Following my accidental acquisition of a used Canadian Tire bicycle, I discovered I rather enjoyed riding and started getting out as often as I could. By this I mean riding around the block. I pinged a trusted resource and respected cyclist (actually, the only serious cyclist I know) Thomas for cycling information and set about conditioning myself for commuting distance. I confided in Thomas that I hoped to be able to make the commute by the end of the summer. I heard the snicker in his text reply.
Using Google and the City of Calgary path maps, I plotted out a course from home to work that kept me on the bicycle path as much as possible. I’d seen other cyclists on them near the house so I was fairly certain that if I could avoid getting myself run over getting to the path, I’d be okay.
I set about riding the route after work and on weekends to build up my endurance. I had a long way to ride – 13 kilometres – and I didn’t want to find myself in some no-man’s land far away from automotive-rescue, out of energy and late for work, or worse, pushing the bike home, trudging away long after the sun had gone down and the kids were safely in bed. 13 kilometres…that’s like a portion of a part of a marathon. Thirteen thousand meters. That’s a lot of meters! The plan was to get it done once before the snow came and I couldn’t do it anymore, and I only had 5 months to get into shape.
My first ride out went exactly to plan. Head east down the long hill (wheeee!…hey…wait…do I have to come back up this hill?), past the “massage” joint in the industrial area, across the bridge to where the path starts (hey – still alive), ride 100 meters of path and then? Well go home obviously. Look how far I’ve come – I’m completely out of breath, my legs feel like Jell-O, I’m sweating so hard it looks like I’ve been caught in a rain storm and that nasty hill is waiting for me yet.
I turned around and headed up, retracing my route thinking of nothing but the mountain I had to climb and wondering if I might be spared the climb and be rewarded with a fatal heart attack or a coughed-up lung. Anything would be better than that hill. 350 meters long with perhaps 20 meters of elevation, the last block of which must be near vertical, perhaps actually vertical. Alas, death did not save me from the climb so I pedaled on. When I got to the bottom of the hill I let out a small wail as I looked at the looming hill-beast in front of me, and shifted into granny.
I’m sure the gawking and the staring of the residents on the hill was brought on by their awe of my physical prowess as I charged up the hill, my handling skills as I narrowly avoided being rear-ended by an electric wheelchair, and by my remarkable composure. Calmly I pedaled up the hill, revelling in my sudden ability to conquer this obstacle. A little secret just between us – despite my outward composure, on the inside I was gasping, wheezing, crying, marvelling at pain of lactic acid and wondering how I’d managed to avoid expiring my entire chest contents onto the handlebars. Then I hit the plateau, that narrow block that offers a slight reprieve before you head up the vertical block.
I’m not entirely certain what happened next – perhaps the cheering residents (I’m sure that’s what the ringing sound was) pushed me up the hill or maybe I was hit from behind by that electric wheelchair and punted to the top of the hill or perhaps I simply blacked out as all the blood was in my legs, but the next thing I knew, there I was. Breathless, shaking, sweating profusely, legs like concrete, with 4 lanes of traffic stopped waiting for me to haul my carcass across the road. I managed to pedal the remaining 400 meters home and collapsed into a puddle of goo.
I plotted my course with Google Earth later that day and confirmed – I’d done it! Total distance my first trip out? 4000 meters! That’s 4 entire kilometres, the better part of two and half miles. Round trip. Yeah baby. Rock Star Cyclist my first time out.
Just might get that commute in yet.
