No Mas

As I have stated here in this blog repeatedly, I am fighting the “age thing” with everything I’ve got.  From refusing to acknowledge my upcoming 40^th, to refusing to take off my baggy Abercrombie & Fitch camouflage shorts, to refusing to get an adult-like haircut (the last one was so bad that my wife actually had to cut it again when she got home just to even it out), I am hell-bent against acknowledging the fact that I am in fact getting older.

Until now, that is.  I have found my match.  I have reached my breaking point where even I must admit enough is enough, and that age has caught up to me.  No mas.     

I can’t say for sure when exactly I knew that I was done, but I believe it was somewhere outside of Delafield, Wisconsin.  I slowly chugged up yet another big hill frantically looking for an even lower gear to use and started wondering whether the feeling in my testicles would ever return when it officially hit me . . . I’m simply too old for this shit. 

I was just 30 miles away from finishing my 10^th straight Cowalunga 3-day bike-tour in support of the American Lung Association, and I knew that there would not be an 11^th year. 

Now it’s not like I’ve lost interest in bike riding, I haven’t.  And it’s not like biking is a “young man’s sport,” it’s not.  It’s just that biking certainly isn’t getting any easier as I get older, and because of family responsibilities and kid activities, training for a 200-mile, 3-day ride is more difficult than ever.  I simply don’t have sufficient time to train for such a ride, and waking up at 6 a.m. on Sundays to train simply won’t cut it.  Ten years ago it wouldn’t have mattered, I could pretty much jump on the bike without any training and ride 200 miles without thinking about it.  I do that now and I have trouble standing upright the next day. 

But it’s not just the actual ride itself, it’s all the “other stuff” that you deal with during the three days that eight or nine or ten years ago seemed sorta fun, but now just seems to be an irritant.

For instance the accommodations are less than spectacular.  Cabins in a camp ground on Day #1 and a dorm room at the University of Whitewater on Day #2.  Now 10 years ago the dorms were sort of fun.  A chance to rekindle those college days while goofing around with the nice people sleeping in the room next to you.  Fast forward 10 years later and the dorms are a hot, cramped reminder that you’re a long way from home, and the “nice people” sleeping in the room next to you are now those jerks who keep slamming their door every time they come and go.

The heat and humidity and head winds that you rode through 10 years ago made you feel like a professional cyclist competing in some Tour de France-like road race.  Now that same heat and humidity and head winds make you feel ill and woefully out of shape.  The smile I used to wear as I grinded out mile after mile has been replaced by curse words that I utter at anyone foolish enough to ride by and say “hey, looking good.” 

And the Clif Bars and Gatorade and bags of pretzels that they have at the various rest stops are no longer considered a tasty treat, but a reminder that Clif Bars are not tasty, but actually a disgusting granola bar wanna-be that looks like a piece of shit.  Seriously, go buy a Clif Bar and tell me what you think it looks like.  Buy the Chocolate Chip Cookie one.  Go ahead.

Despite all of that, deciding not to go is still a hard decision for me to make.  This silly ride has become a part of my summer, and the time I get to spend with my two pals who have ridden with me for all 10 rides is a lot of fun.  But in the last 10 years I’ve ridden close to 2,000 miles.  I’ve had about a half dozen flat tires.  About a half dozen bee stings.  I’ve fallen off my bike twice and even dealt with a bad case of food poisoning. 

I know this will come as a disappointment to my high school pals who look forward to the trip, but we need to come up with a different activity.  I’ve had enough.  Besides, I think it’s time I get the feeling back in my balls.  Hoping that happens soon…

Cowalunga

I don’t do much for charity.  It’s not that I’m against supporting a charity; I just don’t have a particular one which I support.  And frankly I’m not searching for one.  Sure we give money to the Notre Dame alumni association but I’m pretty sure that’s because my wife wants to remain on the football ticket list so that she can take in a game at her alma mater once a year (though I’m not quite sure why anyone would want to see the Irish play right now – though football Saturday at Notre Dame is pretty spectacular whether the team is good or not).  And we support our kids school’s fundraising efforts and we’ve certainly donated canned goods for a local food drive, but other than those few things I’m not going to be accused of being particularly “charitable.”

The one exception is the American Lung Association.  I have supported this organization for the past nine years and in fact I’ve been the top fundraiser twice.  I’ve probably raised over $50,000 over the past nine years.  I support them via their annual “Cowalunga” bike ride each August.  Cowalunga is a three day bike ride that starts in Gurnee, IL and ends up in Hubertus, WI.  In all it’s about 200 miles.  There’s overnight stops in Lake Geneva and in Whitewater (cabins in Lake Geneva the first night and dorm rooms at the University of Whitewater the 2^nd night – accommodations are suspect).

