See, in the past I was never into cycling like I am now. Yes, I grew up like most kids riding my bike and trying to jump over or off anything I could find. I grew up in the country so we had plenty of dirt to build ramps and jumps for our BMX bikes. And it wasn't until my mom and sister came home with 10-speeds that I first laid eyes on a road bike. I only remember little details about those bikes. I know my sister had a yellow one and my mom had a green one that had John Deere on one of the tubes. I also remember trying to ride them and being scared to fall or wreck knowing that I was going to crush the family jewels since the bike was too big. With all that said, I was a BMX kid trying to do tricks standing on the front and back pegs of my bike.
All that changed in 2004. It was then I was introduced to road cycling. A couple of the guys that worked out in the fitness facility I worked in started having big discussions on the sport of cycling. I would jump in from time to time but it was like they were speaking a foreign language. In fact, they were. Talk of derailleurs, Shimano, and Campy had my head spinning. The only thing I knew about road biking was that Lance Armstrong was a beast (despite allegations) and I wanted one of those little yellow rubber bracelets that everyone seemed to have. So what did I do? I did what any normal Fred would do. I headed down to the local bike shop and pretended I knew what I was talking about. I asked for a Trek like the one Lance Armstrong rode in the Tour. The guy at the bike shop knew I was a Fred. He could hardly contain his laughter (and excitement). He knew he had a sucker walking right in his front door. But the joke was on him! I didn't have the money to buy a Lance bike! Ha! Take that! After looking at the prices of the bikes I walked right on out and began heading to the nearest Wal-Mart. I thought for sure I could find a better deal there.
I never made the trip to Wal-Mart and I passed on even buying a bike at all. I did devour everything I could about the Tour that summer and tried to read and study as much as I could about cycling. I even began training like the cyclists I knew that worked out in the gym. Alas, it was not meant to be. My body type had me fooled. Those guys working out on the stationary bikes were lean and mean. I was a Clydesdale in every sense of the word. I spent my whole life playing basketball and football. At 5'9" I was always told that I had to be stronger and faster than everyone else just to have a shot a playing. So I hit the weights. I was built just right for football and I could take abuse on the basketball court. It all led to me eventually playing college basketball and even having a shot to play professionally overseas. But now, now that the playing days were over I wanted to tackle something new. I wanted to be a roadie. Unfortunately, my body type was now my worst enemy. I knew I would get dropped on climbs and my best bet was a sprinter but I darn sure didn't look like those guys that (apparently) spoke fluent Italian and French. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be.
Later that summer my wife, my 4-month old son and I moved to Virginia, a land of rolling hills and big climbs. We moved back into my wife's hometown in the Shenandoah Valley. I saw all these people riding their bikes and they looked like they were having a ball and I wanted to try it. For the first time in my life I wasn't involved in any sports. I wasn't coaching, I wasn't training other athletes. I was teaching elementary Physical Education. I needed an outlet. Cycling was that outlet (or so I thought).
Again, I headed to the local bike shop and met a guy who was a genuine and friendly as he could be. He wanted to help me realize my dreams of becoming a roadie. He helped me get my first bike. Yes, it was a Trek. I mean, c'mon, Lance was dominating the Tour at the time (no needle jokes please) and I darn sure couldn't pronounce Pinarello (still can't). I wanted what Lance rode (enough with the "fanboy" thoughts...I know you're thinking that right now). I was in luck, a person had just traded in a bike and he was looking to get rid of the trade-in. It was mine for 300 bucks. Yes! I was in business. Then he rolled this out:
It was a Trek carbon fiber bike (a Trek ZX 2300 to be exact). I had no idea what I was looking at. I knew carbon fiber were the buzz words in cycling because they were the lightest, stiffest bikes on the market. But I had no clue what the heck a carbon fiber frame even meant. It wasn't the color scheme I wanted but hey, it was carbon and it was 300 dollars. I could live with that. Then the other details started rolling in. It was traded in by a female rider who upgraded to...drum roll please...a Lance bike! She musta been a Frieda! Anyway...the bike was a size 56 (huh??) and it "should" fit me. This was all according to the nice man working at the shop. I'm still looking for this guy by the way. If you see him tell him I want a piece of him! Moving on...the guy said I needed to be fitted for the bike and that the bike fit was unique. Again, I was lost so I just went with it. I needed a pair of riding shorts with nice padding. Okay, cool. I like baggy shorts; I need maximum swingage I told him. No, no, no! That wouldn't do. I needed spandex cycling shorts. Hold up...wait a minute...spandex?! Nah, I only wore those UNDER my basketball shorts or football pants. Nope, he told me, I must wear the spandex because it was aerodynamic. Ok...whatever.
