Not for Wimps....it's for the Girls

The final miles of any endurance road ride can determine the quality of fiber of which you’re made. When dump truck loads of lactic acid freeze your legs into a catatonic state, and your engine begins to slow, reality will set in. “What am I doing here? What was I thinking, like I could actually pull this off?” Next, the devastating doubt constricts your airway and things start to get ugly. This song is sung at 200-mile races like LOTOJA, 24 Hours to Moab or many centuries spun around the Wasatch Front, but not at the Little Red. You’re amongst friends, girlfriends that is.

Breasts are not required. Neither are ovaries. To be female is mandatory. My “girlfriends” include over 400 riders like Chris, a CAT 3 racer in her 30’s and Kelleen a dedicated mother and breast cancer survivor, to a four-time Little Red cycling mom with her daughter of nine in tow. We all get together for a 30, 62 or 100-mile spin. The estrogen is simply overflowing. Frightened? Don’t be. As motherhood isn’t for wimps, neither is riding a bike, nor is just being one of the gals. This I would rediscover at the end of my ride.

p. Robin Perkins

This year, I had a blast with my buddies; we wore “ red capes” just like Little Red. Never take yourself too seriously. Never. We were in good company with the Pink Floyd girls and all their sparkling “Barbie Doll Pink” glory of glitter and feather boas streaming down the highways and byways of the beautiful Cache Valley. We’ve been known to turn the heads of even the most serious of John Deere driving dairy farmers.

My most memorable moment this year however, didn’t occur until the final four or five miles of the ride, the point where all three routes reunite for the home stretch. Glancing up, I saw her a few hund red feet ahead. She wore her multi-functional Housewife CEO attire and gear. Multi-functional because a simple roll of the pant leg removes the fabric from the dangerous and grease laden chain ring. Her gear included two water bottles, which very closely resembled a Rubbermaid flip-top container found on Aisle 9 in your local grocery. As I moto red up to assess her pedal power, I noted that, although quite fatigued, her vibrant blue eyes shined of self-pride. “The furthest I’ve ever ridden is 12 miles,” she sputte red. This insane decision to upgrade to the 100-mile ride was determined at the 30-mile turn off. Quickly I calculated the numbers. This woman was my hero! “And,” she gasped, “I’ve got to get to my baby shower by 4 p.m.” How I love being a woman! After a quick lesson in drafting, I shouted into the tailwind “Hold on, we gotta get you to your baby shower” I was only doing the 62 miles myself and had started to feel the fatigue of the day’s ride, but how could I complain? She fell off my pace on the hills and encouraged me to go ahead and leave her. “Wild tigers couldn’t keep me from pulling this gal to Wellsville,” I thought.

With girl power, we finished, exchanged goodbyes and words of encouragement. “Damn, you won’t have time to shower,” I announced. “Oh, I’ll just clean up with baby wipes on the way.” At that moment, I declared a MOM-cyclist was born!

Join the girls and me in May at the cute little church in Wellsville. Coconut bras, flying pigs and boas are always welcome. Rest stops are abundant and full of fabulous food, fun and encouragement from the “men” of Bonneville Bicycle Touring Club (BBTC). Feel safe from the Big Bad Wolf and goat heads with SAG support by Bingham’s bicycle shops!

Contact Don or Mary Margaret Williams at (801) 947-0338.