News
My first bicycle, after graduating from teetering on training wheels post-Big Wheel, was a red bike with flat handlebars and a red and white seat. I rode it up and down our dirt road as fast as I could, because the greater the speed, the more abrupt the stop, and the bigger cloud of dust.
There was very little tutorial required with my red bike: If you wanted to go forward, you pedaled forward; if you wanted to stop, you pedaled in reverse. If you were done riding, you lay it down anywhere. Mom will get it.
I rode my red bike in the 4th of July bicentennial parade. I covered it with red, white, and blue streamers and homemade tassels; I attached playing cards to the wheels with clothes pins, which unfortunately popped off at approximately the rate of one pin per two blocks of parading. It was a fantastic display of patriotism and artistic talent, and I was rewarded with a shiny new 1976 half-dollar. My big sister won a silver dollar with her bike. Our prizes were equally shiny, but hers was the size of a coaster as opposed to my Ritz cracker-ish reward. But that was because she was older, I assured myself, not because her bike was prettier. That just wasn't possible.
I eventually outgrew Lil' Red and moved on to a beautiful light green big-girl bike with big handlebars and a white banana seat. Greenie had a kickstand and a reflector on the back attached to an odd handle-like contraption. It was perfect for pulling a friend on roller-skates, and I had it decorated with ribbons and stickers. Greenie and I together learned about bicycle safety, hand signals, and rules of the road. We entered the bike rodeo and demonstrated our technique, winning a case of soda for a job well done.
My first 10-speed was purchased with earnings from my paper route. I endured a dog bite to the thigh, a puncture wound to the shin, and numerous days of bad weather as I delivered the afternoon news from my ink-stained canvas bag. My blue “Hiawatha” came from the local sporting goods store and stayed with me for years. We had countless trips to the pool, friends' houses, A&W, and ultimately, my first big road ride of 17 miles.
Just like the case of soda, the shiny half-dollar, and the paper route wounds, the Hiawatha disappeared and life moved forward.
The 21st annual Tour of the Valley bicycle ride hit the road this past weekend as hundreds of bicycle enthusiasts enjoyed a ride throughout the Grand Valley. With varying distances from 15 miles to the century ride of 100, cyclists enjoyed a designated course with full support, aid stations, and a grand finish with music, lunch, and a grassy lawn on which to relax those tired muscles while eating an ice cream sandwich.
My silver-dollar sister and I, both casual riders, decided early this spring that we would take a break from our running routine and tackle the granddaddy hundred-miler. The summer flew by as we exchanged e-mails about how little we were actually riding and checking with the other to make sure their mileage was equally low. “No big deal,” we agreed. It was just for fun, and we would just take the ride at an easy pace.
At 7:19 a.m. on Sunday, Aug. 30, my sister, Anne, and I high-fived each other as we left the DoubleTree hotel on our bikes, out to conquer a distance that neither of us had ever ridden in one day. I had done each section of the Tour of the Valley at one time or another, and today we were going to combine them into one…long…day.
We rode to Palisade, munched on a peach, and enjoyed a tailwind as we changed directions towards Orchard Mesa. With a tasty donut in the kitchen of our favorite aid station (our parents' kitchen) we had 37 miles down, and we headed for the Monument. The high point of the ride, literally, brought spectacular views and plenty of excuses to rest, take photos, and chomp on a snack.
Cruising into Fruita, we had 70 miles down and a long, toasty 30 miles ahead of us. But we were on the home stretch.
The afternoon was passing as we pressed on. It was hot, and we were tired. We completed our loop back into the Double Tree parking lot as my sister calls out, “99.8, 99.9, 100!” Anne takes a final photo of the “100” on her cyclometer; we hang our bikes on the car and give each other a congratulatory hug. We made it.
Our “easy pace” brought us to the finish line at 4:30 p.m. The music had finished and most participants had gone home, but we felt like champions. We toasted with a beer, enjoyed a quick lunch, and finished with the best ice cream sandwich we'd ever had.
What had the appearance of a long, difficult bike ride turned into a day of sunshine, fresh air, spectacular views and nine hours of riding, talking, and laughing with my sister that I'll never forget.
Elizabeth Schnittker and her husband, Chris, own and operate Running Tracks, the valley's specialty running store located with Single Tracks on the circle in downtown Fruita, one of the many pit stops along the ride. Elizabeth and Chris welcome all questions and comments at rfrdepo@aol.com.
