velotel
05-01-2016, 05:13 AM
Incontrovertible proof that her husband is stark raving mad, no two ways about it. Yesterday afternoon, I needed a ride, like badly needed a ride. The bod shuddering and shaking, the gray matter going all wobbly and spinning inside the cage that’s my head, definitely time to ride. And it was raining. But lightly.
No problem, drop down into the valley, probably dry there, or maybe dry there, or at least dryer there. Besides, it’s just an annoyingly persistent shower. Layered up, wrapped my phone and wallet inside a plastic bag, put the bike in the truck, headed off. Two minutes later the rain starts splattering the car with force. Well, damn. Hit the valley floor, still raining. I stall for time by fumbling around with thoughts on what I’ll ride. Or even if I’ll ride. I mean getting caught in the rain during a ride is one thing, starting off a ride in the rain is an entirely different scenario.
Enough stalling, time to ride, do a portion of my farm roads time trial course, enough to satisfy the needs until another day. My time trial course is broken up in unequal thirds. The shortest of the three is the second third. I park on the limit between the first and the second. Figure I’ll ride to the third third and back. Should be enough. Still raining, hard enough to hear it on the roof of my truck. Bike out, shoes on, layers zipped up, do a quick burn, day like this pretty much mandatory. Like putting a finger on the scale.
Roll into the wetness, small roads, rustic asphalt all gnarly and calloused like an old farmer’s hands. It’s spring so lots of fresh patches of blacktop dressed with thin robes of fine gravel. I’m running 28 mm tires with low pressure so no problem. On the big ring, small cog in back, rolling fast, through the rain. Thoroughly enjoying myself. The farmers have been working the fields along the road and every time they drive their tractors onto the road, they leave smears and clogs of dirt behind. The road transformed into modern art.
Hit the frontier between the second and third thirds and slow just enough to make sure the highway’s clear then hammer across and into the third third, the longest of the three. With that the rain discovers a new level of enthusiasm but too late now, I’m in the rhythm, the bit between my teeth, no way the rain’s stopping me. Plus since the wind’s in my face I know the return is going to be fast. Not crazy fast, wind’s not strong enough for that, but fast enough.
I’m deep into the last third, the road weaving through some pockets of forest, and I’m flat flying up the valley. All things being relative of course. I mean I’m alone out here so there’s no one to measure my speed against which means if I feel fast, I am fast. By now I’ve got to be pretty friggin wet but I don’t feel wet, not even my feet feel wet. Might be because I can’t feel them. But if I look down, there they are still clipped into fast spinning pedals so all must be well.
Get to the end, decision time. I could go left and climb up onto a low plateau for a return loop or just reverse all I just rode. The plateau’s good, but not today. Too much fun powering the flats. Do a lazy turn around, a rolling rest, back into the fray, moving down the cogs, picking up speed, sliding into my Cancellara mode, which admittedly hasn’t been upgraded in way too long. I suspect my version can’t even be updated anymore; the hardware’s too old.
Wind on the back, speed city, rain or no rain. Rain means no ambulatory road furniture, as in walkers, mothers pushing strollers, small kids on bikes guarded by parents on foot, dogs darting left and right, runners, joggers, adolescents playing with their phones, the usual suspects. Actually I finally did come across two walkers, an older couple strolling through the rain. They heard me coming up behind them and turned around and looked to see what the noise was. And just stood there, pretty well blocking up the road, staring at me with that deer in the headlamps look. I hugged the left margin, flew by in a spray of dirty water.
Cross back into the second third, jamming hard, hit the frontier between the second and the first, blast across and start ripping across the first third, rain pelting down out of low clouds, and I’m grinning like an idiot. The first third has lots of optional dirt road sections, I hit them all, splashing through puddles, mud splattering out from under the tires. Get to the start of the first third, turn around, head back, intensity needle still hovering in the red, only now the speed has faded. Must admit when I turned around I glanced a little longingly at where I usually park and was thinking would have been nice if my car was there instead of back on the far side of the first third, the second longest. Ducked my head, called down to the engine department for more power, blasted on down the dirt road, following my tracks I’d left coming. I was impressed by how deep they were. No wonder I was moving slower!
Hit the frontier between the first and second thirds, turned right, a hundred meters later back at my car. Stop, manage to not fall over, just stand there straddling the top tube for a minute, finally and rather slowly and carefully swing my leg over the saddle. Not easy. Bike back in the truck, change shoes, slide into the driver’s seat, settle back, beat. Over two hours of riding through the rain, intensity needle almost bouncing off the limit peg the whole time, just insane. No question about it. I mean, I’m talking totally insane good fun. Yes!
