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March 1, 2002/Adar 17, 5762, Vol. 54, No. 24
Pedaling palsThree men cycle weekly for 16 years
TERRY J. RATNER
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 Phoenix residents Stephen Stein, Earl Geller and Michael Ratner sip coffee after their weekly bike ride. Photo by Terry Ratner |
For these men, all over 50, life still buckles and jolts, bringing an endless wave of energy that roars through their souls, building up memories, muscles and friendship.
The three silver-haired men - wearing headgear, sunglasses and black spandex pants - have met for a weekly bike ride for more than 16 years.
The trio pedal with spinning spokes over concrete and gravel despite wind, rain, cold, achy joints or desert heat.
Geller, a 68-year-old certified public accountant, scratches his head while conjuring up memories of his first ride.
"I'm not really sure how and why we began the ride, except it seemed more exciting than playing pinochle," he says with a grin. "Interlopers have appeared now and then, but faulty commitment interfered with their success."
Geller and Ratner began the ritual that has become an important component of their lives.
Ratner, 60-year-old owner of Tom's Tavern in Phoenix, remembers getting a three-speed bike from a client that owed him money. He began to ride on weekends and soon it became routine.
Geller says, "I remember riding with Ratner and an acquaintance. We felt energetic that morning and sped ahead of the new rider. When we looked back, he had disappeared from sight. After hours of searching, we gave up, loaded the bikes in the van and went home." The friend ended up hitching a ride back into town and hasn't spoken with them since.
Stein, a 59-year-old retired orthopedic surgeon, passed the initiation and eased his way into the group. He soon got hooked and dedicated to cycling. He remembers the dangers years ago.
"The hazards were called cars because there were few bike paths," he says. "We used to ride with skinny tires down Pima Road, which back then was a two-lane highway with no shoulders."
When they first began riding, Stein carried a pager so his directory could reach him for emergencies. When paged, he would pedal to the closest pay phone. When cell phones came on the market, his life became easier and the cyclists stayed on course.
Ratner, with his ponytail and hearty laugh, became the instigator of the group and was known to needle one or the other if they procrastinated about riding. His reason for the workout was simple: "After working hard at my business all week, I needed some rigorous exercise, friendly faces and sunshine." He soon became a seasoned rider, taking extended trips with Bicycle Adventurers, a bicycle touring company.
They discuss politics, religion, taxes, health, business, and of course, women. Gellar says he was the only married one when we started, but his wife soon became accustomed to his Sunday morning routine.
Stein was next to marry and had two children. That didn't deter his Sunday jaunt with the guys. When his son Matt was 1-year-old, he was inducted into the group and rode in a bike seat behind his father. Stein would pack a diaper and some graham crackers in his fanny pack. Matt would kick his tiny feet as if to pedal while watching the world go by.
Stein says, "He would notice everything - every pebble, every layered slab of bark and all the colorful flowers along the way."
When Matt turned 3 he graduated to a trailer bike; by 7 he was riding alongside the men. Now, at 9, Matt's involvement in Hebrew school and friends limit his Sunday biking.
When Ratner married in 1999, the wedding took place in Stein's backyard. Rabbi Martin Scharf of Temple Beth Ami and the chaplain at Kivel Campus of Care, performed the ceremony with Stein as best man and Gellar as a witness. No bikes were allowed, although the bike ride that Sunday was still a go.
Each Sunday like clockwork the trio arrives at Stein's. Each is dressed in spandex pants, bright colored jerseys, Nikes and sunglasses with helmets strapped around their chins. Their greetings are short, still rubbing their eyes from sleep, but they know what they must do.
Before they mount their bikes, Ratner initiates a routine check of tires, seat height and chain function. The saddle pouch bulges with folding tire and adjustable tools. He adjusts his rearview mirror, tightens the saddle and meticulously dresses his fingers in open black leather gloves before preparing for takeoff.
About riding, Ratner says, "The challenge begins when you ride into the wind and exhilaration follows on your descent downhill. We never carry a first-aid kit, but feel safe with Dr. Steve around."
Road maps aren't needed. The direction for their outings take shape in the early mornings. Past years have taken them to Wickenberg, Lake Pleasant, Carefree and Sun Valley Parkway (better known to them as "the road to nowhere".)
"Geller would ride an old rusted single speed with fat tires for years," Ratner complained. "We tried to convince him that a newer model might be safer, but he's stubborn. As an accountant, he couldn't justify the additional expenditure. A 20-year-old bike from one of his kids seemed to serve his purpose. We were about to take up a collection when his wife and mother-in-law bought him an off-road 21-speed cycle."
Geller remembers taking on Seventh Street by Pointe Tapatio with Ratner leading the way. He laughs while relating his struggle uphill with a single speed bike. He admits that sometimes he had to get off and walk to the top of the hill. Then he'd hop on, feeling the wind on his face, picking up speed while the rattling and shaking from fenders rubbing on wheels rolled him to level ground. His safe landing depended on dodging potholes and rock hazards along the way.
"Helmets are a necessity now," Geller states. "I remember flying over the handlebars in Fountain Hills without headgear." He got roughed up a bit and has worn a helmet ever since.
"Neighborhoods really take shape when you're on a bike. You get to see what there're all about." Stein says. "Sun City, in the '80s, with its sterile vegetation, lack of children and animals, gave off an eerie feeling."
Stein remembers when Geller almost ran into an oncoming cyclist, "A few choice words were exchanged. Ratner, the ruffian amongst us, put on his brakes and walked over to the disturbance. In understandable terms told the guy to mellow out. That was the end of that."
Geller remembers a ride last January: "The cold froze our fingers within minutes and we had to stop at Fry's get a cup of coffee and thaw out."
Their ride is peppered with insults, laughs and stories from the week.
They prefer the paceline etiquette, riding in a row, which depends on no sudden moves, steering or braking maneuvers. Nowadays they usually go east, starting on the canal bike path and winding up in downtown Scotts-dale for a bite to eat.
Ratner explains how they choose a restaurant, "It has to be a far enough to make the ride challenging and interesting, we must be able to secure the bikes, and the food must be good."
Just a few more miles and they can already smell the coffee. Boman's was the main eatery for years until it went out of business. Now they park their cycles at Jacqueline's Market Place in Scottsdale. Their orders don't often vary. Short stack with raisins and walnuts, sides of flour tortillas with blackberry jam, and bagels with cream cheese. They kibitz as they toast one another with Irish coffee before the journey home.
Stein talks about predicting the future. "We discussed the demise of Mecham, rehashed the Keating fiasco and analyzed the Enron scandal. Ratner, the guru for downtown, keeps us posted on the dreams and schemes from Copper Square."
Geller says, "We have a special bond after so many years. It's the exercise and camaraderie that means so much."
Terry Ratner is a free-lance writer in Phoenix and the wife of cyclist Michael Ratner.