My Day as an “A” Rider
Everyone should have dreams. Hopes of accomplishing the impossible. My lifelong dream is (note – not was) to play centerfield for the Chicago Cubs. Someday. Being a longer-distance runner for the past 7 years, I have entertained the thought of finishing on “the podium”, a recognition fitting only to those that finish as the top 3 runners of a race. Of course, let’s face reality. I really don’t work that hard in my training for that to ever become a reality. Oreo’s and M&M’s do put a damper on one’s training plan. However, in one’s lifetime, it would be nice to have a podium finish in something. Like competitive eating, the Mr. Universe contest, or the best yard in town. So far, none of those have bestowed upon me either.
Two years ago I started biking with a group called the Mojo’s. No, this isn’t a group of bikers like Hell’s Angels. We ride road bikes (fancy, expensive bicycles), and wear neon pink and green spandex uniforms. Even Hell’s Angels don’t want to come near us! When I first started biking, going 30 miles in one stretch was unimaginable. Now it is a warm-up. The Mojo biking team has brought many moments of laughter and excitement to what used to be drab weekend mornings for me. Since this group consists of riders of all levels, we have affectionately been split by our sometimes over-zealous captain into “A”, “B” and “Lite” riders. I fall into the “B” ranks, which is somewhat difficult to take for a person who always has considered himself in the “A” ranks in whatever I did – sports, spelling bees, academics, and channel surfing to name a few. “A” riders are fast. Really fast. Sometimes affectionately called “Hammerheads” for their ability to put the pedal-to-the-medal. “B” riders are always a step behind, able to see the “A’s” in the distance, but never able to keep up the pace for a sustained period of time. “B’s” are cool, not fast. We are able to carry on conversations about the “A’s” with each other while riding, rather than just sucking wind. I cherish my role as a “B”.
It happened to be last month that I was heading out-of-town on a prolonged business/personal trip that would have me away from home for nearly 3 weeks. Since I was going to miss the weekend Mojo team rides, and important training for an upcoming 150-mile bike ride to benefit Multiple Sclerosis, I decided to bring my bike with me nearly 700 miles to Bass Lake, Indiana, where I would be staying for 4 days. And yes, I packed the pink and green spandex as well. Gotta look good at the lake. The ladies would be watching!
Friday, July 27th: I knew, at this lake, 8-miles in circumference, that I could get in some quality early morning distance rides. So it was an added bonus when our family arrived on a Friday afternoon, that we learned it was “Bass Lake Summer Festival Weekend”. Activities for all ages, the signs proclaimed. A carnival for my kids, a parade, pancake breakfasts, and wouldn’t you know it – the Bass Lake Bike Race on Sunday morning. I was excited, not because it was a race, but because it would allow me to ride with a group of people, just like the Mojo’s. I quickly located a registration form in what barely passed for a local newspaper. This is Bass Lake, Indiana people – population of like 46. But in the summer, and on Bass Lake Summer Festival Weekend, the population soars into the millions. I was so happy to know I could proudly wear my Mojo colors on race morning, and stretch my legs, that I set out to do 4 loops around the lake on Saturday.
Saturday, July 28th: That Saturday morning was the prestigious Bass Lake 5k Run/Walk race. As a runner, I contemplated entering. But I knew I had a mission. I dragged my bike 700+ miles, so I was going to ride! And ride I did Saturday – a total of 4 loops around the lake, passing the same traffic officer 3 times who was tending to the tremendous amount of Bass Lake traffic (basically me at 7:00 a.m.). I was flying, head down, really trying to get in a good workout. On the 2nd loop, I shouted to him, “Am I winning?” He responded with a hearty “Race is tomorrow”. Duh – I was joking (I guess to myself, apparently). On my next loop, he shouted “Save it for tomorrow.” Save what? I am no Lance Armstrong, and sprinting once around an 8-mile lake wasn’t my idea of fun. Remember, hard training is for podium finishers. I was there for a casual workout.
That evening, my wife (Brenda) and I were discussing the race. We happened to be staying at a lake house of some family friends. The house also happened to be on the route which the bike race would be coming by – at approximately mile 6 of the 8-mile race. So when she nonchalantly asked when the race would start, I casually responded “8:00 a.m. But since this is Bass Lake time, more like 8:26 am.” Now I had a good reason for being flippant. During my Saturday morning bike ride, I was expecting to get stopped by officer-friendly due to the throngs of runners/walkers from the 5k. However, I didn’t see them until about 7:30 a.m., so I figured they started that race late.
