Friday Follies ~~ No Man’s Land

Speed isn’t everything.  But speed is something.

My old friend Samuel Fletcher was once a strong racer.  Well, honestly, Sam did have some strengths.  He tended to get left on the hills, especially the steep ones.  He could punish a lot of other riders on the long grinders, but most of the pack would hurt him on a steep climb, or a prolonged one at any kind of respectable grade.  He had a respectable sprint, a good “pop.”  He could hang out with the front of the crowd…  Mostly.

Sam was typical of a lot of riders.  He left racing.  Family and career limited riding.  He lost condition, got heavy.  Sam was GAFIA.  He paid for it.  He struggled his way back.  He rediscovered the sheer joy and independence of riding.

In those days, Sam did not see many other riders.  There was one guy though…

Sam would start at from the house and go out for a solitary ride.  On about one out of every three of these, he would see this guy.  The Nemesis!  Nemesis would come out of nowhere, overtake Sam, and ride off, effortlessly leaving my friend behind.  He never spoke.  It was annoying.

At about that time, Sam started to find the local group rides.  At first, he would get spit out the back right after the warm-up phase.  He worked, grew stronger and fitter.  He started hanging out at the back of the “slow group.”  Gradually, over time, days and weeks, he moved up in the group.  The days came when Sam was doing most of the pulling in the slower group.

Then there was the ride where Sam Fletcher decided the folks around him were just too slow.  He was going to go and catch the next group.  Oddly, it didn’t happen that way.

Sam pulled out and easily passed several other riders.  He was at the front of the group.  Then he was pulling away.  He could see the faster group ahead, down the road about 150 yards. The empty space between groups. No Man’s Land.

A distance of 150 yards certainly does not look great to a cyclist.  But the thing is, it is not easily crossed.  After a half a mile of riding, that gap is narrowed to about half, and no more.  A look back, there is no sign of the slower group.  But Sam is no longer gaining on the group ahead.  He is moving at the same speed as they are, but he cannot catch them, cannot close the interval between.  And then, gradually, the gap opens.

After a time Sam was riding alone.  The faster group vanished, and the slower one was out of sight behind.  He did the rest of the ride in that place.  Alone.  (Don’t ask me why he didn’t wait and ride at a pleasant pace with friends.  He just didn’t.)

This scenario was repeated.  In Sam’s memory, it was repeated countless times.  In fact, it couldn’t have been more than ten weeks.  It lasted less than the length of one Summer.

There was a special evening.  Not remarkable in any other way.  It simply was one on which he was determined.  At the very moment, the precise instant that Sam saw the faster group start to pull away, and he jumped.  He pulled out and barreled around four or five of the slower group riders.  There was already a gap of about 15 yards, and it was opening.  He surged forward, holding that gap to that distance.  For several minutes he stayed in that position.  He was ahead of the “slow group,” and gaining more on them all the time, but he was not in contact with the group ahead.

Sam knew what would happen if he didn’t close that gap.  And close it at once.  It would be one more evening in No Man’s Land.  He hurt, but ignored it.  He upshifted and thrust himself into the bike.  He closed!

He came into the back of that faster group so quickly that they didn’t notice him closing.  Sam was in their midst before it occurred to them that He’d joined.  He hung on like that for the rest of the ride.  He “sat in.”  He was sucking wheel, but he was there!

The next group ride repeated that scenario exactly.  On the one after, Sam stayed in that faster group from the beginning.  And then he started taking my turns at the front.  That was when he learned that the faster group was the B Group!  There was another No Man’s Land ahead, and an even faster group out there.

Fletcher didn’t catch the “A Group” that year.  He spent the Winter doing his solitary rides.  He did not see the “Silent Nemesis” all Winter long.  In the Spring Nemesis was back, jumping Sam on every other ride, dropping him hard.   Sam couldn’t catch him.

That was the year Sam Fletcher worked on crossing No Man’s Land again.  It’s a frightening and painful place, No man’s Land.  By Late Summer Sam was thoroughly sick of it.  But that was when he crossed it successfully again.

On Sam’s third ride with the “A Group,” they were all cheerful and friendly to him.  They lured him out into country he was unfamiliar with.  Then they dropped him.  It’s a sort of initiation.

Years have passed now.  Not one of the riders from that old A Group is still on the bike.  Sam has learned to live in No Man’s Land.  He will tell you it is a place that he owns.  He can chose to slow down and spend friendly evenings with other riders.  Sometimes he still gets the urge to surge ahead.  It’s fun to do it.  The younger crowd is generally pleasant and seems to have not learned the spiteful habit of playing “lure, lose and drop.”  Besides, Sam now knows the territory too well.  But most of his rides are spent in the empty land where no other rider is, between one group (there is always a group back there somewhere) and another (there is always a group up ahead somewhere).

And what of “Nemesis”?  For a time, Sam lost him.  Sam had moved and stopped riding in that territory for several years.  Then, when he again started frequenting it again, he saw no sign of “Nemesis.”  Time passed.  Years of it.

About five years ago, “Nemesis” showed up for one of the club group rides.  He was way overweight, in terrible condition.  He’d been GAFIA for years.  He was making the painful return to cycling.  Sam rode with him for an evening, listening while he chatted about past glories.  Sam hasn’t seen him since.