Racing bikes is funny business. I’ve been racing bikes since 1993 and over the years I have had my share of heartbreaks, drama and the occasional trip to the podium and a few envelopes filled with cash. I’ve also had a wide variety of team jerseys from pink and yellow, forest green and orange to the kit I wore for a year that had a Cornish hen on every panel. Our sponsor was a poultry “manufacturing” facility and I heard my share of chicken clucks in the peloton…oddly the last race I won was in that kit…no one was calling me chicken that day.
After that road win I returned to racing mountain bikes and got hooked on the single speed lifestyle for its simplicity and the thrill of chasing down the geared ones with my one gear. After that I jumped over to tri and after a few years found myself crossing the line an Ironman. Checking that off the list I am heading back to the road scene…nine years later! What happened! I lost track of time.
This Sunday marks my silent return to the sport. I’m just a rider like you but this day means a lot to me. I’ve missed my place in the pack and that horrible energy that rips through the peloton as the finish line is in sight. Back in the day I used to be very vocal in the pack…yes, I was that jerk. With 2-miles to go I would ask that any “weak souls please slink to the back as a sprint finish was about take place among adults and it was no place for children.” I wasn’t nice…my sprint salute was even more annoying than Contador’s pistol…mostly because a club racer needs to have a little more modesty. It wasn’t like people where stopping me at the store for autographs. The only thing I signed for strangers was entry fee checks and a lot of them.
Now I’m back and the raw truth of the matter is still the same. Somewhere down the road is a finish line and it only holds glory for one. By glory I mean a pitcher of margaritas and a huge burrito before you go back home and are told by your spouse to cut the grass. If you’re lucky a handful of family and friends (usually not your own) will put up a little golf clap and make you feel somewhat important as you pass over the electrical tape in the road known as the finish line. No matter the amount of “fame” one receives from racing the race is still a thrill that most of your other office dwellers will never know.
Racing on a Tommaso bike makes me proud of the work we do at Tommaso Bicycles. I've became an Ironman on the Tommaso Sixth Sense. It is a moment I will never forget. I raced a season of cyclocross on the soon to be released carbon Tommaso Diavolo and now I return to my road roots on a carbon Tommaso road bike. I get excited every time I throw a leg over one of my Tommaso bikes. I know these bikes as well as I know myself and I consider my Tommaso the best teammate I could have.
So soak it up when you can. Shave your legs and go for those nice pedals. I won’t lie…winning feels great but those are not the moments I remember most. I remember that moment when the pack detonated on a mountain in a West Virginia race and I was still among the leaders. I remember seeing my Dad’s proud look in the race official’s car as he was experiencing watching me race for the first time. I’ll never forget the day I imploded at the state championships in 1996 and had to be nursed into the finishing area by my rival’s girlfriend. She had to hand me his extra water bottles out of her car window as I was nearing death by dehydration. Along the way I have had some wonderful teammates who are now friends for life. We ate together, crammed into small hotel rooms and suffered together. All of these moments are worth the life we lead as cyclists. Winning is rare, finishing is good, being feared is great and riding is forever.
Tommaso on Twitter