velotel
11-09-2012, 02:35 AM
Thirty years old, the time flew. He celebrates his birthday with a ride. Like me. Air’s cold enough for thick tights and multiple layers up top. Bowl and roll time. Through the first bends in the forest, picking up speed, but slowly. It’s not a race. Up the first grade. May not be a race but I can feel a subtle increase in the power. Expected of course. He’s young, strong, eager, full of living. I lean in, call up some more effort from the leg department. Breathing a little ragged but not too much, not like some mornings when I wonder if something is going to explode.
Over the top, and down, nothing major, just a grade into the next village. Whipping through the bends, watching for cars, walkers. Into the roundabout, leaning through then stroking hard. Starting to feel excellent. At least in the downhills he can’t drop me, or at least not too much. A fifty pound weight advantage always pulls him ahead. Gravity likes weight.
Out of the village into my favorite section. A round curve to the left, hillside dropping off to the right, the Alps across the valley, soft red from the sun sliding over the horizon. Spinning hard, banking through the bends, side by side. Big grins. Into the next village, over a couple of speed bumps, no slowing for those, pull the bike up, roll over smooth and easy. A left turn, past the monastery, turn right, and into the climb. A short K at 8%, maybe a wee bit more. Settle in, feeling strong. He could drop me here, but doesn’t. Settles for my pace. Not sure if it’s him or just me searching for the past but I’m pushing hard, carrying more speed than I usually do. Breathing hard, riding smooth, out of the saddle, working the bike.
Hit the crest and the flat afterwards. Moving over the cogs, picking up the pace. Grinning, yea, that was good. Past my Kokak corner, on to the col, into the parking lot. Slow circuit, glance over, a grin, a nod, we’re off. The return is fast. Big gears, twilight now, lights on, blinking mode to be seen. Back through the villages, into the final bends just before the house, up the short, final grade, the traditional final sprint where he always crushes me. I give it my best anyway. Maybe even a bit more than my best because it’s his birthday. He deserves that. Curl into the driveway, down the stone walkway, past the rain water reservoir, ride’s over. High fives.
Perfect. Quick shower, down into the wine cellar for a good bottle to celebrate with, a nicely aged Bordeaux. Glance at the clock, timing good. Grab the phone, punch ‘M’ for Mat, it rings, picked up immediately. He was waiting for my call. Knew I’d call for his birthday. He’s in Moab with friends to celebrate with, to ride the rock, ride the canyons, fat tires only. Told him I did a ride with him to celebrate. And opened a good bottle of wine. He knew I’d do all that. Tells me he’s got this box of wine for his birthday, 12 assorted bottles, some to drink, some to keep for years. Every time he opens one, he’ll give me a thought.
Would have been better to ride with him with him there beside me instead of inside my head. Good anyway. Colorado to France too far at times. Another autumn, another year. Seems like I’m noticing the years pass more than ever. Makes me realize how little time he and I have really spent together. How little we’ve ridden together. A problem of timing. I was 37 when he was born. By the time he fully realized how much he loved riding, I was already past my peak. He’s heard lots of stories of my riding when I was younger but never saw it himself. Now he has to look back to see me riding. Just timing.
Tell him he’s done well. Better than me. I’m proud of him. A good kid. Hard to ask for more than that.
Over the top, and down, nothing major, just a grade into the next village. Whipping through the bends, watching for cars, walkers. Into the roundabout, leaning through then stroking hard. Starting to feel excellent. At least in the downhills he can’t drop me, or at least not too much. A fifty pound weight advantage always pulls him ahead. Gravity likes weight.
Out of the village into my favorite section. A round curve to the left, hillside dropping off to the right, the Alps across the valley, soft red from the sun sliding over the horizon. Spinning hard, banking through the bends, side by side. Big grins. Into the next village, over a couple of speed bumps, no slowing for those, pull the bike up, roll over smooth and easy. A left turn, past the monastery, turn right, and into the climb. A short K at 8%, maybe a wee bit more. Settle in, feeling strong. He could drop me here, but doesn’t. Settles for my pace. Not sure if it’s him or just me searching for the past but I’m pushing hard, carrying more speed than I usually do. Breathing hard, riding smooth, out of the saddle, working the bike.
Hit the crest and the flat afterwards. Moving over the cogs, picking up the pace. Grinning, yea, that was good. Past my Kokak corner, on to the col, into the parking lot. Slow circuit, glance over, a grin, a nod, we’re off. The return is fast. Big gears, twilight now, lights on, blinking mode to be seen. Back through the villages, into the final bends just before the house, up the short, final grade, the traditional final sprint where he always crushes me. I give it my best anyway. Maybe even a bit more than my best because it’s his birthday. He deserves that. Curl into the driveway, down the stone walkway, past the rain water reservoir, ride’s over. High fives.
Perfect. Quick shower, down into the wine cellar for a good bottle to celebrate with, a nicely aged Bordeaux. Glance at the clock, timing good. Grab the phone, punch ‘M’ for Mat, it rings, picked up immediately. He was waiting for my call. Knew I’d call for his birthday. He’s in Moab with friends to celebrate with, to ride the rock, ride the canyons, fat tires only. Told him I did a ride with him to celebrate. And opened a good bottle of wine. He knew I’d do all that. Tells me he’s got this box of wine for his birthday, 12 assorted bottles, some to drink, some to keep for years. Every time he opens one, he’ll give me a thought.
Would have been better to ride with him with him there beside me instead of inside my head. Good anyway. Colorado to France too far at times. Another autumn, another year. Seems like I’m noticing the years pass more than ever. Makes me realize how little time he and I have really spent together. How little we’ve ridden together. A problem of timing. I was 37 when he was born. By the time he fully realized how much he loved riding, I was already past my peak. He’s heard lots of stories of my riding when I was younger but never saw it himself. Now he has to look back to see me riding. Just timing.
Tell him he’s done well. Better than me. I’m proud of him. A good kid. Hard to ask for more than that.