That Ain't Gatorade...

8.16.09 Downers Grove National Criterium Championship

After a very full season of racing, I have been witness to a veritable plethora of remarkable feats performed on the bicycle. I have watched in awe and wonder displays of endurance and power that boggle the mind. I have seen horrific crashes and spectacular victories. I've watched in amazement as grown men curse each other while risking life and limb - all for a $50 payday, the thrill of the battle, and the potential glory of the win. All the lasting memories this season has gifted, however, pale in comparison to the events that transpired one rainy afternoon in August.

My friend Gary and I had returned to Downers Grove to watch the pros vie for the national championship and wandered aimlessly around the course discussing riders and the finer points of racing, pausing briefly every few minutes to see them whip by at a frantic pace before continuing on. And then, about midway through the race, IT happened. An unnamed Jelly Belly rider rounded turn seven and brought forth from his nether regions an uncapped water bottle, tossing it casually into a nearby flowerbed. As it hit the ground and a lightly-yellow-tinted liquid splashed freely out of the bottle, Gary and I looked at each other with the same unthinkable thought racing through our minds: "No...he couldn't have...it's not possible...right?" A brief brainstorming session ensued as we searched in vain for any rational explanation to what we had just seen. Coming up empty, we finally accepted the obvious and incredible truth. For the uninitiated, some context is probably necessary to fully underscore the significance of this mid-race bottle-filling miracle. The criterium at Downers has eight turns tightly packed into a mile-long course. And it was raining, adding considerable danger to the already constant risk-taking that permeates and enlivens these events. Finally, consider that even with all the corners and rain-soaked roads these pros are flying around the course at speeds approaching 30 miles per hour (speeds that even enthusiastic wannabes like myself only dream of). Bear in mind also that the simple act of drinking from a water bottle (its intended purpose) regularly causes veering, shouting, crashing, etc. in lesser races involving mere mortals. Now imagine a rider, amidst this unthinkable context... 1. Somehow managing to unscrew the top off a bottle, then 2. Getting a full-size bottle down his skin-tight bib-shorts and 3. Urinating...most of which presumably ends up in said bottle, then 4. Removing the bottle from his shorts and disposing of it properly in a roadside garden all while 5. Maneuvering several dangerous turns in a tightly packed peloton. If I hadn't witnessed it myself, I'd say it couldn't be done.

After investigating the scene and confirming our conclusions, we walked again. Glancing back a minute later to pay homage to the Bottle one last time, there it was...in a young boy's hands. In his youthful innocence he had picked it up as a souvenir - much like the foul ball from Wrigley or the jar of dirt from the Field of Dreams. We thought about it, but in the end neither of us had the heart to tell him...