Sprints

I’ve come to enjoy the occasional sprint. I don’t know why, but I just do. What’s a ride without clicking up into a tall gear, getting out of the saddle, and seeing just how fast you can go? It’s the same thing as rolling to the bottom of a ten-mile climb and seeing just how far you can make it before your legs decide they’ve had enough, although the sprints, or my sprints, I should say, never seem to last for more than twenty seconds or so. Are they supposed to last longer? I have no idea, although one would assume that the longer one has been riding, the longer one could hold that top-end speed.

Personally, though, I tend to self-destruct. I sit in someone’s draft long enough or the pace relaxes for a few minutes and I mistakenly begin to think I have more energy than I really do. Then, once I pull out of the line and step on the gas, it doesn’t take long to realize I tried to do too much way too soon. That point is particularly hammered home when, not long after I start to sprint, the rest of the group goes speeding by, leaving me along with my aching lungs.

Still, I don’t care. There are those times when you just want to stand up and see what you can do no matter how quickly you know you’ll fade. At least I think so.

Moving on, let’s talk about last Sunday. On Saturday, I made it out to Staten Island for the morning ride considering the forecast called for temperatures in the mid-fifties. When we reached the bagel shop, Mr. Ed Dalton said, “Cheesequake. Tomorrow. Eight-thirty.”

I thought about that. From my place in Pleasantville to Cheesequake, it’s a 75-mile drive, which is a hell of a haul to go bike riding. At the same time, though, we haven’t been out on that route in a long while. Since I had a whole lot of nothing planned for Sunday morning, I thought, Don’t worry about the drive--just get out and ride.

At six in the morning on Sunday, I rolled out of bed. By six-thirty, I was in the car. After dropping a copy of Crank in the mail to send back to Netflix (the movie sucked, so save your money and don’t bother renting it), I took I-287 into Jersey and caught the Parkway all the way down to Cheesequake. At a few minutes after eight, I rolled into the parking lot, killed the engine, pushed the seat back, and helped myself to something of a nap. At eight-twenty, I opened my eyes, expecting the guys to begin rolling in. At eight-thirty, I started thinking that perhaps the start time had been pushed back. At nine, I gave Dr. Rob a ring and left a voicemail, wondering what was going on. By nine-twenty, after sitting in my truck for almost three hours, I decided it was time to go.

Cutting through Staten Island on the way back to Westchester, I spotted Ed Dalton and Trek Tommy on the service road near Richmond Avenue. Pulling off the expressway, I swung to the side of the road and threw the transmission into PARK. When the guys rolled up, I leaned out the window and asked, “What happened?”

Make a long story short, a few people had cancelled for Cheesequake the night before so Ed and the others decided to save it for another day. Somebody--and I’m not going to name names here--forgot to give me a ring which meant that the guy who lives the farthest from Cheesequake (and that’s a fifty-five mile margin) was the only guy to make the trip out.

No big deal. Certainly, there are worse things in the world and it’s not like it was intentional, although in an attempt to avoid anything like that happening again, let me put this out there.

My mobile number is 718-619-1501. That’s important so I’m going to write it again.

718.619.1501

1 (718) 619-1501

(718) 619 1501

1.718.619.1501

That’s my phone number and my name is Steve. I live in the middle of freaking Westchester, which means central New Jersey is something of a haul for me. In the event a schedule ride changes or gets cancelled, don’t hesitate to give me a ring. Even if it’s three in the morning and my phone is off--I tend to check for messages as soon as I get out of bed, especially on days when I’m about to make a 150-mile round trip for a bike ride. Even if the schedule isn’t changing, go ahead and feel free to give me a ring anyway. I like bikes, like to talk about bikes and racing and training and professional racers. I can even talk about other things, like chics and cars and motorcycles. Even finance and 401Ks. Maybe even real estate and REITs.

If you want, you can even email me at okaysplendid@yahoo.com, although I hardly ever check that over the weekend as I don’t have internet access at home. (I’m online all day at work as it’s my job, so the last thing I need is to get online when I’m home relaxing.)

And that’s it. Did I miss anything?