All I want to do is lay down and close my eyes for a little. I'm so tired and sleepy, I might just fall asleep right here on the bike, maybe then the pain would just drift away with my sleep. I can't focus on anything except sleepy tiredness and 4723. 4723 4723 4723 4723 4723 4723 4723. Now it says 4732 4732 4732 4732, now it is 4745 4745 4745. My brain is chanting these numbers like a beat in a club. I'm numb all over, except for when the road points up I feel my muscles in my legs tearing, burning, breaking through my skin, through my knickers exposed to the air. 4788 4788 4788 4788. How are my legs still moving, I'm pretty sure I told them to stop miles ago?
How did I get to this point, laying on the bathroom floor in the fetal position praying for a swift and clean death? Did I not eat enough? Drink enough? Kill me now. I am weak. My body thinks I am weak and it is shutting down and closing up shop. Maybe if I just empty the contents of my stomach I can start over? How pathetic is this? I should know better? Why is it every time I am hugging the toilet it is self induced? At least my brain is not pounding against my skull trying to free itself from a chemical induced death. So I've got that going for me. This Pepsi is coming up, maybe not. A little sip of recovery drink, a little more Pepsi, some more recovery drink. This cold tile feels good, or does it? All I can feel is the sickness in my stomach taking over my body, organ by organ like a game of Risk.
I can feel my legs, they have a few miles in them and a few thousand feet of climbing. Are the miles and feet of climbing in your legs or do they come out like a deposit at a bank? You start your day with X miles and Y feet, and you just keep making withdraws until you are in the red, Overdrawn? I don't know? I started my day with zero, zero. I already had a metric century and 3k' worth of climbing in or out when we met up with Marty to do another lap. I should know better, but there is something about feeling good at the "in the moment" that reduces brain function to "sure let's go again".
Mile 79.8 I stopped. Not cracked, blown up, shelled. Stopped. Hindsight is 20/20 and I should have called it a day well before that point, but now we are 13mi from town, and 18mi from the comfort of my bathroom floor. Matt and Marty pushed and nursed me back to the Pedestrian Bridge where we said good bye to Marty and Matt paced me back to my turn-off. Thanks Matt -sorry about getting caught in the rain.
Between the point of failure to the point of being home is a blur of sensory overload. 13mph feels like 70mph out of control on ice skidding to your death. Pedal strokes are involuntary one second and the next are so labored I can't tell if my crank arms are frozen or broken off? Am I peddling backwards? Are those my feet attached to my legs, I can see feet but they don't feel like mine. I know these legs are not mine because there is a compatibility issue with the interface. They are not doing what I want them to do, and they are telling me what I don't want to hear. These are not my legs.
Long before all this happened yesterday, Matt and I were having a conversation about hurting and pain, and trying to explain how it feels to someone who has never experienced suffering. How does one put into words the feeling one goes through emotionally and physically when you put the body into a situation such as this? After the morbid pain and misery subsided, I was left with the hallow feeling one gets from stressing the body, and it feels....good. Not a good like ice cream and cake good, but like I just survived good. I like to call it the "putting the legs up". If you have been there you know what I am talking about. Putting the legs up on the couch or the ottoman with the satisfaction that you have inner accomplishment of physical and emotional greatness. You just made yourself better.
We talk of having a bad day on the bike, but is there really such a thing? I could easily say that yesterday was a horrible experience, or I could say that it was anything that I want it to be. My attitude towards what happened forms the person that I am, that I will be. Can you take a negative in your life and make it a positive? My Mom always said "your worst day of skiing is better than your best day at work". What I take away from yesterday is, one) a good story to tell, b) strength, secondly) I know the people that I have surrounded myself with -are incredible people. Yesterday is history, and it is now just part of my foundation of who I am and what I am.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Have you met Matt?
I am always skeptical when people say "he's the nicest guy" "they are great", you know all that nice crap. Anytime I hear the name Matt Carnal it is always followed by something flowery and sweet, like he is every one's best friend. I have always been 6 degrees away from Matt, so I don't know that much about him. I do know the dark side of Matt, the underlying layer of the onion. That's right the part that will make you cry, not out of sadness. Out of Pain.
