During the year 2007 with all the transitions going on in life, I made the decision to expand my fitness retinue by purchasing a genuine road bike. I’d already been riding an ancient 1984-era Trek 400 for several years. That bike was bequeathed to me by my brother-in-law, who was still riding his other Trek bikes but did not need the steel-framed, shifters-on-the-downtube steed from his first days as a cyclist.

I bought some SPD pedals for that bike and rode it with mountain bike shoes to hump around the backroads as fast as I could go. I recall a ride with a neighbor friend that took us out into the cornfields where we averaged 18 mph and I thought I was a king after that.

But then I joined my buddies that were actual cyclists and within three miles I was cooked and could not keep up with the group. I peeled off and road a sullen fifteen miles vowing that somehow I’d learn to keep up.

Here’s the truth: The bike you ride really does matter. Oh sure, you can put a world-class cyclist on a shitty bike and he/she will keep up with just about anybody. But I’m not a world-class athlete and that Trek was just a grade above the Schwinn Varsity my old friend Eeker used to ride around the back streets of Elburn.

My whole life felt like I had to pedal harder than I should at that time. My wife was just coming out of an emotional breakdown after her cancer came back. My “new” job at an ad agency slowly dissolved as I dealt with the effects of all that stress. And caregiving for my father took up most of the rest of my time.

Before riding the Trek 400, I’d been banging around on a silver Specialized Rockhopper, a bike I’d purchased back in 2002 or so. Something in me wanted to go faster, so I proposed to my brothers that I take a bit of my father’s dough and buy a better road bike as a bit of compensation for all the caregiving.

That summer of 2007 I visited Spokes in Wheaton and rode a few bikes around the parking lot. I recall pedaling a Specialized Allez and it felt good. But the owner plopped me on a Felt 4C and that bike was carbon fiber and light as heck. It also had Dura-Ace components, something you don’t often find on what amounts to a mid-level road bike. I spent $2K on the Felt, bought some decent road cycling shoes for $300 and some kits to go along with it. At long last, I felt like an actual cyclist.

The transformation happened quickly. I was instantly able to keep up with the Saturday morning group ride for most of the distance. We typically rode 50-70 miles averaging 18-20 mph. Sometimes I’d get dropped at the 3/4 mark but by then I didn’t care. I was part of the group and that’s all that mattered.

As the weeks went by from spring through fall I got faster and entered some criterium bike races. That was a learning experience, and one I’ll chronicle more fully in a story about what it’s like to bike race. It was far different than running, that much I learned quickly.

I’d shaved my legs since 2004 or so when I got the Trek, so that was not a problem. But I did show my rookie roots that first day on the Felt at the group ride by showing up with the reflectors still on the wheels and a visor on my new helmet. “Cud,” my best friends told me. “Take the reflectors off and lose the visor. Then you’ll be a roadie.”

Some weeks I’d do fine and other times I’d lose the wheels of everyone and wind up riding home alone. My psyche was inconsistent with all the stress going on. Over time I realized that my inability or lack of desire to compete some weeks was due to a form of PTSD from all the caregiving. The will to keep up on the bike just wasn’t there sometimes. I forgave myself for that, but my buddies were sometimes less than understanding. The fact of the matter is that my mental health went so far back and forth that there’s no way even close friends could anticipate it.

One week a rider from their prior clubs joined us and somewhere about forty miles I was suffering and dropped their wheels. They rode about a mile ahead when the “new guy” asked where I’d gone. “Oh, he’s like that sometimes,” they told him.

“Why?” he wanted to know.

They explained how I was going through stuff with my wife and as they related his response to me, he turned to them and said, “Why the fuck are you leaving him behind?”

Now, I’ll say that I often told them to go on ahead when I didn’t feel up to the pace each day. But I always appreciated the consideration and concern of that rider. I don’t recall who he was. My journey into the world of cycling was like that. Sometimes it was fun and exciting. At other times it was harsh and disillusioning. In other words, cycling is no different from everything else of life. We’re all riding through the pain one way or another.