It’s a great ride and it’s extremely well supported.  The folks at the American Lung Association know what they’re doing and they run a great ride.  About 300 people in all do the ride and everyone is responsible for raising some money.  I’ve gone above and beyond and have raised all sorts of money.  I’d be lying if I said I was “passionate” about the cause, but my grandfather did die of lung cancer (ironically the man never smoked a cigarette in his life) so there’s a little extra motivation for me.  But again I’d be lying if I said I was a strong advocate for the American Lung Association.  Mainly I just enjoy this three day bike ride and I don’t mind raising the money for this one event.

But I’m getting older and riding a bike for 200 miles over three days is NOT getting any easier.  Frankly it’s getting much harder and I’m not sure I’ve made it a day without complaining LOUDLY about how “this is my last freaking year” (and I don’t actually use the word “freaking” – something slightly stronger).  Just ask either of my good pals who I do this ride with about my complaining and they’ll tell you that it’s unbearable at times. 

To make matters worse my friends and I have run into some bad luck these last two years that have me really contemplating on whether a 10^th year is necessary.

Two years ago (2008) we had a small mishap on the bike.  Our first one, well other than my pal Bill who a few years earlier fell off his bike after he got his foot stuck in his quick release pedals – which on this particular day were not so “quick release.”  It wasn’t a bad fall as we were all coming to a stop (which is why he was trying to get his foot out of his pedal in the first place) but he did manage to coast into the middle of an intersection where a dump truck was bearing down on him.  No joke a dump truck.  You know when you fall off your bike in the middle of the street it’s never a Toyota Prius or a Mini Cooper that’s bearing down on you, it’s a fully loaded dump truck or maybe a city bus.  Go figure.  Anyway Bill survived and other than a skinned knee and a serious amount of “ball busting” from myself and our other pal John.  That’s as bad a mishap as we’ve had coming into the 2008 ride. 

But it was the 3^rd and final day of that ride where we had problems.  We had just gone up a big hill and were coming down the other side.  Bill and I were in front mainly because John refuses to switch gears.  Ever.  He rides in the biggest gear he has and pretty much NEVER switches.  So once we get to a hill John basically goes backwards until he gets to the top at which time he comes FLYING DOWN the other side. 

So there we are, coming down the other side of this hill.  Bill’s in front of me by maybe 20 yards and we’re both coasting and enjoying the road.  Enter John.  He comes flying down the hill past me and rides right up next to Bill.  Unfortunately John is real fast on the bike (well as long as he’s not going uphill) but he can’t actually RIDE A BIKE!  Get John in a pool and he’s great.  Swam at the University of Wisconsin.  Seriously he’s a great swimmer.  Get John on dry land though . . . . well not so much.  Let me just say this . . . I’m playing in a men’s 12” softball league a number of years ago and we’re short a guy.  The game needs to start.  We need a man.  I’ve got my buddy John and my wife Kirsten in the stands.  I grabbed Kirsten and gave her a mitt.  True story.

Anyway, John flies up next to Bill and proceeds to lock handlebars with him.  Surprisingly John was able to pull away unscathed, but Bill went CRASHING to the ground.  Hard.  Bike went flying and Bill bounced a few times on the pavement before coming to rest in the middle of the road (once again Bill has managed to fall off his bike in the middle of the road – maybe Bill should have stayed in the pool – another great swimmer – swam at the University of Kansas).  Unfortunately for Bill there was no dump truck this time. . . . just me.  And unlike that dump truck I wasn’t able to stop (still not sure why – I actually consider myself to be a good bike rider, but on this particular day I had a brain freeze or something because I failed to hit the brakes or swerve) and I plowed right into Bill.  Literally ran him over.  Of course I was thrown over my handle bars and ended up in a ditch.  Other  than some solid road rash I was fine, but Bill road the rest of the way on one arm as he was unable to move his right shoulder. 

That was 2008.

This past summer the ride went fine except I got horrendous food poisoning at the University of Whitewater after eating some bad hamburgers.  Spent the entire night in the dorm bathroom.  Had to have my wife pick me up the next day as I was too weak to ride. 

So here we are.  Registration is already being posted for the 2010 ride.  Both John and Bill seem fired up for a 10^th year (John wants to ride a track bike with no brakes – did I mention that John is a moron?).  The wife is willing to give me the three day hall pass again (probably against her better judgment).  Fundraising shouldn’t be an issue.  All signs are “go.”  And yet. . . . . well it just isn’t getting any easier.  Yes I’m desperate to try to rekindle my youth, but do I need to be on a bike?  Hell I’d argue that’s going in the wrong direction.  Me on the bike for three days while riding through the state of Wisconsin only reminds me that I’m rapidly closing in on my 40^th birthday.  I don’t feel young at all.  I feel old, tired and out of shape.  That’s the opposite of how I felt when I was young.

But maybe I do it because it’s three days with the guys.  It’s three days to goof around and be silly.  Maybe that’s the point.  Maybe sometimes you gotta do things that make you feel old and yet the overall experience makes you feel young again.  I don’t know, but I’m going to sign up again.