Dang!Blog:

The orange sun is hot on my arms. I haven’t even clipped in yet and I’m already sweating. It must be ninety-eight degrees and well past 5 o’clock… I’m not looking forward to this. I quickly run through my stretch routine, strap on my helmet, straighten my sunglasses and sling my left leg over the frame. I really don’t want to be out here, I want to take nap. With a sharp click I mount my left cleat into the pedal and push off, straining my head over my shoulder to check traffic. There is none, thankfully. The pedals are heavy and I strain to accelerate to speed. It’s been too long since I’ve ridden, I can’t push myself today or I’ll be sore and cramping all night.

This saddle is so hard, why did I buy a carbon saddle? It’s a few ounces lighter but it’s hard as cast iron. This sucks, why am I doing this again… Oh yeah, for me. I’ve worked too hard to get into the shape I am in and I’m not going to let myself get gross and lethargic again… and she likes my body.

God, it’s hot. There’s no wind at all. I haven’t gone half a mile and sweat is already stinging my eyes, but my legs are feeling strong, no popping or crunching from my knees. I strain on towards the first climb. Pressing inward on the shifter I drop down a gear and force my feet hard towards the pavement below me. I begin to slow so I force myself from the saddle to a stand and climb.

Left right push pull left push pull right push… rhythm is key. Find that pace and stick with it, don’t push too hard, keep that pace. There, we’re over the first climb, now top the apex and enjoy the downhill.

The downhill brings a needed boost of speed. 18, 20, 22 miles per hour, my computer doesn’t lie. Slamming in to top gear I feel the pressure change in my calves. I dig down to find my misplaced determination. It’s there somewhere, lost amid frequent late night snacks and cigar socials, hiding behind the dead end job right next to the overdue rent payment. 24.6, 27.2 miles per hour and I’m not even trying… this is going to be a good ride. That’s the confidence that I need. I can’t second-guess myself or I’ll lose my concentration. Adrenaline is kicking in now, heart rate at full aerobic state, my breath pounds in my ears drowning out every sound aside from the occasional clack of the chain or chink of rock against the aluminum.

Breath, Breath, In Out In Out, Push pull Out, Push pull In, Push pull Out, Push pull in… breathing is key. Keep your mouth closed, in through the nose, out through the nose. Keep that rhythm, watch the road, head down, eyes forward, keep that mouth shut!

My legs are strong, pounding up and down, in and out like sinewy pistons turning inside an engine of muscle. I am a steam engine or a diesel… well oiled, fueled, designed for power, for speed. The road is flat, the road is open and I force myself ahead. 28, 29.1, 31 miles per hour, can I keep up this pace? In a whirl of pedals and testosterone my mind becomes the camshaft, precisely tuned and orchestrating the movements of every machined part. My nostrils, my lungs are a manifold, mixing air and fuel with protein and carbs for combustion, giving my legs power to press and pull against resistance and gravity and inertia; I cannot be stopped. A car passes on my left; the driver slows to gauge my speed.

That’s right, tubs, bet you wish you could do this!

The excitement is an octane boost to the brain; I must keep my concentration. Breath and heartbeats pound away, my lungs are on fire, quads are tight, but I will not slow. Five miles out already… five more to go then I can rest. I lick the sweat from my lips, it clings to the short whiskers above my mouth and the salty taste reminds me strangely of the sea, even amniotic fluid. I was born for this; this is life. Topping the next hill the sun glares hard in a desperation attempt to quell my advance, but even the sun is powerless. Bugs sting my face and arms as I streak through a cloud black gnats, sticking to my glasses and crawling inside my helmet. Grunting aloud I swat at the survivors and steady my red metal stead. Concentration broken I notice my wrists and elbows throbbing dully from strain, but I still have the energy, and pain is temporary.

Focus on the road, pay attention, pedal and breath, focus, focus… focus is key. You can’t stop now, slacker, you used to ride like this for fun, you can do it again. Focus on the engine. Time those breaths, push and pull… harder!

Only two miles left, my mouth is parched and my tongue ashen, I could slow to drink but in racing mere seconds separate the yellow jersey from the peloton at his heels. I am determined to wear yellow. Rolling hills stab at my thighs and mocking birds do just that as they taunt with their effortless flight. I hate this. But I love this. My groin is numb, my legs cramping, my back and arms in knots. But, riding is freedom. Riding is the dream. Riding sustains. I glance down to check my distance… 9.86, only one eighth of a mile to go, thank you, God. I cross the awaiting finish line at full speed slamming on the brakes and halting next to a deserted mailbox. Faint from the oxygen and adrenaline I become dizzy, leaning on my handlebars to steady myself. I give in to thirst and breath in the tepidly warm water. Moments pass and I settle my self, lower my head and check the computer reading… 22.7 mph average. Nice, very nice. I AM a machine. I replace the bottle, mount up, and turn to begin the return journey, expecting a brisk and refreshing cruise. Abruptly I find the wind.