Alice started preschool last week. Here she is posing for Mary in her outfit before heading out for her first full day with no parents on Tuesday.

Commuter Dad Tries On Racing

This past Sunday, I considered every excuse not to take part in my first bike race in 10 years - a so-called farm crit: Kruger's Kermesse at Kruger's Farm on Sauvie Island. I hadn't trained. I'm carrying 20 pounds of extra weight that I affectionately refer to as my "dad fat" (a price that I once was happy to pay for my two wonderful kids under the age of three, but am now growing tired of). No one was really expecting me to be there.

And I didn't have a bike...

The notion started at a family dinner a couple of weeks ago at the house of Beth and Joe Kurmaskie (a.k.a. the Metal Cowboy). Kris Schamp, the organizer behind Kruger's Kermesse, was at the dinner table with us. When I told him that I had been considering trying out cyclocross this year, Kris immediately assured me that his race would be a "good pre-cyclocross training race with bumpy roads, but a flat course and no dismounts." He also offered to solve my no-bike problem by lending me his very nice and tall cross bike. Perfect. Joe, ever the motivator, buoyantly offered to join me for moral support, and the date went on the family calendar.

I should qualify the no-bike part. I have a dinged-up 1974 custom Colin Laing steel touring bike with front and rear racks, side-pull brakes, full fenders, and ball joint attachment for my kids' Chariot trailer on the rear axle. The only thing remotely "cyclocross" about my bike is that it has a beefed up rear wheel (for carrying laptop, a change of clothes, and 20 lbs of 'dad fat' between North Portland and downtown), and cyclocross style brake levers on the top of the handlebars. It's a commuter. And so am I.

A couple of days before the race, Joe tells me that he has a respiratory infection and can't race with me. He offers to show up at the farm for moral support, knowing that a sub-par performance from him just won't do. People have read his Metal Cowboy books about climbing mountain passes in the Rockies with 400 pounds of kids and gear in tow, and they will expect him to tear up the field - certainly in the Beginners class anyway, the class he had agreed to join with me.

A moment of decision comes on Sunday morning. With Joe out, the peer pressure is off. Kris had offered me his bike, but I hadn't called to confirm. I'm wishing that I had ridden a couple more times to train. Man, would it suck to come in last. But really, what do I have to lose, except some dad fat and a bit of pride? It's being in the race that counts. I sense the weight of family life and impending middle age and treat this as a metaphor for life. I load my 1974 commuter bike on the roof rack just in case the bike doesn't come through, pack snacks and diapers, and head out to the farm.

I have a hard time finding Kris. I imagine that he is in "organizer" mode, and has about 50 things on his mind other than his casual, unconfirmed offer at dinner. I find him talking with "Farmer Don" Kruger about the unseasonably hot weather and how it may affect the racers and the course. He has already loaned his bike to a Junior rider for the first race. My options are to bump up to Category C and face sure embarrassment or tighten down the screws attaching my racks and fenders and give my commuter a workout in the Beginner's category in the first race. I choose the commuter challenge.

What a hoot. The Kurmaskies and my kids provide moral support from the sidelines but I don't even see them until I've made my six bumpy, dusty laps and crossed the finish line. Alice says, "Daddy, you didn't see me because you were going so fast!" Either that, kiddo, or just trying not to puke or crash (didn't do either). And it turns out I didn't come in last - I got 32nd out of a field of 47. Let's just call it room for improvement. Cross Crusade starts October 5th. If you know of anyone trying to sell a 62+ cm used cyclocross bike, please have them contact me. I'm going to need a bike.