Fan Photo

We love getting pictures from our riders. Here's Jennifer Margoles lookin' hot in her Venus kit after finishing RAGBRAI last week with her Dad in Iowa. Send us your pics and we'll post them, too. Thanks, Jennifer!

Am I A True Road Cyclist?

Me out riding near Cheyenne, July 2009

I’ve got quite a few labels attached to me. I’m Mom. Wife. Recent college graduate. Pet owner. There are many more things I can call myself, but I’ve never been able to call myself a cyclist. I’ll tell people in conversation, “I like road biking”, or “I do some biking when I can.” But, I look at the serious riders when I’m doing a tour, and don’t think of myself as belonging to their world. The question creeps into my psyche now and then. Am I a true cyclist?

What is it that qualifies a person as a bona fide road cyclist? Is it the number of hours spent training each week? A hundred-mile weekly average? More than $1,500 spent on a carbon bike? The number of tours or races completed? I don’t really fit into any of these categories. I’m riding a $700 Trek. I’m a Mom with young teens, and I have my own business from home; I don’t have time to put in 100 miles a week. I’ve only ridden in a couple dozen organized tours. I have yet to complete my first century (but I’m close). Not much of a resume for a cyclist who’s been on skinny tires for a couple of years now. I’m not a novice anymore, so what am I?

Today, I kissed my husband goodbye and glided down the driveway and into the street, beating back the laziness demons that constantly torment me. “Just go later” they whisper, “you don’t have to ride today.” Every time my derriere hits the saddle, I feel a small bit of accomplishment. It means one more ride soon to be under my belt, and the demons get the door slammed on them again. Surely, true cyclists don’t go through this struggle. I went out and rode alone, between rain showers. It was just me and a glorious Wyoming spring in the country, only a few miles from my home in town. Along the highway, a fox ran across the road not far in front of me, and I stopped to watch him bound through a field. Above us were clouds that looked as though a child had taken cotton balls, dipped the bottoms in grey-blue paint, and glued them to bright blue paper. But it didn’t rain. “Wow,” I thought. “This is why I love Wyoming.” But it’s also why I love biking. Does that euphoric contentment make me a true cyclist?

Road between Cheyenne, WY and Carpenter, WY. A favorite ride of mine.

My thoughts shifted to all the things I can do on my modest road bike, instead of focusing on what I can’t do. I can change a flat and handle many bike repairs on the road, by myself. I’m not afraid of traffic anymore, although I’m always vigilant. I’ve ridden forty-five miles in snow (the weather doesn’t necessarily make sense out here in the West, especially during Spring). I’ve had the best conversations and laughs with my friends out on the road. I’ve met the kindest people who’ve made my rides memorable; ride volunteers who hand out fruit and a smile when I’m dead tired, the guy who stopped on Fremont Pass in Colorado and helped me with a severely stuck dropped chain when I first started riding (I’ve since learned how to shift properly); the guy in an old Suburban who had a water cooler with him the day my friend and I ran out of fluids, twenty-five miles from civilization, on a scorching 97-degree afternoon. I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been in my life, and I’m getting stronger. I’m more careful about what I eat and drink. I’ve recently begun passing a few men on hills who have calves as thick as my thigh and are riding Cervelos and Merckxs. I’m starting to mentally keep track of my cadence, averages, and distances; my personal badges of honor on how much I’m learning and improving. Huh. Maybe I am a true cyclist.

I have concluded that I carry a lot of preconceived notions about what it means to be a cyclist. It’s likely most of them are stereotypes I’ve developed or witnessed. The only thing that truly matters, ultimately, is how I feel about biking. It’s not possible to have the experiences I’m having in any other sport. I can’t imagine ever giving any of it up. I dream about multi-day tours I’ll be able to take with my husband when the kids are older. I now regard the asphalt rising vertically in front of me as a challenge, not an obstacle. I absolutely relish the satisfaction I feel at the end of the day. I think I am a true cyclist, after all.

