196 – Racing the Sunset

A quote given to me on a paperweight by my wife, once upon a time.

The day after my blowout ride, I wanted to try again, and make sure at least I got back to back rides in, even if they weren’t of the originally planned mileage. Work ran a little long, and so I didn’t even set out until the shadows were already getting fairly long in the evening. But I was still fairly sure I could get 50 miles in, so I charged out of the garage at dinner time, heading down hill out of our neighborhood towards downtown.

I was immediately surprised by how good I felt. Despite having a ride that was something of a disaster the day before, partially owing to dehydration, I felt strong, my legs had no pain, and I wasn’t in any way tired. Steaming down the bike path toward downtown, I found that 19-20 mph wasn’t any trouble at all. Pleasant surprise.

The second thing I noticed was that my new tires, Continental Grand Prix 4000S’s that I bought on a recommendation from my brother-in-law, were absolutely fantastic. They cornered well, rolled easily, and felt light and nimble.

I mean seriously, who leaves the house to exercise when it’s like this outside? This guy.

I got to Riverscape in under 40 minutes, topped off a bottle and headed north across the bike bride, through Deeds, Island and Triangle Metroparks and onward. I allowed the pace to slack now just a little, since I knew my legs were doing good, and I wanted to keep it that way. Winding my way along the river, I hit Taylorsville Metropark, and found myself under the bridge where I had seen the motivational graffiti a few weeks prior. I stopped to look and sure enough, there was still a little chalk down there, and so I took my shoes off and kept my promise, leaving behind the quote from Thoreau that quietly rings in my head all the time.

After I was finished, I looked at the time and realized I was way behind schedule. I wasn’t sure exactly when it was going to get dark, but I knew it couldn’t be much after 9, and much of my route was in the shade. I briefly considered just heading home. I had found out what I wanted to find out, really, which was that my legs were going to be fine riding on back to back days, and my saddle was working out okay. But the temptation was too great. The next 10 miles were flat and fast, and I’ve always had a thing for trying to see how much I can fit in before the day’s done.

So I clipped in, spun the cranks, and streaked down the north side of the dam, hands in the drops and heart pounding, a grin on my face for the self-imposed challenge. The path was full of runners, riders and walkers as the evening cooled, and I flashed past them, urging my legs to keep on going, and eyeing my cycle computer to make sure my average pace was high enough to make up the time I had spent under the bridge at the dam, committing my own act of positive civil disobedience.

Only a few minutes later, my trip meter clicked over 25 miles, the halfway point for my 50 mile out-and-back, and I picked a spot, rode to it and turned around, spinning up again for the sprint back south. I couldn’t slack now. I was still well behind the clock, and now I was racing the sunset home. It’s something I’ve done most of my life, and it’s a familiar feeling. Mowing grass, or riding my bike, or playing with friends, it seems like, as a kid and an adult, that I’ve always  had a penchant for pushing until the very last bit of daylight is gone, to the point where you can’t see your hand in front of your face any more.

But running that late wasn’t an option, today. In addition to having no lights, my bike doesn’t even have reflectors, and the route I was on, even when it got back into the city, isn’t lit at all. If it got too dark, I was just going to have to stop and call Katie again, a reality I wasn’t really willing to accept two days in a row. So I pedaled on, giving it all I was worth, and passing the same people on the way south that I had going the opposite direction. Before I knew it I was up and over the dam, and my legs were finally starting to fatigue. I came up out of the drops and relaxed the pace a little, eyeing the sun through the breaks in the trees and gauging my progress to be adequate, so long as I didn’t slow too dramatically.

Past the golf course, I munched on a pack of fruit snacks for a little more energy, as I felt myself starting to flag a little. But as my confidence at reaching home in time rose, my motivation to push so hard fell, and the pace tapered off to a more reasonable 15-16 mph. Finally, I was off the bike path and back on the road, and after a quick chat with an old friend I ran into at the top of Huffman Dam, I spun up the short, steep climb back to my neighborhood. 51 miles done, to add to the 70 from yesterday. I’ll call that satisfactory as preparation. And anyway I have to, because I’m out of time!

I’ve ridden and run past this a half dozen times without noticing. The flags caught my eye on this day, and I’m glad they did.