Story of the Irregulars, Chpt 1, vignettes, part a

Since our first ride together had proved that Frank was quite strong, I made the second ride tougher.  We went up into Creedmoor and then took Stem Rd to Hester Rd to the "three Hayes roads" and then over to Grissom via Horseshoe and Lawrence Rds.  Not an easy course.

As we left Creedmoor, Frank asked "HOW MANY HILLS ARE THERE ON THIS RIDE?"  I replied that I only recognized about 7 1/2 "hills" worthy of noting.  Frank sputtered that he thought we'd already done 30 hills.  I acknowledged that a year earlier I would have "noted" a lot more "hills" including the one we had just ridden up, but that I could no longer treat that first little climb out of Creedmoor as a hill since I had just done it my big crank / small cog combination.  (Remember, I was on the "purple beast" at the time, so I was using mtn bike gearing.)  But I think the main thing that allowed me to go up that little climb in the biggest gear I had was that I was engaged in conversation and failed to recognize where I was / what I was doing.

Our next ride together was a week or two later.  Frank had figured out how to ride the rolling climbs which make up most of the terrain north of Raleigh, and I found it impossible to keep close to the Colombian mtn goat going upslope.  Also, with those powerful pistons, I could not and cannot match his acceleration on the flat, or upslope, or anywhere.  However, I knew how to use my downslope gravity advantage (bike and body weight combining for the advantage) to good effect.  We did the Creedmoor-Grissom loop and as we neared Grissom, Frank realized his time window was tight.  Since (I admit it, I still hoped to be able to keep up speedwise when Frank was tired) I wanted to try to tire Frank, er, give him a work-free leadout on Bruce Garner / New Light so he would be fresh when we got to Ghoston, I turned the leg from Grissom to Ghoston Rd into a 6.6 mile "time-trial", asking no quarter and giving none as I tried to keep him from overtaking me.  I wasn't entirely successful as the mtn goat passed me on one of the bumps -- I don't remember which one, it could be the last one before Purnell or more likely one of the two between Old Weaver and Holly Point -- but I immediately hit the pedals hard and re-took the lead going over the crest.  When we turned onto Ghoston, Frank slid effortlessly past and disappeared up the hill.  He was in his car and leaving PUE when I turned into the parking lot, exhausted.

That "time-trial" started a tradition.  That ride, on that heavy mtn bike, remained the fastest I had ever done that stretch until nearly two years later.  I had tried, but never could match the determined effort of that day.

A year later, the group included "the Duke", Wave, Frank, me, and someone else (maybe the Duke's nephew).  I tried to keep up, initially surrendering to just hoping to keep Frank in my sights, and then letting go of that forlorn hope.  Meanwhile, Frank was struggling to do the same relative to Wave and the Duke.  Crushed, we were.