Next up were shoes. Ah yeah...shoes. That was my department. I was a shoe fiend. I had more pairs of shoes than anyone I knew. I waited in line and even took off work to get the latest pair of Jordans. I knew shoes! I walked over to the shoe section and low and behold what did I find...Nike cycling shoes! I want those! Why? Well, they were Nike and I was a man of all things Nike. Never wore another brand of shoes for basketball or football...EVER. And plus, Lance wears Nike cycling shoes. I know, another typical Fred move. Why do you think the blog is called "Peloton Fred"? DUH!
So with my shoes (and cleats) and shorts now on it was time to get fitted. The guy at the shop told me to hop on the bike and he would make sure I was set up right. Mind you, this is the first time EVER I was attempting to use clipless pedals. And what was about to happen was the most epic Fred moment that may ever exist. I hopped on the bike in the store...without it being on an indoor trainer. Yep. I sure did. The guy at the shop had a teenage kid come stand with the front tire between his legs and told him to hold the handlebars and keep me steady. You already know what happens next. I fell. And not just any fall. A truly Fred-ian fall. I couldn't unclip so I fell and knocked over two racks of cycling clothing and landed with a thud right in the middle of the shop. This was on a busy Saturday morning. Everyone was just staring at me. In fact, thinking back to that moment, I swear I heard someone mumble, "Typical Fred," in the background.
After the fall, I managed to keep my balance long enough to get my seat height somewhat properly adjusted and get two water bottles. As I was about to pay for my stuff I was reminded that I didn't have a cycling jersey. And what you are about to see if the greatest piece of work a Fred could ever do. I purchased this:
I know what you're thinking. NO...HE...DIDN'T! Yes...I did. I purchased the coveted Maillot Jaune. I knew nothing of the history behind the jersey. I did know that the leader of the Tour de France wore the jersey and that Lance had worn that thing so many times I stopped counting (that would be 7...again, allegations aside). Plus, to top it off, it was...NIKE! I snatched it up and went home happy as could be. Little did I know that I had committed a cycling sin.
No one bothered to tell me that it's an unwritten rule not to wear the yellow jersey unless you have the cycle game to back it up. Ride after ride, fall after fall (not the season, the literal falling down) I had that yellow jersey on. And time after time other cyclists would pass me on the road and suck their teeth at me as they flew by. "The yellow freakin' jersey!" they seemed to be saying to me. I couldn't even draft behind these guys so, in hindsight, I know that I shouldn't be wearing the thing. But it was all I had at the time. So I continued to wear it proudly all while averaging 8mph on the bike during rides.
If you've made it this far in the entry then you now probably have a good understanding of why I call this blog, "Peloton Fred." If not, don't worry...there's more to come. But to wrap it up...I still have the yellow jersey. No, I don't wear it anymore. I have a greater understanding of the meaning now. I wear a plain jersey or the jersey of my local bike shop on rides now. Also have a Fat Cyclist kit coming in the mail so I'll wear that proudly as well as a part of Team Fatty. The bike? Yep, still have that too. In fact, up until about 2 weeks ago I was still hammering on that thing. There's a reason for that (that's another entry) but she's still in good shape and shifts well.
All in all, just another typical day in the life of a Peloton Fred.
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