There was very little tutorial required with my red bike: If you wanted to go forward, you pedaled forward; if you wanted to stop, you pedaled in reverse. If you were done riding, you lay it down anywhere. Mom will get it.
I rode my red bike in the 4th of July bicentennial parade. I covered it with red, white, and blue streamers and homemade tassels; I attached playing cards to the wheels with clothes pins, which unfortunately popped off at approximately the rate of one pin per two blocks of parading. It was a fantastic display of patriotism and artistic talent, and I was rewarded with a shiny new 1976 half-dollar. My big sister won a silver dollar with her bike. Our prizes were equally shiny, but hers was the size of a coaster as opposed to my Ritz cracker-ish reward. But that was because she was older, I assured myself, not because her bike was prettier. That just wasn't possible.
I eventually outgrew Lil' Red and moved on to a beautiful light green big-girl bike with big handlebars and a white banana seat. Greenie had a kickstand and a reflector on the back attached to an odd handle-like contraption. It was perfect for pulling a friend on roller-skates, and I had it decorated with ribbons and stickers. Greenie and I together learned about bicycle safety, hand signals, and rules of the road. We entered the bike rodeo and demonstrated our technique, winning a case of soda for a job well done.
My first 10-speed was purchased with earnings from my paper route. I endured a dog bite to the thigh, a puncture wound to the shin, and numerous days of bad weather as I delivered the afternoon news from my ink-stained canvas bag. My blue “Hiawatha” came from the local sporting goods store and stayed with me for years. We had countless trips to the pool, friends' houses, A&W, and ultimately, my first big road ride of 17 miles.
Just like the case of soda, the shiny half-dollar, and the paper route wounds, the Hiawatha disappeared and life moved forward.
The 21st annual Tour of the Valley bicycle ride hit the road this past weekend as hundreds of bicycle enthusiasts enjoyed a ride throughout the Grand Valley. With varying distances from 15 miles to the century ride of 100, cyclists enjoyed a designated course with full support, aid stations, and a grand finish with music, lunch, and a grassy lawn on which to relax those tired muscles while eating an ice cream sandwich.
My silver-dollar sister and I, both casual riders, decided early this spring that we would take a break from our running routine and tackle the granddaddy hundred-miler. The summer flew by as we exchanged e-mails about how little we were actually riding and checking with the other to make sure their mileage was equally low. “No big deal,” we agreed. It was just for fun, and we would just take the ride at an easy pace.
At 7:19 a.m. on Sunday, Aug. 30, my sister, Anne, and I high-fived each other as we left the DoubleTree hotel on our bikes, out to conquer a distance that neither of us had ever ridden in one day. I had done each section of the Tour of the Valley at one time or another, and today we were going to combine them into one…long…day.
We rode to Palisade, munched on a peach, and enjoyed a tailwind as we changed directions towards Orchard Mesa. With a tasty donut in the kitchen of our favorite aid station (our parents' kitchen) we had 37 miles down, and we headed for the Monument. The high point of the ride, literally, brought spectacular views and plenty of excuses to rest, take photos, and chomp on a snack.
Cruising into Fruita, we had 70 miles down and a long, toasty 30 miles ahead of us. But we were on the home stretch.
The afternoon was passing as we pressed on. It was hot, and we were tired. We completed our loop back into the Double Tree parking lot as my sister calls out, “99.8, 99.9, 100!” Anne takes a final photo of the “100” on her cyclometer; we hang our bikes on the car and give each other a congratulatory hug. We made it.
Our “easy pace” brought us to the finish line at 4:30 p.m. The music had finished and most participants had gone home, but we felt like champions. We toasted with a beer, enjoyed a quick lunch, and finished with the best ice cream sandwich we'd ever had.
What had the appearance of a long, difficult bike ride turned into a day of sunshine, fresh air, spectacular views and nine hours of riding, talking, and laughing with my sister that I'll never forget.
Elizabeth Schnittker and her husband, Chris, own and operate Running Tracks, the valley's specialty running store located with Single Tracks on the circle in downtown Fruita, one of the many pit stops along the ride. Elizabeth and Chris welcome all questions and comments at rfrdepo@aol.com.
