Compared to the Bicycle

My friend and internist, Dr. Roy, has promised to take me along on his annual cycling tour next year; if I can get in shape. I am sure he thinks it’s good motivation for me to shed a few unwanted pounds. What he doesn’t realize is that I long ago discovered that I can eat and cycle at the same time.

The Bike

Based upon Roy’s commitment, I dusted off the old road bike and have been working on my cycling conditioning this summer. This particular morning I dragged myself out of bed, strapped on the cycling shoes and hit the road. Thinking of the early days of my cycling career, when every ounce cost me precious time, I left the socks in the drawer and put those shoes directly on my bare feet. I briefly thought about shaving my legs to make myself more aerodynamic, but decided that would take too long. Shaving a few cookies from my diet may be more effective.

It was about 7:00 a.m. when I finally got everything in order. The sun was up, but the air was cool. I rode west from Bluff, towards Monument Valley. As I turned to make the return trip into town, the sunlit cliffs reminded me why I love this naturally walled village in the San Juan River Valley so much. The sandstone bluffs, for which the community is named, were glowing a misty pink, and the various formations faded into shades of gray and black as they receded into the distance. I searched the eastern horizon for the Sleeping Ute and finally noticed his nose protruding just above the southeastern cliffs. The valley was coming alive with light.

My bicycle is about 18 years old, which makes it a veritable dinosaur in terms of modern bicycling technology. In its time, it was a marvel of cycling engineering; but things have changed. The gum wall tires are fraying and the tubes tend to lose a little air. I kept watching the tires to ensure that they were remaining inflated, and began to consider the parallels between the old bicycle and me. That started me thinking about how I tend to lose a little air myself, which can be somewhat embarrassing.

When I first moved back to San Juan County, the trading post was still under construction, so I was living in Blanding. Every day Duke and I would drive to Bluff with the bicycle in back of the truck. After working all day with the building contractor, digging trenches and pounding nails, I would climb on the bike and ride to Blanding. The bike and I were like a well oiled machine, working in perfect unison. We would make the 25 mile, 2000 foot climb, in just over an hour. The bicycle was tuned to perfection, and my legs were like pistons, pumping those pedals up and down.

Family, the family business and a new daughter distracted me over the next few years. Then one day I was diagnosed with a terrible illness - the dreaded furniture disease. It was my father, Duke, who first noticed the symptoms. That tire around my waist began to inflate, and Duke, who is a renowned expert in the field of furniture disease, pointed it out to me. Of course I knew all along, but was in denial. I attempted to hide it and stay its effects with protein concoctions, but nothing worked. For a time I considered wearing moo moos, but couldn’t find patterns or shades that complimented my skin color.

In the more progressive medical texts, furniture disease is described as the condition where, “[O]ne’s chest falls into one’s drawers”. As in my case, the onset generally begins in one’s mid-twenties or early thirties. Serious disfigurement can occur. Once trim bodies begin to bag and sag, and cycling performance drops in direct proportion to the sagging and bagging. It becomes hard to work the pedals with all that weight pushing down on your thighs. Actually, the downstroke is fairly easy. It’s the upstroke, which requires lifting all those extra pounds, that can be difficult. Balance is also greatly affected. Shifting cellulite results in a less aerodynamic configuration and airflow is interrupted, resulting in significantly slower speeds.

So there I was, wrestling the bike back into this beautiful little community. The slow progress gave me time to notice the small indentation on the bicycle’s top tube, which resulted when my friend Greg was teaching me to draft. As we wheeled along at great speed, I became distracted, impacted his back wheel and careened off the trail. My inattention netted me several abrasions and the dent. The scars on my face result from similar distractions.

The slight grinding of the gears reminded me how I often wear on the residents of this small town. A little lubricant may be in order. As I pedaled up to the trading post, I realized that the old bike and I were lucky to be functioning at current levels. Neither the tires nor I had lost any air, which was a relief, since the bicycle pump doesn’t perform the way it once did either.

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