This is an unofficial view of the person we call Coach, Matt, King of Strava, and other things behind his back -because you would never say it to his face for fear he will rip your legs off and beat you with them. Actually people that call Matt "Coach" allow him to rip their legs off... willingly. I know how crazy is that? I have only had a peripheral friendship with Matt and for what I knew of him he is a stand-up guy. Never have I heard anyone talk about Matt in any other light.
Most recently I started following Matt on Strava.com and he was involved in the Base Mile Blast. This was a challenge to see how many miles one could accumulate in a set time (Jan6-31). Matt put in 3,347mi and his last ride was cancelled due to mechanical issues. He was only planning on riding the great state of Oklahoma from South to North. No big deal, Right? Even without putting in miles that he wanted on the last day, Matt had a lead of 981mi. Not bad. Oh, yeah I forgot to mention that Matt is gearing up/training for RAAM. Now we can officially add "Crazy" to the things we call Matt.
Matt's dark side, let's get to the juicy tabloid stuff... Matt has been coming by the shop and getting some work done on bikes and what not. He has invited me to ride, so I decided to meet up with him yesterday for a little ride, I would turn around and he would continue. I rode to the meeting point and Chad showed up to ride with us. Chad and I chatted and then Matt showed. We headed out in the light rain/heavy mist on the trail and then made a slight detour to head West. In conversation something was mentioned about my wanting to climb 29,000' in a month. Matt said he would like to do that in a weekend, and he could, and probably will.
The lights started to go dim around mile 62, I'm pretty sure Matt was just getting warmed up. He rode 100+ the day before, I commuted 10mi. I did my best "keep calm...", and then I was shelled, literally and figuratively. Matt and Chad slowed to allow me to catch, and I told them to leave me, "I'm a big boy, I know my way home, don't want to slow you down." Matt would have nothing of it. Here is the guy that has been ripping my legs off and turning me inside out for the last 2-3hrs and now he is playing the nice guy routine. This is the genuine Matt. This is what makes him such a great coach, he knows how to motivate you all bad guy style and then when you need it most he can be there for you. Not a crutch, but a gentle push.
Riding bikes has allowed me to meet all kinds, types of people. The bike is the vehicle that brings people together. If you have not met Matt, you should. He is as exactly as billed. Don't be fooled by the names people call him. Beast, Machine, Evil, Crazy, these are how he rides the bike -not who he is.
Follow Matt on Strava.com
Follow Matt on Twitter
I hope to do a follow up actual interview, a first for sprintingthebelllap
This is an unofficial view of the person we call Coach, Matt, King of Strava, and other things behind his back -because you would never say it to his face for fear he will rip your legs off and beat you with them. Actually people that call Matt "Coach" allow him to rip their legs off... willingly. I know how crazy is that? I have only had a peripheral friendship with Matt and for what I knew of him he is a stand-up guy. Never have I heard anyone talk about Matt in any other light.
Most recently I started following Matt on Strava.com and he was involved in the Base Mile Blast. This was a challenge to see how many miles one could accumulate in a set time (Jan6-31). Matt put in 3,347mi and his last ride was cancelled due to mechanical issues. He was only planning on riding the great state of Oklahoma from South to North. No big deal, Right? Even without putting in miles that he wanted on the last day, Matt had a lead of 981mi. Not bad. Oh, yeah I forgot to mention that Matt is gearing up/training for RAAM. Now we can officially add "Crazy" to the things we call Matt.
Matt's dark side, let's get to the juicy tabloid stuff... Matt has been coming by the shop and getting some work done on bikes and what not. He has invited me to ride, so I decided to meet up with him yesterday for a little ride, I would turn around and he would continue. I rode to the meeting point and Chad showed up to ride with us. Chad and I chatted and then Matt showed. We headed out in the light rain/heavy mist on the trail and then made a slight detour to head West. In conversation something was mentioned about my wanting to climb 29,000' in a month. Matt said he would like to do that in a weekend, and he could, and probably will.
