The Watermelon
I found out the hard way that mid-ride bonks come in more flavors than I would have guessed. I’ve had ones that snuck up on me, arriving in between two efforts. One minute I’ve got full power. Then I cruise through a tight turn and the moment I’m back on the pedals, nothing. I’ve had others that gradually turned down the wattage so slowly that I didn’t notice until I was riding at a climbing pace on the flat.
It’s the ones that hit me like a Humvee, where mid-effort I’ve nearly gone lights-out that I most remember. It was day hot like only the South in July can produce. I had nearly swerved off the road when my hand slipped off my brake hood. When my course correction made the world fade I realized I might be in trouble.
Our group began with a dozen riders and for some reason (okay, not some reason, we’d been dropped), three of us coasted into a general store in a location so unpopulated as not to merit a Zip code. I bought a Snickers and a Mountain Dew—effective medicine. The store featured one of those open-top, thigh-high freezer cases, because who needs efficiency? But have you ever sat on one of those? My bib shorts held enough sweat that they froze to the case. I learned this when I went to shift my hips to allow the team’s captain, Jeffrey, to pass me on his way to the cashier, while holding a half watermelon in front of him like an inexperienced father holding a baby. I’d just finished laughing at the watermelon, when I tried to twist my hips and my butt moved, but the shorts did not. So I started laughing again.
I’ll never forget his response: “Hey, don’t laugh. Watermelon is full of electrolytes. I read it in Bicycling Magazine.”
It didn’t matter. We weren’t laughing at the science. We were laughing at the dork clomping around in cycling shoes carrying a hunk of melon the size of firewood.
Stacked on top of the watermelon half was a box of plastic knives. That was a smart move. I figured we would break half of them trying to get all of those electrolytes into our bodies.
Outside, we sat on the curb, sawing into green rind with white plastic, spitting seeds into the open dumpster, red juice running down our arms.