Slow Down Lance

My dad came in town this past weekend. He claimed that he wanted to spend time with my sister and me, but we knew that he was really up here to date single, mormon women. My dad is recently divorced and is now on the prowl. I'm not sure what is more disturbing, watching my dad text message and set up dates on his new Iphone, or hearing about which girl is the best kisser or has the best body. I'm going to go with the latter on that one.

Well, my dad did put in some quality daddy daughter time this weekend too. He signed my sister and I up for a 20 mile bike ride on a place called Antelope Island, a stretch of land extending into the Great Salt Lake. The bike ride was supposed to coincide with the full moon and started around 10:30pm. It was a huge fundraiser for the parks and wildlife association and so it was chalk full of kids, couples, and a variety of hooligans that were all dressed up and outfitted with various glow sticks and blinking lights.

I don't really know how to judge distance on bikes because I usually ride for fun and stop when I get tired. I figured that 20 miles was going to be no big deal, so I went to the gym earlier and did a million squats and lunges. That was my first mistake. My second mistake was assuming that my dad could do anything at a leisurely pace. I have owned my road bike for almost a month and have only used it once. I threaten daily that I'm going to go on a bike ride, but then am able to quickly forget about it due to heat, books to read, or a dozen of other good reasons. The click petals are the main reason that I don't ride it. I can't quite figure out how to get into them; and when it comes time to stop, I can't seem to unclip very well. Those of you that know me understand that I'm probably the klutziest person you've ever seen. My friends used to call me Ballerina as a joke. I'm like the scarecrow from the Wizard of OZ that has the metal pole taken out of his back. Only I don't just take one song to regain my balance; the constant falling over has been a way of life.

So... once I started the ride, I clicked in and realized that there was no way out until the ride was over, at which point I would probably fall over and need to have my dad unclick me. I was enjoying watching the parents, kids, and couples ride, chat, and struggle along until I realized that my dad had taken off. I pedaled to keep up, and that pretty much set the pace for the rest of the ride. The first ten miles my legs were burning as we screamed past everyone. We turned around at the halfway mark and headed back. My dad kept yelling, "Get in my draft." Needless to say, we were the only people drafting on the whole ride. Everyone else brought drinks and snacks and they were just taking their sweet time while enjoying the full moon. Not us! I remember swerving around small children at a breakneck pace, and screaming, "On your left," as I tried to avoid hitting a mom with a kidseat on the back of her bike. The last hill was about two miles long and my legs were numb with pain. The altitude was killing me and I was getting dizzy. The only thing that kept me on my bike was the knowledge that there was no way I could unclip on an incline. There was also part of me that realized that my 55 year old dad was still in front of me and not even breaking a sweat. So really, it was a combo of pride and self preservation that kept me in the saddle. At the end of the ride, there was a little downhill that led into the parking lot. It took me half a mile to get one foot out of the pedals. My dad helped with the other one when I finally screeched to a halt.

On the way home, I realized that my over-the-hill dad, a man whose spandex wearing butt I had just followed for the last 20 miles, was in better shape than I'd ever hope to be in. I felt inspired then to join a bike group or running group. Sadly, it is 10:30am only three days later and I'm still in my pajamas trying to psych myself up for a morning walk around the block.