Cycling Against the Wind

windy-cyclists

After a weekend rest, I’m mentally preparing myself for another weeks worth of riding. Four days just doesn’t feel long enough to recover from the accumulation of miles that comes with biking 30 miles to school and back three days in a row. On the verge of the next three day stint, it’s all I can do to get pedaling. Wait, I should check to make sure I have everything again. School supplies, check. Water, check. Food, check. School supplies, no I already made sure of that. Well let me re-adjust my backpack and tighten the straps for the 17th time. Ok, well if I have everything, I guess that means it’s time to go…

The jarring caused by the transition from curb to street is the cyclists’ starting gun. I take the first of many breaths of fresh air this crisp winter morning has to offer. Fumbling to attach my shoes to the pedals is the final ingredient in the cycling stew. A quarter of a mile down the road and I’m certain somebody injected cement into my tires and they must have left some bricks in my backpack for good measure. My muscles start to warm up and things are starting to get slightly better. Traffic is whizzing past me, taunting me to go faster and push harder. With a competitive spirit, I answer their taunt with speed and agility of my own. The wind is my friend as I whiz down the road, navigating the obstacles of the street. Every light I pass is green and my energy seems endless. The world seems perfect; what could go wrong? After making it through town and into the country, the joy continues. A chirping bird flies next to me for a brief second (literally), followed moments later by sounds coming from a hawk gliding above. After arriving at my destination I check the time and to my delight, it’s taken 50 minutes, a new record! What a wonderful adventure life is! How could anybody ever not be happy?

Optimism is practically oozing out of my ears as I mount the speed demon otherwise known as my bike. Can I break my record twice in one day? Maybe successfully navigate the 15 mile ride home without ever touching the handlebars? Suddenly stumble upon the cure for cancer? These all seem like real possibilities. I joyfully attach my shoes to the pedals and ride off, sprinting at top speed. One mile down and I feel the fatigue that comes with not pacing myself. I’ll just set a decent pace and I’ll be home in no time. Keeping the pace I settled upon seems a lot harder than it should be, but I chalk it up to tired muscles from the quick ride to school. That should go away once I get loosened up. A couple more miles and I’m completely spent. Why is this so difficult? An American flag on the roadside gives me an answer to that question I don’t want to hear. The flag frantically waves directly in my direction so violently that it looks as if it might rip off it’s pole, symbolizing the cyclists’ mortal enemy: wind. This ride just got a lot tougher than anticipated. The wind speed only increases once I make it out into the country. At the halfway point I struggle to hit 10 MPH and after checking the time, realize it’s already been 45 minutes. Traffic speeds by, rubbing their superiority in my face. It doesn’t seem fair that they get to avoid the effects of the wind, while I feel the full force of it. Every light I come to is red which gives me a little break from the wind, but kills any hope of gaining momentum. After expending so much effort with little to show for it, I feel empty of any energy. At least an empty stomach means less weight to carry, right? Checking the time as my journey concludes reveals a disappointing record time of an hour and 40 minutes. I did set a new record on my way home, it just wasn’t the one I was aiming for. The jarring caused by the transition from street to curb is the well-welcomed finish line. Why would anybody ever be happy to do this to themselves, knowing they’ll be back again tomorrow?

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