Lancaster County: Yesterday's Commute

Going anyway...

Bike commuting is sometimes a challenge.

Of course there's the need to haul food, clothing, and other supplies (in my case it's a combination of staging on days I drive in and riding with a backpack).

Then there's the early morning starts (If I'm rolling by 0630 I can be at work in time to change and get some breakfast before the calls start).

It's often cold in the mornings so there's more clothes to wear, hang, wash, carry up hills and push through the air.

Hazards

There is the occasional moron driver, who believes it's far too difficult to move off their selected path more than 3' feet (This specimen is usually driving twice the posted speed limit and is horribly upset if confronted). Laziness, stupidity, or viciousness -- or perhaps all three -- compels this driving style.

Of course I have rear blinkers, reflective bands, a bright day-glow jersey, and decent head lights, so seeing me shouldn't be a challenge.

Alas it is, for some poor souls.

Anyway, the one benefit of early morning rides is lack of wind. Most days.

This morning served up a fresh northeast breeze at 7-9 MPH. It may not sound like much but it's just enough to knock a mile or two off the average speed and increase the perception of required effort.

Downhills aren't as fast and uphills aren't easier.

About halfway into the ride I thought, "I don't want to do this."

Uh Oh

Most days I look forward to the ride -- it's a bright spot when I can breathe fresh air, feel strong and active, see the countryside pass by, and enjoy the sunrise.

But a very busy week of work and a couple of hard days on the bike (wind in March -- imagine that) sapped me of some enthusiasm.

This is where cycling is a microcosm of life. There are moments when you just want to throw your hands up and say, "I'm done."

But I'm somewhere on Long Road with no bus stop, no taxi, and no one nearby to push me up this next little rise. It's me and this assembly of aluminum, synthetic ribber, spandex, nylon, electronics, and cork bar tape and the only entity on the planet moving me form where I am to where i need to be is me.

I shift down and spin -- 85... then 87, then 90, now 94 RPM.

The road levels.

The sky ahead is bright with sunrise pink-orange glow.

There are no cars. Cows stand in the field munching fresh grass.

The wind abates for a moment.

One More Mile

So I make a deal -- Get to the end of this road....

Or what?

Just work on that. We'll talk later.

The pedals spin. I turn onto a slight downhill grade. Speed picks up. I get on top of the gear, pushing steadily. 20, now 21 MPH. The road rises -- the Garmin hangs at 17.8.

I make it to the end and forget the deal. Negotiate the bends, make it through the light, fly down the stretch, wait for a break in the traffic -- keep going...

I forget about my momentary lapse of will until I turn onto Highland road, a short little deal that climbs up the backside of Kissel Hill.

It might be 8 % but it's not that long but this morning I dread it like a second lap on Alpe D'Huez.

So what?

Shift down, keep the pedals spinning, get up this thing.

The backpack feels like I'm carrying an anvil inside a 5 gallon bucket of water.

I crest the hill, go over the next little rise, descend into Lititz, take the fast track north on 501, staying ahead of the truck that really wants to pass me.

I'm a mile form the office. I can low crawl the rest of the way. Now get going!

A few more blocks and I roll into the parking lot. 18.2 miles have been covered since I rolled out in the dark away from our warm, spacious house.

That wasn't so bad...

It should be 72 F when I ride home tonight.

That will be nice...

Momentary lack of will forgotten, new horizons beckon -- why did I doubt?

I doubted so I can remember this the next time I face the will-sapping questions that penetrate even the strongest will. Can you do this? Why are you doing this? Just stop...

Get thee behind me, Satan.