Historically, the Draft is the highlight of my Monday routine. I dare say, however, that I missed the No Brains All Brawn ride in lieu of an opportunity to experience the Solar Eclipse in OR. A complete sensory and spiritual experience, indescribable with words, at least with my literary limitations. Z and I thought we might have a shot at winning the Outrageous Drafter photo competition, ousting Arms and Legs from their African Safari post, but taking a photograph of the eclipse with us in Drafter gear while holding a lead shield proved too great of a task for an amateur selfie-photographer. And during totality, well, it was just plain dark. These will have to suffice- neither Drafter gear nor the Eclipse are visible, so I will acquiesce that my photo submission ranking remains at ground zero.
The Eclipse trip was definitely a rich experience, including the food and beverage service. Unfortunately, anticipation doesn’t burn many calories. In an effort to come home wearing the same size clothes in which we departed, Z rented a bike and conquered Mt. Bachelor.
Enough about the Eclipse. Let’s circle back to the Draft. One of the most outstanding attributes of the Drafters is the number of generations we span. If my math is correct (never a good assumption), we have over a 40 year spread between our matriarch, Sully, and the youngins. With that, I am quite sure that Monday’s Ride of Ages, with reference to Rock of Ages will escape those in diapers during the Big Hair 80’s music scene. If you will allow me to pen my stream of consciousness during my reconnaissance mission yesterday, I will try to make the name relevant.
In search of a route to suite our 30ish mile hilly criteria, I headed north, but stayed south of the lakes (Fish and Crystal). As I began to climb my way up Bitney, Buethin, Brereton, an alliteration from the Def Leppard Song Rock of Ages resonated in my brain (or whatever matter occupies the space between by ears): Gunter Glieben Glauchen Globen. And so it stuck for the remainder of my recon.
Gunter Glieben Glauchen Globen.
All right.
I got something’ to say.
Yeah, it’s better to burn out.
Yeah, than fade away.
All right
Over, and over, and over again in my head. One of the many beautiful things about music is it’s ability to connect you with a place and time. One note from Journey’s Don’t Stop Believin’ and I remember the dress I borrowed from my cousin to wear to Prom (the rest I have conveniently forgotten). And then there’s Quiet Riot’s Come on Feel the Noise, the concert which earned me a spot on Dane County Sheriff’s finest list. And let’s not forget Bon Jovi’s Livin’ on a Prayer, our pre-game locker room decibel barrier song. Bonnie Tyler’s Total Eclipse of the Heart- relevant for my recent trip, and also eerily descriptive of my high school and college dating history. Once my gray matter retreated into the 80s, I remained there for some time.
It occurred to me that my passion for riding really stemmed from those early teen, formative Big Hair years. I didn’t/don’t do big hair. To be fair, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Did you know that blonde hair (or dishwater blah in my case) often lacks the central protein with amino acids that form disulfides bonds that promote curls? Yup. True that. I have zero disulfide bonds. And so I found it convenient to have a helmet on my head as often as possible. I grew up on a farm, literally born in a barn (technically a milking parlor which my parents converted and named the Cow Palace), a few miles south of the roads we Draft. My primary form of entertainment came from my uncles, Numa, Kent and John Boy, who were cycle enthusiasts. Only these cycles had motors and studded tires to deal with racing on the ice in the winter months. My mom insisted that I wear a helmet, Irish setter boots and a jean jacket, regardless of temperature. It is no wonder that my first crush was on Evel Knievel (I gave up my crush on Mark Spitz when I didn’t make the A relay at my YMCA swim team- too painful). Motorcycling offered me freedom- a helmet to cover my head, noise to block out all the distractions, and speed to make me feel alive. I sold my motorcycle in the mid 90’s to buy my first bike, a shiny red Kestrel. It offers much the same freedoms, minus some but not all of the risks we take on the road (please ride with LED blinky lights). The boys still have their toys, and I highly recommend studding up the tires and taking a lap on the frozen H2O, if you ever get a chance.
How’s that for stream of consciousness during recon? I bet you’re relieved it was only a 30mile route. Can you imagine what goes on in my head during a century? Scary. The Eclipse has me a bit reflective and way sentimental. Life is good, even when it sucks. I’m grateful for being born in a barn, for my family, for the mentors and opportunities I’ve had, and honestly, for the Draft. You guys are the Rock of Ages.
Let’s ride. The Ride of Ages is 30 from our house, so add a few extra from Free House. The short pour could be a shortcut by turning left onto Fellows road (see yellow dotted line on map), or if you wanted to ride clock wise, you could do the Hyer Loop. The shot could take the Hyer Loop with the bike path home.
PDF download map Rock of Ages 35
Draft responsibly,
BrickO
brickosdrafters 