16 Feb. Back on the bike again
Pacing is the key to cycling and I am pacing up and down. I can see a single shaft of sunlight between clouds. Is it enough? The rain has stopped....but I thought that an hour ago and then it hailed. Madame Crow says 'go for a ride, you're wearing the floor out' and it is the push I need.
First ride since 25 Jan apart from sneaking between volcanoes last week in Fuerteventura in sunshine and I am not sure that counts. Good to be back on the bike again. The new bar tape looks good too right up to the first puddle, a monster lake of brown water that runs for thirty metres and up to the bottom bracket. Wet feet. Lucky it isn't cold.
Out of Truro and down the hill on the cycle path. A dangerous path this, narrow and I can't see if anyone is coming the other way. It feels bad to brake but the bends could hide anything although why anyone would cycle today at 4.30pm is a mystery. Certainly a mystery to the drivers who look puzzled to see me, lights flashing, a flourescent streak in the gathering gloom.
I wonder where the wind is gone on the flat section through Tresillian - aha like a pantomime villain it is behind me. I thought I was faster than usual. Today I may have some 'Personal Bests' but probably some 'Personal Worsts' coming back later. Rising nausea on the hill up to Probus, breath rasping, legs hurting but still in the higher gears. Breathing better now, change up when the hill flattens. This is good - I wonder where the wind is. Ah, hiding behind me, a gentle pushing hand. That's nice.
I wonder about going further today. A pause at the junction. Now I feel the wind and it has got stronger so maybe not a long ride today. Turn around and head down hill through Probus again, the wind holding me back, punching from the left and then the right, a hand on my chest. I am having to pedal downhill or face coming to a halt.
Now it is a fight home. A malevolent wind. Cars pass me as I wobble back through Tresillian, cursing me I am sure for not cycling straight. They can't feel what I feel, cocooned in their metal and glass. The road is running with water and I can hear it rattling on the mudguards. Clouds thicken again. That burst of sunlight that tempted me out has long gone.
The final hill, protected slightly by being in a steep valley, I focus on the road a metre ahead of the front wheel and try to make my breathing steady. Legs are burning, complaining I haven't asked them to do this for weeks. Hundred k rides seem a long way off right now. Back on the lane home, the puddle waits for me and it seems deeper in this direction. I try to judge the right speed. Too fast and I will get wet. Too slow and I will have to put a foot down. I get it wrong - too fast. Wind assistance not factored into speed calculations. Wet from the knees down. I have just replaced the rear wheel bearing and the pain of making it wet again is uppermost in my mind. The steep lane down to the house is muddy. The farmer who owns the land around us has been driving his tractor across the fields muck spreading and a lot of the field is now on the road. The discs complain about the mud in a loud screeching voice all the way down.
It is good to be back on the bike again but it's not long enough. I need more. Maybe tomorrow......