Weight: 264
Ride: 21 miles
In 2005, I brought a bike to the University of North Texas for the first time. The summer beforehand I had taken up cycling in response to my ankles’ inability to withstand the torment of running. My girlfriend’s dad, who is a Rolfer (wikipedia it; it’s a form of massage), suggested that cycling would be a much more manageable replacement for running since it’s lower-impact, thus less hard on the body. He let me borrow an old-school road bike that he had bought for his wife back in the 80’s that she had never really used. I know what you’re thinking, and let me deny the rumor now. No, I was not riding a woman’s bike. It was a stock-geometry frame (sutiable for both men and women), but the only problem was that it was a bit undersized for me. I rode every now and again that summer, nothing of great report however.
Come August, I packed the bike in the back of my truck with the rest of my belongings and headed back up to Denton for my third year of college. It was a marvelous time, and I began to see this town in an unprecendented light. One of the merits of cycling that I suggest in response to those who question why I love cycling so much is the freedom of exploration it provides, a reminiscent feeling of childhood. Think back to that time. Maybe your parents only let you ride to the mailbox of the fifth house over; then once you grew bored with that, they let you ride to the end of the street. As you grew older and your parents’ confidence grew, they gave you free reign to ride wherever you liked, within reason. You now had the means to discover every nook and cranny that your neighborhood had to offer. Every turn led to somewhere new and exciting; it didn’t matter then if there were hills or if it was hot, you rode on in anticipation of whatever novel thing lay around the next bend. That feeling didn’t leave you when you entered junior high or high school. It certainly did not escape me. I welcomed back those same feelings as I rode around Denton that fall, removing a veil from over parts of town I had never seen. This included the south side of Bonnie Brae, across the highway. I likely landed there after riding through the old golf course, and after running out of real estate, ventured on to the nearest road. I was curious to see where this road went. I crossed the train-tracks, went up a little hill, past a few residential streets, and stopped where the road took an impressive downward-sloping right hand turn where Bonnie Bray meets Roselawn. Desiring, like so many kids-at-heart do, to go fast, I took the turn and plummeted down the road, passing farm houses and a small creek. The speed from the descent wore off, and I kept plugging away. That is, until I hit a section of bad road surface that eventually became completely unpaved. At the time, this was my cue to turn around. And for three more years, I would take that hillside turn often, only to turn right back around and ride back up it, never really caring what existed beyond that unpaved part of the road.
All that changed today. Without my bike computer, I had to plot my course using Google maps. I wanted to get 20 miles in, so I selected a fairly diverse route that I wouldn’t get bored with, including a section of road I had never traveled on. Yes, I had decided to finally determine where S. Bonnie Brae would take me, three years removed from being turned away by an unwelcome road surface. I looked on the sattelite picture and observed that the road appeared to remain unpaved for only a brief stretch. I decided that I would take Bonnie Brae until it interesected 377, and then I would turn around and come home, reaching a distance of 21 miles.
All of this description and backstory culminates in one moment. The road did, in fact, turn back into friendly concrete after about a half-mile or so, and the remaining leg of my trip was not all that noteworthy. I found it to be quiet and without much traffic. I passed more farm houses and empty pieces of land; I was taking it all in, turning my head this way and that in effort to observe all that I could. That was until I looked straight ahead and saw a veritable wall of a road in the distance. People often use that expression to describe an impending hill, and it always sounds to me so trite and ridiculous. But I left that impression on the side of the road when I peered into the distance and saw a wall. A wall that I had to climb. Now, it’s obvious to say that I don’t like climbing hills on my bicycle, and I’ll tell you why. It’s because I’m fat. Not to say that it would be anywhere close to easy if I were skinny, but my extra weight retards the process for certain. Take this picture for example: My friend Jonathan weighs around 140 lbs. In order for him to experience what I experience when I go up an incline on the bike, I would have to strap an extra 124 lbs. on his frame. One hundred and twenty-four pounds! It’s no wonder I despise it when the road pitches upward, dreaming about a a route made entirely of descents. Now, this hill I speak of isn’t all that long, but it is incredibly steep. With a great amount of reservation, I stood up out of the saddle and did what I could to mash the pedals down and move forward. In my smallest gear, I still felt that I might fall over, both from the severe angle and the hard effort. Halfway up this torturous Col, I…clipped out of my pedals and came to a stop. I walked the rest of the way up that hill, and while I might find shame with such an admission, I don’t feel anything of the sort right now. There might come a day, perhaps soon, when I will be able to tackle that beastly climb on the south side of Bonnie Brae before 377, but it was not to be on Friday, July 11, 2008. Let’s talk about it again in another 20 lbs.
