I don’t usually race. Yet every time I break down and agree to it, I am reminded of why I don’t like it. It makes me physically ill. It brings me back to the days as a competitive gymnast when I stood in the heat of the gym shivering in a cold sweat, my adrenal gland pumping furiously against my bladder.

However, the Icycle-an annual off-season bike race at Fontana Village, N.C.-was for hanging out with biking buddies, creating fantastic stories, drinking beer, and laughing. That mission was accomplished, thanks in part to fellow racer Kristie, who suggested using Palmolive in the giant jet tub, which created a foot of bubbles across the bedroom floor and sore abs from laughing so hard about it.So there I was at the start line, having to first run, of all things, up and down a hill to my bike. The start gun was shot, and the mass of riders gimped quickly in their cleats up a wet grassy field to their bikes. Once we mounted, we slithered up steep, muddy trails in a dense crowd of anticipation, steering around those pushing their bikes, while someone behind me repeatedly rubbed my rear tire. I ignored the hypersensitivity of the “serious” racers and tapped back in to the fun factor. A portion of my angst for racing must stem from the over-serious nature of the die-hards who are frantic and bossy in their desire to win. Sure, it feels good to be the best, but I wonder…the best of what? Not everybody who rides a bike well is racing. Racing with the wrong attitude could result in an ill-conceived ego trip. I have to admit that racing at least inspires personal best. Riding with people from various places in the state gives one a better sense of ability levels. It also results in a lot of riding in the weeks after a race, due to a renewed love for my bike. I find that watching really good riders helps me determine new goals. On the other hand, riding by oneself, or always with less experienced riders, can create stagnancy. Another plus for the racing scene is that a race allows you to ride at your own pace, kind of like riding by yourself, but in a safe environment, followed by lots of post-race fun with other bikers. I enjoyed riding pleasantly along, without breaks, and without the mental torture of keeping up with better riders waiting for me to finish the climb. It allowed me to ride until cramps seized both legs for the last two miles of the race. I mean, that’s just not a treat that you often get when out for a Saturday ride with friends. Water? Food? Ha! I replenished my lactic-acid-filled legs with a chocolate chip cookie and a cold beer fresh off the keg once I crossed the finish line with a futile attempt at a wheelie. The only carnage to speak of was riding back to the cabin holding my helmet in one hand, and my beer in the other. As I coasted toward the cabin, I realized that I had no free finger for the brake, causing me to use my arm against the side of the house to slow myself. This was not as graceful as I planned, as I bashed harshly into the rough siding, scraping the skin from my arm while dumping half my beer directly into my face. Lucky for me, my friends were there to witness this, AND I still had half a beer to drink. I had a great time bonding with fellow riders who were helpful, encouraging, and fun. We bonded that night on the downhill course in the dark, where friendly competition caused us to remain in the cold a little longer. Bettina Freese can be reached at BeFree01@charter.net.