MPH2
05-02-08, 11:26 AM
A locust storm of lycra descends upon Germanfest and is openly welcomed by Muenster and its citizenry. The quaint German enclave of 1,600 residents swells with the influx of 2,000+ cyclists and their support staff of family and friends. Two wheeled distant cousins on Harleys and hogs displaying their black leather team kits rumbled alongside the skinny shaven leg set. Sunny skies, a late morning start and the promise of beer and brats made for a jovial mood among the vibrant hued throng. I meet a few friends from Plano Bicycling Association and we were eager to work together on the course and hills that lay ahead.
Through the jumbled chaos of releasing riders unto the road our motley band manages to form a group in the midst of the pulsing and swaying sea of cyclists. The first hill comes quickly and even the relaxed pace at the crest does not prevent the loss of a cohort into the tide. Hope for our band rekindles as she is able to bridge back to the group over the next few rolling miles. Our group of friends and occasional acquaintances remains intact as we pass the first rest stop. I try to snatch a cup of water from a cute volunteer but my fumbled attempt only douses her with the contents. Her startled gasp reaches my ears as we turn right onto the first real climb.
As we each climb at our own comfortable pace, the group strings out along the hillside. Those who arrive at the top first slow to allow the others to regain, but it becomes apparent this group cannot stay together over the savage swells that lay ahead on this course.
It is a curious thing this same selection of cyclists can ride and stay together in a large group ride on milder terrain but the hills tell the truth. There is no hiding from severe climbs they splay each one of us open and expose us as we are. Each climb sorts us into a numerical ranking and alleviates any pretense of who has the most fitness on that day. Maybe that is one of the draws of cycling: chance has been removed and replaced with devotion. Over time you can become a consistently good batter but every player has the chance or odd luck to hit the ball over the fence and go yard. Balls drop funny for everyone and a hole-in-one can make even the most hapless golfer a hero for a day. No amount of luck, charms or prayers will get you to the top of any mountain first. Only your daily devotion to the life of the two-wheeled deity, its strict dietary laws, and dogmatic rituals will allow you to don those angel wings and dance into the heavens.
The sorting has occurred and I find myself with an unlikely ally and acquaintance named David, and we would need each other to slay the many goliaths that lay on the road before us. The miles pass under our tires as we keep a nice average speed of 20 MPH. We occasionally pick up others but they fade as petals on the wind. We were well matched on this day and worked as one. I take in the scenery of pink and white wildflowers which supplanted the blue bonnets of a year earlier, and the clean quaint countryside showed well under the clear day and warming sun.
A well designed T-shirt, admission to the Germanfest festival, and two free beers makes the $25 rally entrance fee the best deal around. My wife completed her first rally this day and with beers as reward we wander through the festival grounds filled with proud German locals offering the best fare from their heritage. After a nice fresh local sausage with kraut I spy a unique sweet treat. The Haystack is a small round of shaved coconut baked to where the sugar caramelizes creating a crisp sweet base and topped with a bit of soft chocolate, a delicious reward after a hard day in the saddle. The Omm-pah band plays as children and adults display traditional dances in lederhosen and farm dresses. With a fresh beer I engage in a game of nailschlagen with fellow leg shavers and quickly remember why I am a cyclist. Sinking a nail with a hammer shaped like a blunt hand axe requires excellent hand-eye coordination. I may be able to climb a hill at a fair clip, but I missed the nail every time.
Through the jumbled chaos of releasing riders unto the road our motley band manages to form a group in the midst of the pulsing and swaying sea of cyclists. The first hill comes quickly and even the relaxed pace at the crest does not prevent the loss of a cohort into the tide. Hope for our band rekindles as she is able to bridge back to the group over the next few rolling miles. Our group of friends and occasional acquaintances remains intact as we pass the first rest stop. I try to snatch a cup of water from a cute volunteer but my fumbled attempt only douses her with the contents. Her startled gasp reaches my ears as we turn right onto the first real climb.
As we each climb at our own comfortable pace, the group strings out along the hillside. Those who arrive at the top first slow to allow the others to regain, but it becomes apparent this group cannot stay together over the savage swells that lay ahead on this course.
It is a curious thing this same selection of cyclists can ride and stay together in a large group ride on milder terrain but the hills tell the truth. There is no hiding from severe climbs they splay each one of us open and expose us as we are. Each climb sorts us into a numerical ranking and alleviates any pretense of who has the most fitness on that day. Maybe that is one of the draws of cycling: chance has been removed and replaced with devotion. Over time you can become a consistently good batter but every player has the chance or odd luck to hit the ball over the fence and go yard. Balls drop funny for everyone and a hole-in-one can make even the most hapless golfer a hero for a day. No amount of luck, charms or prayers will get you to the top of any mountain first. Only your daily devotion to the life of the two-wheeled deity, its strict dietary laws, and dogmatic rituals will allow you to don those angel wings and dance into the heavens.
The sorting has occurred and I find myself with an unlikely ally and acquaintance named David, and we would need each other to slay the many goliaths that lay on the road before us. The miles pass under our tires as we keep a nice average speed of 20 MPH. We occasionally pick up others but they fade as petals on the wind. We were well matched on this day and worked as one. I take in the scenery of pink and white wildflowers which supplanted the blue bonnets of a year earlier, and the clean quaint countryside showed well under the clear day and warming sun.
A well designed T-shirt, admission to the Germanfest festival, and two free beers makes the $25 rally entrance fee the best deal around. My wife completed her first rally this day and with beers as reward we wander through the festival grounds filled with proud German locals offering the best fare from their heritage. After a nice fresh local sausage with kraut I spy a unique sweet treat. The Haystack is a small round of shaved coconut baked to where the sugar caramelizes creating a crisp sweet base and topped with a bit of soft chocolate, a delicious reward after a hard day in the saddle. The Omm-pah band plays as children and adults display traditional dances in lederhosen and farm dresses. With a fresh beer I engage in a game of nailschlagen with fellow leg shavers and quickly remember why I am a cyclist. Sinking a nail with a hammer shaped like a blunt hand axe requires excellent hand-eye coordination. I may be able to climb a hill at a fair clip, but I missed the nail every time.