Gran Fondo Fixies

When Jeff Bauer asked me to be on the crew for his and Kevin Kaiser's
two-man RAAM this summer, I asked myself the age-old question: Why Me?

Not in a bad way, of course. I really meant, "Am I worthy?"

There are various tests and benchmarks a rider must pass before he is
allowed to race in RAAM, but what about crew? What does it take to be
one of the people supporting the rider as he/she makes his way across
the country at about 17 mph?

First, it takes scheduling flexibility. Lots of folks can take two weeks
off in the summer, but can you take two weeks off while leaving your
family at home, and not completely alienate your loved ones ... not to
mention your boss?

Fortunately, I have the best wife and daughter in the world. They have
always supported my own distance cycling efforts, which often have me
disappearing for the weekend only to return home Sunday afternoon rather
bleary, sunburnt, and with pains in places that civilized people do not
discuss. When I asked them if I could crew for Jeff, explaining what a
once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing it was, and how it was an honor to be
part of something this big, they both just rolled their eyes and sighed
in acquiescence.

"And I'll be taking our mini-van," I added. That drew a deeper sigh from
my wife, but she could tell that this was important to me. What kind of
woman is willing to spend two weeks without her husband, plus doesn't
mind that he's putting another 6,000 wheel-shredding, engines-sludging
miles on the family car? A rare woman, indeed. I just hope she's as
understanding when she hears about the holes I drilled to wire the extra
lights and speakers on the roof rack.

So, I passed the first test: I am flexible, and I come with a vehicle
big enough for bikes and riders and gear. Maybe I am worthy ...

But what about the second quality RAAM crew must have -- Ingenuity. RAAM
riders and crew are often required to think "outside the box" to come up
with solutions to on-the-road emergencies

For example, many RAAM riders have suffered from Shermer's Neck. This
malady (named for a RAAM racer), strikes ultra-distance cyclists after a
thousand miles or so, disabling their neck muscles so they can no longer
hold their head up. Next time you're on your bike, imagine having to
ride with your chin pointed at your top tube -- how much of the road can
you see through your eyebrows? This happens enough that RAAM crew and
riders have invented a plethora of weird solutions, some as simple as
duct-taping a water bottle under the racer's chin or as complex as a
crane-type contraption belted around the cyclist's waist.

Fortunately, I've always considered myself a problem solver ... mostly
because I tend to create problems.

Mostly, we will encounter the kinds of problems common to randoneurring
-- the ultra-distance type of biking that Jeff and I do. When you
regularly ride hundreds of miles in out-of-the-way locations, you learn
to carry everything you might possibly need, and be prepared to make
things up as you go along. You not only learn how to fix a flat tire or
a broken shifter or a snapped chain, you learn how to do it at night, in
the rain, with nothing more than a used Gu packet and some chewing gum.
McGyver might make a good randonneur.

So, I'm a problem-solver who understand the issues of distance cycling.
Is that enough?

Oh, yeah, sleep-deprivation. RAAM riders certainly don't get much sleep
-- some of them do not stop for anything other than the most insistent
demands of nature for the first 72 hours. A two-man team like Jeff and
Kevin will probably swap off every four hours, so they will never get
much more than three hours sleep at a stretch. The crew will have it
slightly easier, but I doubt any of us will be really "off-duty" for
more than five or six hours. Can I function like that?

Again, randonneuring has taught me my limit: After about 24 house, I
gotta sleep. But randonneuring has also taught me how to sleep anywhere
-- on the sidewalk outside a convenience store in Kentucky, or rolled
into a fetal curl under a picnic table during a north Georgia tornado.
Not exactly eight hours of Z's at a Holiday Inn Express, but it works.

So, yes, I have the skills to help Jeff and Kevin bike across America in
10 days. I can take two weeks of vacation without pay, abandoning my
wife and daughter to drive a mini-van unbearably slow on the
glass-strewn shoulders of rural roads, solve emergencies that will crop
up without any notice, try to fix bicycles and people that have been
pushed beyond their limits, and barely sleep.

Maybe Jeff really just wanted to borrow my minivan ...