The lights started to go dim around mile 62, I'm pretty sure Matt was just getting warmed up. He rode 100+ the day before, I commuted 10mi. I did my best "keep calm...", and then I was shelled, literally and figuratively. Matt and Chad slowed to allow me to catch, and I told them to leave me, "I'm a big boy, I know my way home, don't want to slow you down." Matt would have nothing of it. Here is the guy that has been ripping my legs off and turning me inside out for the last 2-3hrs and now he is playing the nice guy routine. This is the genuine Matt. This is what makes him such a great coach, he knows how to motivate you all bad guy style and then when you need it most he can be there for you. Not a crutch, but a gentle push.
Riding bikes has allowed me to meet all kinds, types of people. The bike is the vehicle that brings people together. If you have not met Matt, you should. He is as exactly as billed. Don't be fooled by the names people call him. Beast, Machine, Evil, Crazy, these are how he rides the bike -not who he is.
Follow Matt on Strava.com
Follow Matt on Twitter
I hope to do a follow up actual interview, a first for sprintingthebelllap
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Goalllllllllllllll!
I'm not exactly sure what I am going to do with myself, I know there is a few of you out there that would love to comment on that. Feel free, there is a tab for that at the end of this post. Any who, working at the shop is going to take a chunk out of my racing, I knew this going in. Keep reading, I'm not whining. Promise. I'm in a state of cycling limbo, I want to be out racing with my team, but I wont be, so... do I need to train? I am not currently training, I am just riding. I feel great, and I am having a blast riding my bikes. Isn't that what it is all about?
I guess my problem is that my mates are out there training and racing and they are gonna ride circles around me. I mean I have a rep to maintain. Pride, what a double edged sword. It's hard to wrap my head around. This is one of those times when you have to "check yourself". What am I doing this to gain, why do I do this, what am I trying to prove? The soul searching questions like, which came first the chicken or the egg? For me all the answers are on the bike, or found while on the bike.
Goals. Two years ago I did what "they" tell you to do and I wrote my goals down. I didn't meet one of them. Last year, I had no goals other than race a lot, and help my teammates in races. Check and check. This year is a mixed bag. If I were forced at gunpoint to write something down it would look like this...
Accepting ideas and sponsorships
I guess my problem is that my mates are out there training and racing and they are gonna ride circles around me. I mean I have a rep to maintain. Pride, what a double edged sword. It's hard to wrap my head around. This is one of those times when you have to "check yourself". What am I doing this to gain, why do I do this, what am I trying to prove? The soul searching questions like, which came first the chicken or the egg? For me all the answers are on the bike, or found while on the bike.
Goals. Two years ago I did what "they" tell you to do and I wrote my goals down. I didn't meet one of them. Last year, I had no goals other than race a lot, and help my teammates in races. Check and check. This year is a mixed bag. If I were forced at gunpoint to write something down it would look like this...
- Ride my bikes
- Use the bike for commuting as much as possible (3mi rule)
- Be a bike advocate
- Ride with anyone regardless their ability
- Have fun
Accepting ideas and sponsorships
Friday, February 10, 2012
Smackdown
My wife and I got my Dad tickets to go see WWE Smackdown for his birthday/Christmas. I would also go with him, you know for company. He can't go by himself. Dad is a huge fan of the 'rastling. Watches it religiously. Since before Hulk, Andre, and the WWF Dad would watch. With the advent of the VCR he could "tape it" and watch it later, and now with the DVR and Dish network he is set up.
Yes, we used to bug him with the "is it Real" questions, and how stupid the conversations were. Over the years I have made peace with the authenticity, and have embraced the entertainment value. Whatever that value may be, my Dad is entertained by it, and that is all that matters. Right? I think it is great that he has something that is his joy. The last several trips to Texas that I have made have involved several hours of watching 'rastling with my Dad. Like anything on TV if I watch it long enough I get into it, or just get used to it.
I went into this WWE "project" as something for my Dad, and I wanted to go into it with a good attitude. I love my Dad and want to support him, the way he has supported me all my life. I was going to enjoy going to the 'rastling matches, if it killed my sensibilities. At first I was going to make a joke of the whole thing, but then I realized that, this is something that my Dad is into. So, I can't make a joke of something that is part of my Dad, no matter what I think about it.