“Good ride!” my riding partner always tells me as we pedal back into town and split in different directions toward home. You’re right, my friend, good ride.

Riding the Elephant Rock in Castle Rock, June 2009

-Denise Hawkins, a 2008 Venus de Miles Rider

Send us your pics

Send us your pictures of you riding in your Venus jerseys, shorts, or full kits, and we will get them up on the blog. I already took my first ride in my kit, and definitely turned some heads.

Sarah Sibley, Pusher(wo)man

Everyone has a story that starts "As long as I can remember I've been on a bike." Or, "I remember when I was 10 years old and I got my first cool bike." I do not have one of those stories. Oh sure, I had bikes - a Strawberry Shortcake big wheel, a blue Schwinn with white streamers sailing off the ends of the handlebars, an orange Trek Mountain bike in college that was nicknamed "the Burrito Runner." I was just never really into bikes growing up.

My, how things have changed. Five years ago, while living in Seattle, my husband casually asked if road riding was something I'd be into. I think my answer was "uhm, ya sure, maybe. Why?" Followed quickly by "Would I have to wear spandex?" Somehow he talked me into getting a road bike and making cycling a hobby that we would do together. "Come on, you're so good at spinning. You'll be a natural on a road bike." What a hustler!

In a matter of weeks I was on a brilliant orange Motobecane SprinTour (later nicknamed "Orange Crush"). And seconds later I was falling off the same brilliant orange Motobecane SprinTour. It was a tough learning process, but luckily bruised knees and a bruised ego didn't hold me down. I dove headfirst and fell madly in love with cycling. I trained with a few ladies and did the Seattle to Portland 200 mile ride over two days in July 2006. When I crossed that finish line, you would have thought I just won the Olympic Gold Medal. I was sobbing and smiling and hugging and high-fiving everyone around me. It was glorious.

Finishing last years Venus de Miles 65-mile route on Orange Crush

After that, I was hooked. Along with a few girls, we started a recreational club called "Team Girl Parts." We'd meet once a week and on the weekends to ride together - no dudes. We figured there was a lot of time to talk on rides, and it's was great way for the ladies to talk about thing you just can't with the gentlemen. Also, we all had pretty competitive male partners that seems to want to always be King of the Mountain.

I've since moved away from Seattle and Team Girl Part, but am so so so so glad to have found Venus de Miles and an awesome group of ladies to ride with. I've put almost 3000 miles on Orange Crush and can't wait to double that.
Be warned. If you're a woman, and are thinking about getting on a road bike, I'm a pusher(wo)man. I'll get you on that bike and riding if it's the last thing I do.

Sarah Sibley is a board member and ride leader for Full Cycle's Venus de Miles Club, and general badass.

Learning to Ride

Teresa, the founder of Venus de Miles

I have to confess that I wasn't particular active up until eight years ago. Sure, I loved to dance and go for hikes, although I didn't discover cycling until 2001. My boyfriend Mo (now husband) suggested I try indoor cycling, which I quickly became addicted to. After a few months, I decided that I wanted to try road riding.

Mo gave me one of his old Ventana's, which (kind of) fit me, and I declared that I was going to start commuting by bike a few times a week, which was 20 miles each way. I went from 0 to 20 really quickly, and during our "trial commute", I thought I was going to fall over after mile 10. Luckily, we stopped at a cafe at the halfway point in Sacramento, enjoyed a shot of espresso, and were off on our bikes again.

On the ride back, Mo decided that I should learn how to draft - he explained this would really save my legs on the way home, since he could tell that I was clearly re-thinking my commuting plans. Drafting was apparently beyond me at that point, because a few seconds after trying it, I rubbed his tire and was laying in the middle of the road, completely embarrassed. Mo gave me an encouraging smile, and rode next to me the rest of the way. He never pushed the sport on me, and allowed me to experience it as I wished to after that point. Which, clearly doesn't include drafting.

