Two straight weeks of bicycle-less free fall, my longest break since The Crash of Great Clarity. Truthfully, the ride I am counting two weeks ago was itself not much to speak of, but just an interlude in a long lull. I drove to Munson Monday last night, passing harder riders as they pedaled their way to the trail head in the heat. Cold A.C. blowing on my face, it was drive or nothing for me.
My routine in disarray, I pulled on a pair of mismatched gloves, one from the late Eighties, the other a remnant of my messenger gear from the mid-Nineties. My helmet was nowhere to be found. I put a Park Tool sweatband and some sunscreen on my shiny head and rode off to accept my fate. Just one lap around the trail, no big deal. It doesn’t matter if I feel good or bad, ride fast or slow. This might be a good day to ride back with the Noobz and give back like all the goody two-shoes harp on about. Juancho- humanitarian.
Then Wrecking Ball appeared in the crowd with his enforcer son. My mouth went dry and my eyes dilated.
9 weeks back on the bike and riding every day, WB is moving back up the charts. I track his progress daily, measuring my slide against his climb. How far can I let the rope out before it slips from my fingers? Time to find out.
Our lap time was in the range of being slow for a fast ride or fast for a slow ride, depending on your perspective. I’m calling it slow, and I pray WB is calling it fast.