After going to see the WWE, I have made some changes to my thinking. A) The people that go to watch are just as diverse as any sporting event involving a winner and a loser. I saw everything there. All walks of life, and yes I wanted to document it all on film, but that would make me and A-hole. One can throw classifications around all day, just be careful that you don't get hit by them yourself. "People who live in glass houses -shouldn't throw rocks" The average 'rastling fan is there to be entertained. And you know what? It is entertaining. The fans love it and the WWE spoon-feeds them what they want. It is like the most base common denominator entertainment, but it works, and works well. Is it simple, yes -but it works. I cannot hate on these people because of my system of entertainment. They love what they love, and it is to be entertained. Plain and simple. Don't judge.
2) I was entertained. I had a great time. Do you know how cathartic it is to Boo the villain? Cheer the hero? I found out that clapping or chanting someones name they gain strength and can whoop anyone. It is amazing, I think the next time someone needs CPR, I'm just going to clap and chant their name. This multi-million $ enterprise sells a great product, and they do it a lot. They are playing a show almost every-other night. I am impressed with this business. Not a fan, but I was entertained. I would go back. It is base, simple, and no matter the authenticity it is pure. Pure entertainment.
Yes, we used to bug him with the "is it Real" questions, and how stupid the conversations were. Over the years I have made peace with the authenticity, and have embraced the entertainment value. Whatever that value may be, my Dad is entertained by it, and that is all that matters. Right? I think it is great that he has something that is his joy. The last several trips to Texas that I have made have involved several hours of watching 'rastling with my Dad. Like anything on TV if I watch it long enough I get into it, or just get used to it.
I went into this WWE "project" as something for my Dad, and I wanted to go into it with a good attitude. I love my Dad and want to support him, the way he has supported me all my life. I was going to enjoy going to the 'rastling matches, if it killed my sensibilities. At first I was going to make a joke of the whole thing, but then I realized that, this is something that my Dad is into. So, I can't make a joke of something that is part of my Dad, no matter what I think about it.
After going to see the WWE, I have made some changes to my thinking. A) The people that go to watch are just as diverse as any sporting event involving a winner and a loser. I saw everything there. All walks of life, and yes I wanted to document it all on film, but that would make me and A-hole. One can throw classifications around all day, just be careful that you don't get hit by them yourself. "People who live in glass houses -shouldn't throw rocks" The average 'rastling fan is there to be entertained. And you know what? It is entertaining. The fans love it and the WWE spoon-feeds them what they want. It is like the most base common denominator entertainment, but it works, and works well. Is it simple, yes -but it works. I cannot hate on these people because of my system of entertainment. They love what they love, and it is to be entertained. Plain and simple. Don't judge.
2) I was entertained. I had a great time. Do you know how cathartic it is to Boo the villain? Cheer the hero? I found out that clapping or chanting someones name they gain strength and can whoop anyone. It is amazing, I think the next time someone needs CPR, I'm just going to clap and chant their name. This multi-million $ enterprise sells a great product, and they do it a lot. They are playing a show almost every-other night. I am impressed with this business. Not a fan, but I was entertained. I would go back. It is base, simple, and no matter the authenticity it is pure. Pure entertainment.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Grinding Gears
This last Sunday I left work and jumped on the turnpike to head to Texas. Roadtrip to see my Dad, and Mom, but this was for my Dad's 70th birthday. My wife and I bought tickets to take my Dad to see WWE Smackdown at the BOK. I was on my way to pick him up and hang out. He is a huge fan of wrestling, Professional Wrestling that is. Has been since I can remember. And, I remember watching wrestling with my Dad on TV, well as long as I can remember watching TV. That is a lot of TV wrestling watching. It's a pure miracle that I am so well adjusted. Or am I?
Monday came early and we set out to ride, me on my bike and my Dad in the follow truck with the dogs. I was on a mission to bag some climbs. There are not too many "climbs" in the Texas Panhandle, but there happens to be two massive (by panhandle standards) climbs 40some odd miles from my parents front door. I set off to slay these two dragons and call it a day. The weather was very beautiful, but the wind was forecast to be out of the North, it was out of the South. Headwind/crosswind all the way. Two hours and some change later we were descending down into the canyon. I could see my prize across the way. It was daunting, and staring me in the face. I flinched. Totally underestimated this climb. I felt beat. Scared.
