A thousand mile bike trip begins with the first press on the pedal.
As the ogre guarding the bridge over the chasm in the Monty Python movie asked, "What is your name and what is your QUEST?" My name is Rob Wilt, the new President of the Gainesville Cycling Club. That answers the question about my name, but what is my quest?
Well, lets start with some answers that may lead to a fuller understanding of how an anti-social loner like myself could come to be the leader of what is basically a club with the stated goal of getting a bunch of people together who have a common interest (bicycling) with the common goal of riding a lot with other people.
It started with that incorrigibly friendly guy, Chandler Otis, at Campus Cycle, who tried to convince me that riding with the cycling club could be, in fact, as much or more fun than riding by myself. "Fat chance!" my anti-social side groused silently. I politely refrained from joining the club knowing full well that the company of others would destroy the wonderful synergism that I had achieved between my bike, exercise and my endorphins. I did, however, desire a further challenge to my bicycling-produced new found sense of well being. I was having such a good time riding my bike and had achieved what I thought was a great level of fitness that I considered the possibility that I might be able to ride the upcoming Horse Farm 93. Of course, the 25 mile ride, since I had never ridden an organized ride before. And I would be riding alone, per my requirement, its just that there would be other people riding in the vicinity. So I joined the club to get the discount to the Horse Farm. I was in, but only up to my ankles. I rode the 25 miles on my Ross Cruiser (54 pounds with attached gear). It was tougher than I thought it would be with lots of hills and long grades, even though I had ridden previously ridden 50 miles (on level ground); but I finished. "OK," I said, "that was fun but I still don't want to ride with a group." Deep down I guess I was worried that the group would snicker at my bike, my bike clothes, my panting to keep up, or my lack of knowledge about bikes in general. None of that was what biking was about for me, so why would I want to put up with snickers. For three more glorious months I happily biked alone.
Then it happened. Out of nowhere I suddenly was flying over my handlebars towards the ground. I was really hurt, alone, in an isolated area and it was nearly dark. As I lay on my back aching with pain I began to feel pretty stupid. It's great to be strong and independent, but sometimes we need other people, like right now. As I recovered from my injury over the next four months, unable to bike, I had a lot of time to think; about riding and about riding by yourself. I decided that when I recovered from my injury I would take that Chandler guy up on his suggestion. I would go ride with Newnans and see what riding with others would be like. I'd take a chance, if I didn't like it I just wouldn't go back! So I showed up on a Sunday morning in May 94 fully expecting that I would be laughed at by snotty bike freaks in spandex, who would ignore and then dust me for meanness. It didn't happen that way. I met the friendliest, most compatible people on earth. NO ONE mentioned my bike, my clothes or my speed. We rode together, we talked about anything and every thing. Hey this is fun! These people aren't snotty at all! So be it, I was hooked. I would ride with this group forever. Then I read in the newsletter that there was this Hunters group, they rode faster than Newnans and rode a lot further. Now I was emboldened, I would go down and try to ride with the Hunters on Saturday; if they dusted me, laughed at me, or treated me with disdain, I still would be able to ride with Newnans. So I rode out to meet and ride with the Hunters but somehow I missed the time frame and wasn't able to connect. The next Saturday I did connect, full of trepidation about what might happen on the ride. Images of my being dusted in the backwoods of Alachua County, left alone, left for dead, having to ride many more miles than I had ever planned for while trying to get my bearings, filled my mind. It quickly became apparent that this just wasn't going to happen. The leader of the Hunters, Linda McMahon, immediately handed out maps. If I get dusted I can find my way home. Problem one solved. As we rode I worked to keep up, but not terribly hard. "I can do this !" I said to myself. Linda would fall back when any of us wavered, like a mother duck guarding her ducklings. "I'm not going to get dusted, no one is going to get dusted!" After forty miles I returned exhilarated. I had seen some beautiful parts of NW Alachua that I would never have ventured to alone, I had kept up the whole time, I had made some new friends. I was in up to my neck!
As Linda and I rode together and became friends we talked about everything. One day she suggested I consider becoming a board member, since I was so full of ideas for change and so irrepressible about expressing them. Yow!!! The ugly head of anti-sociability raised his ugly head again. What, me work for free, for people I don't know, who won't appreciate it anyway. I don't think so!
"There's free food at the board meeting." she said. A couple of months went by, and she kept hounding me (as subtly a hounding as anyone as polite as Linda can hound) "There's free food, just come share your ideas with the board." Finally in DEC 94 I succumbed to her siren song and the prospect of a free meal. I timidly put forth some of my ideas and suggestions at the board meetings. The response was positive, the food was good. "Hey maybe this isn't so bad after all." Then, after a couple of meetings, I was told by Craig Lee that I should be Vice President. "You can do with it what you want!" he said. Other than leading the meeting when Linda wasn't present I had no assigned responsibilities. I could do that. So in February 95 I became Vice President. Then last year Linda suggested that we reverse roles. I balked at first, but finally agreed. So here I am, led kicking and screaming all the way, but for some incomprehensible reason glad to be here. Glad to be your President. Glad to be leading the Gainesville Cycling Club for the next year. I guess I must be in over my head and maybe out of my mind.
"OK Rob, that was a pretty long winded story, what's your point? The ogre still doesn't have an answer for the QUEST part and you're about to take a headlong dive with your bike into the abyss of tortured derailleurs."
Here's my answer. "I have looked at the GCC roster and have seen the names of many members that I have not met. I have looked at their profiles and seen that they could be riding with the Newnans or Hunters group. I suspect that many of them, like myself in a previous life, have reservations about riding with a group, for similar reasons."
"The quest Rob, the quest, get to the QUEST!"
My first QUEST as your President is to meet each and every member of our club, to know you at least by your first name, and to help you find a group that suits your needs. To find that comfortable fit that I know this club offers for you as it did for me. To help you get all that you can get from this amazing experience that we call cycling. If you are a long time member who has never ridden with a group, I want to encourage you to come out and try it. And I want you to feel free to walk up to me at a ride or a club event and introduce yourself, because I really do want to met you. And I want you to share with me your unique visions of what else our club can be.
And now I think I better go look up the in flight speed of the African Hummingbird, that ogre is starting to look a little antsy. And I don't want to be down in that canyon with those greasy derailleurs.
Following winds my friends.
Rob Wilt