We done a thing: Cycotherapy adopted an annual bike ride event

It's called the Peckerhead

The year’s 1998. The weather’s hot on this June day in Ohio. A weary-eyed 29 year-old father jumps into his new Dodge Caravan with a can of spray paint and an Atlas. His four-month-old daughter in the back, crying and crying about a yet-to-be-discovered gastrointestinal issue.

Jay Allred’s mission that day was to mark a 90+ mile route for his roadie buddies. Brutal route, had to be around 9,000 feet of elevation change. It’s hard to know, though. Strava wouldn’t be invented for another 11 years.

The ride was intentionally tough. He meant for it to pound his riding buddies, around seven guys who rode regularly on the roads from Ashland. That’s where most of them lived. So when he wanted to ride with the guys, he’d have to drive around 20 minutes to the parking lot in Ashland. 

Not this time. 

Oh no. They’d come to him this time. And he’d show those peckerheads what a big boy route was like on this day. There’d be no bailouts. No false flats. Just true hills and hammering on roads akin to Alpe d’Huez — Mansfield, Ohio’s version that is. And it would take as much time as it would take, dammit. 

Because this Father’s Day in 1998 was Allred’s day. A hall pass to use after four months of sleepless parenting and poopy diaper discarding. And this pass had written on it “Ride with the guys.” 

That was 24 years ago. Through the years, the ride with the guys became an annual thing dubbed the Peckerhead Invitational Bike Ride and Weenie Roast for guys and gals.

But after June 17 — this Saturday — the annual ride that offers like 200 riders some of the best road routes in Ohio and the best post-ride party will be no more. At least with Jay at the helm.

‘Cuz we done a thing. 

---

For those of you hairsplitting readers of Cycotherapy, you might have noticed a passing detail in a story written back in January. It was about Jay Allred, who is now 52 and drives, well, not a Dodge Caravan. For that story, I had interviewed Jay via email. It was easier this way, what with our busy schedules these days. I sent him a list of questions and he answered them. 

One of the questions went like this: “Tell us about the Peckerhead Invitational. How did it start, where is it now and where is it headed?” 

He gave a decently lengthy response, but the last sentence was this: “This year will be the 20th edition and it might be the last at least in its current form. I’m on the hunt for someone to take it over who can bring it to new heights.” 

When I read that, in my email, I read it again. And then I read it again. And again. I do this when I have a nagging thought that won’t go away. Am I that someone?

Nah.

I moved on. Had to finish the post and get it published so I could move on to other tasks. Some time passed. Then, since Jay and I work for the same company (he’s my boss’s boss), he comes by my desk one day to thank me for the article. I don’t really remember how the conversation went, but it landed on that answer I read like 13 times. 

“Yeah, I read that. I thought about it for a while,” I lied. His eyes widened and his mouth stretched into a pre-laugh. “I think I could be that someone. It’d be cool.” 

And then we laughed together, knowing fate had basically already decided I’d be the one to take it over. You see, Jay and I have this sorta kindred spirit. We both like to ride bikes. He gave me my first road bike, for Pete’s sake. We’re both girl dads. We both work in media. We both wear Vans. 

And it just makes sense. We also live in the same neighborhood. Now, instead of starting from his house that’s like a sneeze away, we can just ride from my house. My house is located across the street from two publicly owned properties: a park and a school, both featuring ample room for parking-lot parking.

To be clear, he’s still chief Peckerhead and will remain such in title for future years. He organized this year’s ride just like every other year and is roasting the weenies and providing other fares for the post-ride cookout. We’ll start from his house too. 

In 2024, though, he’ll throw me the keys and I’ll adding to my resume: Peckerhead organizer. 

And we’ll see how it goes. Nothing much will change. I don’t intend to charge for registration. That’s part of the ride’s beauty and allure. The purest fun is that which is free and among friends. Money complicates this truth. Big group rides and cookouts still cost money, and there will be donation jars, but you get the point. 

We might still do stickers (cuz I like me some stickies), maybe some shirts and other related PKR swag.

But it won’t be a race. It won’t be pay-to-ride event with DJs playing stupid tweener music.

Jay built this thing out of a desire to hang with friends on his bike. For years, that’s what it was. Slowly, more and more people got involved, including women. The first woman, in fact, to ride and finish the Peckerhead was one Shelly Crane.

“She rode the shit out of that ride,” Jay said, remembering recently. He said that was the first year he decided to add beer and a cookout after the ride, which at that point had two routes: 35 miler and a long miler.

“That was a big year because Shelly had a big impact in leavening the bread. Adding a little estrogen was good for the ride. It chilled everything out a bit. It was aggressive before because it was just dudes. Just testosterone.” 

The following year, Jay added another route and named them all: The Half Packer (35 miles), the Full Pecker (50-60ish miles) and the John Holmes (usually around 70 miles). He sent out slightly-less dopey invites to many more people. He got sponsors like DZNuts, (“Because what could be better?”) and Clif Bar and Kenda and All Hail the Black Market. The sponsors sent all sorts of stuff that ended up in swag bags for Peckerhead riders willing to raffle them. 

He also started a blog, where he’d stay in contact with riders through a newsletter in the months leading up to the beloved ride. He also started a Facebook page. 

The Peckerhead erected into something … 

OK, poor choice of words there. Sheesh. What I mean is lots of people were coming to this thing and, for Jay, it felt like it was getting to be too much. 

“Gradually, we went back to the core of the event: get people together to remind them why they started to ride bikes in the first place. I mean, that’s why I did it. To remind myself. And I think that always ringed true with people,” he said, sitting relaxed in his office one recent Friday.

He sat there in all his cool, approachable bossness. Donned in jeans and a black, graphic tee. He sat with one leg crossed, resting on his knee. The position revealed a colorful bike sock protruding from his hi-top Vans.

That’s when he started reminiscing on all the good memories over the years. A guy named Neil pedaling up so slowly on Dill Road that he fell over. Another guy, he remembers, fell sound asleep in his yard after the ride. One of his old friends got so drunk one year he wanted to wrestle Jay. His neighbor decided to ride it one year on his 1957 Humbert with a basket on the front.

He laughed at the image. “I always loved those people who …” 

And then, a lightbulb shone over his shaved bald head. 

“Those are my favorite memories, like when people are clearly in over their heads. Hubris. Like, you think you can do shit you’re not qualified for. And they come back and they’re just shelled. But smiling. They had just done something they thought they could do but it was really hard. They’re beat up but also they feel good.” 

Hubris. Maybe that’s my condition for taking this Peckerhead thing on. 

Here’s to hoping we all come out on the other side, shelled but smiling. 

---

By the way, people — if you want to ride this thing, here’s a way to get registered. Come ride it! You are invited! It starts at 9 a.m. from 536 Chevy Chase Road in Mansfield, OH on Saturday, June 17.

There are three routes. This one, this one and this one.

For more info, click on this link to its FAQ page.

Bring whatever bike and lycra you have, a smile and an appetite for hills and post-ride cookout fare.