Clan Coleman

Aimee and I were finally able to visit the Howell's in Sugarland this weekend. We haven't been in quite a while, and their daughter, Madison, has gone from baby to little lady. She is now standing, saying a few words, and taking a few steps, but she still has that precious little smirk on her face constantly. It is impossible to be unhappy with her in the room.

The main reason for the trip was a charity bike ride in which Jonathan and I were participating on Sunday. We were intending to do the 19 mile leg since this was my first official ride. We had a major time constraint since Aimee had to be back in CS for work by noon and the race started at 8. This meant we need to be in the "Danger-Ranger" and on our way by 930 at the latest to give Aimee some time to prep for work. As usual, Murphy was also riding with us. We got a late start due to registration, water bottle filling, and tire pumping, and we were finally on our way by 810. That gives us 50 minutes to ride 19 miles. Wait, it gets better. Maybe a half mile down the road, I get up to speed and as I shift "Old-Yeller" into high gear and she decides she doesn't like her chain anymore. I pulled over, yelled at Jonathan, and then flipped her on her back and went to work. Now we have 53 minutes to ride 18.5 miles. mmmkay....

Finally we get on our way. I have to say, as much as that old bike has been through, she allowed me to put down a fairly speedy pace. We got up to speed again, I gingerly slipped it into high gear, and with a couple clicks and a thunk, Yeller kept on trucking. We were now probably pushing 15 to 18 miles an hour. Jonathan's speedometer was not cooperating so we had no idea of our speed or distance. But there was one thing we did know, and that was we were very short on time. So we put our heads down and peddled hard.

We passed spandex-butt after spandex-butt with a loud "left" followed by the sound of wind as we flew by them. We were on an Armstong-esque pace. Ready to take on the Alps and a pack of Europeans.

So, our plan was to ride for our allotted time, then flag down the SAG wagon to take us back to central. Well, this is where it gets real interesting. We get to the break point and the turn around point for the 19 mile loop, and notice that it was 837. So we knocked out about 9 miles in about 25 to 30 minutes. We had a good pace considering some heavy traffic and our mechanical troubles. We decide to go ahead and call it a ride. Hey, 9 miles is a pretty good stint. So, we wet our whistles and walk up to a race official to locate the SAG wagon. "Uh, no, um...we don't have one. Sorry man." Oh crap. I am officially a dead man. My wife will be forced to raise our child alone, because she is about to take me out!

Jonathan and I look at each other, and he gives me this "I'm sooo sorry" look that made my stomach do a second back flip. So we immediately jump on our bikes to finish the last 10 miles in, oh, about 20 minutes. I have never ridden a bike so hard in my life. We were like a couple of jet fighters with the afterburners on full, flying in formation escaping hostile airspace. Before the race had started, I had set my phone alarm to go off at 950 to let me know that my time was coming to an end. We knocked out maybe 2 miles and I hear the little sucker go off in my back pocket. It not an alarm anymore, but it was more of a shiny little heckler, laughing at my attempt to ride 8 miles in 10 minutes. All was lost, but we trudged on. Riding like our lives depended on it.

We were officially out of time. I needed to be in the truck, with Aimee and Penni in the passenger seat, on the road in 20 minutes. We now had about 7 miles in front of us. So as it happened many time on the trip, I looked over my left shoulder to check for approaching vehicles. I see this grey truck about .75 miles back. I prepare and pull to the right some. Couple minutes pass, and I hear the obligatory "car back!" from Jonathan who was about 15 feet from my flanks. I pull over a bit more. As the truck passes, I notice a sign stuck to the side that read in giant red letters,"SAG". It was like an angel truck from the heavens. We were saved. I looked over my shoulder to Jonathan, with an expression of salvation on my face, and yelled "SAG" and immediately began flailing my arms to get their attention. They finally noticed my desperation, and pulled off to the shoulder to save us.

So, it should be obvious to you how this story ended. Since I am able to sit and type this tale, I have survived. We made it home with plenty of time, and I have lived to tell my story.

Can't wait for the next ride!

-J