“Extra bike tube… check. Tire changing kit… check. Water… check. GoPro… check.” It was 2:30am. I gathered up the rest of the gear for my looming 80 mile bike ride. The day of our Yuma Grand Fondo, a ride that had been in the works for weeks, had arrived. July 26th was to be the day of the worst bike suffering I’ve yet felt in life, but it had to be done. Continue reading
In my mind, I saw myself in the cycling scene from American Flyers, a peloton of trained athletes tucked into compression shorts, sparkling white shoes clipped into metal contraptions, gliding around on the 16lb flying machines we call road bikes. But that’s not exactly what it looked like. In fact, when I started riding with the people here, we didn’t even know how to ride in a paceline, we were side by side, or in the road. I never had the time, money, or guts to clip into my Cannondale road bike, either.