I'll try to explain it...

I am, in a way, responsible for the birth of RATS. In May 1988 I was born, my parents’ first child. Faced with the terror of parental responsibility, my father, Jim, was in search of an outlet. He realized that with another human being depending on him and my mother for absolutely everything he would be unable to do all the biking, (and more specifically bike touring,) that he wanted to do. So he came up with the idea of packing all the riding that he possibly could into a single day. One epic ride a year would allow him to satisfy both his cycling habit and paternal obligations. But where to do it? He spent two years searching for a catchy alliteration. Calais to Caribou? Bangor to Boston? For those of you that know Jim, the fact that he based much of his decision on a fairly cliché literary device should come as no surprise. Eventually, he decided on Bangor to Burlington, as his brother was living in Vermont at the time. However, he kept mentioning that the ride would cross three states, and the acronym RATS stuck.

The first RATS was, as I understand it, fairly epic. Jim found an equally crazy riding companion in Sean Dougherty, a 16 year old employee at his bike shop. He enlisted the help of a few of his friends along with my mother, Laurie. These people would drive “support,” stopping periodically to make sure that the riders were still on track, that they had enough food and water, and to pick them up if they were unable to complete the ride. In the days before cell phones, this was no easy task logistically. (It still isn’t, but the communication aspect has been made much simpler.) According to Jim, one of the methods of communication that he employed in the early days was leaving duct tape on road signs, Hansel and Gretel style. A piece of tape on the “welcome to New Hampshire” sign meant that the support car was to continue on, for example. Adding to the difficulties of driving support was the fact that driving a car very slowly across three states with a screaming two year old (me) is hardly a pleasant experience, one that my mother vowed never to repeat. (Apparently, even a visit to Santa’s Village didn’t calm me down.) But despite the logistical difficulties, Jim and Sean set out from Bangor in the early hours of the morning with lights on their handlebars, not even knowing if what they were setting out to do was physically possible.

Jim, sporting some seriously retro attire

Sean, to date the youngest RATS participant

As it turns out, it was possible. They made it, but only barely. Jim’s knee was in so much pain that he could hardly walk, and both he and Sean were completely exhausted. But they did make it nonetheless, proving to themselves that it was indeed possible. Had they given up, RATS may have never been attempted again, dismissed as an impossible goal, a fools errand.

I should mention the fact that the bikes that they rode that year are absolutely ancient by today’s standards. Jim was riding a Zeus, which had a steel frame, 32 spoke wheels, a 6- speed drivetrain, (with a double crank,) and downtube, non- indexed shifters. The thing must have weighed a ton. If you were to show up to a group ride on something similar today people would think you were completely out of your mind.

Since that first ride RATS has been attempted many times. The exact number is probably around 12, but Jim wasn’t able to remember exactly how many times he has convinced people to accompany him on this death ride.

Willie, the winner of the hotly contested "sweetest mustache" contest. (I'm looking at you, Todd Burpee.)

Some years people had to drop out part of the way through the ride. Some years everyone had to drop out. The stories are incredible. Guys unable to continue, literally sitting down at the side of the road. I won't go into the stories now, because it would take way too long. But here is a preview: Epic bonks, epic bad weather, epic mechanicals, a trip to the hospital, and more strange characters than I can even remember.

Hospital visit 2k5