It was early on a Saturday mornimg in Martindale, Texas, a small town south and east of Austin. I had arrived in San Marcos the night before where I stayed with a friend. The accommodations were not the best, with a very noisy air conditioner, hole in the floor, disgusting toilet, and an air mattress that deflated overnight. But it was free, so I couldn’t complain much. The friend, who was flirting with frenemy territory, got me to the ride in the nick of time. I checked in, got my rider number stickers, goodie bag, said hello to some fellow riders I had met on practice rides, and got ready to roll out hundreds of other people.

While I’m writing about my experience of it, I was just a (pun alert) cog in the wheel of the fundraising machine. With one in three US women (and some men) getting the disease, and never enough government funding, we all had to raise money that would go to local charities. The funds helped women access care, navigate the disease, and supported.their families.

It was my second charity ride after a fateful but and successful Hill Country Ride for AIDS five months before. I had done 50 miles at that first effort, and I kept riding over the hot Texas summer, joining the breast cancer ride training sessions. I figured I would add 5 miles and make it 55. Even with the practice I didn’t know if I would make it, have a crash, or heat stroke. As a sea of multicolored riders, mostly women, headed out, I cranked up my legs and began pushing pedals yet again.

A short aside. Before there was Strava, this blog, and my first Garmin fitness watch, I didn’t keep much in the way of records. A lot was on paper and it’s in boxes or gone. But between the AIDS Ride, the Mamma Jamma, plus all the training for both, and since I was still car-free and commuting to work by bicycle, I figure I did at least 3,000 miles in 2015. Not too shabby for a guy who was old and flabby.

But back to the ride. Since I did two more Mama jammas, they all kind of jumble together in my memory. You can search previous posts on the 2016 and 2018 Mamma Jammas by putting those keywords into the search box. It’s on the right side of the homepage of this blog.

The nice thing about Martindale is that the area is pretty flat. Back in 2015, I remember it being hot. I also know that was the beginning of Maya relationship with Sun & Ski Sports which continues to this day. One of the folks who worked at the Austin store came to the first training ride and offered 35% discount on repairs for those who were registered for the ride. That seemed like a good deal. so I was in.

By this time I had been gifted an old, dark grey, aluminum, 27-speed Fuji Silhouette, which for some reason I dubbed Sookie. I guess I liked the main character in the HBO vampire series True Blood, although I never finished watching it or reading the books. She was much lighter and more nimble than the heavier steel 21-speed GT Arette, Sonnie. Mike in the bike shop at Sun & Ski, who I knew from his prior stent at The Peddler Bike Shop in it’s previous location on North Loop, fixed Sookie right up.

So on the day of the ride, with a much flatter course then Hill Country Ride for AIDS, a faster bike, and a lot of miles in my legs, I was haling my unnarrow butt across the Central Texas plains. Adorned in a yellow and green jersey from the 2010 ride and thinly padded shorts, hat under my helmet, oritective arm sleeves, bike glives, and a copious slathering of sunscreen on my face and other exposed pale skin, I was a sight for sore eyes.

But I had one thing I didn’t have back in April: confidence from experience. I had even been on some rides that came there this area. To put it another way, it wasn’t my first rodeo, and I still looked like a clown, but I had strong belief I would finish. I had learned from the AIDS ride that the more miles the more money, so I was committed to completing the half century + 5 then I had promised my donors of over a thousand dollars.

To be honest, after a decade I can’t say I recall too many specifics. But overall the vibe was pleasant. Of course it was still very challenging to pedal my aging, larger bodied than I preferred self that far. So I wrote. Chatting with others at times, taking in the sights and sounds, the birds, the horses and cattle, and that fast open blue Texas Sky dotted with white puffy clouds. I stopped at rest stops and chatted with volunteers, starving down PB&J sandwiches and other snacks, washing them down with Gatorade.

As I finally approached the finish line some six hours later, I knew that I would have to double back to the last rest stop to add in the extra 10 miles from the route I had chosen which was 45 miles. The announcer and volunteers at the finish line were confused until I returned sometime later. Reaching the end was a huge relief. A nice, cute volunteer steadied me on my bike and help me off, giving me my participation medal, getting lunch, and beginning the recovery process was all a blur. The best part was getting into the spring-fed river.

I think I hitched a ride back eventually and once home collapsed in bed for a tasty nap. Later, I did my yoga, ate a hefty dinner, watched some television, and had a good restful sleep. I would go on to race I think closer to $1,500, best in my AIDS ride total by a few hundred.

All in all, it was an important step in my evolution as an older fathlete cyclist. It was an honor and refreshing to ride as an ally and as a minority in a sea of women Riders of all ages and abilities. I was a small part of just one of countless charity events for only one disease in one country. But it was, as the youth of today say, not nothing.

I didn’t go home with anyone’s phone number, but I left with something much more valuable:  pride in a good day spent busting my butt for a good cause. Prettay, prettay good for this dude.

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