Saturday Group Ride

Had a better weekend this past weekend than I have had over the past few weeks.  Friday was kind of rough day, as you may have read, but Saturday was better.  I changed the tires on my road bike—not just the inner tubes but the actual tires themselves—and then went out for a group ride with my new triathlon club.  The ride was a blast, and the new tires were awesome.  They’re slightly smaller than my old ones, and they seemed to hold their pressure a little better over the course of the day.  Plus, maybe it was just me, but it seemed like they rode better, too.

I rode from my house to the YMCA and met the group starting at about eight.  There were four of us on Saturday—me, Chris, Steve, and a new person named Kim.  Once we’d stretched and kind of hung out for a while, we headed out with Chris in the lead, going around a few long, looping back roads to a pair of short climbs, all of which led to a long pedestrian bridge over the Housatonic River that runs next to the Merritt Parkway.  Igotta say that it was kind of a mistake letting Chris take the lead.  He was the most familiar with the route, but he’s also the best rider in the group, and after struggling a little with the later half of last week’s group run, Chris was eager for a little payback.  

Needless to say, we all suffered.

Our ride route from Saturday.  Note that I've only included the part from the YMCA out to Stratford.  I left
off the ride from my house to the Y.

We got to the bridge maybe eight miles into the ride, and that’s where Steve and Kim turned around.  Steve’s still getting back into shape—in fairness, his wife just had a baby—and Kim was on her mountain bike—all things considered, I was amazed she hung on as long as she did.  But once they were gone, I was left alone with Chris, and let me tell you, that’s when the gloves came off.  I took the lead over the bridge and into Stratford, and as we climbed the last hill into town, I felt Chris come up behind me, looking a little frustrated.

“Don’t you want to push a bigger gear?” he asked.

Ummm… no?

Needless to say, Chris took the lead from there, and I latched onto his wheel and clung on for dear life.  And I was fine like that for maybe the next four or five miles.  But as we left Stratford proper and headed out towards Lordship, I felt myself starting to crack.  By that time, I was well past any concern for my pride as coach of the team.  I’d gone through all through denial and bargaining and was well into acceptance.  Chris was breaking me.  He was doing it effortlessly.

So I cracked, and we slowed down, pedaling around Stratford’s tiny airport and out through the marsh flats and around Russian Beach.  With me broken, Chris got chatty, and we talked man-nights and beer, kids and golf.  That was my favorite part of the ride.  We rode like that for maybe another four or five miles, and when we got out near my house, I pulled off and let Chris go.  I don’t know how much further he road, but for me, that was almost exactly thirty miles on the day.  An awesome ride and at a much higher tempo than I usually hold.

The rest of Saturday was pretty lazy.  I took the kids to the Milford library and then to our local comic shop, and when we got home, I kicked back with a beer and read comics.  The kids played and read comics of their own, and that was pretty much it.  A very nice Saturday.