I made my triumphant return to racing in the fall of 1992 after a four-year layoff. Although the race wasn't a triumph in terms of results, it was a life-affirming event. Once again, bike racing would change the course of my life.
The race was held in Grant Ranch, a large regional park east of San Jose. I knew from my previous experience with Bay Area races that I was in for a long day of repeated short but steep climbs.
From the time I quit racing in 1988 to earlier in 1992 I had gained 50 pounds. While nobody would call someone 5-11 and 185 pounds fat, I was certainly not the highly trained racing whippet I was before. Basically I would be starting back at ground zero, so I entered the beginner class. When I saw that they were paying down to 20 places, I thought for sure I would be scoring some CA$H.
Because of the weight gain none of my old jerseys fit anymore. Needing a place to carry my tools and spare tube, I had to improvise. I took the largest of my old jerseys and cut the sleeves off, which allowed me to stretch it over a tee shirt.
The race itself was a couple hours of pain and misery. I had been riding all summer, but much of that was on the paved bike trail. Even when I did go mountain biking, nothing in the Sacramento area really compares to how they build trails in the Bay Area. If there's a hill, the trail will typically go straight over it rather than traversing at an angle or switching back.
My lone goal in this race was not walking any of the climbs. This is not always the way to go faster or race more efficiently. I remember a few occasions when I was dying on a steep climb, refusing to give in to hoofing it, while people were walking next to me expending much less effort. Sometimes pride comes at a price.
I actually felt good about how I climbed that day. The course was no joke and overall I felt pleased with my performance all things considered. But I did pay a price. My brain raced like I did in the old days but with a body built more for pie eating contests. I have raced many times over the years, before and since, but this was the only time I ever flopped on the ground in exhaustion at the finish.
At this point I probably don't need to say there was no CA$H added to my bank account. I managed a lowly 64th out of 189. In the beginner class. How the mighty had fallen.
Still, the fire had been rekindled, the missing piece of my life rediscovered. I didn't know it at the time, but there would be many, many more races in my future. The second act to a play that I thought was long over had been written. I would never be the star I dreamed of in my youth, but every great play needs supporting actors. And sometimes even those guys in supporting roles get their day in the sun.
Later.
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