Eerie silence, except for dawn sneaking up, ninja-style, its silent advance further camouflaged by the constant lapping of Atlantic waves along the shoreline. 

It is early Saturday morning when they appear. Slowly materializing on the Lake Worth bridge as if gently deposited by a passing white cloud. From the North, an array of helmeted apparitions roll towards the gathering assembly. From the South, a confederate cycling contingent snakes its way from Boca Raton. From the West, they come, all in ones, twos and threes, gradually snapping together like metal fragments to a magnet. Their numbers multiply as their speed increases, propelling the spinning, chaotic mass into what? To where? Like a swarm of angry African bees, they swoop along the blacktop, enveloping cars, joggers and other, more sedate cyclists, unfortnate enough to be caught up in their frenetic buzz.  Who are these helmeted warriors, these carbon-titanium cowboys adorned in their brightly shouted colors? Who ARE they?

And just as the infant day promises enlightenment - woosh! - they are gone...

The Saturday Palm Beach bicycle ride up SR A1A to the inlet and back has a tenure of over 25 years. From a casual, social gathering that meandered along the coast, the ride has evolved into a seething, suffering mass of cyclists, intent on hanging onto the tendrils of a 25 mile sprint. 

There is “Hammer”, “Bikeboy”, “Blackheart Bill”, “Little Mike”, the “Mario Brothers”, "Popeye", "Suffering Sue", TonyP", “Stickman”, "Richie Rich", "BocaJoe", "Ironman", "Clemente" and “Merkenator”, to name a few. Fifty to seventy bike riders. Men and women, young and old, coalescing together weekly to try and see, to capture - or at least maintain, as Tennessee Williams so eloquently put it, "that sweet bird of youth”.

Please join in our weekly journey of health, fitness and mayhem and maybe just a little cycling gossip.  Click on TouchingWheels blog link to follow and comment on this ride.

Classic Cyclist Winery