Tour de Gramps

After having a heart attack at sixty-five, I decided to get fit because apparently my response to nearly dying was to make exhaustion a competitive sport. Eventually, I became fit enough-or mentally unstable enough-to compete in duathlons, bike fondos, and time-trial events.

When I turned seventy, I wanted the year to be epic. Evidently, cake and a quiet dinner were out of the question. Instead, I planned a fondo, a half marathon, a full duathlon in July, another duathlon in August, a century race, and a full marathon. I would finish the year with a solo bicycle trip of more than 500 miles, from Jacksonville, Florida, to Key West, Florida, because nothing says successful cardiac recovery like disappearing down U.S. 1 on a bicycle.

This is the chronicle of that year-and the considerable body of evidence supporting my wife's claim that I should never be left unsupervised.