When my teaching load doubled I was thrilled about the additional money; not so much about the additional hour-and-a-half commute. As a public transit veteran, I sucked it up, kept my eyes on the prize and trooped off to teach the little ones to rock and roll.
About six weeks in, I realized that I was near a bike track that I’d learned about about years ago. I’d read about it wistfully, as if it were a far-off vacation spot. ‘I’ll get oiut there one day’, I thought, since it’s in a part of the city that seemed as accessible as Everest. City-dwellers can be quite provincial - if it’s not in the neighborhood it might as well be across the world. My close-mindedness popped like a bubble one day. Walking from one teaching gig to the next, I stopped mid-stride saying ‘Holy shit! The velodrome!’ Could fate have dropped me within walking distance of some of the best and safest biking in the metro area? Impossible. Usually, even if I’m in a cool part of town, I’m WAY far away from the stuff that makes the nabe cool. Fate has been kind to me this time. Not only was I close, it’s smack in the middle of my two teaching gigs.
I visited it twice this week. The first time I wanted to see if it lived up to the online hype as smooth, well-kept flanked by great scenery. Hard to believe about anything in the middle of a metro area of this size. I was expecting weeds, cracked asphalt, trash, liquor bottles, padlocks, possibly passed out homeless people. I found this clean little jewel open to the public, well kept and banked by beautiful old trees on two sides. The four-tier bleachers concealed nary a needle, liquor bottle (in tact or busted) nor unconscious, unhoused individual.
Extra bonus: there were only four people there. One guy doing laps on a fancy road bike, another guy on an ancient single-gear that looked like it was made in the 50s, a female racer, and her female coach. In our brief chat, the racer and the coach told me they teach women how to ride track bikes for racing and fitness. What could be better?
I went back the next day to watch the races: women, men, open; beginner, intermediate, elite.
I had a blast. The women were spirited, focused, fit, enthusiastic. Spectators aren’t allowed onto the track, so I didn’t get to chat with any of them. My plans to stay for the post-race hang were interrupted by a rapid, deep drop in temperature when the sun set; I left with my teeth chattering.
Most of the female racers looked to be in their 20s to early 30s, there was one woman who looked about my age. She didn’t win, but she held her own among the young ‘uns. The women also had quite a range of body-types. Male racers all seem to be between 5’10 - 6’ and slim, muscular. The women varied quite a bit in height, from petite to lanky. Some had thunder-thighs, some were willowy, a few didn’t look athletic at all but when they got down on the track they brought the fire, some were ripped with impressive quads as one would expect in a competitive cyclist.
Women of all levels raced in pretty much the same way: focused, intense and conservative. The men were much more ‘dramatic’ - popping up on the bank to try to pass each other, breakaways, etc. There was something almost serene about the women’s races. Make no mistake - there was plenty of speed, you could feel that wonderful competitive tension radiating off them as they rode. They were not there to put on show, however; they were there to race safely and well.
While the men’s untrammeled aggression was entertaining, it wasn’t terribly instructive. Watching the women, I learned that in order to race on the track, you must have excellent bike-handling skills such as riding in a straight line, controlling your speed on a bike that has no brakes, riding in VERY close proximity to other riders without crashing or bumping, managing your energy so you have strength left over for the 400 yard finishing sprint lap. The lesson from the men was ‘Go fast, dude! Ride all over the track! Pass! Chase!’ The women’s race said ‘Get into the rhythm, keep it quick and steady, watch the woman in front, be aware of the women in back, go hard to pass, drop back if necessary, burn it up on the sprint.’ It was like a rolling mediation, rather than a demonstration of power or dominance.
I’ve started pricing track bikes and folding bikes. If I could leave guitars at the schools so I don’t have to carry in between (bad-ass I may be, carrying a guitar on my back while riding a bike in the city is not something I want to try) the move would be to carry the folding bike to school, teach, ride to the park, get in a few laps then head on to teaching gig number 2. In previous years, I came home from nursing home gigs to ride before I did afternoon/early evening lessons. It was rigorous but good. Proximity to the velodrome, commitment to fitness, my eternal desire to race and an affordable bike could make it possible yet again.
Most importantly, there would be a community for bikin’ women to learn from, to be inspired by and to train with. Doesn’t get too much better than that.