I clipped into my peddles and ambled my way ten miles north to Hawthorne Park where there was already quite a crowd of similarly spandexed, highly invested, cyclists. I want to emphasize the word cyclist here. These were not ride on the sidewalk to buy a beer at the gas station 'people on bicycles', these were ready to ride cyclists. Jerseys, and water bottles, and those strange, disgusting tasting goey packets of... what ever those things are made of.
Promptly at 6 o'clock we roll out of the park and onto the bike trail. The peleton is 40 or 50 strong, more than I have ever ridden with. We coast evenly down the bike trail and a small boy on a bike squeals at us to go faster, but we can't because of the cramped quarters. However, once we hit the main road the pace quickens.
I was beside myself with joy for the close spacing, the speed and with what ease that speed was maintained. Handlebars inches from other handle bars, my front tire dangerously close to the rear tire in front of me. Adrenaline pumping and pulse quickening. I was over excited. I was over excited and leading all 50 riders. Pace lines were formed I fell in line and paced in third or fourth place for a long time. Twice pulling after a quick downhill. I felt like I was on top of the world.
Soon, within an hour we had doubled the distance it had taken me to get to the park and from nowhere the pace skyrocketed. I was able to stay on the tail end of the mob but when I looked back no one else was to be found. The 50 riders had shrunk to maybe 20. I asked what had happened to the rest and which group I found myself in.
"Oh" they said, "you're with the quick group, the medium and slow group peeled of a while ago."
Great. I thought to myself. I had had every intention of sticking with the medium group. And now I find myself sucking wind behind the fastest group of riders I have ever been with. And yet I was still able to stick with the tail end of the group until the hills. Oh the hills.
The hills on McDaniel turned my already fatigued legs into mush and I fell out for good. I managed by the skin of my teeth to inform one of the other riders that I would not be returning to the Park but instead was on may way home to lick my wounds.
I peeled away and turned west on Springhill, but a few miles from home, with an ear to ear grin shining out from beneath my helmet.
