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George’s Story

By Maynard Hershon

George and I met in Tucson six or seven years ago when Tamar and I still lived there — and while George was still racing. He and I lost touch for a few years. Tamar and I moved to Denver; George moved to Denver. I ran into him here a few months ago and since then we’ve become better buddies than we’d ever been. He is one of my favorite people, a genuinely valuable friend.

Coincidentally, he and I have independently become a little disenchanted with cycling, looking elsewhere for fun and fitness. Because cycling played such a vital part in both our lives, we couldn’t believe we’d lost our taste for it, even for short periods. Unthinkable! We love cycling ... but not right now.

He and his sweetie, Michelle, just moved from urban Denver to Boulder, smack up against the mountains and on scenic roads less traveled, where it appears from the following note that his love affair with the bicycle has been rekindled, perhaps. In any case, is this a fine note or what? I wish all my emails were like this one. Oh, would you like to know what George typed into the subject line: “Magic, Freedom and Adventure!”

Maynard,

Back when I was a kid of eight or nine in the small town of Jackson, MI, I ran away from home. It was too damn stuffy in that place and I needed to strike out and get a little private time. I guess I’ve always been this way.

So I jumped on my bicycle, a blue one with goose-necked handlebars, a banana seat and double top tubes that swept down to become seat stays. Rode right off, down the sidewalk. Soon I was passing familiar places: our church, houses and streets I recognized, a few storefronts ... places I’d only seen from the back seat of my parents’ car. Places I’d never been — of my own accord or under my own power. The sense of freedom I felt cannot be conveyed by mere words.

I’ve always thought that experience had a lot to do with the role cycling would take in my life. Years later, in my racing life, when I was out training I always felt that same sense of freedom and adventure. No gas to run out of, no canyon too steep and no ride too far. The pain and grit it took to ride through the distance and difficulty was a small price to pay for those sensations. I once rode 352 days in a single year.

That runaway day, incidentally, I eventually got a flat tire. I gave up and was walking the bike home when my parents found me. They were rather upset.

Later, when I was 21 and living in Ann Arbor, I decided to start exercising. Running was okay but didn’t quite do it for me. As it happened, one of my good friends had a history of racing. Luckily I told him I was interested in riding. The next day he brought me an old pair of riding shorts, a helmet and Eddie B’s [legendary coach Eddie Borysewicz - MH] awesome book about training for racing. I read the whole book that night, cover to cover.

Later that year I entered a race as a lark (mostly I wanted to start touring on my bike) and somehow I won it. At that wonderful moment I was signed, sealed and delivered. I was a bike racer.

Eighteen years later I was still racing but things had changed — lotsa bad experiences with the white trucks and vans of the world (you know, the contractors who somehow seem to get even more upset than your average driver) had taken their toll. Worse yet, I think the racing scene had eaten away at me. So many of its participants become overwhelmingly self-involved. I’d think to myself, “We’re not curing cancer out there — scientists in laboratories are — maybe if we spent all that time and energy ... baaaah!

After racing for eighteen years I guess I kinda was bicycle touring after all. I was certainly carrying around a lot of baggage!

A few years ago, a training ride collision with a deer [at 50+ mph - MH] put me out of commission for a few months. That crash also put my bike permanently out of commission at a time when I didn’t have a team to get me a new one. That was it, I walked away. I figured maybe, at age 38, it was time to grow up a bit and finally get a career or something. A year later I was in grad school.

A few days ago, exploring the numerous canyons near our new home in Boulder, I was in incredible pain and self-doubt. The grade I was climbing was impossibly steep and long. I almost turned around three times. But I pressed on and was treated to a view of the plains from 8,200 feet above sea level and the sight of a pristine mountain lake just a few hundred yards later.

I had a little flashback and decided to write you this email, considering our ongoing discussion.

Cheers!

George

Well, what do you think? Is George back in his black shorts, back under cycling’s spell? And how ‘bout me? I’ll be walking for exercise in the Denver winter but come springtime, will George and I be meeting in Boulder for rides on those long, steep grades, enjoying eagles’ views of the flatlands and pedaling past brilliant blue high-mountain lakes?

Like most everything else you need to know, you’ll find the answers in the Bicycle Paper.

Maynard has been writing about cycling for the Bicycle Paper (and the Rivendell Reader) almost forever. He says he’ll keep doing it as long as he can get away with it. “I do it for the money,” the Denver-dweller says, but we think there must be something about cycling that interests him.