Race Day, Sunday, July 29th: Sunday morning rolled around much too early for this “B” rider. After all, I was on vacation, and sleeping in is something normal folks would do. But being a “true Mojo”, I got up early and decided to warm up with a lap around the lake before checking in at the Community Center for the race. By 7:30 a.m., I was ready to go, decked out in my team colors and beginning to size up the competition. I am sure they were doing the same of me, since I stood out in the crowd. After all, I exuded “manly-ness” in my uniform. I learned that fellow competitors had come from all parts of the country for the opportunity to compete in this prestigious one-lap sprint. Al Hortford came from Phoenix, Arizona, and I came from Charlotte, North Carolina. Since this was in Indiana, you can see how I came to the conclusion that people came from “all parts of the country” for this race. As for prestigious, I also learned that this race originated way back in the mid 1930s – a very long standing tradition at the Bass Lake Summer Festival.
At the starting line, we were informed that a number of “Barney Fife’s” would be monitoring traffic on the side streets, while the competitive riders would follow a squad car of one of Indiana’s finest state troopers. No issues there. Being a “B” rider, unless he was pulling me with a tow rope, I wasn’t planning on getting near his bumper.
“Bang!” The gun went off. Ok, that sounds quite dramatic. Rather, it was some dude yelling “ready, set, go.” Time-keepers were in place with stop-watches at this non-Tour-de-France qualifier. Now, I should mention that you needed to be 15 years or older to “compete” in the Bass Lake Bike Race. That meant many non-competitive riders lined up at the back of the pack, and I suddenly found myself near the front when the “gun” when off. Not wanting to get run over, I quickly made a “slow” get away from the start and settled in behind some of the more experienced “A” riders, who were also decked out in their multi-colored riding tights (not that I was looking at their tights). In the first ½ mile, I anxiously waited for someone to sprint away, so I could settle into my 27-minute loop around the lake, just like I did four times the day before.
Two miles in. The first attempted burst ahead was from a rider that was with the Murphy Family Reunion that weekend. No tights. Just a Murphy Family Reunion shirt to identify him. Not a serious threat to the group I thought, and all the riders quickly put on a burst of speed to stay with him. Hey, I was in that group too! Ridin’ with the pack. What a fun feeling! So this is what the peloton feels like at the Tour-de-France – able to catch any rider that tried to pull away from them.
Four miles in. Strange thoughts began to enter my mind as I was still in the middle of the pack following Joe Trooper. No, not thoughts about winning the race – winning is only for hammerheads. Instead, I began to get excited that if I could hang with the “A” riders for 2 miles more, I could possibly be in the lead when we passed the lake house where my family was staying. I knew they’d be outside watching on this beautiful day. It would be a hoot to have their very own Mojo in the lead, incredibly special and have my kids cheering me on. My heart started beating faster.
Five-and-a-half miles in. I made my move to the outside of the pack and sprinted to the front. I think I had everyone intimidated, as they quickly followed suit. Perhaps my nice bike, fancy shades, and a uniform unlike any other this town had ever seen, had them worried that I was going to sprint for the next 2.5 miles to the finish. I guess it was my own little joke, as I was only sprinting to the lake house. “Ha!” I thought. Around the curve in the road I came. Whooo-whooo-whooo went the officer’s siren announcing to all that the racers were coming. Up ahead, I could see my father-in-law on the side of the road leaning out to get a good look. Naturally, I assumed everyone else in the family was behind him. I had a good look too, because at that moment, this “B” rider was IN THE LEAD!!!
Six miles in. As I passed by the lake house, I quickly glanced to the front door, and saw my wife coming outside. If anyone ever doubted that I was racer, those thoughts were being wiped away at this moment. I rode by with an ear-to-ear grin, and flashed each of them a “hang-loose” sign. Now it may not have been the proper thing to do, but heck, I was IN THE LEAD. I must’ve had everyone else in the racing pack pretty worried at that moment, because they were glued to my back wheel, making sure I didn’t get away from them. Or as smart riders would call it, drafting off the stupid guy exerting energy while IN THE LEAD.
Six-and-a-half miles in. For the next ½ mile or so, I remained IN THE LEAD, smiling in case Poncherello was taking pictures out the back window of his squad car. The finish line was rapidly coming closer, and at that moment…”whoosh”, the “A” riders decided to show who was the boss and blew by me for a sprint to the finish, leaving me in their dust.
