When I was a kid, I liked the timing of my birthday. It was close to being midway between Christmases, so the wait between presents didn't overly tax my childish patience. It also meant that I was not only able to celebrate the occasion in school with my classmates, and with assorted tasty treats, but that I would soon be celebrating summer vacation, as well. Having a birthday during the latter part of May was like having a birthday in the sweet spot of the year.
And I still like the timing of my birthday, if not for the same reasons. The weather is usually nice and the cycling season is well underway. And so, in a lighthearted mood, I composed the following lighthearted birthday poem.
Hee, hee, hee.
I'm sixty-three.
And then, not resting on my rather well weathered laurels, I then commenced to create a lighthearted birthday haiku. The finished product of my creation is as follows.
Hee, hee, hee, hee, hee.
I have just turned sixty-three.
Hee, hee, hee, hee, hee.
The downside of all of this creative labor is that I'm not as likely to be participating in our KBC rides in the near future, as I'll be spending a lot of time hanging around my house waiting to hear about my MacArthur Foundation Genius Grant.
And, naturally, all of this creative labor got me thinking about cycling shorts. I have some shorts that are in the twilight of their lives. I find myself holding them up to the light like a sommelier inspecting a glass of wine, except that I'm not seeking clarity. I sometimes like to savor the mysteries of life and I always prefer my cycling shorts to be opaque. So, when I realized that one of these shorts had reached almost veil-like quality, I threw the shorts out. Sure, I could have worn the shorts for a few more rides. But I didn't want these shorts to be like the guest who has outstayed his welcome; the host, so to speak, being the unfortunate person riding behind me. It was time to let them go and it was also good timing to let them go.
And, naturally, this got me thinking about trains. I started a Saturday morning group ride a few weeks ago by riding through downtown Kalamazoo, where I got separated from my riding companions, thanks to a couple of yellow lights. As I saw my companions turning right a couple blocks ahead of me towards points semi-unknown, I got stopped by the crossing gates of a train track, only yards from the track. I suppose I could have attempted to ride under the gates before they were completely in place, but I decided to be a reasonably good ambassador to the sport of cycling, and wait my turn until the gates rose again.
And wait. And wait some more. Because, this was an Amtrak train, I was next to the train station, and the train was unloading and loading passengers. Ten minutes later, I was finally able to ride again, my riding companions long gone.
So, I blazed my own trail. The highlight of this ride was giving a man on a motorbike somewhat questionable directions on how to get from 1/2 Mile Road in Calhoun County to Indiana, while avoiding the interstate, and disabusing him of the notion that he could follow this road all the way to the Indiana line. Why was he riding long distance on a motorbike? Well, why was I riding long distance on a bicycle? We could have been savoring the mystery of each other's choices, but I was actually thinking that if I were him, I'd have found a better way to travel, and maybe he was thinking the same about me. But we never would have even met if not for the timing of that train.
And, naturally, this got me thinking about bicycling races and tours. The first Friday in May, I traveled to Springfield, Ohio to participate in Calvin's Challenge, a 12 hour bicycle race, the next day. I've done this race a few time in the early part of the double-zeros decade, but then stopped doing it for a few years. I've taken it up again for somewhat mysterious reasons that might have something to do with the second word of the event.
As usual, I started riding too fast. After 25 miles, I was on pace for riding 211 miles. Now I knew that I was not in good enough shape to do this and history was not on my side; my personal record in this race being 199 miles, set when my legs were 12 years younger. But the adrenalin was flowing and I began having delusions of 200 mile grandeur. I was all in.
After finishing the second 50.5 mile lap, I was a couple minute under 6 hours, but I also knew that my good time was about to end. And so it did, and the last 4 hours of the race were ugly. Still, I rode 188.5 miles, beating my original non-delusional goal by 8.5 miles.
And what was even better was that this race was the Ultra-Marathon Cycling Association 12 Hour National Championship and I finished 6th in the 60-69 age group. Ignore the fact that there were people in my age group who beat me and were not members of the UMCA. Ignore the fact that there were only 13 eligible racers in my age group. After all, as lottery winners (and losers) know, you cannot win (or finish 6th) if you do not play. And I know that I'll be reaping the rewards for this accomplishment, both personally and professionally, for years to come. Consider, for example, the following telephone conversation at work with a client. It might go something like this.
Client: Are you sure that this would be the appropriate way to analyze these data?
Me: An I sure??!! Don't you know who you're talking to??!! I'm an age group 6th place bicycling national champion!!!!
Client: What was I thinking? Oh, how could I have ever doubted you? I am a fool! And could you please send me an autographed picture of yourself?
So, I think that I can say that while my timing during this race left something to be desired, my timing in actually entering this race didn't.
The weekend after Calvin's Challenge was the Tour of the Scioto River Valley, a two day tour from Columbus to Portsmouth, Ohio and back. I have done TOSRV the previous 21 tours, dating back to 1994, but during the weeks leading up to the event, I found that my enthusiasm for the event was lacking. I missed the early registration deadline and with the knowledge that I could now register up until the night before the event, I kept putting it off. I finally decided that I just didn't feel like doing the ride this year and that I didn't want to be one of those persons doing something just out of an obligation to honor a streak. I decided that the timing was right to end it. So, I stayed home and rode the Kal-Haven Trailblazer ride instead.
Time and timing. Each birthday drives home the point that I don't have control over time, but I have at least some control over timing. I didn't have any control over the timing of my birth, although my parents did (thanks, Mom and Dad, good timing!), nor did I have much control over the timing of the train (bad timing, but at least I got a somewhat strange encounter from it). However, when choosing to throw out my cycling shorts (good timing), choosing my cycling pace during a race (bad timing), and choosing when to participate or not participate in an event (good timing), I'm the one who is in control.
And the passage of time, when viewed from the perspective of a man who is easing his way from his early to mid-sixties, also drives home the point that for the time being, I still have the opportunity to choose those types of cycling related activities that I want to do, before age makes the choices for me. Sometimes I choose wisely and sometimes I don't, but at least I'm still the one who is doing the choosing.
This, naturally, provided the inspiration for yet another birthday poem.
As you can see.
I'm sixty-three.
But I'm alive and kickin'.
And I'm out there cyclin'.
Just because I want to be.
Hey, I'm willing to settle for a PEN grant.
Rick Whaley, KBC Newsletter Editor
