I walked out of my office after a
brutal run-of-the-mill Monday… The door opened with a whoosh and I was hit in the chest by the heat.
As I drove home I could feel the day weighing on me. My shoulders slumped a bit after I settled into my long stretch on the freeway.
It was five degrees warmer at home. Less wind. I was sweating by the time I hit the front door, less than 50 feet from my car. It was that hot.
I sat down on the couch, AC blasting cool air at me… after reading two posts I fell asleep.
Fifteen minutes later, on the nose, I woke up with a decision to make. It’s so freaking hot out there and my legs are fairly smoked after a big 250+ mile week during which I didn’t even need an 80 miler, let alone a century (I almost always need one century in there to make 250). In other words, a day off could easily be justified. My last true day off the bike was 10 or 11 days ago, I think.
I walked into the bike room and looked at my Venge. Dude.
I made my way into my bedroom and dressed to roll. Headsweats, helmet, shades, gloves, shoes, water, pump the tires up…
For the first time, I think since I started cycling, I really didn’t care how long it took to complete my 16 mile loop.
The wind was ridiculous. Instead of cooling me down it was like being blasted by a 20 mph furnace out of the west. I just went to it. The second mile, heading west, made me laugh out loud. 15 mph, in the drops and spinning like I meant it.
Later on, heading west, was laughable as well. 27 mph, keeping up with traffic, soft pedaling.
I rolled into the driveway smiling, 16 miles on the nose, in an easy 55 minutes. It wasn’t my slowest ride on a road bike, that goes to riding with my kids, but it was among my slowest solo rides on the Venge ever.
My gut, that fat guy inside me just looking for a flaw in the armor, hates my Venge. It hates my love of cycling. It hates that I’d rather ride slow than not at all. It hates that there’s no quit in me.
My gut hates that there are no flaws in the armor. The rest of me digs it though.