How A Sandwich Saved My Life....(Sort Of)

As a 14 year old,I became hooked on bicycle riding. The bicycle became an instrument of freedom,allowing me to see and explore places otherwise unreachable in those pre- drivers license days. On the bike,I was in charge of my own destiny, a sort of  "go where you want to go,do what you want to do" mentality,and I loved that feeling.

Bicycle riding back then was not what you would call popular,certainly a far cry from today, where it is a socially acceptable and popular activity,and everyone (almost) has heard of Lance Armstrong and the Tour De France. In those days it was a major happening if I saw one other "serious" rider out on the roads.Information in the way of books and magazines was hard to come by, and mostly we riders had to rely on trial and error to discover what worked and what didn't.

I had a friend who also caught the bike "religion" and we would go off on Saturdays for 30 or 40 mile rides if the weather was good. Along the way we pretended we were famous European racers (Eddy Merckx,anyone?) fighting it out over the cobblestones of Belgium or France, and dreamed of actually doing it someday.

 One such Saturday my friend informed me he couldn't go too far,as his Dad wanted him back home early to help with chores around the house. So after 10 miles he said he needed to turn around,telling me if I wanted to go further it was all right with him. It was a nice warm day,so I told him yes,I would like to go on alone. We said our good byes,and I pedaled off up the road. Ten minutes later a rider on an expensive bike came up alongside me, asking where I was headed. I told him I didn't really know, whereupon he said he was headed home to Aurora (about 34 miles from my home) and I was welcome to tag along. It sounded good to me and so off we went.


This rider was GOOD. He pedaled at a pace faster than I was accustomed to,but I hung in there while he explained about technique and training and diet and all those things one can easily read about today but were mysteries 35 years ago. So I listened and marveled to myself about my good fortune to be able to meet someone like him. Heck, for all I knew,he could of been a famous racer. What a day!

Aurora arrived,and my new buddy said he had to turn off the road we were on to get home. I said cool, since I felt I had gone far enough and thought I should head home too. I thanked him for all the advice, wished him well, and turned around for the ride back. Immediately I was greeted by what cyclists despise the most; a stiff wind blowing directly into my face.

Headwinds sap your strength, as you try to fight them you use more energy than normal,and if you don't replenish those energy stores,trouble ensues. The body depletes it's carbohydrate stores,thus running out of fuel, so to speak. The result is a weak,wobbly feeling that cyclists and runners call the "Bonk". That is why endurance athletes eat and drink frequently while training or racing. Common sense now, but back then I had no idea. I had not brought any food with me,since I was only planning to ride 30 miles or so. If  I had known I would be riding 70 miles,I would of brought something. But I didn't,and I hadn't. Money? I had .75  for something to drink,which I promptly spent shortly after turning around,for I had already drank the contents of the water bottle carried on my bike.

Mile after mile I became steadily weaker to the point where I had to get off and walk up any hill that loomed ahead. I was becoming a bit concerned....how was I to get home in the state I was in? I had no money to make a phone call home, so I forced the pedals around with wobbly legs at no better than walking speed, agonizing over the fact that at that point I still had over 15 miles left to go. So I made a decision...I would ask a stranger for food.

By then I could barely walk. I hobbled up to a house and hatched my story,I would say I had lost my wallet,and was weak from hunger. If the person who answered the door looked kindly, I would then ask for a sandwich or some food of any sort. If the person looked questionable,I would move on. Story ready,I rang the doorbell.

Luckily for me,a middle aged woman answered the door,and I pleaded my case. She asked me to wait on the doorstep and went back into the house, closing the door behind her. I am sure she debated whether or not to help, but after 4 or 5 minutes the door opened and a paper plate with a sandwich appeared. She told me that it was all she could offer,and to help myself to water from the garden hose. I thanked her profusely and just about inhaled that sandwich. (bologna as I recall). I filled my water bottle,drank it all and refilled it for the ride home.

After inhaling the food I sat on the curb until I didn't feel so weak any longer,probably 30 minutes or so. I got back onto my bike and pedaled gingerly for a few hundred feet to see how I felt, and I felt pretty good. So I headed for home and a nice cool shower. I made it,and afterwards, as I flopped onto my bed I said a silent prayer of thanks for that good samaritan who,by the act of providing a simple sandwich and some water enabled me to get home on a hot Saturday afternoon.