My Old Friend, Speed

As if it were not evident already, I'll be posting with less frequency. Recently, I just have not had much to say nor the time to organize my thoughts. Here is one arrogant, smart-ass bike racer bemused into silence. Commitments to The Man, The Legs, and The Bike have already taken precedence, and I am now also more accountable to The Team. I am particularly excited about that last one.

It was a huge compliment to be invited to race with the NCVC elite team, as well as is a compliment to race against some stellar athletes in MABRA. It is humbling, no doubt. I will hold a bit more respect to the team, the strategy, and my competitors. And with more commitments on- and off-the-bike, you will hear a bit less of me here, but hopefully not on the road.

I first noticed a certain lack of logic in my rambling mind on a solitary ride on Veteran's Day. Cat and I had just moved into a new place, but I think I had spent only three nights at “home” in the first two weeks. I had just returned from two weeks of back-to-back travel for work – mine of which I consider slightly more patriotic than the average civilian, no offense. I have twice since repeated a similarly miserable travel schedule.

On that particular holiday, though, I basically had to check email and I was done working for the week. So I slept in and went for a mid-day bike ride. The farther I went, the harder I pedaled, attempting to catch up with my old friend Speed.

Aside from a single ride in the three weeks prior, I had barely thought about bicycling, much less racing. In November this was not a concern. My mind was on the obscure idea of commitment in the midst of change.

That ride symbolized the end of what I would usually consider my favorite time of year to ride. Autumn: the only time of year that presents stellar weather with absolutely no responsibility to use force on the pedals. But you cannot remove the racer from a competitive cyclist, so I pedaled hard anyway to distract my thoughts.

It was an appropriate time of year to answer the questions I should have answered weeks before: What do you change from last year or the year before? What the hell is your plan? You've never had one before, do you need one now? Am I still talking about bike racing?

For a competitive cyclist or any person as resistant to change as me, and entering his first year of “elite” racing, it is not ideal, preferable, or in any way fun to have to adapt to a few new circumstances at once. At least it was the off-season, but airplanes and hotels infect me with sickness and exhaustion.

I do not share this to find sympathy, but I have definitely grown an appreciation for folks like my father, a civil servant who traveled about one week per month for my entire youth. Though I rarely share much about my office life, what I do to afford my cycling swag is important to me. It’s been at the cost of my family, who I have spent less time with in the past few months.

It may not sound like much to folks with busier lives than my own, but the past few months have brought lots of changes, no doubt. It has been nothing but an exciting growth. In life, it’s a new home, new work, and even a new pet. On the bike it is a new ride, different responsibilities to the club, and a new team atmosphere.

The hours spent on these solo rides on holiday, they belong to me. They are the same now as they were a year or two ago. These are my miles and my pedal strokes on familiar roads with familiar potholes. Nothing can take this away from me; little can spoil the ride.

Likewise, then, I have to tell myself the same of the upcoming year. To grow I must learn to adapt and accept the challenge of flexibility with extra zeal. These days are mine.

Races are still in the shadows even in January, when my lone pedaling excursions in Montgomery County actually may have counted as “training.” In the second month of the year there is a bit more haste to find our friend Speed.

A novice cyclist half-jokingly asked me and a fellow racer this past fall if we could “teach” him how to hold the wheel of a faster pair of legs. We sneered, somewhat insulted.

Take it on the chin, I thought.

I remember when I was ignorant enough to ask a guy I used to row with about his secret to speed. That was when I was in much better shape than I am now as a Category 2 bike racer.

“Work your nuts off,” he tersely responded.

Speed: it is not a skill. You cannot teach Fast, although you can learn to suffer. Slowly you can adapt to new challenges, whether in life or sport. And that process is not something to half-joke about with competitive athletes.

Here I am again, on President’s day, having returned from back-to-back trips with certain neglect toward my [new] bicycle, asking myself like I did on Veteran’s day what my plans are. And I will try to figure out if I am talking about life or bike racing.

It will not matter. I am in the same place now that I was in three months ago, albeit having adapted to more miles traveled – on bike and plane. This time, though, there is a bit more responsibility to put force on the pedals. To The Legs, The Team, and to catch up with my old friend, Speed.