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In the Draft

By Maynard Hershon

When I started cycling (on a too-tall borrowed bicycle), I realized I could ride OK. I could roll along as well as most people and climb better than many more experienced cyclists. I had aptitude, as my mother might’ve said.

I read the magazines and haunted shops looking for a bike of my own. I bought what was then called a neo-pro bicycle, an entry-level racing-style road bike. At that point, I knew enough to buy a bike, cleated shoes and a pair of wool shorts, but my cycling education had only begun.

I used it to get around but utility cycling was a minor concern. I wanted to learn about cycling as a sport, about longer distance riding and racing. I wanted to be good.

I saw that the experienced riders rode in close formation — in what was called a pace line or pack. They benefited from the low-pressure air, the draft, behind the rider or riders in front of them. They could keep up with that person or group with far less effort than they could solo. Or so I heard.

Despite the undeniable advantage of sitting-in, as riding in the draft of others is called, I was unwilling to do it. I felt uneasy following so close, knowing that if my front wheel hit the wheel in front of me, I could fall down. I couldn’t see around the guy in front, couldn’t see the pothole, glass or rock in the road. I’d never driven or ridden with severely limited vision and didn’t want to try.

Following closely sacrificed my ability to react to what happened in front of me, my ability to control my fate. I wasn’t sure I could trust my riding friends to watch out for me, to let me know if they were going to stop or turn or wiggle around some obstacle.

So I rode a few bike-lengths behind my riding partners. I’ll be safe back here, I figured. Plus, out of the draft I’ll have to use more energy — I’ll get stronger.

You may have many of those same feelings. Especially, I think, if you didn’t start riding at 13 years old.

Luckily, I fell in with a group of club members, guys mostly, who had raced or ridden a lot. They were welcoming and easy to be around. They rode so well that even a scared newbie like me felt safe among them. I wish you the same kind of luck.

In their company I got over my fears, I’m happy to say. Had I not met them and not learned in their midst how to ride confidently in close company, my life in cycling would’ve been starkly different and not nearly so satisfying. The reasons aren’t simple. I’ll see if I can explain.

I think that if you treat road cycling as a solo sport, you reach a point where you just aren’t improving any longer. You’re not learning new skills or getting more fit. I feel sure that group riding in pace lines or packs will raise your skill level, fitness and enjoyment.

I developed skills I would never otherwise have acquired. I learned to trust my riding friends and to identify other trustworthy riders. I learned to feel comfortable following close behind others. I learned how to find the best spot in that person’s draft as the wind changed.

I learned to ride at a pace set by others. I developed a fine sense, so that I could take my place at the front without accelerating or slowing the group and dropping back to the end of the line without over-slowing and having to chase back on.

I learned to be aware of my riding partners, about where they were and how they were doing. I learned how to take care of them on the rare days when I was the strongest rider and how to take care of myself when I was by no means the strongest rider.

I learned how to negotiate a pace line and ride in a pack. I learned how to make following riders aware of obstacles or potential hazards in the road ahead. I learned to relax so I could brush off my tires, look over my shoulder or manipulate water bottles without scaring anyone.

I learned how to pedal side by side with my friends, elbows nearly brushing, for mile after mile on quiet country roads.

Having learned those skills, often taught by impatient instructors, I became part of the road cycling culture — for life. As long as I continue to ride and show signs of having roadie skills, I’m part of that culture. And the benefits are incalculable.

Had I continued to think of cycling as a solo sport, I don’t believe I’d have lasted this long. I do solo rides so I can be fit enough to hang in with a group. I enjoy solo efforts in a limited sort of way, but I live for those with friends.

Riding in company is a superior workout, I suppose, but while you’re doing it, it doesn’t seem like work, more like a social occasion, a chance to chat as you roll down the road. You cover far more ground in company, both because you’re probably going a bit faster and because the time passes so pleasantly and quickly.

I made the best, longest lasting friends I’ve ever had while pedaling elbow to elbow down some meandering country road. Some of those old friends I don’t see often enough, maybe every few years.

But when we roll out onto a quiet road and the conversation begins, it’s just as if we’ve been riding together all along. It’s the best.