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This is the story of how a pumpkin in a pair of bad bike shorts managed to overcome her physical challenges (fat) and mental challenges (fear) and finish the Geneva Tour de Cure 60K loop in 3 hrs 19 min!

I overcame my first fear, which was not remembering how to tie the bike up on the bike rack (you who have mechanical ability may choose to sneer at me. Go ahead. It's a very real fear of mine, to have to do something vaguely mechanical.) As soon as I loaded up the sweet, fleet Bianca onto her bike rack, it started raining. Figures...I had dutifully called the event hotline at 6 a.m. and the ride was still on; they would cancel only if there was inclement weather. Considering I rode through pouring rain and brisk winds for 2 out of the 3 hours or so that I was out there, I'd hate to see what the Tour de Cure folks think is "inclement weather."

My second fear was not finding Peck Farm Park, where the ride starts and finishes. After arguing with my GPS until Randall Rd., when I finally submitted to her stern directional wisdom, I found the place and a fairly decent parking spot. I managed to unload Bianca without too much fumbling, scrounged around for my helmet, put on my cool (ok, gay) fingerless biking gloves on backwards, slicked on some Chaptstick, hopped on the bike, and wondered what the hell to do next. I rode across the rode to the check-in station and checked in, which seems like the obvious thing to do at such a point. I saw a couple of fellow riders from my church and we took turns taking pictures of each other while we waited to start. By now the rain is coming down hard and water is dripping from our helmets onto our bike seats. I sensed this was going to be the general tone for the day.

We finally set out a little bit after 8 a.m. Immediately I had to tackle a series of little hills, with little time to recover between them, as we wound around Peck Farm Park. The rain was demonic, aided in its misery-making by the wind, which made sure the rain could slap you silly in the face. That first half hour of the ride was the worst. I thought I was going to be riding with a group, but I assumed some sort of natural ability to keep up with groups, or perhaps I was depending on the kindness of strangers. No such luck. Group after group blazed past me, and I quickly figured out if I was going to ride, I was going to ride alone. And not in an enigmatic Clint Eastwood/Tommy Lee Jones loner sort of way, either. I was uh-loooone out there. I rode past parks, subdivisions (model homes open!), and farmland on country roads and major Kane Co. arteries. I had no idea just how damn hilly the course was going to be. I figured I'd average about 12 mph, but I was thinking 8 mph would be my slowest rate and 16 would be a common, frisky little clip for me. I did average 11.1 mph, but only because 5 mph up all those goddam hills and then 17 mph coasting downhill does average out to 11...

I like signs, or signage, as we librarians like to say. I didn't see enough of those happy green arrows pointing me along my route. I did manage to stay on course, but only because I made everyone who passed me (and there were many who did) tell me if I was going in the right direction.

The two most beautiful words in the English language are: rest stop. Oh my, tears of joy and gratitude poured down my cheeks when I saw the Lepre-Cans, the inexplicably Irish-themed portapotties on hand for the event. Perhaps I share too much, but let me just tell you that relieving oneself whilst a leprechaun on the door stares at you is not a pleasant experience. It was actually a bit terrifying. If ever I caught up with any of the groups of sleek greyhounds and gazelles, it was at the rest stops. I went banana-for-banana, granola bar-for-granola bar with the best of them. It was at the rest stops that I discovered bike shorts do not have to be bad. On me, wet Lycra is a nightmare; on a 25 year old man with sculpted thighs, it's gift wrap! Oddly enough, the ride after the first rest stop was fun and fast for me. Perhaps I was fueled by lust, hoping to catch more eyefuls of Lycra-clad masculinity. I zipped along, enjoying the countryside and the all-too-brief camaraderie of Those Who Inevitably Passed Me. By the second rest stop, I had acquired a reputation for comedy, surprisingly enough. I suppose you could say Tish Calhamer Appeared At The Second Rest Stop, Limited Engagement Only.

Bianca, my swift little bike, was the real champ throughout the whole ride! She gracefully shifted and climbed and coasted and cranked her way for 36.9 miles. She got a lot of dirt and grit on her frame and in the gears, but you could tell she enjoyed getting all bitched up; she's a tough one. When we got home, Bianca got a shower before I did; I hosed her off with the garden hose and then put her to bed in the garage.

She really enjoyed kicking up her wheels, though! I was really happy to see the finish line! I was even happier to see a big plateful of mostaccioli and salad with gobs of Ranch dressing (surely the elixir of life.) I chatted with my pastor, who is a Gazelle. Paul did the 100K in 3 hrs 36 min, which is almost twice my distance at almost my same time. I'd let hatred course through my veins, except he is my spiritual advisor...

A real treat was meeting Eric Goodwin, the able organizer of the Geneva Tour de Cure. He rides competitively and works for the American Diabetes Association. He came up to me, having recognized me because I'm all over his Facebook page, wordy/chatty Facebook pest that I am. (I think he was just being nice when he said I wasn't really a pest...I mean, come on! I update every single hideously-boring detail of my pathetic life!) I forced him to pose for a photo, which you will see in a bit. Eric is a friendly, sweet, hospitable sort of guy; really, all the staff who put together the Geneva Tour de Cure were wonderful. The worst part of the whole entire ride was getting back on the bike after lunch and riding back to the parking lot! I thought I was going to pass out! In my weakened state, it was a miracle I managed to hoist Bianca back up on the bike rack. After another scary zip up Randall Rd., we were safely home.