Any profile of Frank Gerace should come with the warning:

CAUTION! –
DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME

This shy, slight man is a monster on the bike. To meet Frank is to dangerously assume that you, having perhaps a bit more muscle fiber and a few less years, might tackle one of his famous rides. Be afraid . . . be very afraid. His list of accomplishments is by no means complete:

Death Ride (5)
Climb to Kaiser (14)
Terrible Two
Death Valley by Moonlight (many)
Countless doubles and centuries
Hill Mania Series (co-leaders Frank-enstein and the evil Dr. Zipf)

What motivates this climbing machine? “Keeps the demons at bay,” claims Frank. Obviously, the one that propels him uphill nips most closely at his heels.

I have met the demon. Just a few years ago, my weekend mornings were spent at the local coffee house, mocking geeky spandex-wearing cyclists who skidded on slippery cleats and ordered espresso by the gallons. Now I am one of you, scoffing at the lazy ones hiding athletic shame behind flimsy curtains of the New York Times.

After a few months watching Frank ride off into the Saturday dawn, I was persuaded to give it a go. One fine December day, astride a sturdy Cannondale (donated by Ed Scanlon), I followed him up Irish Hill Road. On a particularly steep grade (a whopping 6%), I ran out of gears. Frank frantically yelled “Shift!” I looked down at the cluster and realized I had another chain ring. Welcome to the wonderful world of triples! I was hooked after 12 miles. That June I completed the Sierra Century, including Slug Gulch. . .

. . .all because of Frank. A natural teacher, he deftly guided me through a steady program of mileage and climbing. Without a formal plan, he intuitively increased the distance and altitude according to my physical progress. My mental progress was respected as well. Frank quickly discovered that raucous cheering and high-five slaps reduce me to murderous thoughts. When I am suffering, shut up and stay away.

On more challenging rides, he wisely waited for me at the top of granny gear climbs, raising his arms in silent triumph as I heaved myself over the summit. He has the three rare gifts of all good coaches – patience, patience and more patience. I kept a meticulous record of that first year, and might someday market it as the Frank Gerace “Welcome to the Dark Side” training regimen.

So how come you don’t know him? Frank has been a member of the Wheelmen 17 years. He rarely spoke to anyone the first decade, preferring to sneak away with a route sheet and attempt the ride later, alone. He had read about the club and wrote to his brother, asking him to ship out the old Fuji. That bike, having been in upstate New York for many a rusting winter, was soon replaced by a sparkling blue and silver aluminum Cilo (aka Vitus), shipped out by Colorado Cyclist.

Your first clues that the bike is as old as your teenager are the down-tube shifters. Frank is not ruffled by the winds of change, and will probably ride that Cilo until he is forced to walk it. Those of us easily swayed by the next new thing might learn from this steadfast, thrifty attitude. After all, it’s not about the bike, right? (Yeah, whatever, Frankie – but please get a new pair of shoes. You don’t want to get the Big “Kiwi” Bird award two years in a row.)

Those who do know him may know that Frank works for California’s Public Employees’ Retirement System. If you are a current or former State employee, do not - I repeat, do not seek pension advice. He may answer your question, but he just may poke a big stick in your spokes and send you careening down the side of a mountain.

Prior to public service Frank worked in a bike shop and sporting goods store, where he met good friend and fellow masochist Marc Lewis. Marc is another monster on the bike, and to hear their tales of wilderness wonder and woe is a singularly excruciating experience. Prone to sophomoric, sardonic and scatological humor, they will torture you with their antics, and you will laugh in spite of yourself.

Among his friends, Frank’s most loyal is a 30-pound Whippet named Lester. This dog can outrun professional cyclists, a constant source of awe and pride. Unlike that breed, however, Lester is immune to publicity, fancy performance supplements and expensive Lycra.

Frank has been more visible in this, his second decade of Wheelmen membership, acquiring numerous affectionate admirers. There are fools who, lured by his witty and mysterious descriptions, will show up for rides titled, The Liar’s Century, Zebras, Zonies and Zonkies, The Monster, etcetera. I have been suckered into every one, breaking into a cold sweat as I read the actual route, mileage and climbing. But those who accept the gauntlet are often surprised by new vistas, breathtaking scenery, and unbelievable accomplishment. If you want endorphins, look for a Frank Gerace ride. (Another word of warning – he often uses assumed names.)

It may have taken Frank a decade to warm up to the Sacramento Wheelmen, but we are incomplete without him. Like a court jester, he reminds us that cycling is a way of beating our own demons. To that end, Frank will encourage you to ride hard, ride well and have fun. But don’t look back – that little devil might be behind you, wearing his bright orange Giro helmet!

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