. Finally, I gave up, and asked them go on without me. In about a mile, they were out of sight.

At first I thought it was all right, that I would just cruise home, at an average of 15 mph or so. But it wasn't to be so.

Payback came down hard, and without warning. I felt like I was pedaling in water, against the current. Cyclists call it bonking, but I don't find that to be a very descriptive word. It's too light-hearted. I spent the next hour and half trying to come up with a better one. Metaphors, such as "like the Hindenburg coming down in flames" or "crashing like a lead anvil" flittered through my mind, but they're just not right. What happened to me was a complete meltdown, and I began to think I understood how the astronauts on Apollo 13 must have felt. ("Just get me home, please.")

There was just no energy, and I figured that mistake No. 8 occurred before the ride began, when I didn't grab an energy bar for the ride. Or a year ago, when I took the extra water bottle cage off my bike, so I only had one bottle that I was rapidly draining.

But as I limped along, 9 mph, 12 on the downhills, I began to feel good for some reason. Not my body. No, that was crapped out. But my spirit was good. I was doing something that I wanted to do for a long time. And I vowed to try riding with this group again as soon as I could. Because even though I thought I might be dying, I also felt really alive at the same time too.

Postscript: I did make it to the Red Eye, probably around 40 minutes later than the group made it. I was immediately welcomed with handshakes and smiles, and a beer was put in my hand. One advantage of bonking: They buy you beer.