Sometimes, in the interest of HTFU, I enjoy setting myself
an unreachable goal. Yesterday’s ride
was like that. Leaving at 3 for a three plus
hour ride, the true length of which would be determined by riding hard for an
hour and a half on the way out with a predominant tailwind, and returning
fatigued into a headwind while trying to beat the sunset at 6:00. This is, quite simply, a formula for not
getting back by sunset, for bonking into a headwind miles from home as the
darkness slowly and inevitably descends, and for getting home solely on the
anticipation of warmth and a hot cup of tea.
I had taken a hooky day and was feeling quite
Buelleresque. The miles rolled by as I
headed north on the Burke-Gilman, not to any physical point on the trail, but
to a point in time. I love this trail on
quiet weeknights, the cold February wind keeping the fair weather riders,
joggers, and walkers away. As the trail
turned east and then south at the top end of Lake Washington, my tailwind
turned to a sidewind to a headwind, and I got my first real taste of what would
await on the return trip. My legs turned
to mush, but I still had 20 minutes remaining to meet with my date in time,
which I stubbornly refused to miss, despite my legs telling me otherwise.
 |
| The wide open and windy stretch of the Sammamish River Trail where I turned around. Beautifully deserted on a cold Winter day. |
This is how it is early in the year, the legs unaccustomed
to rides lasting more than a couple of hours being reacquainted with such
efforts. I checked the phone a couple
times to see whether it was time to turn around yet. Nope, 14 more minutes, then 4, then finally
it is time. This too frequent checking a
sign of weakness of resolve, it must be quashed. Turning around for the short downwind leg
brings brief respite, a chance to get some food and fluids down in
preparation. A turn back to the south,
and boom – headwind. I knew it was
coming, it was a part of the calculations, and these situations often feel to
me to be both easier and harder than anticipated. Harder as the legs are protesting against the
increased mileage, and easier because there is nothing to do but keep going,
keep changing position, stand up and push a big gear, sit in the saddle and
spin a small one, change rhythm.
Most of the way back down into this headwind, I get a text
from Velomihottie, who is done with a frustrating day at work and wants to take
a ride, she will come and meet me on the trail.
In a short while, she is there at the side of the trail, and proposes I
turn around to go back up to Magnuson Park with her. No, thanks, I tell her, let’s just head
home. With her, we chat about the day we’ve
each had, plans for the evening (Taco Tuesday), and just generally
converse. This takes my mind off the legs
and makes the rest of the ride home a relative breeze. In fact, the last couple of miles, I seem to
recover a second wind, and we joke around by her grabbing onto my jersey and me
pulling her along coasting. We got home,
and then it was time for Taco Tuesday (all you can eat for $6.00 – I had 8) and
a couple of large beers which taste like the best beer ever due to the effort.
