Writing of riding.
It used to be I would go on my longer bike rides unaccompanied, but for the past 5 weeks I’ve been going on increasingly longer rides with friends, all of them in better shape than I. One thing I’ve discovered about riding in a group is that it’s a lot easier to ignore my body’s nagging desires to rest. I’ve also learned that I have a really terrible perception of my physical limits.
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Little more than a week ago was the annual Chico Wildflower ride. A metric century (100kilometer) ride that climbs up the switchbacks of Honey run, across the buttes, back down in to the central valley, around and up Table Mountain, and then finally back down and around into Chico. I’d ridden Honey Run before, and I’d ridden Table Mountain before, but never one after another, and never amongst over 1000 other riders. The Wildflower brings an enormous crowd, some of them fully geared-out roadies, some of them people who haven’t been on their bikes in months and just want to enjoy the scenery, and a few damn fools like me, riding a fixed gear running 44x16 with an 18lb. messenger bag on my back.
Ryan (riding a balls-nasty 52x18 single-speed with flat pedals), Nathan (with lots of gears), Brad (also riding a fixed-gear bike, 42x17) and I (see damn fool above) met at Ryan’s house around 7:30. We made breakfast, double checked our bikes, and were off before 8:30. The first significant part of the ride was the climb up Honey Run. This road is a switchback that slowly climbs about 1500 feet up from the valley floor. For me, one of the most challenging aspects of this climb is simply maintaining momentum, even if I’m only pushing 5mph. As soon as I let myself come to a complete stop, the task of starting up again becomes a grueling ordeal.
Last Sunday Ryan, Nathan, Quin and I completed an imperial century (100mile) ride. It was mostly flats with a few rolling hills, but it challenged something inside me I never knew the location of before. Highlights included hundreds (if not millions) of sparrows flying out from their mud nest on the side of a bridge, and riding alongside a herd of galloping horses (just like in American Flyers).
Next Sunday we are scheming a ride of about 90-100 miles, but this time it will include over 3500 feet of climbing. If I die, bury me with my bike.