RAMROD 2005 - Ride report by Darol Tuttle

In July 2003, I had not ridden a bicycle in 25 years. I was not overweight but headed that way. I was definitely out of shape. As a forty year old who was trying to deal with raising two kids and run a small law firm, I hated going to the gym and running was too painful. A friend made me watch the Tour De France. I had barely heard of Lance Armstrong. I didn't know what cycling was. I remember telling my friend that I had no interest in watching a bunch of skinny guys who shaved their legs. As luck would have it, the first stage I watched was Stage Nine. You know, the one where Beloki fell and broke his hip and Lance careened into the field. I couldn't believe it. Even a person who knew absolutely nothing about cycling could tell that this was a bad accident, that Lance could have fallen and been as hurt. Even I could tell that the maneuver across the field, the little hop across the ditch, and back onto the road and into the group was astounding.

Then, I really thought about it. My whole life, my peers have gone on and on about the bravery of linebackers and receivers in the NFL. Then, there was Beloki, crying in pain as he was taken to the hospital. Which takes more guts, being hit by another human as he runs at 10 mph with a helmet and padding over his entire body or hitting the pavement going 40 mph with nothing but a bike helmet?

As luck would have it, I was busy with work and didn’t watch anymore of the Tour that year until Stage Fifteen. Lance was leading the Tour. Barely. He attacked on the climb but suddenly fell, taken down by a mussette handle. Mayo went down with him. Later, Lance recovered but nearly fell again as his foot unclipped from his pedal. My god! What is going on?, Phil Ligget and I asked simultaneously. The rest, of course, was history. Lance surged ahead in a fury and won the stage and the Tour.

This was truly the sexiest thing I had ever seen. A month later, I borrowed a fifteen-year-old road bike. The pedals had toe clips. I thought I would go out so I bought cycling shorts. I knew so little about cycling that I bought mountain biking shorts. When I set out, my friend commented to my wife, "He looks sorta wobbly." I rode the bike nearly everyday on the five-mile loop in Point Defiance Park. I knew I had a long way to go when, as I climbed the first hill, I heard a conversation. It was the chatter of three women, conversing amongst themselves. It grew louder and louder. They smiled as they pedaled past me. I was imagining myself the Lance Armstrong of Point Defiance Park and I just got dropped by three fifty- year-old women who were discussing whether one should marinate a steak before grilling it!