I cycle whenever I can – distance cycling, not mountain biking, and I do it with a group of people who look to raise money for a charity.
These people are great, and I’ve made some wonderful friends through the organization that I probably would never have met otherwise.
So aside from the team cycling we do, occasionally we would sign up for different rides and get a group together for fun, not sponsored.
One of the rides I wanted to do was the NYC century. 100 miles (there are shorter versions, but eff that, we’re bad asses) that starts in Central Park and goes through the 5 different boros.
Oh! I lied. We signed up for 75 because a friend who had done the ride previously said “the Bronx was hilly and boring, you should skip that part”.
My friend offered to pick me up the morning of the ride and drive us both into the city. I, in turn, offered to pick up bagels and coffee for the morning ride from my favorite bagel spot in town.
So we all meet up and start riding and are immediately disappointed the roads weren’t fully closed like they are for the MS 5 boro ride. But hey, getting honked at and yelled at by NYC cabbies at 7am is a kind of fun way to start a Sunday off. Also gave us a chance to hone our “Staying Alive Skills”.
We get through Manhattan and cross into Brooklyn when it starts to rain. My dear friend VO had gotten about 4 flat tires already, and my bike shorts were full of grit (side note: riding over the Brooklyn Bridge and through prospect park was a tremendous experience I won’t likely soon forget).
We’re cruisin through Bay Ridge at a SLOW pace. I’m talking rain, mud, head wind, all sorts of crap and we get to Coney Island when I start to get queasy.
What’s this now? Yes. Queasy. I chalked it up, at first, to it being a result of one of the most miserable bike rides of my life, thus far, but it started to get worse.
My other friend, AndyPants and Suebee were equally miserable, so when we got to Nathans we all kind of looked at each other and said “Subway?”
In sheer confusion, VO says “eh? There’s a Nathans over there!”
No, officer, not THAT Subway.
In any event, we hop the subway and start our ride back to the city.
And it gets worse. My queasy-ness is developing into full blown nausea. We get to one of the hubs to swap trains, and picture this, if you can:
6 people in soggy bike shorts with helmets, bike shoes, carrying road bikes.
A bum walks up to me and starts asking me about our shoes, bikes, etc. Little does he know, I’m about to blow. Not able to speak, I rush past the bum, drop my bike and beeline for a garbage can, vomiting a straight stream of cream cheese. Like soft serve ice cream, Andypants later told me.
Horrified, the bum takes off. Andypants and VO check in on me, out of concern, which later turns to laughter.
I was sick for two days and couldn’t eat ice cream or cream cheese for about 6 months.