Spring's Almost Here

I’m excited that spring is just around the corner. Sure, we’ve had a mild winter, but I’m writing this in the midst of a weekend when the two club rides were cancelled because of expected sub-freezing temperatures. I could have gone out on my own, but I enjoy the camaraderie of the Club.

I’d been looking forward to Tom Jamison’s climbing ride up Lookout. Joe Nivert’s done a superb job putting together this climbing series (as he has with our generally full calendar of Club rides), and many members have been using it to get ready for the 3-State, which will be here before we know it. Last weekend, Joe led us up Raccoon Mountain. The ride was only 30 miles, but the climb up Raccoon made it feel longer. Somehow, I always remember that ride as easier than it ends up being. When I get to the top of 136, Suck Creek or Mowbray, I feel I got what I expected. Raccoon is always a surprise; maybe I just repress memories of the climb when it’s over.

But what a beautiful ride—especially the loop around the reservoir.

It was Amy French’s first climb up Raccoon—even though she’s done just about every other climb in the area. She had done an extra 30 miles or so trying to keep up with George that morning on a “bonus” ride through Lookout Valley. She did great.

I enjoy riding with Amy. She and I—beyond being close friends—are also similar cyclists. We’ve both struggled with excess gravitational pull for most of our lives, and we’re both climbing as strong as ever. As we climbed Raccoon, I thought about last year, when we did the Cherohala Challenge together with Gary “Scrubs” Gesualdi. Admittedly, it was “only” the metric, but it was a ride that had seemed  unattainable to us. We trained and got ready for it. It was a long, slow, hard climb. We paced ourselves and sometimes had to force ourselves to stop, drink and eat. At the top, it was almost anticlimactic. “You mean we’re at the top?” And isn’t funny how a ride that seems all uphill in one direction sometimes has its share of  challenging climbs in the other? We made it, and it was like a turning point. After that, we felt we could do about anything—or at least try. I was looking forward to climbing Lookout with her. Of all the ways up, 136 seems the most painless.

On the Monday holiday, when the weather was better, Amy led the rescheduled ride up and across Lookout. I was stuck at a desk.

Joe Nivert didn’t seem his usual cheerful self on the Raccoon ride, and sure enough he was sick. He had even been sick the previous day when he’d filled in at the last-minute on a 50-miler. But very little gets in the way of Joe and cycling. I remember riding with him a few days after he’d had pins inserted to mend a broken collarbone. His only comment was that going over railroad tracks was a little “jarring.” I also remember riding with him on the Tellico Plains ride in 2005, when I rounded a bend and saw him kissing the pavement. He’d hit 10,000 miles for the year.

I was especially looking forward to Tom Ingledew’s ride from Boynton on Sunday. No matter how many times he offers it (Joe calls it “Tom’s Terrific North Georgia Ride”), it doesn’t get boring. I hadn’t seen Tom in several weeks, and I’d hoped to catch up a bit on life. He always seems to help me get a better perspective on life—maybe because he has such a good one. We call him “Proton Tom” for a reason. The past few years have thrown him more than his share of health issues that would have put an end to some people’s riding careers. Tom just came back stronger each time.

Even when Tom’s not leading a ride, he takes care of his “flock.” On countless rides, he’s the one waiting at a turn to make sure the slower folks got there. Sometimes he just hangs back and pulls people to catch up to the rest of the group. He’s one of the most considerate riders (and people) I know.

So I was a little sad that weather cancelled both rides.

Thankfully, the 2007 bicycling season is just around the corner. This year, we set the clocks ahead on March 11—three weeks earlier than even last year’s early start. Spring also means that our weekly evening rides are starting up again, and that the weekend ride calendar will start filling up.

Many safety experts suggest that we use the changing of the clocks as a reminder date to change the batteries in our smoke detectors. It’s probably not a bad idea to use the time-change as a trigger for some annual maintenance checks, too. I asked some other board members for their advice.

If you haven’t been riding your bike much during the winter months, dust it off. That’s not to make it more aesthetically pleasing or even cleaner. It’s a good way to get back in “touch” with your bike and to check it over for any maintenance issues. Check for loose parts like the saddle, handlebars, cables and spokes, and make sure that quick-release levers are snug. Check the chain for rust (lube or replace if needed) and the tires for dry rot, wear and cracks. Make sure lights work—that batteries are strong and bulbs are intact. It still gets dark earlier than we’d like.

Or do as I do: Bring it to your favorite bike shop for a spring check-up.

Check your helmet for cracks and other damage. Replace it if need be; the cost is negligible. And make sure it fits.

Go for a test ride around the block or in the neighborhood. If something doesn’t sound or feel right (whether it’s your bike or your body), don’t wait to find out until you’re well into an extended ride. Check your seat height and fit.

Don’t let the cooler temperatures fool you. Although we’re not struggling through August heat, we’re still sweating. As Cat Thornton told me, three of the most important rules of cycling are “Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate.” This isn’t just for elite or long-distance cyclists. If you’re dragging during a ride or feel wiped out that evening or the next day, it’s quite likely because you didn’t drink or eat enough. The general rule is a bottle every 10 miles. You may need more, but don’t rely on less.

And don’t forget the sunscreen: The sun’s rays are as direct and strong in April as they are in August; they just don’t feel that way.

Especially at this time of year, evening rides often mean that homeward-bound commuters are dealing with the angle of the sun. That means dealing with glare at the height of evening traffic.

Be safe.

I’ll see you on the road.

Jim