Whatever it used to be, it’s now a metaphor.
It’s not often that, out for a ride or a run, I’ll come across a symbol so appropriate.
I was out for a road ride, my activity of any kind in five days, owing partly to crappy weather and more to my sinus bug. But today, I just couldn’t take it any more. I needed a pedal, the weather was just warm enough and I felt just good enough. A nice, flat road route would do the trick, and with the remaining daylight, I could get just over 40 miles in. I mapped out an easy loop, sucked down some coffee and hit the road, happy to feel my wheels rolling again after a too-long break.
I intended not to push. The point of the ride was just to burn some energy out of my legs and breathe a little, not hammer out PRs. I rolled south through Yellow Springs, stopping to adjust the angle of my new saddle once. Between Yellow Springs and Xenia, I ran across these bones along the side of the path. Picked nearly clean, the symbolism of seeing them on the trail beside me was too strong to simply pass by. Some scavengers had removed every morsel from the carcass, getting every ounce of nutrition they could before the onset of the harshness and scarcity of winter. And there I was, wrapped in thermal tights, trying to do much the same thing.
It wasn’t a particularly nice day, as days for cycling go. It was overcast and chilly, with highs hovering right around 50. I thought back to the brilliant skies and warm breezes of July, when the only reason I had not to pedal was fatigue from doing so much already. This was a day that I would have stayed in, only a month ago. But the coming winter had me out, gnawing at the bones of the riding season, getting every last pedal stroke I could get before there wouldn’t be any more to be had.
I didn’t intend to push. But between the weather, and the bones, and my legs having had so much rest, there was an urgency about me that made speed come easy. I coasted through Xenia and headed east, accidentally riding 6 miles down the Jamestown connector before realizing my error. I linked together some country roads back north to catch the Ohio-Erie trail, and as I stood and charged up the overpass at U.S. 35, something in me awoke. I like going fast, and recovering from a cold, or riding in the cold, doesn’t change that!
I poked a couple buttons on my cycle computer and saw that I had been sailing along pretty well already, judging by my average. I cruised northeast for the next ten miles, all alone on a remote stretch of pavement, with my head down and my cadence up. When I reached my turn for my last leg, I was out of the saddle again, charging up the rollers on Selma Pike and spinning down the other side, enjoying the rush of adrenaline and burning in my legs made sweeter by its absence over the preceding days.
My accidental detour towards Jamestown had added 6 miles to my planned route, but the surprise pace I found helped me get back before the sun was down, anyway. I turned in 46 miles at an average of 17.8 mph, which is the longest distance I’ve cleared in one shot since the second day of the Young’s ride. Not bad for just getting over a cold. I just hope I can get another couple rides like that in before the weather closes me down for good.
On a lighter note, hey look! Alpacas! Or llamas. I never can tell.