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

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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.