I stripped off my armwarmers, hat, and unzipped the jersey. This was going to be a battle. Man I did not do my homework on this climb. I had already, in my mind, won this thing. About a mile into this slog, I cracked, there was a small explosion, one might call it a Pop. Yeah, that was me. Done, with a big fork sticking out of my back, not even half-way up. I don't know what it was that hurt the worst? Lungs? Legs? D -all of the above and other things not even on the list were calling in damage reports. "Captain, we've lost contact with the brain, the legs are out of power, and the lungs have imploded. Imminent and total destruction."
Not to ruin the story, but if you are reading this -then I had to write it, so I am still alive. There was no way I was going to willingly get off of my bike with my Dad in the car behind me. Gravity was going to have to pull me to the ground, unconscious, eyes rolled back, mouth foaming. I could not stop even though every fiber of my existence was a deafening roar to quit. I would like to write that I "dug deep" "went to my special place" "gutted it out" "buried myself in the pain cave", but these would be lies. Knowing my Dad was with me, I forced every labored pedal turn one over the other in a slow display of "square pedaling", out of sheer pride. That's right, Pride.
I had cracked, but I wanted my Dad to see me, to be proud of me, to show him that I could fight and be his son. I wanted to be able to look my Dad in the eye and know that he was proud of me. My Dad would have been proud of me if I had stopped at the start of the climb. I wanted him to share my victory against this climb as if it were his own. There was no stopping, I turned myself inside out for pride. I was so spent, I was finished. We pulled into the rest stop/scenic overlook to potty the dogs and to have a look at the beast from the top. I pulled off my jersey and changed into street clothes, put the bike in the pick-up bed and hopped in. Finished. I had one more climb to do, but not today. I won a battle, but the war is still there waiting. Like General MacArthur I shall return. I will live to fight another day, my Dad at my side pushing me up a small canyon wall in the Texas Panhandle.
Cheers, Dad
Monday came early and we set out to ride, me on my bike and my Dad in the follow truck with the dogs. I was on a mission to bag some climbs. There are not too many "climbs" in the Texas Panhandle, but there happens to be two massive (by panhandle standards) climbs 40some odd miles from my parents front door. I set off to slay these two dragons and call it a day. The weather was very beautiful, but the wind was forecast to be out of the North, it was out of the South. Headwind/crosswind all the way. Two hours and some change later we were descending down into the canyon. I could see my prize across the way. It was daunting, and staring me in the face. I flinched. Totally underestimated this climb. I felt beat. Scared.
I stripped off my armwarmers, hat, and unzipped the jersey. This was going to be a battle. Man I did not do my homework on this climb. I had already, in my mind, won this thing. About a mile into this slog, I cracked, there was a small explosion, one might call it a Pop. Yeah, that was me. Done, with a big fork sticking out of my back, not even half-way up. I don't know what it was that hurt the worst? Lungs? Legs? D -all of the above and other things not even on the list were calling in damage reports. "Captain, we've lost contact with the brain, the legs are out of power, and the lungs have imploded. Imminent and total destruction."
Not to ruin the story, but if you are reading this -then I had to write it, so I am still alive. There was no way I was going to willingly get off of my bike with my Dad in the car behind me. Gravity was going to have to pull me to the ground, unconscious, eyes rolled back, mouth foaming. I could not stop even though every fiber of my existence was a deafening roar to quit. I would like to write that I "dug deep" "went to my special place" "gutted it out" "buried myself in the pain cave", but these would be lies. Knowing my Dad was with me, I forced every labored pedal turn one over the other in a slow display of "square pedaling", out of sheer pride. That's right, Pride.
