Bike Race Throwback

No Bike, Dead Car, and Still Racing

There’s a certain feeling that comes with the start of race season.

The early spring light. The last-minute gear checks. The nerves buzzing just beneath the surface as your calendar starts to fill with bolded race dates and long travel days. It’s a season of anticipation—and for me, it's a time that usually brings a mix of readiness, curiosity, and yes, just a little chaos.

Last year, I kicked off my racing season on the bike with a trip to Girona, Spain. On paper, it was perfect: a beautiful course, strong legs coming out of winter training, and the chance to return to a place I love. I had my playlists queued up, a training plan dialed, and that giddy feeling of “let’s go” humming through me.

But the thing about adventure? It rarely sticks to the script.

It all started in Barcelona. I landed, breezed through customs, and made my way to baggage claim, ready to scoop up my bike and hit the road.

Except… no bike.

I waited, watched, circled the carousel like a hopeful hawk. Hoping that the airtag location service was lying when it showed my bike hanging out in Germany. Nothing. Eventually, I filed a report, was told “we’re looking into it,” and left the airport empty-handed.

Deep breath. Okay. I still had my rental car, and Girona was only about an hour’s drive away. I could regroup there, figure things out. I picked up the car and got on the road.

About 10 kilometers in… the car battery died. No warning. Just—off. I coasted to a stop on the shoulder of the highway, cars whipping past me, alone, bike-less, and now car-less.

I remember just sitting there, staring at the steering wheel, wondering what kind of lesson the universe was teaching me.

And then—somehow—a tow truck appeared, like a small miracle in a neon vest. I flagged the driver down and explained the situation with a mix of broken Spanish and exaggerated hand gestures. To his credit, he jumped right in to help, towing the car to the nearest charging station.

If you’ve ever had an electric vehicle go dead, you know it’s no small task to get it onto a flatbed. Jet-lagged and running on fumes, we both worked up a sweat wrestling it into place. By then, my Spanish was warming up, and we were actually laughing and joking as we made our way to the station—only to discover it was completely out of order. At that point, it was so absurd all we could do was laugh.

So he towed me all the way to Girona and dropped me off at my apartment like a true hero. We exchanged thank-yous and contact info, and I was genuinely touched by his kindness. In the middle of total chaos, he brought a little calm—and a reminder that there’s always space for generosity, even on the most unraveled days.

By the time I got in the door, I was too tired to be upset. My bike was still MIA. My car was useless. My bike race was the next day.

But somehow, I wasn’t unraveling—I was still excited. Because sometimes, the start line isn’t just a physical place. It’s a mindset. It’s the moment you decide to keep showing up, even when everything has gone sideways.

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As I get ready to enter a new season, I keep thinking about that weekend in Girona.

Not because it was smooth—far from it. But because it reminded me that endurance isn’t about avoiding chaos. It’s about how you respond to it.

Plans will fall apart. Logistics will fail. Races won’t always go the way you imagined. But if you can stay flexible, stay grounded, and keep your sense of humor? You’ll always find a way forward.

So here’s to showing up—scuffed, tired, humbled, and ready anyway.
Here’s to good stories, unexpected pivots, and the start lines we reach with a little more grit than we planned for.

Because those are the ones that stay with us.

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