By Christopher Cudworth

On a recent Saturday afternoon a band called What’s On Tap made it’s world debut on a stage perched at the edge of a wooded property where rose-breasted grosbeaks and purple finches sang background vocals in the trees.

The lead singer, rhythm guitarist and bass player were all cycling friends of mine. Each musician is in his late 40s or early 50s. They got the idea for this band while riding, then recruited a couple other musicians including a rocking lead guitarist and set about rehearsing for a year.

Formation

The group had fits and starts getting ready for their first performance. Everyone was busy with life and the lead guitarist had lots of other musical commitments.

But somehow it all came together. Their set included covers of the Black Keyes and the Rolling Stones. The band was tight, the singer capable and the crowd cheered after every song.

There were 50 or so band “groupies” hanging out at the party to see the world premiere of What’s On Tap. One pretty gal held up a sign that said, “I love the bassist.” She happened to be his wife.

Posterity

The rest of us used our iPhones to record the moment for posterity. One semi-official videographer held up what looked like a military grade weapon that was in fact a handheld digital movie camera to record the entire concert. “I think I hit REC…” he said.

Prior history

The lead singer has always been one of those cyclists who break out in song during our longer rides. He doesn’t always get the lyrics right while out on the bike. In fact he never has. I’ve run with him for 40 years since we were high school teammates in cross country and track. We ran in college together too, and lived in a cool little apartment at 1764 N. Clark in Chicago. Those were wild times. He was into grad school and I was into something else, running mostly, and we shared other things as well. Through it all he’d often belt out songs happily butchering the lyrics. The Police. The Eagles. Lucinda Williams. Whatever came to mind, or fit the situation.

Once we were walking together in Madison, Wisconsin during a celebration following the Badgers victory in the national hockey championships. We looked up to see the finest shape in a pair of white blue jeans we’d ever seen. Turning to each other simultaneously, we burst into song, a bit by the Talking Heads…”The world moves on a woman’s hips…the world moves and it swivels and bops….” AAAAAAAHHHH we laughed. Synchronicity.

And during the debut of What’s On Tap, he was spot on with lyrics, the notes. He was, in a word or two, reasonably awesome.

Good job, mate.

Standards

The arc from those long ago experiences running together as kids… to the present day has included weddings, the birth of our children and even a few funerals. We’re old, by some standards. Yet we’re young by so many others.

Riding makes us feel that way. Younger. Typically.

Running, not so much. It’s much tougher to run as fast as you used to once you turn 50 years old. Riding’s a bit easier if you use your experience and pedal with some degree of intelligence.

Kudos

I thought about all those things as my friends worked through their set of well-rehearsed songs. They played well. My singer friend did a very credible job on some very difficult songs. He even dedicated a song to a couple of us in the crowd. The lyrics go like this:

I see those girls go by dressed in their summer clothes…

“I see the girls go by dressed in their summer clothes…

I have to turn my head until my darkness goes…”

Then I turned my head to the comely woman companion who had joined me as a friend to listen to the band. She smiled, happily. It was a warm afternoon at the start of summer. We are the same age, or just about. And that’s good. The way it should be. You can still sing the songs of youth, or listen to them, without having to wish you could go back.

Because you can’t. It’s like pedaling a bicycle backwards. You go nowhere.

Pedaling forward

It is far better to pedal forward, and to pick up an instrument or a microphone and make the sense of the music you know how to sing. Reinvent yourself in the process. Dare yourself into singing your heart out in front of 50 or more people who don’t really know what to expect.

These things make sense together. We run and ride because going forward is the principal thing we know how to do. Singing as we go.