After that day, I was more determined than ever, and started commuting 2-3 times a week. It didn't take long before I decided to ride my first century, and Mo upgraded me to a Specialized Allez, which fits like a glove. My century took 8 hours to finish; I was solo because all of my friends thought I was crazy riding 100 miles, but at the end I had the cycling fever.

My spin instructor suggested that I ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles, in the AIDS LifeCycle Ride in 2003. That's 600 miles - which seemed kind of lofty, but also feasible. I talked my best friend into joining me, who had never ridden, and we trained for 8 months. It was an adventure of a lifetime. During the seven days of ALC, I laughed, cried, fell, got up and laughed again. I raised funds for a cause that I'm passionate about, AIDS, not to mention awareness. Plus, I was awfully fit for my August, 2004 wedding, which was an added bonus.

ALC 2004 with wonder woman and Diana

Not long after moving to CO, Mo and I started talking about riding ALC 2006. We rode 5 of the 7 days on our tandem, which most folks call the divorcycle, but for us, it's a haven. We love riding together and although there were numerous um - spankings - on the tandem - for him going way too fast, we had an incredible ride.

ALC 2004 with Mo

Riding allows me to take time for myself and my girlfriends, smell the flowers, eat chocolate, and giggle up hills. It not only keeps me sane, but it also makes me whole.

Hope to see you out there,

Teresa

My First Bike

My dad got me my first road bike as a gift for my 14th birthday. He had started riding a lot, and wanted a buddy. It was a perfect excuse for father-daughter bonding, except he's got some serious thigh muscles. At least once a ride, he'd get into a pace, start thinking of other things, and end up miles ahead of me. I'd chase after him on my sleek red LeMond, hoping for the day I could keep up.

Father and Daughter (and the world's ugliest jerseys)

In high school, I rode on our poor excuse for a cycling team for one year, until the team was cut. I tried a few triathlons and rode plenty with my dad. In Boston, the fact that I was clipped into my bike and clad in spandex made my friends think I was a little bit insane. I thought it was cool.

I brought my bike to college in NH, where it proceeded to get stolen 2 separate times. The first time, it was stolen from the basement of my freshman dorm. 15 months later, I got a call from an operations manager who told me he found an old piece of paper in the pouch with my name and parents' home address on it. That was something my dad always made me carry, and it clearly was helpful.

The second time the bike got stolen, I emailed out weekly for over a month. One day, my friend said, "Every day I walk to school and I see this bike flipped upside down in a tree outside of Alpha Delta." It was a red LeMond, and it had taken a trip through the air from the second floor porch of the frat into a tree out front.

When I moved to Boulder, I spruced up the bike and started riding a lot. Every time I brought it in for service, people would laugh at my 10-year-old frame with failing components. I liked it, and I thought that, coupled with my worn camelback and cotton tshirts, it was an East Coast badge of honor. In early August 2008, I flew back to Boston to ride the Pan Mass Challenge with my dad, and for the first time (and, perhaps, only time), kicked his butt.

Pan Mass Challenge 2008

Two weeks after Venus de Miles 2008, I gave in and bought a carbon fiber frame. I felt like I was betraying an old friend, but my new bike was super fast and super sleek. My old LeMond sat, sans pedals, in my laundry room for 9 months. I considered selling it, but it had been with me for over ten years. One day in March I went to do laundry, and it was gone. After a minor meltdown, my roommate told me to call my boyfriend. He told me, "We're not talking about the LeMond." A few days later he wheeled it back into the house, spiffed up as a single speed with new handlebars and flat pedals. Best birthday present ever.My sweet new ride

I love my LeMond, and I ride it to work every day. It's been with me through a lot, and I hope I get a lot more time on it before it's gone. Which is why I bought a really nice lock.

It's been a while

We've been quiet on the blog for a long time, but we're back. Venus is collecting stories about women on bikes. Send me your favorite stories about your time on a bike, funny or heartwarming. I don't care if it's about your first time on a bike or your 100th race win, as long as it's about women and biking. I'll take pictures too! lauren@venusdemiles.com.

Lauren