The wind is the fat guy’s friend

Well, even the larger-than-average guy’s friend. 

Bundled up against the just above freezing temps, I could feel the southeast wind pushing through the layers of clothes.  Should I have worn the vest? the heavier winter mits? the full winter bib?  The sun was out and the black lycra warmed and soon Bijou and Tejon was in front of me and I found a warm spot in the sun in front of the Starbucks.

Cody popped out of the bagel shop next door, dressed in his summer kit.  ‘Do the tattoos keep you warm?’  He looked at me like I was dressed by my mommie.  I know the thermometer read 37 when I left the house, but I was still reassured when some other guys rolled up with arm and leg warmers and winter hats.

About thirty rolled out of town, a good showing for a cold Saturday in October.  The group dodged broken glass, bits of scrap iron and wood and the occasional rednecked F150 driver flipping us off for taking a third of a lane on Platte when two and a third were still available.  The pace picked up on the climb by Academy and Byron from East Lansing says ‘I feel a recovery week coming on.’  Echelons keep forming to the left as the wind spreads us out, the older, wiser crowd find spots to the left of the wheel in front and the pace slows as the turn south approaches.

I’m feeling good today, a good week of cycling as opened up the legs and none of the achy congestion of last week remains.  It takes a couple of hard standing revs and I move up to fifth wheel.  We’re going into the wind now and a couple of guys sprint off the front to crest the hill.  They’ll be back.  I’m not feeling generous today and keep my pulls short as we sweep south towards Link Hill, the first sprint.  We’ve got an assortment of riders on the front today and I’m choosy whose wheel I take.  Cody wants me to fill a gap behind a guy with hairy legs riding a mid-80’s Trek with downtube shifters, knees splayed to the sides, and I decline.  He fills it and I follow him, a wall of exposed flesh with an awfully nice draft.  Another good wheel is a fellow with a real Posties kit on, perhaps Creed or another former Lance underling.  He’s solid and predictable and I notice he leaves a huge gap behind the guy with hairy legs.

With the wind, the little guys who normally torture us on the run-up to the hill sprint are quiet, timidly following in our slipstreams.  The pace slows to 24mph and we ramp up the hill, Clay coming around Cody and I to take the sprint.  I feel good and save a lot for the second, flat sprint coming in ten miles.  Clay, someone I just met on the warmup, gets a slap on the back.  Cody says he faded badly at the top, but he still nipped us.  His prime?  He gets to pull the group down the hill.

The second sprint south of Fort Carson is more typical for me.  Time changes, moves and elongates as the distances stretch and a meter grows longer.  Thoughts aren’t complete, more like perceptions, clipped Twitter-like ideas like: green will sprint, stay five back, where’s Cody the big Ape, right gear, one smaller, Cody is shifting and lifting out of the saddle, jump now, hard, hard.  How many meters have passed?  30?  Cody gains an initial two bike gap as Hairy Legs is flustered by someone flying past, and then I come past and he snorts a ‘holy shit’ and I don’t hear him any more.  I come by Cody and suddenly I’m out front.  The sign goes by and I sit up and coast.  Today I didn’t feel the effort and feel like I could do it again.  A good feeling.

Our tempo ride back to town is punctuated by a stop at the 7-11 in Fountain, where we reach over the back of the counter to fill our bottles, and an ID check entering the base at Fort Carson.  After filling my bottles, I introduce myself to a fellow in a CoBikeLaw jersey.  I contacted them last week about joining their Masters team.  Mike and I talk for the rest of the ride to Colorado Springs.  He’s ridden a great deal in Italy with his friend’s cycling company and raced all over the west.  We talk about travel, riding in Europe and the people we’ve grown to lover there and I finish the ride up to Manitou feeling that maybe I’ve found a niche in this crazy, beautiful place after all.