ROADIES ARE SOFTIES!

How Tough are Roadies Anyway?

On Saturday morning, Your editor drove through the pouring rain to Harewood Starbucks to meet with the guys who were going on a club ride around Cedar; got there around 9.45am and sat down with a small medium roast coffee ( trying to cut down from my usual dark roast medium). As each customer approached, I checked for rain jackets, shoe covers and fender-fitted bikes but there was no sign of any cyclists except for an old lady pushing a rusty CCM with large pop can-filled garbage bags hanging from each side of the sans brake levers handlebars.

 At 10.10am, there was still no sign of roadies raring to roll around in the rain (evidently, the ride leader did arrive shortly afterwards and did a lonely ride around Cedar), so I arose from the comfortable overstuffed leather armchair, dutifully deposited my cup in the dirty crockery container and returned to my still warm Lexus, to be enthusiastically greeted by Socks, my totally wired springer spaniel. After discussing the matter with the attentive pooch, we decided to see who was actually out enjoying the Fall downpour.

 As we cruised along Bruce Avenue towards Nanaimo's beautiful Bowen Park, the scene of a very successful (dry) October cyclo-cross, we passed a number of well-padded women walking along the sidewalk, bent arms pumping the humid air and legs purposefully pushing forward in artificially -lengthened strides. One of the ladies, tripped and staggered over one of the uneven joins but quickly recovered and the group proceeded on through the mist towards Bowen Road.

 I decided to take a short cut through the park and as I passed the lawn bowling green I observed a number of seniors engaged in a game, some holding large, colourful umbrellas but all obviously enjoying themselves. As I exited the park and headed up Wall Street, a hoard of scantily-clad, bare legged runners came hurtling down the steep descent, rain jacket tails flapping, jaws firmly set and eyes staring straight ahead, squinting through the rain.

 “Let's see how the rain affects the off-road bikers” I audibly muttered to the dog, who had moved to the back seat and was now dead to the world. Hearing nothing but a muffled sigh, I headed up towards Duomont Road and some of the best mountain biking trails anywhere. As I passed the moto-cross track and headed towards the end of the paved road, I counted no less than twenty assorted vehicles – half tons with protective sheets over their tailgates, expensive SUV's with equally expensive hitch racks and small sedans with a variety of roof racks. While looking at them all, I narrowly missed hitting a couple of riders on full-suspension Specialized machines who came speeding across my path, airborne, after hitting one of the numerous earth ramps at the side of the road.

 During my morning journey, I had yet to see any sign of roadies out “enjoying” the wet conditions but there was still time ... Returning down Duomont, I headed past the soccer field next to Pleasant \valley Community Centre.There were two teams of eleven girls engaged in a soggy session with another couple of boys teams playing on the adjoining school field. But still no sign of genuine cyclists! As I turned onto Metral Drive I finally spied three riders! Alas , they all had tri bars, Bento boxes and seat-mounted bottle cages, and were in aero tucks – obviously not roadies.

 I finally turned into my driveway, pressed the garage door remote and carefully eased in next to my three bikes: the carbon Ridley, supplied courtesy of ICBC after my 2009 accident, the Jake the Snake 'cross bike that had replaced my Cannondale mountain bike, and the lovingly-restored C.I.O.C.C. originally purchased from amateur winner Janusz Kowalski after the1974 world championships in Montreal. I contemplated each one and considered which I should ride today to hold up the side – I'd show the rest of those softies that there were still a few of us who would brave the elements! The “Jake” was my logical choice as it had fenders and even home-made mud flaps fashioned from pieces of Folgers coffee cans.

 I then went into the bedroom closet and stood there, trying to decide what to wear. There were only three pairs of bib shorts so I grabbed last year's MIVA ones and awkwardly eased my arthritic old carcase into them. Choosing a jersey was more difficult as there were no less than eleven hanging there plus a few more in the bottom drawer of my exquisitely-refinished antique chest (I really must send a few of those to Cuba) . I finally decided on a “Nanaimo Rides” jersey from 2010 and pulled slowly it over my head. Then I donned my "Showers Pass"  rain jacket and tugged on the old and holey but basically intact neoprene bootees. Now suitably clad, I dragged my home trainer from the garage to the shower and mounted the “Jake” on it after readjusting the fork stand for the cyclo-cross bikes longer wheelbase. I then mounted the bike, closed the shower door and leaned forward carefully to turn on the tap – to warm of course, I'm not that much of a masochist!

 After a hour in the shower, I regrettfully turned off the steaming stream of water, awkwardly dismounted, opened the door, grabbed one of the large, fuzzy bath towels and started to dry what was left of my grey, straggly hair. It was only then that I realised with horror that I had forgotten to remove my hearing aids. Oh well, what's four thousand bucks among friends? There goes our planned Caribbean cruise.

Anyway, despite my attempt to keep up the side, I have to admit that roadies in general are a faint-hearted, fair weather species.