The Donut Stop

Life in the Bike Lane

by Tom Frady

There’s a rhythm to a good social ride, and at the heart of it—the steady backbeat that keeps the whole thing in time—is the donut stop. We might call it “refueling”, but the donut stop isn’t just a pause in the ride; it’s the reason for it.  It’s the reward, the gathering, the understanding that all roads, eventually, lead to caffeine and conversation. When I’m the ride leader, I first decide which donut shop I need to experience, then build the ride around that destination.

Thinking back on my rides, it’s not just the hills or the miles I remember—it’s the tables. The outdoor tables in Loomis or Newcastle. The slightly-too-small tables in Rocklin made bearable by the absolute best pastry in the state (verified). The Auburn coffee shop where we lean our bikes against the wall like tired horses.  The shop with the total lack of atmosphere, but fab donuts, in Roseville.  When we ride to Old Sacramento, we know exactly where we are stopping for pastry on the way there.  (It’s usually ice cream on the way back, but that’s a whole ‘nother column.)  Those moments between the pedaling—that’s where the soul and calories of cycling live.

A social ride without a coffee/pastry stop feels unfinished, like a sentence without a period. You need that chance to sit shoulder to shoulder with your riding buddies and turn effort into laughter. It’s where stories are told, plans are made, and sore legs are forgotten. Someone always brings up the sprint that “didn’t count,” or how a headwind somehow existed in all four directions. Because we’re old, the conversation often meanders to operations, ailments and illnesses.

And then there’s the food.  I have never heard a rider say, “Mmmm.  Some banana/whey/rice syrup with protein granules I have to suck out of this little plastic packet.  Heaven.”

Give me a pastry that flakes onto the table and leaves powdered sugar on my beard. A big cinnamon bun with extra frosting – heated?  Yes, please.  We all know that calories consumed during a ride don’t count—that’s one of cycling’s universal truths.

And don’t forget, you can get a couple of extra napkins and wrap up something to take home to the spouse.  It will be rewarmed (and slightly smushed) by being in the back pocket of your jersey for 25 miles.

The pastry stop is delightfully inefficient. You linger too long, legs cooling, time slipping away, and you know the restart will feel like pedaling through molasses. But it doesn’t matter. The point isn’t to optimize your glycogen levels; it’s to enjoy being part of a tribe.

Some riders are too focused on mileage, on average speed, on data points that never taste as good as an apple fritter. They’ll finish their rides faster, sure—but they’ll miss the stories that get told after the first bite, the camaraderie that comes only when you sit together.

Cycling, at its heart, isn’t only about suffering or stats (check your archives for my conversations on both)—it’s about connection. It’s where we slow down long enough to notice the day, to appreciate the ride, to savor both the company and the bear claw.

So, to my seven loyal readers: if you’re planning a group ride, make sure it has a destination that serves espresso and cinnamon twists. Don’t rush it. Sit a while. Tell stories, trade lies, laugh at nothing in particular.

Because the donut stop isn’t just part of the social ride—it is the social ride. And without it, all you’ve really done is pedal.