Kevin Vandever

I was recently riding my T2000 road bike along the Santa Ana river bed enjoying a nice Southern California day when just over ten miles into a thirty mile ride a bug flew into my mouth. This has happened many times before and usually the critter doesn’t make it much farther than my teeth or tongue and I am able to redirect and spit it out without harm to me or the flying creature. I know I need to do a better job at breathing through my nose and keeping my mouth’s opening to more of a sliver, not the wide open tunnel it must have looked like to the incoming bug. I’m working on it. This time, however, the bug’s aim was a bit sharper and it was able to negotiate its way through my teeth, over my tongue and straight down my throat. I forced a cough or two in an attempt to remove the intruder, but it wasn’t having any of that. I thought for a moment about swallowing the bug and at least removing it from my throat, but my body wasn’t listening to the brain’s suggestion at that action. I was still riding, coughing, and planning other modes of extraction when one of my coughs took hold and out came the…bee. Still riding, my first thought was, “I’m glad I was able to get that sucker out of my throat” and a my second thought was, “I wonder if it stung…” The thought didn’t have time to completely form when the my question was answered. The bee had stung me inside my throat. It was at this moment that I decided to stop riding.

I climbed off the bike and took a couple gulps of water. I waited and wondered what would happen next. I felt a little pain in my throat and it became a little tighter, but after a few minutes, it wasn’t too bad. I had been stung before, on the exterior of my body, and had never experienced an allergic reaction. So, why would I today? I climbed back on the bike and continued up the river bed towards the halfway point of my ride. As I got close to the halfway point, I realized it was a little tougher to breathe. I could still do so, but my throat felt less like the tunnel of before and more like a small tube. I stopped at the halfway point to down more water. The more I rested, the better my throat felt so I chilled there for a a few minutes and then hopped back onto the bike for the journey home.

This is where things really became interesting. Those who know me would probably say that stubbornness is one of the last traits attributed to me, but for some reason, on this day, I was a full-fledged, 100%, card carrying member of the stubborn club. I was not going to be stopped by something as trivial as a honey bee. Maybe a wasp, hornet, or even a bumble bee (given how wide open my mouth was, this wasn’t out of the question), would take me out, but not a sweet, little honey bee. So I rode, and the more I rode, the harder it was to breathe, so I rode faster in order to get home quicker which, you guessed it, made it even more difficult to breathe. It didn’t matter if I was attempting to breathe though my nose, mouth or eyelids, I found it equally difficult to suck in oxygen. I thought maybe that was no ordinary honey bee. Maybe it was one of those killer bees from Africa. Maybe I should stop and make a phone call and get some help. I rode on.

Well, I am alive today to write this so you can probably guess the outcome. I made it home safely. My family being made up of the loving and caring individuals that they are, did what any loving and caring individuals would do in this case; they gave me a whole heaping load of crap for riding home. “Why didn’t you call for a ride?”, “You could have died!”, and “Dad, you are dumbest man I know, a complete and utter moron!” (Okay, the last statement wasn’t actually said out loud, but I am certain they all thought it) are only samples of the verbal assault I received, some might even say deservedly so; however, I like to think I lived on the edge, tested my limits, and dug deeply within myself. There was nothing else on this earth, but that bee, my bike, and me. Man versus Nature. Yes, it was a honey bee but, hey, it could have been one of those evil, killer honey bees. In either case, killer bee or no killer bee, it’s still nature.

Or, it might just be another in the many life lessons that end with the same moral: Keep your mouth shut.

written by Kevin Vandever \\ tags: Biking, Honey Bee, Shut Your Mouth

Ten years ago this month, I bought my first serious road bike. I lived in the Chicago area at the time and my buddy, Dave, and I decided that we were going to train for long distance riding and would eventually ride the Lewis and Clarke Trail from St. Louis to the Oregon coast (An unattained but still desired goal, by the way). I began to investigate touring bikes and really liked what I saw from Cannondale.

So, one night after work, Dave and I headed to On The Route on the north side of Chicago. I already had my eyes on the T2000 touring bike so I was quick to test ride, get fitted and hand over the credit card. Dave and I attached my new shiny bike to his trunk top bike rack, secured the straps and prepared to make our way back through the city and out west to my house in Oak Park, which is just a few miles outside of the city.

As Dave drove back through the city, he and I talked about all the great rides we would share. I stole periodic looks into the side mirror to make sure that my T2000 was really there and not a dream. We wove our way through the city and entered the I-290 West (The Eisenhower) towards Oak Park. We had made it through the side streets of the city and were now about to enter the smooth and well-kept interstate (for those of you not familiar with Chicago roads, that was sarcasm). We had gone a few miles on the Eisenhower when Dave looked into the rear view mirror and said, “Holy Shit! Where’s your bike?”

I laughed at first and said something brilliant to Dave like, “Funny!” He said, “No, look, it’s gone!” I didn’t go to the side mirror. Instead I turned around and to my horror, I saw that there was no bike. I don’t even remember what I said but I imagine it would have made a truck driver, sailor and my mother all blush. I had visions of my bike bouncing around the Eisenhower causing accidents and creating general chaos. I looked back from where we came but did not see any such chaos. About that time, Dave had pulled to the side of the interstate and we both flew out of the car and ran to the back so we could see how the bike had escaped. But the bike hadn’t escaped at all. There it was, still hooked from the wheels, but half lying on the road. The top straps had come off, but not the bottom ones so we had been dragging my new shiny bike for, at least, a few miles. I was first to laugh and Dave joined in, although apprehensively not sure if I was really laughing, was in shock, or had gone mad. I think it was a combination of all three.

It turns out that he bike had done quite well for being dragged a few miles at 70 mph. The seat was messed up and the handle bars had some damage and minor scrapes, but not much else. We refastened and carefully secured the bike and headed to home. Dave felt bad, but I assured him that it wasn’t his fault and that he had done me a favor by helping me to pick it up. Besides, I had helped to “secure” the bike so it was as much my fault. I called the shop and took the bike back the next day. After they laughed heartily at the story, they fixed up the T2000 at no charge and i was on my way again…this time with no transport mishaps.

I still own my T2000. It has been a great bike and because of a few scrapes under the brake lever on the left side of the handlebar, I am often reminded of that initial trip home.

written by Kevin Vandever \\ tags: Biking, Cannondale, Chicago riding, On The Route, Scare, T2000, That did not just happen