Seven-and-a-half miles in. However, I wasn’t defeated. I knew I wouldn’t finish last in the pack of lead riders. How did I know that? Because as a fresh faced 18-year old was racing with me side-by-side, I heard him shout behind us, “c’mon grandpa”. That was music to my ears. I was going to beat grandpa. And I did, crossing the finish line in an amazing 22:14! Unfortunately, I wasn’t good enough for a podium finish in the overall race classification, and I settled for an approximate 10th place finish.
But wait! They were doing 1st place awards for age group finishers. Might I have been good enough to win in the 35 – 39 year old group? I shuffled on over to the “official scorers” table to check out my chances. Hmmm, I thought – definitely some competition based on the age group sign-in sheets.
So rather than go back to the lake house, I decided to stick around for the awarding of the 1st place finisher medals. Of course, this did not take place until after riders of all abilities completed the bike race – which took some people nearly 50 minutes. By this time, the nervous energy coursing through my body would’ve been highly visible to others, had it not been for the Mojo uniform bringing a great sense of calm and confidence over me. You have to be self-confident when wearing pink and green in the middle of Indiana.
After graciously clapping for the overall winners, and secretly cursing them for drafting off of me, the time had arrived. The race organizer announced “first place amongst males in the 35 – 39 year old age group, Ken Bansemer”. Yeah! An inward fist-pump, who’s your daddy celebration ensued. Outwardly – a calm smile and wave to the overflowing crowd at the Community Center (I think the pancake breakfast was starting there soon). And then, the 1st place finisher’s medal was placed over my head and around my neck by none other than Miss Bass Lake 2007! My day couldn’t get any better than this!!!
Epilogue (and the truth):
None of the story above is fiction. Al Hortford (88) was in town from Phoenix, Arizona to celebrate his 70th high school reunion in nearby Knox, Indiana. He was the winner of the first Bass Lake Bike Race around 1936, and was presented a special award. He also looked intimidating in his spandex racing outfit, not that I was looking. I can only hope I am still “racing” at his age.
At the start of the race, there were about 12 – 15 serious riders lined up, out of about 75 total. I knew I wouldn’t win, and wasn’t trying to, but it sure felt good to whiz around the lake, and draft off of others in a competitive manner.
Miss Bass Lake 2007 was crowned earlier in the week. Despite the fact that getting awarded by her sounds glorious, it was a let-down as she was about 17. I would have preferred the 2nd runner-up. Pickin’s were slim at the Miss Bass Lake contest this year.
After the race, I went back to the lake house to celebrate with family. Seated around the kitchen table, which was within viewing distance of the race course, was my wife, my in-laws, and the owners of the lake house. First question out of my mouth was, “did you see me in the lead as I passed the house?” More of a statement, than a question. However, my wife’s head dropped down, and I heard the soft murmur of a “no”. “What do you mean? I saw you coming out of the house as I passed by?” It was then I learned the “rest of the story” as Paul Harvey would say. The woman coming out of the house as I passed by was my mother-in-law. (Friends – let me pass along some free advice to you. It is always a good thing to mistake your mother-in-law for your wife. Those are brownie points right there.)
In trying to understand where Brenda was during my once-in-a-lifetime moment of glory, I learned she was still in bed. Apparently, my flippant comment of the race starting at 8:26 a.m. came back to haunt me. She was getting out of bed at 8:13 a.m. and was still upstairs when I raced by behind TJ Hooker. So the actual communication chain within the lake house of my feat went something like this:
· Mother-In-Law yells from the porch to my 8-year old daughter, Erika, who is in the kitchen, “Daddy is in the lead!”
· Erika yells to my 4-year old son, Ryan, who is in the other room, “Daddy is in the lead!”
· Ryan runs upstairs to tell a sleepy Brenda, “Daddy is in the lead!”
· Brenda better have muttered, “Oh, sh*t”
No video of the moment. No cameras of the pack behind me. Only my memories of whizzing by the house, with a pack of riders furiously trying to close the distance of my lead, will sustain me in the years to come. And my medal…and Miss Bass Lake (in future stories to be 24, blond, in spandex and real fine…)
And, to assure you that there is meaning in this story beyond the podium finish, there were only three males entered in the 35 – 39 year old category. I whipped the other two but good (writer’s embellishment). Then again, there were six entrants in the 40 – 44 year old category, and they all beat me. Guess I have something to look forward to next year, when I turn 40. I am going to get better with age! Watch out Al.
I may be “B” rider, but “daddy was in the lead” and was an “A” rider for a day!
Ken Bansemer
A proud Mojo and podium finisher.
