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The A-SIG is born . . . |
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. . . and it’s truly a labor of, um, love.by Christy Guzzetta Once upon a time, “A” rides were fast and furious. Guys (no girls back then) with shaved legs, tight wool shorts, 10-speeds and shoes with cleats nailed to the bottoms would blast off from Central Park, and a small percentage of them would return. What happened to the rest was anyone’s guess. The A-ride philosophy was that people who showed up for A rides were adults. If they could keep up, fine. If not, well . . . . If someone didn't have his cleats nailed on just right, he was clearly a nerd. If his frame wasn’t Reynolds 531 or Columbus tubing, he was likewise a nerd. If he wasn't using Campy Nuovo Record or Campy Super Record, he must be from Nerdsville, U.S.A. If you were a nerd, you had two options: keep up or get dropped. And A riders didn't care which you chose. As I said, those rides were fast and furious. Rarely could the uninitiated stay with the pack. There were probably eight A riders in all of New York City. And if you thought you could be number nine? Well . . . (Heeee, heeee, heeee.) It was intimidating, scary, disheartening. The A riders took pride in the difficulty of their rides. They enjoyed counting the numbers of those who didn't return. After all, you can't just wake up one day and be an A rider. It takes practice, skill, knowing how. Some people would try to keep up for a ride or two, get dropped (“Where am I?” “How do I get home?” “Is everyone laughing at me?”), then take up ballroom dancing. Others would become B riders and hold a grudge against the A’s for the rest of their natural-born lives. The A riders were mean, tough, indifferent. Time passed. Lycra was invented. As was carbon fiber, titanium, 18-speeds. More time passed. Girls started showing up for rides. Skills improved, training improved. Soon it seemed that A riders were not so scary after all! Why? Because along came Christy Guzzetta. (Yeah!) Christy was already an A rider, arguably the fastest bike in all of New York City. Christy was also single and trying to score some points with that pretty girl over there riding the chromed Cuevas. Jody Sayler was her name. Poor Jody: the year before she crashed and blew out her knee. But, wait, Christy had an idea. (Heeee, heeee, heeee.) “We can ride together, Jody,” he said. “I’ll help you.” (Heeee, heeee, heeee.) “We’ll start off slow, do a short ride. Next week we'll add a couple of miles, pick up the speed by half a mile an hour. And we’ll do it again the week after that, and the week after that, and the week after that and the . . . .” (Heeee, heeee, heeee.) Boy, did this guy Christy have a plan! So Christy laid out the whole thing—17 rides, starting the first weekend in March. “By July 4, Jody, it’ll be like you never had a knee problem in your life,” he assured her from the vantage point of his unqualified expertise. “And you’ll be riding centuries, and you’ll be riding fast.” And, he might have added, “you’ll be riding with me, Jody.” (Heeee, heeee, heeee.) March 1, 1986: The A riders are already hammering. Christy is planning to toodle 25 miles with Jody. But, he thinks, can Jody put up with my stupid mouse and tongue and teeth tricks for 17 weeks? Uh, oh. I’d better get some people to come along, to give the poor girl a break, he decides. So he invites some strong B riders to join them, B riders who always wanted to be A riders but didn’t know where to start. Christy puts a notice in the New York Cycle Club Bulletin. Calls his program the “SIG” (for special interest group). Because “we were indeed special.” And because they had a special interest. Forty not-A riders showed up that first Saturday. Seventeen weeks later, there were eight new paceline-riding, butt-kicking, hooting-and-hollering A riders. Eight great new friends. And . . . Jody and Christy had fallen in love. And today, 20 SIG’s later, literally hundreds of new A riders, a number of marriages (including mine to Jody), several divorces and many, many new friends have sprung from what started as a scheme to meet a gal. The SIG series has been honed into 12 rides. Lots of girls (it’s PC now to say “women,” but no one’s ever accused me of being PC) show up. There is no Campy Nuovo Record, no Reynolds 531, and you couldn’t get a nail in the bottom of a pair of cleats with an air hammer. People have graduated from the SIG and become spirited leaders of club rides, enthusiastic officers of NYCC. Many uncovered a talent and bug for racing and became champions at the local CRCA level and on the professional racing circuit—truly around the world. The A-SIG has indeed produced many great riders. But, more exciting than that, it has produced even more great friends.
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