Get back to the house, my wife looks at me, shakes her head, mutters something about people my age knowing better. What can I say, no age limit to fun. Bag it while I can. Excellent!
No problem, drop down into the valley, probably dry there, or maybe dry there, or at least dryer there. Besides, it’s just an annoyingly persistent shower. Layered up, wrapped my phone and wallet inside a plastic bag, put the bike in the truck, headed off. Two minutes later the rain starts splattering the car with force. Well, damn. Hit the valley floor, still raining. I stall for time by fumbling around with thoughts on what I’ll ride. Or even if I’ll ride. I mean getting caught in the rain during a ride is one thing, starting off a ride in the rain is an entirely different scenario.
Enough stalling, time to ride, do a portion of my farm roads time trial course, enough to satisfy the needs until another day. My time trial course is broken up in unequal thirds. The shortest of the three is the second third. I park on the limit between the first and the second. Figure I’ll ride to the third third and back. Should be enough. Still raining, hard enough to hear it on the roof of my truck. Bike out, shoes on, layers zipped up, do a quick burn, day like this pretty much mandatory. Like putting a finger on the scale.
Roll into the wetness, small roads, rustic asphalt all gnarly and calloused like an old farmer’s hands. It’s spring so lots of fresh patches of blacktop dressed with thin robes of fine gravel. I’m running 28 mm tires with low pressure so no problem. On the big ring, small cog in back, rolling fast, through the rain. Thoroughly enjoying myself. The farmers have been working the fields along the road and every time they drive their tractors onto the road, they leave smears and clogs of dirt behind. The road transformed into modern art.
Hit the frontier between the second and third thirds and slow just enough to make sure the highway’s clear then hammer across and into the third third, the longest of the three. With that the rain discovers a new level of enthusiasm but too late now, I’m in the rhythm, the bit between my teeth, no way the rain’s stopping me. Plus since the wind’s in my face I know the return is going to be fast. Not crazy fast, wind’s not strong enough for that, but fast enough.
I’m deep into the last third, the road weaving through some pockets of forest, and I’m flat flying up the valley. All things being relative of course. I mean I’m alone out here so there’s no one to measure my speed against which means if I feel fast, I am fast. By now I’ve got to be pretty friggin wet but I don’t feel wet, not even my feet feel wet. Might be because I can’t feel them. But if I look down, there they are still clipped into fast spinning pedals so all must be well.
Get to the end, decision time. I could go left and climb up onto a low plateau for a return loop or just reverse all I just rode. The plateau’s good, but not today. Too much fun powering the flats. Do a lazy turn around, a rolling rest, back into the fray, moving down the cogs, picking up speed, sliding into my Cancellara mode, which admittedly hasn’t been upgraded in way too long. I suspect my version can’t even be updated anymore; the hardware’s too old.
Wind on the back, speed city, rain or no rain. Rain means no ambulatory road furniture, as in walkers, mothers pushing strollers, small kids on bikes guarded by parents on foot, dogs darting left and right, runners, joggers, adolescents playing with their phones, the usual suspects. Actually I finally did come across two walkers, an older couple strolling through the rain. They heard me coming up behind them and turned around and looked to see what the noise was. And just stood there, pretty well blocking up the road, staring at me with that deer in the headlamps look. I hugged the left margin, flew by in a spray of dirty water.
Cross back into the second third, jamming hard, hit the frontier between the second and the first, blast across and start ripping across the first third, rain pelting down out of low clouds, and I’m grinning like an idiot. The first third has lots of optional dirt road sections, I hit them all, splashing through puddles, mud splattering out from under the tires. Get to the start of the first third, turn around, head back, intensity needle still hovering in the red, only now the speed has faded. Must admit when I turned around I glanced a little longingly at where I usually park and was thinking would have been nice if my car was there instead of back on the far side of the first third, the second longest. Ducked my head, called down to the engine department for more power, blasted on down the dirt road, following my tracks I’d left coming. I was impressed by how deep they were. No wonder I was moving slower!
Hit the frontier between the first and second thirds, turned right, a hundred meters later back at my car. Stop, manage to not fall over, just stand there straddling the top tube for a minute, finally and rather slowly and carefully swing my leg over the saddle. Not easy. Bike back in the truck, change shoes, slide into the driver’s seat, settle back, beat. Over two hours of riding through the rain, intensity needle almost bouncing off the limit peg the whole time, just insane. No question about it. I mean, I’m talking totally insane good fun. Yes!
Get back to the house, my wife looks at me, shakes her head, mutters something about people my age knowing better. What can I say, no age limit to fun. Bag it while I can. Excellent!