Towel Throwing.
The black cycling cap I'd been wearing for the last few rides had bold white stripes of salt across it. I knew it was long overdue for a bath, as were my gloves and knee warmers. However, since I was there, I put on the crusty kit and pulled the bike off the top of the car.
The sunny weather had given way to low clouds. The temperature dropped five degrees compared to the previous week. The stiff wind was blowing in exactly the wrong direction, which is to say, it was blowing in all directions. I had been wearing a short-sleeved jersey with a base layer underneath it on every previous ride, but I quickly added a soft shell jacket to the mix.
The weather wasn't bad. It was just worse than it had been on previous days. It was just bad enough to add a bit of hesitation before I threw a leg over the top tube and clipped in. Chilly with 360° head winds can kill the momentum. Still, I had on my prom dress, so I guess I needed to go to the dance.
A gust here or there as the wind shifted abruptly made me glad I didn't have any fancy deep-section carbon wheels on the bike. Nope, some sensible 36 spoke Open Pros with tires that favor longevity over suppleness were chosen to counter the new potholes, cracks, and road debris.
I looped around the back side of the flight line and then over the saddle towards Six Mile Lake, where the wind was mercifully blocked somewhat by the trees. Still, my enthusiasm for the task at hand didn't improve. I eased up on the pedals and rode easier, because I wasn't going to be doing anything of any significance today. The grandiose plans I had concocted behind my keyboard had not translated to the road. Just wasn't going to happen.
As if to punctuate that thought, when I reached the turnaround I was slammed in the face by the ever-shifting wind. I trudged up the long, shallow grade and decided that today would be a short ride. I knew that forcing myself to go longer on a day where I lacked motivation might buy me some Belgian cred, but would also reinforce the notion in my simple brain the cycling=misery. I get that enough from falling down, so there's no need to hammer home the point. I'll get out there on less-than-perfect days, because you never know when that day will turn out to be a lot of fun. However, sometimes you just have to accept that not every ride is a transformational experience. Some are just slogs that you endure. No need to prolong them.
I was most of the way through my truncated ride when I felt a tiny, cold pinprick on my cheek. Then another. Then another. I looked down at my Garmin and saw it too was collecting small drops of rain. Nothing major or soaking. I wasn't getting wet, but I wasn't interested in getting wet, either. It just reinforced the notion that I was ready to be somewhere else.
Thing is, I actually did have someplace important to be. I racked up the bike and picked up the kids from my wife at a local bread store, acquiring several loaves of carbo-power in the process. While children and bread are important things, I had far grander goals in mind. Earlier that day I received an email stating the Moot Vamoots DR had been delivered. Priorities, people.
When I got home, I was relieved the roaming packs of meth-heads hadn't walked off with the box on my front porch. I guess "signature-required" is more of a suggestion. As with the Moots Compact a week before, I changed quickly and began wrenching, leaving the children out in the car strapped safely in their booster seats. No, I'm a really good parent, so I plopped them down in front of the television with large bowls of sugar while I retreated downstairs to assemble the bike. Priorities, people.
As with the Compact, I spent considerable time unwrapping the impressive amount of packing material from the bike. Moots owners seem to take extra care with their bikes, even as they pass them on to others. I respect that. Little by little, the treasure was revealed and my enthusiasm grew- enthusiasm I seemed to lack just an hour before. As this was a complete bike instead of a bare frame, I had minimal wrenching to do once it was on the stand. Everything went back on easily, and even the brakes and derailleurs were adjusted pretty much dead-on. I started to get a little nervous, because this went a little too smoothly. No broken or mis-aligned parts? No last minute runs to the bike or hardware store for some insignificant but show-stopping component? Weird.
When the bike was assembled, I sat back and admired it. True, it's not a lightweight wunderbike. All dressed up for the road, it probably weighs four or so pounds more than my plastic bikes. Then again, I can stand to lose ten times that much. Four pounds on the frame really isn't what's making me slow up the hill. No, what I admired was it was the product of craftsmen. The Chris King hubs spun forever, and the free hub had a refined click of a precise Swiss timepiece instead of the clatter of a cheap hub. The lines of the frame as tube met tube just stated a sense of purpose. What the total package presented to me was the feeling that this was a bike you could ride all day long. This wasn't a bike for nervous crits, but a bike that you would take to see what is over the next ridge. I've always wanted to see what was over there, and now I have a bike that wants to see too.
