Riding is like flying. I don't need wings. When I ride, I lose the stress. I lose the anger. I lose the chatter inside my head. And if I can't, I just ride harder until my brain can do nothing except remind my legs to keep turning. When my mind and body reach that point of intersection, time stops. There is no other feeling like it. I could stay in that moment forever.
In my history, I have always been a cyclist. Well, there was that time when I lived in Raleigh, North Carolina when I didn't ride. Several years went by and my bikes just sat there unused, tires dry rotting into dust. I'm not sure what I did during that time to stay fit or to ward off the feelings of gloom that always follow an extended period away from the bicycle. I was married at the time and well, I've blocked a lot of that era out of my mind. Raleigh was a dead time for me. Some wonderful things happened during that era. Some horrible things as well. But all of them happened without cycling being a significant part of my life.
Before Raleigh, there was the Appalachian foothills of Virginia. The terrain and the scenery were amazing but the roads were not exactly bike friendly. Still, there were plenty of places within an hour from home that could break your legs as fast as anything in the Rockies where I now live. Virginia is still my favorite scenery for riding. There are actual trees and rivers if you can believe that. There are rolling hills and an endless supply of air, something decidedly lacking when you get to 10,000ft above sea level. Virginia was where I grew up and that's where I fell in love with the bicycle.
Now I live in Colorado. When I first got here, my mental state resembled the aftermath of a hurricane. I rode as much as I could while trying to first avoid the jealousy and contempt from my now former wife. A piece of advice: if your girlfriend doesn't love that you love riding, stop reading this blog immediately and throw all her shit out on the lawn. My first rides here were sufferfests, short intense struggles to find air. I eventually got used to riding at altitude and discovered that I'm not really a good climber when the terrain goes over 10,000 feet. I kept exploring the trails and roads surrounding my home and all the while my love of cycling was rekindled. I entered my first race, the Mt. Evans Hill Climb in 2007, immersed myself in cycling workshops, met some great friends, started racing cyclocross, and rediscovered the place I am most comfortable is on a bike saddle.
As of right now, my rides here are almost always of the 'training' variety. I seldom go out on the bike without a plan. That's both good and bad. Good because I'm getting more and more fit every time I go out and bad because I often forget the real reason for riding: the feelings that accompany being on the bike. As a good friend of mine once said "people in Colorado don't ride, they train." And he's right. Out here I log a couple thousand miles every year. I love riding in Colorado. But right now, I find myself riding more for the fitness than the sheer enjoyment of the freedom the bicycle brings. I have a schedule, detailed and planned with my good friend and coach, Randy. So that the training doesn't become tedious, Randy often says: "take the bike for a walk." And he means: go ride for fun. I've learned to listen and do what he says, although sometimes I have to run into a wall to remember his wisdom.
The goal of all this training is to be more fit and to race well in the fall. Well, that's the superficial goal. The underlying need for all this training is the craving for that rush, the lust for flight.
The bicycle is my escape. When I'm riding I am not of this world.