Two years ago I started biking with a group called the Mojo’s. No, this isn’t a group of bikers like Hell’s Angels. We ride road bikes (fancy, expensive bicycles), and wear neon pink and green spandex uniforms. Even Hell’s Angels don’t want to come near us! When I first started biking, going 30 miles in one stretch was unimaginable. Now it is a warm-up. The Mojo biking team has brought many moments of laughter and excitement to what used to be drab weekend mornings for me. Since this group consists of riders of all levels, we have affectionately been split by our sometimes over-zealous captain into “A”, “B” and “Lite” riders. I fall into the “B” ranks, which is somewhat difficult to take for a person who always has considered himself in the “A” ranks in whatever I did – sports, spelling bees, academics, and channel surfing to name a few. “A” riders are fast. Really fast. Sometimes affectionately called “Hammerheads” for their ability to put the pedal-to-the-medal. “B” riders are always a step behind, able to see the “A’s” in the distance, but never able to keep up the pace for a sustained period of time. “B’s” are cool, not fast. We are able to carry on conversations about the “A’s” with each other while riding, rather than just sucking wind. I cherish my role as a “B”.
It happened to be last month that I was heading out-of-town on a prolonged business/personal trip that would have me away from home for nearly 3 weeks. Since I was going to miss the weekend Mojo team rides, and important training for an upcoming 150-mile bike ride to benefit Multiple Sclerosis, I decided to bring my bike with me nearly 700 miles to Bass Lake, Indiana, where I would be staying for 4 days. And yes, I packed the pink and green spandex as well. Gotta look good at the lake. The ladies would be watching!
Friday, July 27th: I knew, at this lake, 8-miles in circumference, that I could get in some quality early morning distance rides. So it was an added bonus when our family arrived on a Friday afternoon, that we learned it was “Bass Lake Summer Festival Weekend”. Activities for all ages, the signs proclaimed. A carnival for my kids, a parade, pancake breakfasts, and wouldn’t you know it – the Bass Lake Bike Race on Sunday morning. I was excited, not because it was a race, but because it would allow me to ride with a group of people, just like the Mojo’s. I quickly located a registration form in what barely passed for a local newspaper. This is Bass Lake, Indiana people – population of like 46. But in the summer, and on Bass Lake Summer Festival Weekend, the population soars into the millions. I was so happy to know I could proudly wear my Mojo colors on race morning, and stretch my legs, that I set out to do 4 loops around the lake on Saturday.
Saturday, July 28th: That Saturday morning was the prestigious Bass Lake 5k Run/Walk race. As a runner, I contemplated entering. But I knew I had a mission. I dragged my bike 700+ miles, so I was going to ride! And ride I did Saturday – a total of 4 loops around the lake, passing the same traffic officer 3 times who was tending to the tremendous amount of Bass Lake traffic (basically me at 7:00 a.m.). I was flying, head down, really trying to get in a good workout. On the 2nd loop, I shouted to him, “Am I winning?” He responded with a hearty “Race is tomorrow”. Duh – I was joking (I guess to myself, apparently). On my next loop, he shouted “Save it for tomorrow.” Save what? I am no Lance Armstrong, and sprinting once around an 8-mile lake wasn’t my idea of fun. Remember, hard training is for podium finishers. I was there for a casual workout.
That evening, my wife (Brenda) and I were discussing the race. We happened to be staying at a lake house of some family friends. The house also happened to be on the route which the bike race would be coming by – at approximately mile 6 of the 8-mile race. So when she nonchalantly asked when the race would start, I casually responded “8:00 a.m. But since this is Bass Lake time, more like 8:26 am.” Now I had a good reason for being flippant. During my Saturday morning bike ride, I was expecting to get stopped by officer-friendly due to the throngs of runners/walkers from the 5k. However, I didn’t see them until about 7:30 a.m., so I figured they started that race late.
Race Day, Sunday, July 29th: Sunday morning rolled around much too early for this “B” rider. After all, I was on vacation, and sleeping in is something normal folks would do. But being a “true Mojo”, I got up early and decided to warm up with a lap around the lake before checking in at the Community Center for the race. By 7:30 a.m., I was ready to go, decked out in my team colors and beginning to size up the competition. I am sure they were doing the same of me, since I stood out in the crowd. After all, I exuded “manly-ness” in my uniform. I learned that fellow competitors had come from all parts of the country for the opportunity to compete in this prestigious one-lap sprint. Al Hortford came from Phoenix, Arizona, and I came from Charlotte, North Carolina. Since this was in Indiana, you can see how I came to the conclusion that people came from “all parts of the country” for this race. As for prestigious, I also learned that this race originated way back in the mid 1930s – a very long standing tradition at the Bass Lake Summer Festival.
