By DC Lucchesi
Some things just seem to go together. Peanut butter and jelly, nuts and bolts, Scooby and Shaggy; they’re perfect. Other stuff might not seem a natural fit but they work for some folks: bacon and chocolate, plaids and stripes, pie in a cup. Or traveling by bike to a marathon.
Cobbling individual activities together for fun, competition or bragging rights goes back more than 50 years before Cmdr. Collins birthed the idea of the Ironman. It’s probably no coincidence that the generation of folks that grew up multitasking has flocked to the idea of rolling any number of disciplines into one athletic endeavor. I’ve done my share of multisport events, but combining two things I really love, traveling by bike and running through the woods, had never occurred to me. And what started out as a built-in excuse for my anticipated poor performance at the Ridge to Bridge Marathon turned out to be the most fun I had on the bike – or the run – all season.
Bike commuters, hikers and cyclotourists are full of stories about things they would have missed had they taken the shortcut or been wrapped in the insular metal cocoon of their climate-controlled, GPS-guided car. Frost took the road less traveled, and a trip by bicycle affords the same opportunity. In this case, the route made all the difference. I’m by no means an experienced bicycle tourist, but I’m convinced you can get just about anywhere you want to go by bike – if you’re willing to plan accordingly, pack lightly and prepare for any sort of weather. Traveling with a friend who happens to have mad cue sheet skills helps, too. A shared experience always makes for better stories, and I have enough dirt on Melinda to ensure she’d corroborate any lies I felt compelled to tell. The perfect traveling companion.
Driving from Charlotte to Jonas Ridge, we’d have missed the seemingly never-ending string of yard sales stretched along roads named Hog Hill and June Bug; little mercantile and social oases sprouted up along the frontage of now-dormant bean fields. We would have bypassed the innovation of “pie in a cup.” Without a half-day’s miles under my belt, I know I couldn’t have justified consuming the crust-saving confection behind a grilled pimento-cheese sandwich and a plate full of fries. Nor would we have stopped at the floral shop in the middle of nowhere to interrupt preparations for the Miller wedding to top off our water bottles. Ah, if only there were more time. The handmade roadside directional signs gave us every indication the Miller wedding would be THE social event of the weekend.
You’re a bit of a curiosity when traveling by bike. The clothes and the machine must make you seem less prickly, and perhaps a bit more vulnerable to conversation. People want to know where you’re going and where you’ve come from, if the seat hurts your butt and whether you know some random fellow who also happens to own a bike. This approachability has its downside, too. Like being a bartender, the lack of armor is apparently license to tell all, including Phyllis at the Chevron and her recitation of the entire breakfast buffet menu at Amos’. It was chatting up the locals that led to directions to what must be the only pizza shop in the free world that doesn’t serve beer.
As for the marathon itself, I’ve never felt more at ease at a starting line. I knew the finish would be 26.2 miles away, but my priority was to enjoy the views, the company and the course. David and Rhonda and the rest of the volunteers were as kind and accommodating as if they’d owed me money. The Chamber of Commerce weather and the palette of fall leaves on the gray gravel paths made every step seem like a photo opportunity. A runner I shared a few miles with asked if I knew what pace we were keeping. I hadn’t even started my watch, much less cared to look at it. I wasn’t sure I wanted it to end so soon anyway.
It was Emerson who said, “Life is a journey, not a destination.” If that is indeed the case, then I was really living that weekend. The ride and the run, the characters and the company; I don’t think H.B. Reese expected as much perfection when peanut butter met chocolate. Enjoy!
# # #
D.C. Lucchesi runs, rides and writes from Charlotte, N.C. When D.C. isn’t planning or participating in his own “next adventure,” the award-winning writer and former television producer can be found freelancing and waxing poetic on subjects ranging from health and endurance to schools and politics. When he’s not volunteering or coaching in some capacity with school-age kids, he still enjoys interacting with grown-ups. Find him at dclucchesi@gmail.com.
