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.
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)