Even if I threw in the towel on the ride, I still found a little bit of bike enthusiasm in the day. I think every day should have some.
The sunny weather had given way to low clouds. The temperature dropped five degrees compared to the previous week. The stiff wind was blowing in exactly the wrong direction, which is to say, it was blowing in all directions. I had been wearing a short-sleeved jersey with a base layer underneath it on every previous ride, but I quickly added a soft shell jacket to the mix.
The weather wasn't bad. It was just worse than it had been on previous days. It was just bad enough to add a bit of hesitation before I threw a leg over the top tube and clipped in. Chilly with 360° head winds can kill the momentum. Still, I had on my prom dress, so I guess I needed to go to the dance.
A gust here or there as the wind shifted abruptly made me glad I didn't have any fancy deep-section carbon wheels on the bike. Nope, some sensible 36 spoke Open Pros with tires that favor longevity over suppleness were chosen to counter the new potholes, cracks, and road debris.
I looped around the back side of the flight line and then over the saddle towards Six Mile Lake, where the wind was mercifully blocked somewhat by the trees. Still, my enthusiasm for the task at hand didn't improve. I eased up on the pedals and rode easier, because I wasn't going to be doing anything of any significance today. The grandiose plans I had concocted behind my keyboard had not translated to the road. Just wasn't going to happen.
As if to punctuate that thought, when I reached the turnaround I was slammed in the face by the ever-shifting wind. I trudged up the long, shallow grade and decided that today would be a short ride. I knew that forcing myself to go longer on a day where I lacked motivation might buy me some Belgian cred, but would also reinforce the notion in my simple brain the cycling=misery. I get that enough from falling down, so there's no need to hammer home the point. I'll get out there on less-than-perfect days, because you never know when that day will turn out to be a lot of fun. However, sometimes you just have to accept that not every ride is a transformational experience. Some are just slogs that you endure. No need to prolong them.
I was most of the way through my truncated ride when I felt a tiny, cold pinprick on my cheek. Then another. Then another. I looked down at my Garmin and saw it too was collecting small drops of rain. Nothing major or soaking. I wasn't getting wet, but I wasn't interested in getting wet, either. It just reinforced the notion that I was ready to be somewhere else.
Thing is, I actually did have someplace important to be. I racked up the bike and picked up the kids from my wife at a local bread store, acquiring several loaves of carbo-power in the process. While children and bread are important things, I had far grander goals in mind. Earlier that day I received an email stating the Moot Vamoots DR had been delivered. Priorities, people.
When I got home, I was relieved the roaming packs of meth-heads hadn't walked off with the box on my front porch. I guess "signature-required" is more of a suggestion. As with the Moots Compact a week before, I changed quickly and began wrenching, leaving the children out in the car strapped safely in their booster seats. No, I'm a really good parent, so I plopped them down in front of the television with large bowls of sugar while I retreated downstairs to assemble the bike. Priorities, people.
As with the Compact, I spent considerable time unwrapping the impressive amount of packing material from the bike. Moots owners seem to take extra care with their bikes, even as they pass them on to others. I respect that. Little by little, the treasure was revealed and my enthusiasm grew- enthusiasm I seemed to lack just an hour before. As this was a complete bike instead of a bare frame, I had minimal wrenching to do once it was on the stand. Everything went back on easily, and even the brakes and derailleurs were adjusted pretty much dead-on. I started to get a little nervous, because this went a little too smoothly. No broken or mis-aligned parts? No last minute runs to the bike or hardware store for some insignificant but show-stopping component? Weird.
When the bike was assembled, I sat back and admired it. True, it's not a lightweight wunderbike. All dressed up for the road, it probably weighs four or so pounds more than my plastic bikes. Then again, I can stand to lose ten times that much. Four pounds on the frame really isn't what's making me slow up the hill. No, what I admired was it was the product of craftsmen. The Chris King hubs spun forever, and the free hub had a refined click of a precise Swiss timepiece instead of the clatter of a cheap hub. The lines of the frame as tube met tube just stated a sense of purpose. What the total package presented to me was the feeling that this was a bike you could ride all day long. This wasn't a bike for nervous crits, but a bike that you would take to see what is over the next ridge. I've always wanted to see what was over there, and now I have a bike that wants to see too.
Even if I threw in the towel on the ride, I still found a little bit of bike enthusiasm in the day. I think every day should have some.
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