I went out for a gravel ride with a couple of friends yesterday morning. It was nasty, cold and windy. And it turned out to be a great time.
I’m absolutely digging my gravel bike nowadays. It’s nothing special, but it fits right and riding in the dirt makes reminds me of my childhood. That’s all good.
We were cruising down the road, Chuck, Robert and me, and Chuck started pulling away. Robert, a big fella, was having a tough time holding our wheel on hills and we were laboring up a doozy. Chuck pulled away and I decided to stay with Robert… no sense in racing up a hill, just to wait at the top.
We crested the hill, warmed up from the effort, and Chuck was already down the back of the hill and on his way up the next. We just took our time. Over the next hill, Chuck was pulled over, waiting for us.
I didn’t let up. I unclipped my left foot, my right pedal low, and pushed out with my right foot while I hit the back brake, causing the back tire to slide out. I slid to a stop a foot from Chuck, a smile across my frozen mug.
We pulled into Chuck’s driveway with 27 wonderful, cold, cloudy, windy, gnarly miles. I got a good smile out of it, though. As nasty as it was – we were riding through flurries at times – I was out with my friends, staying fit. The pace was slow, but I didn’t have a care in the world. All outdoor miles at this time of year are bonus miles.
Good times and noodle salad, my friends.
I’ve got just 81 miles left to hit 6,000 outdoor miles, and I passed 7,500 overall yesterday.