my sucky days on the bike likely outnumber my fantastic ones. no big deal.

w pbp just over 5 months away, riding is always on my mind.  oct  '10 sam and i ambitiously attempted a 1000k in hou  and bit it hard.  when this last one was wrapped up, the relief, gratitude and excitement were ridiculous.  if i could give you that feeling, i would. this is the closest i can get.  rescued from dec '14 blog draft archive--

2 days before i left for the hou 1000k, i did a couple of laps at white rock just to keep the blood circulating.  nothing hard.  i had no expectation that day,  it was just supposed to be a shake out ride before i left.  anyway, it was a pretty windy day and coolish out.  my preparation had felt solid. lotsandlots of miles in the previous months, lots of great, productive workouts. 

that day at the lake i was man on fire. cutting through wind. climbing in the big ring. probably catching insects in my teeth, uncontrollably grinning like an idiot. i have felt like that only a few times, probably fewer than a dozen.  legs were flawless, but even more critical than that my head was exactly where it needed to be. and it made me simultaneously peaceful and excited.  if that were a tangible substance, a drug? baby, i'd be mainlining the stuff.

truth be told, those are the kinds of rides where you don't want to come home because you don't want it to end -- that feeling of absolute readiness.  if it is not perfection, it is only an atom away from it. 

i saw a friend the next day in town at an office complex where i was dropping something off.  with that fabulous ride just the day before and me leaving for hou in less then 24h, i am sure i was buzzing and more deliriously excited than usual.  i explained how great the previous day's ride had gone and told him i felt so ready, so on it, and that if i didn't finish, it would be because of some freak accident like a limb spontaneously dropping off.

i had considered a short while back writing little bit about how hou went when i got home,  about how the aftermath was horrid, how it felt like serious ordnance had detonated in my crotch, but i don't think i considered relating the truly beautiful parts. i am not much for proper sequencing, as evidenced by my often cart before the horse ideas in terms of events and training years ago when i first began riding, so let me begin with the last day.  

brookshire to new waverley through navasota was incredibly scenic.  the first part of the ride that day i was in absolute agony.  actually, the night before as spring and i were lying in bed, i told her i was going to quit, that i'd done enough to satisfy myself, and that i'd just head home the next day.  spring is one of the most subtle, tactful, diplomatic and mild mannered people i know.  probably realizing i was half delirious, she listened, made a few neutral type remarks, and told me we'd talk about it more in the morning.  i went to sleep that night feeling great relief.  didn't even set my alarm for 5am.  

i woke up at 5:30 hearing the riders next door in the breakfast area. went to pee.  that it didn't feel like napalm absolutely astounded me. i figured it was a sign to carry on and finish the thing.  gina and spring got up, and as if i were the emperor of tasmania (well, if that were their form of gov), those girls began to poke eggs in my mouth while i was liberally applying chamois cream and putting on reflective gear.

just like that i changed my fate.  i might have said fugg this and gone to the galleria instead before driving home.  but i didn't, and i am not sure why i didn't.

the guys waited 5 or so extra minutes for me under the porte cochere, and then we slowly headed out for our last day to round out the total mileage to our goal of 1000k.  i couldn't sit properly for the first 6 or so miles.  all the usable real estate had been used.  of course knowing i don't have the legs to stand for 195 miles, i had to figure it out.  the answer was pretty obvious; sit and hurt or really quit. once we turned off the highway, everyone wanted to remove layers and pee.  i rode up ahead a little and practiced sitting down. 

big jim, a former longhorn football dude, rolled up to me on the left after he'd gotten his layers squared away and started to talk.  i had my head down.  i started crying because it was incredibly painful, and i was incredibly tired, and although 195 miles is not 224 miles, i didn't know how could manage it for that distance. the best i thought i could do was hope for numbness.  i put my hand out to tell jim i couldn't talk just then. he was very polite and rolled back a bit letting me have my moment.  

everybody was hurting.  it's taken me many years to realize that is how it goes.  whether it's conceit or vanity or some shape of self-importance, i think some people sometimes believe they are the only ones who feel a certain way. of course not so.

late that morning the wind came.   the rain and hail came.  the relentless hills came. then numbness came.  and i was ok.

navasota to new waverly over lake conroe is spectacular.  riding through sam hou forest?  wow.  was this texas?  the giddiness was becoming amplified among our group.  we were still 90 something miles from being donedone, but when the total distance is 622, horses to the barn enthusiasm starts a bit farther out. i was beginning to believe i could make it.

people were especially friendly and upbeat that 3rd day.  on the return, by the time we hit a&m prairie view i was low on chamois creme.  someone gave me some. a dude offered me ginger for my upset stomach.  such kindness and camaraderie. randos have impressive bags of holding -- you need something and  someone is likely to have the very thing or at least a close approximation.

the hills the hills the hills.  sure, they were no mountains, but they were constant.  i pretended i was on a  roiling ocean.  trough, crest, trough, crest, trough, crest to infinity.  and my legs felt right there, answering when i asked, doing my work.  i was in awe.  and they still had enough just outside brookshire for me to pop it in the big ring to sprint the city limits. and win.  against a seasoned rando with brazillions of kilometers more in the saddle than i could hope to get in a lifetime.

my sucky days on the bike likely outnumber my fantastic ones.  no big deal.  maybe that is how it goes for most people.  i don't really care. contrast is imperative if we are to appreciate different degrees of success as well as failure.  they both spur us on to do it again, better, different.  "again" is important.  "again" is desire and hope.

goodness, all that was a very long  associated memory/back story/preamble to set up this very little bit of wonderful -- after being pretty sick for a week recently, after several sucky days on the bike, yesterday felt awesome.  cold, damp, chasing the sun, coming home from my ride, i put it in a big boy gear and climbed out of the lake.  and it was beautiful.