Jim outside Cuneo vineyards wine cellars.
Winning an amateur race at PIR (Portland International Raceway)
racing in the Swan Island Criterium
Fractured clavicle - every biker knows about this one eventually
My red DeRosa.
On a tricycle at an early age.
Scooter 1961
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Accomplishment. I found a new activity to strive toward this year. I mentioned buying road racing cycles last year. I rode through the rain all winter and needed a goal to keep me riding during those six months of mist we have. While just living is an accomplishment, living fully takes a bit more.
How do I know? I can feel it in my bones. I looked around for a place to race. How does one get started? Surely you don't just sign up for the Tour de France. In mid-May, I saw a poster for the Swan Island Criterium. I got out a map of Portland and found out how close Swan Island was. It is an industrial park on the Wilamette river. I am not sure where the swans are, but I found an island off of a freeway exit and I was very happy to get my bike off the freeway.
Before going, I had this idea - from seeing a criterium many years ago, that the race goes in circles, so it is good for spectators. I invited my family out to watch and there was even going to be a kids race, so the girls could bring their bikes.
We watched the Category 5 racers, saw a few spectacular crashes, spectacular, because when one person goes down, they seem to enjoy a lot of company. My goal was to first of all, finish the race, second to get the feel of staying in the peloton and just enjoy the day (without falling if possible).
It worked according to plan. I crossed the finish line in about 11th place and there were about 11 of us in the race, but I was very close, by my standards.
As the summer wore on I found more events; track sprints, 25 mile races on the auto racing track, an over the hill loop called Mt. Tabor. On the Mount Tabor race, I tried to see what it would be like to be in the front of the pack for part of the race. What a mistake! I was shortly passed by the entire peloton going up the hill and was now all alone. I got to ride the rest of the race solo, unable to draft off of anyone. I crossed the finish line on my next to final lap, just prior to the actual winner so that I was allowed to complete the race. I think if I was lapped, I would have beed disqualified.
One day, I was in a beginner race and found that I could be in the front, the back or anywhere I wanted to be. I had learned a few tactics - like how to judge the effect of the wind, which can be substantial along the Columbia river. Somehow, I led out at the right time and had sufficient energy to cross the finish line first... not too shabby for a mid-forties cyclist. I moved up a category from beginner to Category 5 the next week and found myself dropped from the peloton again.
My training continued steadily until one evening late in July, riding the loop around my house on Fairmont Road, a touch of excitement overcame my being. I was leaning into the corner (perhaps mentally at the Tour de France) and I began accelerating by pedalling. Pedalling in a corner while leaning should be considered a sin. That inside pedal contacted Terra Firma and I slid down onto my side, cleaning the street of all the gravel the cars had piled up. There were numerous hole in my clothing and not a little blood oozing from the road rash.
I was a little dazed at the suddeness of it all, but got back onto my bike and limped home. After a few yards, my left arm didn't seem to want to work as well as it did moments earlier.
A friendly orthopedic neighbor found one of his old army slings and I got along for a few days, but there was this clicking when I used my left arm that seemed inappropriate. I found a radiologist friend to x-ray my shoulder and there it was, my left clavicle was in two pieces. I wore the sling for several weeks and it seemed that every person I met was a former cyclist who had broken their clavicle. Several people showed my how they could still make there clavical move in interesting ways.
As if that wasn't enough for the year. I was cycling slowly earlier in the year and a friend came at an unexpected angle from the side and I laid my bike down to avoid colliding. Boy did my left wrist hurt. Only a splint got the pain to go away. I never got that one x-rayed, but the pain went away after six weeks, so I rather suspect one of the bones in my hand was unhappy.
I was on a plane back from Texas, a wealthy Texas woman seated beside me, wife of a doctor, was heading to sell their ranch in Colorado and buy one in Jackson, Wyoming that weekend. I say wealthy only because the translucent stone in her ring was the size of my digital watch. Looking at my splint, she asked how I broke my bone. I said, I really didn't know if it was broken as I hadn't gotten it x-rayed. With that characteristic Texas subtlty, she roared, "You goddam doctors are all the same - treat'n yourselves!"
Somehow I lived to be 44 without a broken bone and now two (I think) in one year. As if that isn't enough to remind one of their humanity, I stopped in a Walgreens Drug store and walked over to that eyeglass display where you try on the various plastic lenses. I'm not talking about the one with the little tags that you can look through to tell if the lenses are polarized, but the display with the clear lenses where you try to read the book before your arm reaches its full length. I came home with a pair of 1.25's so that I could read this booklet as I typed it.
To win one beginners cycling race at age 44, finish a few others, two broken bones and eyes that don't work too well. I guess it all depends on how you define accomplishment; I am feeling life fully.
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