Bob Sanchez’ BS

I think I’m a serious biker.

Come on, I rode 15 miles a day in Hawaii going to and from work at sunrise and sunset. I haven’t owned a car since I graduated from high school and have only driven in one of the past six years. I have big, strong legs and I use them to ride as fast as I can. I’m gnarly and I’m faster than you.

I needed a new horse in Kochi, so I visited the bike shops in my area only to find that none of them had frames in my size. One kind gentleman pointed me in the direction of The Bike Shop, about two miles away from my apartment.

I located The Bike Shop and passed through the narrow door into a cramped, crowded room jam-packed with bicycles and accessories. Bikes hung from the ceiling and leaned against walls and display stands. Spare inner tubes peeked out from behind a rack overflowing with helmets.

I had to wade through bicycles to get to the back wall where a woman studied gloves and jersies with a pair of reading glasses. She had dark, leathery skin and a hawk nose, and she looked up when I said, “Excuse me, I’m looking for a bike.”

Looking into her face for the first time, I was struck by how much she reminded me of Santa Barbara volleyball legend Kathy Gregory, albeit a Japanese version. Something about this woman said, “Trust me, I know bikes” in the same powerful way that volleyball knowledge emanated from Coach Gregory.

I told her what I was looking for: something sturdy and smooth, but cheap. Something that I could tour the area with but wouldn’t set me back six months’ pay. Most of the price tags in the shop had more zeroes than I was thinking about, and I was fairly certain that I wasn’t going to come away from The Bike Shop with a new ride.

Mrs. Bike Shop worked on me and had me deciding between a $400 hybrid with fenders and a $700 road bike that looked much too serious for me. I deliberated a bit before going with the hybrid because it looked like other bikes that I had enjoyed riding in the past.

It’s the best bike I’ve ever had. It’s also the worst bike in the Kochi Cyclists’ Touring Club.

I joined KCTC after exploring Kochi on my own for about two weeks. I awoke every morning at 5:30 and rode up and down the coast on relatively flat terrain. I zoomed through the city streets to get to the beach, sure that I was the fastest thing ever to spin two pedals.

On my way back home from these rides, I’d pass junior high and high school students with their heads down, slowly wheeling their way to whichever gulag their uniforms represented. And I laughed. Look at me, I’m going three times as fast as you are. I’ll be shat, showered, and shorn before you can even sniff the school gates.

Obviously, this much biking prowess needed another outlet, so I asked Mrs. Bike Shop about the club and she invited me out for the next Sunday Ride.

I showed up in my baseball shorts with an athletic pullover, running shoes, a helmet and cool gloves.

Everyone else had a fancy road bike with super skinny wheels, proper biking attire including clip-on shoes, spare tires and pumps attached to their bikes, and two water bottle racks each. I had a bottle of water in a bag tied to my rear rack.

So at first glance, I knew I’d be spending time catching up. But most of the members were middle-aged and I thought I stood a decent chance of hanging with them.

WRONG. Mrs. Bike Shop called everyone together and said, “OK, today we’re going up Mountain X and then down to Valley Y. The distance isn’t there today, but it’s so damn hot that we’re going someplace cool.”

I had never been up a mountain on a bike, but I was ready to give it a try. We sped off (rather, they sped off) toward the mountain. We followed Mirror River, which passes through downtown Kochi, to its source and it was just gorgeous. I wanted to jump off my bike and go for a swim.

Fishermen and farmers were out doing their thing along the way, and green overflowed from every hillside and riverbank.

I reached the first rest stop just two minutes before the rest of the bikers were ready to continue the climb. There were so many switchbacks that I lost count, and at one point I decided that I could only handle three more before I would have to take an unscheduled break and fall further behind.

Luckily, the next one was the peak. I don’t think I’ve ever gone as fast on a bike as I did going down that mountain. I caught up with the pack going down, and it was thrilling to be in line with them, zooming past townsfolk and cars alike.

We got to a city-looking area, and it was the city to the east of Kochi. I figured we’d head back to The Bike Shop then, and I was very already patting myself on the back for making it the whole way. The leader made a quick right and we were off through a valley full of rice fields and little two-story houses.

There was enough of an incline that I got tired and started seeing spots, so I pulled over to the side and rested for a few minutes. I got back on and arrived at an intersection where Mr. Bike Shop waited patiently.

To the left was an unfinished tunnel. To the right, more valley. Ahead was a rather sketchy-looking tree-shrouded road that went straight up.

Mr. Bike Shop grinned and delivered what I would come to know as his Gem of the Day, a phrase in English so simple yet so appropriate:

“From here, four kilometers UP!”

I made it about a mile into the crooked, thin road up the mountain and almost passed out. I had to get off the bike and rest for about 10 minutes. I felt bad that Mr. Bike Shop had waited for me, but I just had no energy left. I had used up even my fumes.

I walked the bike the rest of the way up where a few bikers were waiting. We rode down, and it was fun, but I felt like I hadn’t earned it and deserved to walk the bike down.

Everyone was waiting midway down the mountain at a fork in the road. Mrs. Bike Shop (the only woman in the club) said, “Come on, Mac! We’re going back to The Bike Shop,” while everyone else tackled mountain number three.

I felt like a little baby for about five seconds until I was hit by THE MOST INCREDIBLE VIEW EVER. Kochi City splayed out beneath me - rivers, trees, buildings, hills, and the Pacific Ocean off in the distance. It was just fantastic, and the road down into the city was fun, too.

Mrs. Bike Shop said I could go home, but I wanted to be at The Bike Shop when everyone got back so I could pick up some words and maybe some tips about biking. I was dead tired, but I liked the challenge and was glad that I went back to the store.

I found out that the leader had won the 45-49 age group bike marathon weeks earlier as well as several other races, so I didn’t feel so bad.

Mrs. Bike Shop said that I had gone 40 miles and that my slowness was due to my bike as much as it was to my shape and inexperience. I was willing to say 70-30 in favor of me just stinking, but it would be nifty to try one of those road bikes just once.

In sum, I got smoked. Creamed. Whipped. Taken to school.

I thought I was a serious biker.