At the starting line, we were informed that a number of “Barney Fife’s” would be monitoring traffic on the side streets, while the competitive riders would follow a squad car of one of Indiana’s finest state troopers. No issues there. Being a “B” rider, unless he was pulling me with a tow rope, I wasn’t planning on getting near his bumper.
“Bang!” The gun went off. Ok, that sounds quite dramatic. Rather, it was some dude yelling “ready, set, go.” Time-keepers were in place with stop-watches at this non-Tour-de-France qualifier. Now, I should mention that you needed to be 15 years or older to “compete” in the Bass Lake Bike Race. That meant many non-competitive riders lined up at the back of the pack, and I suddenly found myself near the front when the “gun” when off. Not wanting to get run over, I quickly made a “slow” get away from the start and settled in behind some of the more experienced “A” riders, who were also decked out in their multi-colored riding tights (not that I was looking at their tights). In the first ½ mile, I anxiously waited for someone to sprint away, so I could settle into my 27-minute loop around the lake, just like I did four times the day before.
Two miles in. The first attempted burst ahead was from a rider that was with the Murphy Family Reunion that weekend. No tights. Just a Murphy Family Reunion shirt to identify him. Not a serious threat to the group I thought, and all the riders quickly put on a burst of speed to stay with him. Hey, I was in that group too! Ridin’ with the pack. What a fun feeling! So this is what the peloton feels like at the Tour-de-France – able to catch any rider that tried to pull away from them.
Four miles in. Strange thoughts began to enter my mind as I was still in the middle of the pack following Joe Trooper. No, not thoughts about winning the race – winning is only for hammerheads. Instead, I began to get excited that if I could hang with the “A” riders for 2 miles more, I could possibly be in the lead when we passed the lake house where my family was staying. I knew they’d be outside watching on this beautiful day. It would be a hoot to have their very own Mojo in the lead, incredibly special and have my kids cheering me on. My heart started beating faster.
Five-and-a-half miles in. I made my move to the outside of the pack and sprinted to the front. I think I had everyone intimidated, as they quickly followed suit. Perhaps my nice bike, fancy shades, and a uniform unlike any other this town had ever seen, had them worried that I was going to sprint for the next 2.5 miles to the finish. I guess it was my own little joke, as I was only sprinting to the lake house. “Ha!” I thought. Around the curve in the road I came. Whooo-whooo-whooo went the officer’s siren announcing to all that the racers were coming. Up ahead, I could see my father-in-law on the side of the road leaning out to get a good look. Naturally, I assumed everyone else in the family was behind him. I had a good look too, because at that moment, this “B” rider was IN THE LEAD!!!
Six miles in. As I passed by the lake house, I quickly glanced to the front door, and saw my wife coming outside. If anyone ever doubted that I was racer, those thoughts were being wiped away at this moment. I rode by with an ear-to-ear grin, and flashed each of them a “hang-loose” sign. Now it may not have been the proper thing to do, but heck, I was IN THE LEAD. I must’ve had everyone else in the racing pack pretty worried at that moment, because they were glued to my back wheel, making sure I didn’t get away from them. Or as smart riders would call it, drafting off the stupid guy exerting energy while IN THE LEAD.
Six-and-a-half miles in. For the next ½ mile or so, I remained IN THE LEAD, smiling in case Poncherello was taking pictures out the back window of his squad car. The finish line was rapidly coming closer, and at that moment…”whoosh”, the “A” riders decided to show who was the boss and blew by me for a sprint to the finish, leaving me in their dust.
Seven-and-a-half miles in. However, I wasn’t defeated. I knew I wouldn’t finish last in the pack of lead riders. How did I know that? Because as a fresh faced 18-year old was racing with me side-by-side, I heard him shout behind us, “c’mon grandpa”. That was music to my ears. I was going to beat grandpa. And I did, crossing the finish line in an amazing 22:14! Unfortunately, I wasn’t good enough for a podium finish in the overall race classification, and I settled for an approximate 10th place finish.
But wait! They were doing 1st place awards for age group finishers. Might I have been good enough to win in the 35 – 39 year old group? I shuffled on over to the “official scorers” table to check out my chances. Hmmm, I thought – definitely some competition based on the age group sign-in sheets.
