A Bicycle Built For "Two"
Yesterday was the last day for this year’s RAGBRAI – the Register’s Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa. It’s an annual get-together for bicyclists, where they spend 8 days riding from one side of Iowa to the other, just to say that they did.
Since the route across the Hawkeye State is 400-some miles long (on the winding path they take), it’s not one of those things for those of you who rent a surrey once a year while at the beach. If you decide to go next year, you’d better be ready for an average of 65 miles of pedaling per day. And no – you can’t hitchhike. (Okay, you probably *could*, but it’s frowned upon.)
They traditionally start somewhere here in Western Iowa, dipping their rear tires in the Missouri River. Then when they end up on the Iowa/Illinois state line 8 days later, they dip the front tire in the Mighty Mississippi. Odd, I know. But this is what qualifies as “entertainment” here in the corn fields. This year's ride stared in Sergeant Bluff, just south of Sioux City.
Anyway, I heard this AM that 12,000 people from all over the country and a few other countries officially showed up for this year’s ride, along with upwards of 30,000 other bicyclists who just rode along for fun. Some people went for one day or two – some people only went for a few miles.
Me? I stayed away.
It’s not that I hate bicycling. I just don’t think pedaling uphill for 30 miles is a fun way to spend an afternoon. I’d much rather drop the top on the convertible, put the gas pedal to the floor, and climb every mountain in style. Why grunt and groan and risk one helluva charley horse when you can have the stereo and A/C blasting?
When I was a kid I had a bike, which I rode until I was probably 16 or so. I used it on my paper route – it was a lot easier to throw 40 pounds of newspapers over your banana seat than your shoulders. It made getting around easier, back in the days when a car was only a pipe dream.
But I also had a 10-speed. A nice, brown, slick, ram-handle barred 10-speed. Which I never rode.
Why? Simple math. My 10-speed had a 27-inch cross bar. And I had a 25-inch inseam. So to stand on the ground, I had to stand on my toes – my feet couldn’t touch the ground without my cash & prizes meeting the bar. Which happened just about every time I fell.
And fell I did. The 10-speed was far too big for me, even with the seat lowered as far as it goes. Yet stubborn pride and the need to look cool kept me climbing back up on that ballbreaker for several months after my first crash.
I prayed every night that I would grow – please God, just 3 inches taller, and I won’t hurt myself on a daily basis any longer. But it wasn’t to be. I was short, my bike was tall, and I had two choices – ride it and risk permanent injury and/or a high-pitched voice, or ditch the 10-speed bean-masher and walk for the rest of my life.
In the end, I surrendered my 10-speed. It was just too much of a wince-worthy pain to ride. And I did grow –6 inches – the summer after high school graduation. But by that point I had access to a car, and a 10-speed wasn’t going to get me around like a ‘72 Chevy Impala would.
So that ended my bike riding days. But maybe someday I’ll hop back on one, and give it another try. They say you never forget how.
But next time I’ll take a tape measure to the bike shop with me.
Since the route across the Hawkeye State is 400-some miles long (on the winding path they take), it’s not one of those things for those of you who rent a surrey once a year while at the beach. If you decide to go next year, you’d better be ready for an average of 65 miles of pedaling per day. And no – you can’t hitchhike. (Okay, you probably *could*, but it’s frowned upon.)
They traditionally start somewhere here in Western Iowa, dipping their rear tires in the Missouri River. Then when they end up on the Iowa/Illinois state line 8 days later, they dip the front tire in the Mighty Mississippi. Odd, I know. But this is what qualifies as “entertainment” here in the corn fields. This year's ride stared in Sergeant Bluff, just south of Sioux City.
Anyway, I heard this AM that 12,000 people from all over the country and a few other countries officially showed up for this year’s ride, along with upwards of 30,000 other bicyclists who just rode along for fun. Some people went for one day or two – some people only went for a few miles.
Me? I stayed away.
It’s not that I hate bicycling. I just don’t think pedaling uphill for 30 miles is a fun way to spend an afternoon. I’d much rather drop the top on the convertible, put the gas pedal to the floor, and climb every mountain in style. Why grunt and groan and risk one helluva charley horse when you can have the stereo and A/C blasting?
When I was a kid I had a bike, which I rode until I was probably 16 or so. I used it on my paper route – it was a lot easier to throw 40 pounds of newspapers over your banana seat than your shoulders. It made getting around easier, back in the days when a car was only a pipe dream.
But I also had a 10-speed. A nice, brown, slick, ram-handle barred 10-speed. Which I never rode.
Why? Simple math. My 10-speed had a 27-inch cross bar. And I had a 25-inch inseam. So to stand on the ground, I had to stand on my toes – my feet couldn’t touch the ground without my cash & prizes meeting the bar. Which happened just about every time I fell.
And fell I did. The 10-speed was far too big for me, even with the seat lowered as far as it goes. Yet stubborn pride and the need to look cool kept me climbing back up on that ballbreaker for several months after my first crash.
I prayed every night that I would grow – please God, just 3 inches taller, and I won’t hurt myself on a daily basis any longer. But it wasn’t to be. I was short, my bike was tall, and I had two choices – ride it and risk permanent injury and/or a high-pitched voice, or ditch the 10-speed bean-masher and walk for the rest of my life.
In the end, I surrendered my 10-speed. It was just too much of a wince-worthy pain to ride. And I did grow –6 inches – the summer after high school graduation. But by that point I had access to a car, and a 10-speed wasn’t going to get me around like a ‘72 Chevy Impala would.
So that ended my bike riding days. But maybe someday I’ll hop back on one, and give it another try. They say you never forget how.
But next time I’ll take a tape measure to the bike shop with me.
posted by Tommy G at
1:28 PM
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