The Bike Culture...

 ...when I started riding was seemingly much different than it is today.  And when I say "bike culture", I mean the culture in the road biking scene (and I guess gravel as well).  I first threw a leg over a road bike in 2003, I think... about a year after I started riding mountain bikes.  Mountain biking was a sport I jumped into organically, having grown up in Stokes County riding BMX bikes and road bikes on the dirt roads near home.  Riding trails wasn't a thing 'cause... well, trails didn't exist the way they do now.  We had farm roads that were as narrow as today's trails... but no singletrack to speak of.  However, my cycling ended when I was about 19 when I started working & driving.  I picked it back in 2002 after a few successful years in the custom paint business, now with enough cash burning a hole in my pocket to buy a real mountain bike.  And then I found trails.

Back to road biking - I picked up a thrift store Centurion in 2003 after Brad F started riding with some co-workers.  He got faster, I wanted to be faster so I jumped in.  Brad F didn't last long with road bikes but I met Trace O, an avid cyclist who worked part-time at a local shop.  I still remember his awesome Specialized Roubaix.  I was envious as I tried to keep up on my stem-shifted, mismatched Campy / Shimano / Suntour-equipped bike.

Trace O showed me the basics of group riding - drafting, calling turns & trash in the road, leading & pulling through.  He had a smattering of friends he rode with and I was brought into the fold, albeit begrudgingly.  The air of dissidence was strong - NEW riders with unknown levels of skill were always met with a bit hesitation and LOTS of trepidation.  Luckily, I proved myself to be a strong student of Trace's teachings.

Trace O got hurt a short time later, a hard crash on the mountain bike in Westwood Park.  He wouldn't be back... at all, unfortunately.  The time off for his broken wrist and a young child at home, he found new things to do.  I jumped into another local group, the King Church Crowd.  The group was led by Jim N, a local Moravian minister with a penchant for entrancing people with his humor and compassionate counseling.  This was my first introduction to a more dedicated road crowd.

Everyone, except me, had been to a four-year college.  A few picked up road biking while in college, some had parents who had traveled abroad.  All of em' had a level of money that made the more expensive road bikes easily affordable.  Everyone worked in a white collar-type job, including myself.  (I had sold the custom paint shop to take a gig with a display company as a graphics department manager.)  

Within a few rides, I acclimated to Jim N's group ride philosophy.  Soon I was one of the stronger riders, younger than most and a bit braver.  I jumped into the scene DEEP, signing up for local charity rides with the group and committing to Breakaway to the Beach, a two-day charity ride in South Carolina.  Along the same time, two guys I went to high school with had joined the crowd, Kyle C and Sam M.  Both had been athletes, both came from more well-to-do families than I did.  I had only recently given up my Centurion rat-bike for a NEW Trek 1000.  They jumped right in with Trek 1000's (which were only $700, $800 at the time.)

Kyle and I were in the same business, graphics & signs.  Kyle's family had actually bought my custom paint shop (with it's client list, graphics files and equipment).  We were no longer competitors as I had moved into a corporate setting but there was still some animosity.  I was a bit surprised when he reached out to ME to go with him on one of his first local road rides.

Of course, he caught up quick and was riding at the front of the King Church Crowd.  We rode together alot more since we were closer in fitness than either imagined.  I learned that he had come into the sport the way so many professional men did at this time:  Lance Armstrong.  Lance's success had inspired many folks in such a way that golf (Kyle's sport of choice prior) had lost his luster... and road biking was touted by articles as "the new golf course" for young professionals looking to network.  (This will be an important note later.)

Through that winter, I kept riding...partly for the fitness, partly for an escape.  My corporate gig would send end, my marriage of five years would soon end... and I was riding for my own sanity.  The King Church Crowd had dissipated to some degree - faster people were riding longer, hillier rides and slower people were reverting back to a more comfortable pace in the local rolling hills.  I found myself with more fitness, more confidence and a need for a bit more of a challenge.

The Lewisville Group Rides were known for being structured, fairly safe and FAST.  The A-ride was a go-to for local pros and fast kids.  The B-ride was more of the typical group ride - longer route with more emphasis on riding as a group.  The C-ride the just a slower version of the B-ride.  I cannot remember when I showed up... but I do remember the nerves.  I am pretty sure I already had my Trek Madone 5.2, a Chi Red carbon road bike with Ultegra drivetrain.  I showed up somewhat LOOKING the part with a fancy carbon bike and likely just a basic kit.  I soon realized "looking fancy" to me was basically just showing up with another variation of the same ole' uniform.

Sometime back when I started riding with the King Church Crowd, I had also taken on a part-time gig at a local bike shop, Ken's Bike Shop.  Ken, the son of two UNC professors, had come to Winston-Salem and opened a bike shop near Wake Forest University.  All the cycling professors seemingly circulated through that shop and the students went there for everything as well.  The shop was doing well due to the close proximity, knowledgeable service and Ken's commitment to BUILDING a community.  Ken would later publish a book about the best rides in the area, a guidebook for the Lewisville rides.

So when I showed up for the Tuesday (or Thursday?) Night Ride that Spring, I already knew a few of the folks from having seen them in the bike shop.  I was still a NEW rider though and no one knew if I could hold my own.  Admittedly I can still remember getting shuffled to the back as much by my own accord as anyone else.  I was intimidated.

By Summer I was in the mix, having proven I knew how to hold a wheel and not overlap.  I was not going to pull too long or ride too fast.  I had respect for the other riders even when they had little respect for me... or others.  I still remember Rick R standing with abandon, shoving his rear wheel into my path.  I eased left and mashed the pedals, coming around him and clearing my way again.  

Over time I began to get to know more about these folks.  Some were professionals - doctors, engineers, professors, executives.  Some were craftsmen.  Some had been introduced into cycling from other sports, most often speed skating.  Richie & David F were both INCREDIBLY fast riders.  Richie, a tile setter, was one of the most cordial guys I ever got to know.  David F, owner of a landscaping company, was a shit-talker... and had the legs to back it up.

The Lewisville Crowd held one characteristic high though - respect.  Regardless of your background or career choice, you were afforded respect once you earned it on the road.  Ride smart, ride smooth and ride with the group in mind - those were unspoken rules.  Ride without those premises & you would be shuffled to the back.  This attitude reminded me of the unspoken rules of the community I grew up around, not just the farming community my grandfather led by proxy or the automotive crowd I worked in before I sold the paint shop.  There was a genuine respect for others, regardless of income, education or inheritance.  

However, that overarching cloud of respect began to burn away with the introduction of the "Lance" crowd.  Some of these new riders were strong athletes with a presence in some of the same offices of the long-time riders, so a certain amount of lenience was given... by others.  I held on to the standards, begrudgingly much like those folks who looked down at me when I started.  Soon it seemed that lapses in judgement were more easily forgiven or overlooked.  Paceline etiquette was dying a slow death.

I found myself reverting from trying to ride with faster people to riding with SAFER people.  The B-ride had turned into a hurky-jerky hammerfest with little rhyme or reason to the pace.  The smooth flow that I had enjoyed years before was filled with choked-up descents and uphill sprints.  It wasn't fun anymore and it definitely wasn't safe.  And no one was willing to make it safer.  Feelings got hurt when someone barked at another.  

More later.