Just got back from a ride with Louie Sanchez. The Wednesday night right with Mike was rained out, and tonight Mike and many others are heading down to Donaldson Center for a Time Trial. I hate Time Trials. A Time Trial is 20 to 25 minutes of pain that a body should not endure voluntarily. Imagine tensing one muscle in your leg for more that a few minutes. Multiply that muscle by a dozen. I've seen guys bent like rigid crowbars after a time trial that had to be lifted off their bike.
So that left Louie and me to comb the area around Paris Mountain for places to hurt ourselves. I was lucky to have him, because he is a rider that loves to hammer for extended periods, head down, riding the lactic pain train. I sat sheltered in the pocket of calmness right behind him, enjoying the 30 miles per hour express.
Cycling is weird for me. A ride is something to look forward to with anticipation; when it is over you kind of 'gloat' over a good ride. You did good, you didn't get dropped, you beat someone up a problem of a hill, you got through hairy turns without leaving skin on the road. Good rides, with good companions, are more often than not, 'epic' in my mind. I can remember details of them years later.
The thing the makes a ride epic is, of course, the ride itself. In the ride you do things you cannot do on your own. You go faster, longer, harder. Your heart monitor is showing that the heart is contracting much faster than during your training rides, yet you aren't breathing hard! Sometimes you dig down deeper that ever, and it isn't enough, and you find the distance open up to the person in front of you. This is desolation. This also is epic.
There is no music in this post, just some observations about a very interesting part of my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment