Well… I guess I’ve been riding bikes for a while. There always been something that has attracted me to them. I don’t know if it’s the feel of flying through the air, or the joy of cruising around under your own steam.
Anyway – I’ve been on the bike for a while.
The racing part didn’t start till I was about 3ish… My dad was racing, and although I was very small I always wished that I could go out and ride my little tricycle around with him. I love the bike too – I’d go out on my two-wheeler and try and ride down hills to little success. I was also quite a wimpy kid, we would go on short 3-4 mile rides on the bike path and I would complain the whole way. But, despite my whining I rode the bike.
After a while I got into the fad of jumping of and over stuff… After some broken things – including body parts I had a new want to get out on the bike… I was finally old enough that I was able to fit on my mom’s old bikes, so I went in a new direction.
The first excursion into my new exploration was my dad and my trip to Mt. Lassen we road mountain bikes which was a completely new concept to me. I was able to ride all day long and we even road our bikes in the snow it was great. But – this was just the start of this stage the next step was to get on the road bike.
I pulled out the old Bridgestone, put on the old leather and plastic cleats my mom had and headed out to explore the road with my dad. I still remember the first time that I knew that I could be good at this. We were headed up to the Big Canyon Hill (a mile or so long climb at about 4-5% up by our home in Middletown), and I thought that I was going to die. I was working so hard and we had gone a whole 10 miles… I didn’t know if I was going to make it.
Then we hit the hill. I started to complain… This started to sound like the old bike rides with my dad, but wait… Something was wrong… I wasn’t dropped or going slow… I was ahead a good two switchbacks… What the hell was going on???
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