So rather than go back to the lake house, I decided to stick around for the awarding of the 1st place finisher medals. Of course, this did not take place until after riders of all abilities completed the bike race – which took some people nearly 50 minutes. By this time, the nervous energy coursing through my body would’ve been highly visible to others, had it not been for the Mojo uniform bringing a great sense of calm and confidence over me. You have to be self-confident when wearing pink and green in the middle of Indiana.
After graciously clapping for the overall winners, and secretly cursing them for drafting off of me, the time had arrived. The race organizer announced “first place amongst males in the 35 – 39 year old age group, Ken Bansemer”. Yeah! An inward fist-pump, who’s your daddy celebration ensued. Outwardly – a calm smile and wave to the overflowing crowd at the Community Center (I think the pancake breakfast was starting there soon). And then, the 1st place finisher’s medal was placed over my head and around my neck by none other than Miss Bass Lake 2007! My day couldn’t get any better than this!!!
Epilogue (and the truth):
None of the story above is fiction. Al Hortford (88) was in town from Phoenix, Arizona to celebrate his 70th high school reunion in nearby Knox, Indiana. He was the winner of the first Bass Lake Bike Race around 1936, and was presented a special award. He also looked intimidating in his spandex racing outfit, not that I was looking. I can only hope I am still “racing” at his age.
At the start of the race, there were about 12 – 15 serious riders lined up, out of about 75 total. I knew I wouldn’t win, and wasn’t trying to, but it sure felt good to whiz around the lake, and draft off of others in a competitive manner.
Miss Bass Lake 2007 was crowned earlier in the week. Despite the fact that getting awarded by her sounds glorious, it was a let-down as she was about 17. I would have preferred the 2nd runner-up. Pickin’s were slim at the Miss Bass Lake contest this year.
After the race, I went back to the lake house to celebrate with family. Seated around the kitchen table, which was within viewing distance of the race course, was my wife, my in-laws, and the owners of the lake house. First question out of my mouth was, “did you see me in the lead as I passed the house?” More of a statement, than a question. However, my wife’s head dropped down, and I heard the soft murmur of a “no”. “What do you mean? I saw you coming out of the house as I passed by?” It was then I learned the “rest of the story” as Paul Harvey would say. The woman coming out of the house as I passed by was my mother-in-law. (Friends – let me pass along some free advice to you. It is always a good thing to mistake your mother-in-law for your wife. Those are brownie points right there.)
In trying to understand where Brenda was during my once-in-a-lifetime moment of glory, I learned she was still in bed. Apparently, my flippant comment of the race starting at 8:26 a.m. came back to haunt me. She was getting out of bed at 8:13 a.m. and was still upstairs when I raced by behind TJ Hooker. So the actual communication chain within the lake house of my feat went something like this:
· Mother-In-Law yells from the porch to my 8-year old daughter, Erika, who is in the kitchen, “Daddy is in the lead!”
· Erika yells to my 4-year old son, Ryan, who is in the other room, “Daddy is in the lead!”
· Ryan runs upstairs to tell a sleepy Brenda, “Daddy is in the lead!”
· Brenda better have muttered, “Oh, sh*t”
No video of the moment. No cameras of the pack behind me. Only my memories of whizzing by the house, with a pack of riders furiously trying to close the distance of my lead, will sustain me in the years to come. And my medal…and Miss Bass Lake (in future stories to be 24, blond, in spandex and real fine…)
And, to assure you that there is meaning in this story beyond the podium finish, there were only three males entered in the 35 – 39 year old category. I whipped the other two but good (writer’s embellishment). Then again, there were six entrants in the 40 – 44 year old category, and they all beat me. Guess I have something to look forward to next year, when I turn 40. I am going to get better with age! Watch out Al.
I may be “B” rider, but “daddy was in the lead” and was an “A” rider for a day!
Ken Bansemer
A proud Mojo and podium finisher.
P.S. - The medal is bigger than it looks. Really.
2 comments:
Great story Ken... I'd have done the same exact thing IF I was in your position.
Dear Ken:
The story is great and I was glued to it from beginning to end. Being a "B" rider and a great runner fall far behind your writing ability. There is money in them thar tales!!!!
Have you thought of publishing????
If nothing else your sense of humor will be a winner in your up-coming blog about the "Disney" race...your book would fit nicely in the "Humor" or "Running" section at Borders Books!!!!
Good luck not only in the Big Race but as a loving, caring, husband and dad and friend to all who come across your path.
Karen's man....Dan
p.s. Include your blog address in any future job resumes!!!!
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