I had cracked, but I wanted my Dad to see me, to be proud of me, to show him that I could fight and be his son. I wanted to be able to look my Dad in the eye and know that he was proud of me. My Dad would have been proud of me if I had stopped at the start of the climb. I wanted him to share my victory against this climb as if it were his own. There was no stopping, I turned myself inside out for pride. I was so spent, I was finished. We pulled into the rest stop/scenic overlook to potty the dogs and to have a look at the beast from the top. I pulled off my jersey and changed into street clothes, put the bike in the pick-up bed and hopped in. Finished. I had one more climb to do, but not today. I won a battle, but the war is still there waiting. Like General MacArthur I shall return. I will live to fight another day, my Dad at my side pushing me up a small canyon wall in the Texas Panhandle.
Cheers, Dad
Thursday, February 2, 2012
I want to...
I've been to the well, and the well has gone dry.
Sometimes I just don't have anything to say, or feel like what I do have is not worth the effort. With that being said, I am putting the caffeine levels at max, chaining myself to the chair and putting letters on a glowing screen in no particular order. If they happen to form words and sentences and a paragraph or two then I will have a small success. Like clearing the first level of Mario Bros. Yeah, kinda like that.
It's not that I don't have the time. Between loads of laundry, vacuuming, dishes, cooking, brewing, riding bikes, and working at the shop, I really do have time. I do. I don't know what has been my problem? Desire? ADHD? Not drinking enough? Maybe I have too much to write about and it had clogged the well and nothing is going to come out? Is that even possible? With all the bike riding I have been doing, I have written hundreds of things in my head, if I could only get it in a readable format for you. My reader. All three of you, and Mike.
With my new phase of life working at the shop it has put a question mark on my super fabulous career as a Cat IV bike racer. I am OK with this. I want to race bikes, but I don't need to race bikes. Going into this race season I have put all training on hold, an indefinite hold because I don't know when, where, or how I will be racing. I have done zero intervals, I have looked at my HR but only out of curiosity, and watts are just numbers on a screen. I have 0 trainer miles. My fitness is a giant ?.
I am riding bikes to ride bikes. I, for the past several years have tried to have some sort of "training" program that I follow or don't follow. This has gotten me some fitness and has kept me entertained looking at power files, charts, graphs, zodiac signs, and fortune cookies. All of this has gotten me to the same place every time. This realization is............ I love to ride my bike. I love to ride whether it involves power/HR constraints or if it is just to run an errand. It is a bike. Bikes are cool. They are hella fun to ride.
Don't get me wrong, I still ride strapped up to my HR and the PT wheel is on the road bike. On the MTB I only look at distance, elevation, and time. For some strange reason I do wear my HR on the Cross bike. It's not that I don't like numbers, I do. I like to look at accumulated time, distance, and my favorite is elevation. I like to get high. I don't necessarily like to climb, but I like what climbing does for me. You got to get up to get down. This is so true on the MTB...earn your turns. On the road I love a good climb if it is rewarded with a screaming down hill and an ear to ear grin.
Riding a bike for the sake of just riding a bike has given me a new love for the bike. I don't "have" to ride my bike, I now want to ride my bike. My goals are no longer convoluted, my goal is simple.
Ride
Sometimes I just don't have anything to say, or feel like what I do have is not worth the effort. With that being said, I am putting the caffeine levels at max, chaining myself to the chair and putting letters on a glowing screen in no particular order. If they happen to form words and sentences and a paragraph or two then I will have a small success. Like clearing the first level of Mario Bros. Yeah, kinda like that.
It's not that I don't have the time. Between loads of laundry, vacuuming, dishes, cooking, brewing, riding bikes, and working at the shop, I really do have time. I do. I don't know what has been my problem? Desire? ADHD? Not drinking enough? Maybe I have too much to write about and it had clogged the well and nothing is going to come out? Is that even possible? With all the bike riding I have been doing, I have written hundreds of things in my head, if I could only get it in a readable format for you. My reader. All three of you, and Mike.
With my new phase of life working at the shop it has put a question mark on my super fabulous career as a Cat IV bike racer. I am OK with this. I want to race bikes, but I don't need to race bikes. Going into this race season I have put all training on hold, an indefinite hold because I don't know when, where, or how I will be racing. I have done zero intervals, I have looked at my HR but only out of curiosity, and watts are just numbers on a screen. I have 0 trainer miles. My fitness is a giant ?.
