The improbable journey

The improbable journey
Preparing for the Mad-town two-wheeled challenge
by Leigh Anders

The snow is gone, the roads are clear and cycling season has begun here in the Driftless region. Even for me, the woman still haunted by flashbacks of the great Big Wheel smash-up of 1972 with the scars (okay, scar) to prove it. I’ll be the first to admit that I am not the most experienced cyclist, unlike my husband Darrell, who most likely pedaled his way out of the womb.

Still, I find the concept of powering one’s own transportation deeply satisfying, and so, in nicer weather, I gladly swap four wheels for two.

My daily driver is a vintage Schwinn, trash picked and lovingly restored to its original splendor. Outfitted with a basket, panniers, and a bike trailer, it is the perfect town bike, adaptable to a variety of errands. It’s a 10-speed, which for my riding style is frankly a waste of nine speeds. My Schwinn and I are perfectly content to pedal leisurely within the city limits of Viroqua. Our similar interests and abilities have made us quite the happy couple.

And so I must have been completely delusional last fall when I pitched the idea that Darrell and I bike to Madison. Like 100 miles. On bicycles. I truly have no idea where this notion
originated. It simply came tumbling out of my brain and into the dinner conversation. Judging from his reaction, these were the words Darrell had been waiting our whole marriage to hear; words I believe he found more thrilling than my original “I do.”

We set the date for August and Darrell readied my trousseau, the main component being a vintage Trek tricked out with everything a girl might need for a road trip. I knew there would be no turning back the evening I walked into the bedroom to find a black, padded riding skort draped across my pillow. Actual lingerie has never been more lovingly offered.

I spent the better part of the winter in my living room, pedaling on a trainer, contemplating just how far Madison was from Viroqua and obsessing over my Big Wheel scar.

With the arrival of spring, it was inevitable that I move my bike from the living room and out onto the open road. I’m not exaggerating when I say it’s like learning how to ride a bike all over again. I’m quite nervous over the fact that I cannot touch the ground while “sitting in the saddle.” With my Schwinn, I simply brake and put my feet down. Sitting higher on the Trek, it’s been a real learning curve to come off the seat as I brake, and I sometimes come off the whole damn bike.

And then there are the toe clips. And there’s the gearing. And a multitude of other details to which I am trying to adjust as cars whiz past at 60 miles per hour. In spite of it all I have reveled in the physical challenge of a new sport (okay, truth: my first sport). Having Darrell as a riding companion and built-in cycling coach has been fantastic.

Due to the unpredictable spring weather, our beginning rides have been rather short and sporadic. But for an unathletic girl with her eye on Madison, the time
has come to log some miles, so when Darrell recently proposed a 20-mile ride (and here is where all of the serious cyclists roll their eyes), I said, “Let’s do it!”

Leaving midmorning, amid sunny skies, the ride started out easy enough. But then the wind started blowing, freakish in that it was a headwind at every turn. About halfway into our ride Darrell realized he had miscalculated the distance, nudging the route closer to 30 miles, which was over twice my maximum ride thus far. And the hills! The hills were simply endless.

Given the discrepancy in the mileage and the fact that we were pedaling into a 30-mile per hour wind, we were out much longer than we’d anticipated. With my morning bowl of corn flakes but a distant memory, hunger began to override my fatigue.

Although I didn’t want to complain, when we reached Avalanche I finally confessed how miserable I felt. I was unsure if I could even finish the ride. Darrell, bless his heart, listened—and then his face lit up with the biggest aha! moment ever as he pulled over and proceeded to dig through his bike bag. I started salivating over the idea of a Power Bar, or better yet, a Snickers.

Try to imagine my disappointment as he triumphantly presented me with a small foil packet of electrolyte energy gel bearing the unappetizing name of “GOO.”

I didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but we’re talking Goo here. I reluctantly took the offering but will admit that I had reached such a point in the ride that I wondered if the best use for that little gel pak might be to stuff it down my bike shorts to soothe my aching perineum. Hunger won over. I inhaled the Goo, which was akin to sucking down a half cup of orange-flavored snot.

But obviously snot with a kick, as somehow I was able to pedal the 10 miles from Avalanche back to Viroqua. Darrell felt badly about his estimating error and, to his credit, had gallantly offered me the one available source of sustenance out there on the road. He also confessed that in all his days of cycling he had never experienced such hindering winds, information that made my own accomplishment all the sweeter.

Admittedly, I have a long row to hoe before I ride my bike to Madison, but as long as we pack a few Snickers bars, I think I’ll make it.

After 10 years in Viroqua, Leigh Anders continues to find small-town living simply fascinating.