Recruiting Into the Cult

So we finally conned Julie into coming along on the Monday night ride with the Trek group. Complete with her sleek helmet, riding goggles and Bone Kitty bell. She claimed to be pitifully out of shape, but it's not true.



She did better than I did my first time out, anyway. She was trailing a bit, but when they asked her how she was doing about halfway through, she said, 'Super!' and sounded like she meant it. I think at that point I was gasping and talking about seeing spots on a grade that is actually borderline on flat. Julie sometimes needed a minute to catch our little peloton, but unlike my first time out, she didn't reach it in tears or make anyone wonder if she was about to go into cardiac arrest.

I found out Jennifer actually worried about that last one because, apparently, true to form for yours truly, between gasps of breath I talked about how I went into cardiac arrest mowing my Mom's lawn seven years ago. I can see how someone might think I was about to do a Dick Cheney impersonation.

After the ride, we also discovered that Julie had all of about 15 pounds of pressure in her tires. There are balloon animals harder than these tires. So not only did Julie survive a harder route than my first group ride took, and in better spirits, but she did it with an astounding handicap. She was impressed at how much easier her bike rolled home after I used my hand-dandy pump to put 60 lbs in them.

But then, my first Trek group ride, I had a bike in bad need of lubrication and with a front brake rubbing, and I rode at least once on under-inflated tires, though not that under-inflated (I think). When my brother tuned my bike up, got it rolling smoothly, I felt like I was cheating on my next ride.



I've passed the point of no return as far as cult membership goes: I ordered a rack for the back of my car so I can quit gouging my upholstery taking my bike apart and jamming it into my back seat. I've got my Bontrager bike pump with a lifetime guarantee, the padded gloves, the padded spandex shorts, the Trek Vapor helmet. Track shoes and Aloha shirts are the only thing preventing me from transmogrifying into one of those kooks you see hugging the right shoulder everywhere these days.

Now it's Julie's turn on the altar. Prepare the sacrificial wallet.

Actually, no need for the sacrificial wallet, as Julie has a talent for finding bargains. See her $30 Diamondback bike, for instance.



After we went to Julie's house for good beer & good conversation. And delicious stupice, purple heart and I don't know what-all kinds of tomatoes grown in her back yard, Tomato Town.

By the way, really, sponsor me in the MS ride. It's like six weeks off and I've raised practically nothing.