I am riding bikes to ride bikes. I, for the past several years have tried to have some sort of "training" program that I follow or don't follow. This has gotten me some fitness and has kept me entertained looking at power files, charts, graphs, zodiac signs, and fortune cookies. All of this has gotten me to the same place every time. This realization is............ I love to ride my bike. I love to ride whether it involves power/HR constraints or if it is just to run an errand. It is a bike. Bikes are cool. They are hella fun to ride.
Don't get me wrong, I still ride strapped up to my HR and the PT wheel is on the road bike. On the MTB I only look at distance, elevation, and time. For some strange reason I do wear my HR on the Cross bike. It's not that I don't like numbers, I do. I like to look at accumulated time, distance, and my favorite is elevation. I like to get high. I don't necessarily like to climb, but I like what climbing does for me. You got to get up to get down. This is so true on the MTB...earn your turns. On the road I love a good climb if it is rewarded with a screaming down hill and an ear to ear grin.
Riding a bike for the sake of just riding a bike has given me a new love for the bike. I don't "have" to ride my bike, I now want to ride my bike. My goals are no longer convoluted, my goal is simple.
Ride
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Come Together
I've been kind of a hermit with my riding lately, just riding from and to work with the detour here and there for some extra miles. Riding bikes is about riding bikes, but one can make the experience so much better when it is shared. I was reminded this on Sunday when I was coerced into riding with the group. It looked like the makings of a horrible ride. High wind and flat roads. Two of my least favorites especially when put together in an equation such as this. I rode to the shop to meet up with everyone and overdressed. Good thing I have a locker at the shop.
Quick inspection of the group, and I don't know half of these people. I'm starting to sweat, and it is not from layers -I just took those off. We headed out onto the trail and my worst fears were coming true. The crosswind had everyone ducking for cover. There were a few squirrely wheels and I was on high alert. Flat, right out of the box. This is not a good sign. I rubbed the Madonna hanging around my neck and made a quick plea.
Back on the road and we were working the headwind, we had the horse power to do it. I stayed in the back to keep an eye on everyone, and to get comfortable riding with strangers. It took a little more than an hour before we started having people come apart, but that was cool because we formed small groups and worked to keep everyone together.
I do love riding in groups, especially when it has good cohesion and somewhat of a common goal. Stay together. I firmly believe that absence makes the heart grow fonder, I just forget the fondness that I have. This was a great group ride and everyone in the group "got it". With everyone working together and staying together we were able to maintain a good pace and not have to surge and slow, surge and slow.
Companionship is a group thing, it's hard to practice alone. There is nothing better that flying with a tail wind with your 'mates arm over your shoulder bar-to-bar at 25mph telling you how good it is to be on a ride with you. The feeling is mutual. The shared experience, may it be one-on-one or with a group it is a special bond that we all share. Pain, Joy, Freedom, Friendship.
Quick inspection of the group, and I don't know half of these people. I'm starting to sweat, and it is not from layers -I just took those off. We headed out onto the trail and my worst fears were coming true. The crosswind had everyone ducking for cover. There were a few squirrely wheels and I was on high alert. Flat, right out of the box. This is not a good sign. I rubbed the Madonna hanging around my neck and made a quick plea.
Back on the road and we were working the headwind, we had the horse power to do it. I stayed in the back to keep an eye on everyone, and to get comfortable riding with strangers. It took a little more than an hour before we started having people come apart, but that was cool because we formed small groups and worked to keep everyone together.
I do love riding in groups, especially when it has good cohesion and somewhat of a common goal. Stay together. I firmly believe that absence makes the heart grow fonder, I just forget the fondness that I have. This was a great group ride and everyone in the group "got it". With everyone working together and staying together we were able to maintain a good pace and not have to surge and slow, surge and slow.
Companionship is a group thing, it's hard to practice alone. There is nothing better that flying with a tail wind with your 'mates arm over your shoulder bar-to-bar at 25mph telling you how good it is to be on a ride with you. The feeling is mutual. The shared experience, may it be one-on-one or with a group it is a special bond that we all share. Pain, Joy, Freedom, Friendship.
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