The German
Let's begin with today. On my ride, I "met" a fellow bike rider not far from where I started. After a brief exchange of words it became evident that neither of us knew the other's language. I suspect this guy was from Germany, but can't be sure. I passed him, he passed me back, I started drafting his wheel and I figured he'd be able to easily communicate if he didn't like me sitting there. He was a bit stone-faced from the few times I ever saw his face. Then I took a pull...and he drafted me. Cool, I wasn't riding alone. Soon, we were going deep into the Mallorcean mountains--up, up into the clouds. My heart rate was an alarming 177 (this is race-pace heart rate for me in the thin Colorado air). It's weird to know how hard I was working, yet I wasn't gasping for breath. I can't ever ride this hard alone. We descended fast (I slowed down since the pavement was damp), he waited for me prior to the next ascent. Finally the road split, I signaled right, he, left. After an hour and a half of a fantastic ride, he said "adios" and I returned it along with an enthusiastic "gracias" assuming he understood. I only continued up for another few minutes. It was extremely cold and threatening rain (or snow!) I can endure so much more on the bike when I have someone to commiserate with, even if I can't share the sentiment with that person through words. Thank you, German dude, for the awesome ride today!
The Irishman
Yesterday was an encounter of another kind--this time it was an Irish guy 20 years my senior who races boats for a living. After blogging last night, I went out to a bar that was hosting rock bands. These bands were good. They were on-key and played many of my favorite songs. I never mind hearing American songs overseas (I think there's a reason why our music is so international...it's good stuff). It was a little smoky to begin (later in the night it was forest-fire thick smog) with what seemed to be an English-speaking crowd. Immediately this Irish guy struck up conversation with me so I chatted with him for awhile.
No matter who you meet, everyone always has a story (you do, too, if you didn't know it) and everyone has something to teach. I make a point of learning something from everyone I interact with, especially now that I am on a journey with learning as the number 1 objective. This guy had more than one thing to teach. He shared the story of how he talked his way out of getting robbed in Harlem 20 years ago. He told me of his interactions with the King of Spain and how he beat the King in a regatta. He says he's a 2-time millionaire but not one currently. From the time he was a wee-lad until 12, he was raised with the Arabs...and even though he came from a well-to-do family and they were poor, they fed him every day and took him in as one of them. He wouldn't trade his childhood for anything. Wild tale, eh? Entertaining if not true, I'll never know.
I excused myself from the conversation to go home and sleep. He'd mentioned having a nice blanket he was willing to let me use for the night so he would knock on my door (I didn't mention where I was staying) and leave it. A true gentleman, says he, always walks away. So when the knock came last night, as desperately cold as I was, I let the blanket lie there outside of my door warming the tile floor. I really need to work on my "I'm married, my husband was too tired to go out tonight" story. I have such a hard time weaving a tale that isn't true. The wedding band on my finger is completely ignored by men, in general, from what I can tell.
The Cycling Father/Son Duo from Liverpool
Bill, Gretchen and I met a man and his 19-year-old son from Liverpool on our ride to Formentor a few days ago. The boy was riding like a freakin' mountain goat up the steep climbs...turns out this was his first road ride in a year after a bad crash in a race. 19-years-old and has been racing for 10 years (he is an elite racer). Oh, and he races every cycling discipline there is, including short dirt track (did you know that exists? I didn't!) It sounds like it's a full-contact sport, too. He taught me all about the category system in England (if we had this same system, no one would ever upgrade from cat 4 except for the freaks of nature). They must have more races on their calendar, too. 150 points=upgrade. 3 points for a first place finish. Do the math. Again, you never know how perfectly true any story is, but it's closer to the truth than what I knew previously. I've never heard such strong accents amongst the English-speaking population as I have here. His accent was particularly thick; it took a lot of concentration to understand everything he said (and I was trying to ride fast enough up the climbs to stay with him, too). Oh well, he can talk and slow down, I can listen and try to keep up. A future Tour racer? I sure do hope so, can't be many with that kind of a background.
Tonight I ate a raw full clove of garlic (ouch) so I expect to not make any new friends tomorrow.
1 comment:
Patria, I tried commenting and not sure if it went through. Loving your posts!! So out of all these cyclists you are meeting in the Balear Islands, no Spaniards? What's up with that? We have to choose a date in which our lives can cross in Spain, I will take you on the most amazing rides you could imagine. And the food is far better than Italian... (except for gelatto...). And I am a gentleman too, of the happily married and with children kind. But rather than walking away I prefer to ride away, catch me if you can!!
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