IT’S 547AM AND I’M HUSTLING to load Trevor’s car with our bikes.  It’s been 2 years since he did The TMWC.  He just bought a new bike, and this will be his 2nd ride since taking a long break from the sport.  I know I’m stoked to have my number 1 riding with me, but I can’t decide if I’m excited to be faster than him.

I like it when he’s faster… he’s one of the few people I like to watch thrash me.

Must be a genetics thing.

We get to the start, unload.  He dresses.  I attach front wheels and water the grass.

We’re plenty early, which is nice because… he forgot his bottle.  #rookiemove.

It’s a big group, and the pace is spirited.  I drift back and check on him.  His form is perfect, he’s nose breathing.  But we’re two miles in and he admits this is going to hurt.

I wonder if it’s discouraging, humbling or motivating to be suffering on a ride he owned when fit.

The guys welcome me back too… I’ve been traveling or loafing for 3 weeks.  Damn, I love this crew.  Truly.

I check on him again, still there and looking good.

We race up SMP to Melinda.

I drift back.


Way back.

I’m done Dad.

We cruise to the re-group.  He pulls the plug and together we spin back to the car.  I let him know the quality of the riders has increased as the group has grown.  I’m not sure he cares.

Well, now we know my baseline.

There’s my answer: motivating.  He’s seen what he can do, and he’ll be back next week to make it a little further.

(yes, the ride has sped up in 2 years)