Mountains? Well ... maybe not

At first I thought I was going to be a mountain biker. The only reason was because I had friends who enjoyed propelling themselves and their bikes over rocks and tree limbs and through wooded trails — and one of them had a bike I could borrow.

Can't say that I enjoyed it much, especially since no one bothered to mention to the rookie that investing in padded shorts was a must.

My first ride, at Bradbury Mountain, featured a backwards drop off a plank bridge (thankfully I was so far behind the pack that no one witnessed it) and a sore badonkadonk that lasted for days. I was thinking carriage trails — no padding needed. Who knew? But I kept going back for every Monday night women's ride for the rest of the summer.

But about halfway through I thought, "What am I thinking?" I knew I could ride a bike on the road but I kept ending up on the trails, walking the bike a lot more than I was riding it. Giant hill? Get off and walk. Bridge made by a 2x4? Get off and walk. Fall way behind the rest of the riders? Get off and walk and hope they miss me before it gets dark.

Injured and frustrated, I borrowed a road bike — and my heart went pitter-patter. Too bad my knees didn't feel the same. On my first few trips on the road I bloodied one or the other too many times. How? When I had to come to a stop but couldn't get my shoes out of my pedals fast eough to keep from toppling over. The three friends I rode through Westbrook with got a good chuckle when I tipped over at a stop sign. What they didn't know is that I did the exact same thing in my driveway when I got home. The handlebar mirror that came with the borrowed bike lasted for two rides before it shattered. I didn't bother replacing it.

Eventually, I learned how and when to unclip and no more Band-Aids were needed. Naturally, that progress led to riding 180 miles in three days for three straight summers.

I'll be riding in my third Trek Across Maine for the American Lung Association from June 13-15. Until then I'll be bloggig about my training — or lack thereof.
So far, I've only been on the bike twice. But it's inspected and ready to roll. Me? Not so much.

The two rides I did put in were nice 20-milers out through Falmouth and into Cumberland, but they won't mean much to my butt five weeks from now.
So, the goals until then go like this:

1. Raise $500 by standing in a lot and telling people were to park for every Sea Dogs home game.

2. Get on the bike. Once, twice ... who knows, what with work, parking cars and the ever-changing weather.

3. Stay on the bike until 60 miles a day feels like nothing. (I know this is not possible but it doesn't hurt to dream big — or far.)

Thirty-six days to get ready for 180 miles. Lets see how I do.