Riding With My Expert

My expert came to the house today to take me out on the roads for my first long ride--Dr. Dick Weaver, a colleague of mine when I used to work.

My Expert is board certified in three specialties (Family Practice, Occupational Medicine, and Aerospace Medicine) while I am only certified in Family Practice and Emergency Medicine. My Expert is still working as Medical Director of Solutia Incorporated on both a national and local plant level. I am unemployed and perhaps unemployable. My Expert is 62 years old and looks perhaps 50, while I look every day of my 61 years. My Expert weighs about 160 pounds while I weigh over 230. My Expert showed up having already ridden over 6 miles to get here to take me on a Quarter Century Ride and then to ride the 6 miles back home when he got rid of me. He showed up on a Recumbent Bike, the first I had ever seen. The thing looks more like a rocking chair than a bike and costs $2200 more than my “expensive” bike. I was dressed in an orange Carhartt T shirt and he in a French Racing Shirt. My shorts were $5.00 orange boxers from Wal-Mart; his dedicated biking shorts with built in chamois for groin padding. I did have a pair of riding tights with chamois from Dick’s Sporting Goods hidden under the orange boxers used as a cover-up for modesty. My Expert is a vegetarian while I just recently went back on red meat after 25 years. My Expert has ridden over 12000 miles on a bike while I probably have done 500 to a thousand. My Expert is dreaming of riding across country someday when he’s prepared, and I’m going in two weeks. Is there something wrong with this picture?

My Expert was very gracious and led the way on a ride out of town about 12.7 miles and back. He didn’t want to cut me short on my quarter Century Ride (25 miles) so we did 25.4 instead. It reminded me of the time some 15 years ago my running Expert Dr. Jack Fabian came over to do a 20 mile run with me on a course I had set up. He arrived promptly at 5 AM and we were off all over town stopping at food stores for fluid and nutrition. Some 5 hours later we were sweating on my front porch when he said, “The course is short.” “What?” I said. “Get in that car.” And off we went now driving around the course, pulling into each food store, even pulling over where we had urinated behind the trees to meticulously measure the course. We pulled into my driveway and the odometer read 19.8 miles. “You owe me 0.2,” he said, so we had to run 0.2 more to keep him happy. You have to love The Experts, if you survive.

The ride went well. Yesterday I thought I would learn everything today. Well, I learned a lot. My Expert said I did well as we averaged 11.4 MPH. The cycle computer told us that and My Expert seemed genuinely impressed with the pace. I was impressed that the computer worked. He rode ahead and called out warnings like “Car behind,” and pointed to road kills and pot holes so I didn’t hit them, and gave hand turn signals. He told me about the need to “take the lane” to hold up the traffic if necessary as when a left turn is needed. He showed me how to nearly get killed when an ass-hole made a quick right hand turn in front of us; and likewise to avoid death when another ass-hole passed an oncoming car and was coming straight at us in our lane thus crowding us off the road. My Expert was remarkably calm through these three incidents and I was glad to be with him and not some others I know. I was glad to miss the collisions. But I was also glad to miss an ass kicking from a redneck riled by bicyclist road rage from an Expert! The logging trucks were exciting. Women, worse than men, wouldn’t crowd the center line so we got less space. It’s too bad I can’t determine a driver’s sex through my rear view mirror. My tires were low and I haven’t yet rigged up my pump—a beginner’s error. My Expert pulled out his compressed CO₂ gas cartridge and jet inflated it (he did not pump it up!). I carried two bottles of fluids which was not enough. And one of those had a screw on cap—a bad choice on a bike as it takes two hands to open, leaving none to control the bike. The cycle computer once read a temperature of 114 degrees. My Expert says it wasn’t that hot, but it was hot enough.

Trail Boss Works on the VW Euro-Van Camper

Cimarron, the 85 year old hiker friend, and I walked our five miles this morning before the bike ride. He is really beginning to get psyched about our trip. I am blessed to have him as my friend and Crewman; however, he doesn’t like the name Crewman. The Cimarron name is the one he used when he walked the entire 2,174 mile Appalachian Trail from end-to-end from Georgia to Maine over two years from 2003-4. For 53 years he’s been a scout leader and went to Phil Mont Scout Ranch 14 times to escort troops. He’s got the road maps all marked up with the data from Adventure Cycling on our cross country route. He talked with the repair shop about the refrigerator repairs and set up a finish date this week. We discussed the need to fix his head lights which have a broken aim adjuster and need new bulbs. He doesn’t want anything to go wrong so he bought the most expensive bulbs—a true believer that you get what you pay for. He gave me my third indoctrination to the VW showing me at least two more secrete compartments, and we tested the newly fabricated bike rack. We discussed pots and pans, food preparation, and Millie showed him the stuff in her pantry she is sending along. I guess she really isn’t going. After a few weeks on the Appalachian Trail, when Millie and I hiked it in 2000, I changed her trail name from Sweet Pea to Trail Boss. With her permission and to Cimarron’s delight, I have decided to rename him Trail Boss for this trip. He deserves the honor, has accepted the responsibility, and this name is honorable. I’ll remain as Bear Bag.

On a more important note, we are anticipating heart surgery next week on the Trail Boss’s grandson. The little 5 year old has a valve problem and will be operated at Children’s Hospital in Atlanta on August 1. That is his main focus at this time and rightfully so. Please add Little Luke to your prayers. Trail Boss Cimarron and his family and mine would appreciate it.