This is what it looked like when we were rolling down 4th AvenueWheelchairs in the middle
Cyclists on the side
So, it took me a month to confirm that I had permission to volunteer as an escort for the elite men's wheelchair race. I first had to woo the volunteer coordinator Dick R. That was an experience akin to trying to coax a lion into sharing its antelope with you. Of course, that begs the question: why would you want to even attempt such a foolish thing? Well, that's a good question. The answer is twofold: First, I thought it would be nice to volunteer to help out with a major event, especially since there are always volunteers assisting at bike races. Secondly, I thought it would be a lot of fun to roll through some of New York's biggest avenues without worrying about any cars. Also, I'll never run a marathon, but I am curious about the experience, so I figured this would be a good way to see sort of what it might be like.
So I finally seduced Dick with my sweet embellishments about the calling I felt to serve the handicapped, and he finally consented to let me participate. It took Dick a week and seventeen emails to give us the following directions, which I will now summarize in three sentences: Get to the start at 92nd Street in Brooklyn. You'll be paired with another cyclist and the two of you will escort one wheelchair athlete; you will ride far to his or her side, and slightly in front of them. Finally, blow your whistle a lot to make sure the course is clear for the racers.
On Sunday morning, before the race, I met three of my team mates who were also volunteer escorts. We rode to the start from Park Slope on the chilly November morning. After standing around in the cold for about an hour, eating apples and power bars. We were told who our partners were, and we were told that Dick had made an effort to pair us with someone who we had something in common with. Mine turned out to be a retired physician named Alan, with whom I had nothing in common with, aside from the fact he works part time in a bike shop, and I used to work part time at a triathalon store.
All of the cyclists got into a double-file line, right at the point where the wheelchairs turned left off the Verezzano Narrows Bridge. Whenever a wheelchair athlete made the turn, the pair of us standing at the front of the line were launched down the road to accompany the wheelchair. We were not to talk to our athlete, or interact in any other way. We were just to ensure that they had a safe race. Alan and I got launched to cover racer number 13, who quickly got into a tight paceline with four other chairs. They took turns pulling down the bumpy road. We found ourselves in a formation of five wheelchairs and 10 cyclists. The chairs moved much faster than I had expected they would, and it took us only 15 minutes to get all the way from Bay Ridge to Park Slope, averaging nearly 20 mile per hour. At one point one of the athletes crashed and Alan was the closest cyclist, so he stopped to right the chair, and help make sure the athlete was OK. The guy was alright, but by the time Alan had ascertained that fact, we were long gone, and Alan wound up accompanying someone else.
There were people along the course the whole way cheering for the athletes. We took a left through Greenpoint. All along the course there were people cheering and in many places there were bands playing. It was great to see that even hours before the runners would come through, there were lots of people out cheering these hard working athletes.
The chairs are fast on the downhills and flats, but slow on the uphills. The group of five stayed together until we got to 1st avenue in Manhattan. At that point there was an attack, just like you see in a bike race, and my guy couldn't make the jump. He would up with one other athlete, as they cruised toward Harlem and into the Bronx. When we entered Central Park my guy attacked his companion, an action that received much applause from spectators, and soon distanced himself going down the Cat's Paw. The athletes exit the park at 59th Street, by the Plaza, before entering again to finish by Tavern on the Green. The escorts finished our job at 59th Street, where we pulled off into a holding area. I hung around with some of my fellow escorts for a while, including Randy Cohen of The New York Times magazine fame, and watched the elite men and women finish their race.
The whole race took about an hour and a half. Not a course record, though I'm pretty sure that my guy finished in the top 15 or so. All in all, it was inspiring to see how dedicated the wheelchair athletes are, and how hard they work. the sport is kind of funny in that it replicated both a bike race and a running race, and yet is also its own discipline. Escorting the wheelchairs was both a fun and enlightening experience, which I hope to be able to repeat next year!
So I finally seduced Dick with my sweet embellishments about the calling I felt to serve the handicapped, and he finally consented to let me participate. It took Dick a week and seventeen emails to give us the following directions, which I will now summarize in three sentences: Get to the start at 92nd Street in Brooklyn. You'll be paired with another cyclist and the two of you will escort one wheelchair athlete; you will ride far to his or her side, and slightly in front of them. Finally, blow your whistle a lot to make sure the course is clear for the racers.
On Sunday morning, before the race, I met three of my team mates who were also volunteer escorts. We rode to the start from Park Slope on the chilly November morning. After standing around in the cold for about an hour, eating apples and power bars. We were told who our partners were, and we were told that Dick had made an effort to pair us with someone who we had something in common with. Mine turned out to be a retired physician named Alan, with whom I had nothing in common with, aside from the fact he works part time in a bike shop, and I used to work part time at a triathalon store.
All of the cyclists got into a double-file line, right at the point where the wheelchairs turned left off the Verezzano Narrows Bridge. Whenever a wheelchair athlete made the turn, the pair of us standing at the front of the line were launched down the road to accompany the wheelchair. We were not to talk to our athlete, or interact in any other way. We were just to ensure that they had a safe race. Alan and I got launched to cover racer number 13, who quickly got into a tight paceline with four other chairs. They took turns pulling down the bumpy road. We found ourselves in a formation of five wheelchairs and 10 cyclists. The chairs moved much faster than I had expected they would, and it took us only 15 minutes to get all the way from Bay Ridge to Park Slope, averaging nearly 20 mile per hour. At one point one of the athletes crashed and Alan was the closest cyclist, so he stopped to right the chair, and help make sure the athlete was OK. The guy was alright, but by the time Alan had ascertained that fact, we were long gone, and Alan wound up accompanying someone else.
There were people along the course the whole way cheering for the athletes. We took a left through Greenpoint. All along the course there were people cheering and in many places there were bands playing. It was great to see that even hours before the runners would come through, there were lots of people out cheering these hard working athletes.
The chairs are fast on the downhills and flats, but slow on the uphills. The group of five stayed together until we got to 1st avenue in Manhattan. At that point there was an attack, just like you see in a bike race, and my guy couldn't make the jump. He would up with one other athlete, as they cruised toward Harlem and into the Bronx. When we entered Central Park my guy attacked his companion, an action that received much applause from spectators, and soon distanced himself going down the Cat's Paw. The athletes exit the park at 59th Street, by the Plaza, before entering again to finish by Tavern on the Green. The escorts finished our job at 59th Street, where we pulled off into a holding area. I hung around with some of my fellow escorts for a while, including Randy Cohen of The New York Times magazine fame, and watched the elite men and women finish their race.
The whole race took about an hour and a half. Not a course record, though I'm pretty sure that my guy finished in the top 15 or so. All in all, it was inspiring to see how dedicated the wheelchair athletes are, and how hard they work. the sport is kind of funny in that it replicated both a bike race and a running race, and yet is also its own discipline. Escorting the wheelchairs was both a fun and enlightening experience, which I hope to be able to repeat next year!
1 comment:
According to the NYTimes, your guy, T Byers, 25 yrs old, finished in 1:46.29. that put him in13th place. He was 2.5 minutes behind the 12th place finisher, and 3 minutes ahead of the 14th finisher.
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