After a late and restless night, I awoke to an overcast sky threatening to rain (but not) and a swift north wind.  I packed up my stuff and debated the rain gear, checked the gadget’s weather reports, debated the over-17C gear, then stuffed it all into the pack.  Only, it didn’t all fit.  A set of clothes for the day, a lunch, a variety of fruit (mango, apple, orange, banana thank you), the too-warm shorts and shirt and the rain gear proved to be too much for my little pack.  Out came the rain gear.

I fairly flew into work with the healthy tailwind.  Okay, maybe healthy isn’t accurate.  The significant 20km/h tailwind.  The kind of tailwind that makes yesterday’s heavy crosswind worth suffering through.  The kind of tailwind that brings on a new personal best, though in all fairness I haven’t put in a lot of runs from the new house.

I was passed early on by a rider I’ve named the lopsided rider (for his single left-hand side saddlebag and a backpack), and he passed me with a good deal of speed.  This was just what I needed to get fired up and I chased him all the way to the river, a distance of roughly 8km.  This required that I take full advantage of the tailwind and ratchet up the intensity a notch (or three).  Despite my solid effort however, I could not catch him despite coming tantalizingly close.  By the end of the run he was in front of me by an easy 500 meters.

I was feeling a bit sluggish this afternoon (read nodding off while staring at a spreadsheet) and started to fear my return trip.  It was all I could do to stay awake, how on earth was I going to fight my way home?  Fight?  You know how I often complain of the dual-headwind days wherein I have the pleasure of riding into a headwind both directions?  This was not that kind of day.  The north wind that propelled me to a new best was waiting for me, still blowing hard at ride time.  No good deed time goes unpunished.

At 4:00 I ate the mango.  The kiwi (leftover from yesterday) at 4:30.  As I stood dressed in my gear at 5:00, I debated eating, and then ate, the orange in a final attempt to ensure a ready supply of energy.  I felt more awake than I had all afternoon though I’m not sure if that was from the fruit or the anticipation trepidation.

As I threw my leg over the bike, I couldn’t help noticing the distinct chill in the air, nor the very ugly, black clouds coming at me from the west.  I hadn’t left yet – I could coax a co-worker into a ride or head back inside and call for the family pickup.  I wanted to nap.  I delayed setting off.  I wanted to hop off and hitch a warm, easy drive.  I did not want to ride into those black clouds or the headwind.  I struggled.

This.  Again.  This moment.  This is what grows a man (or woman).  This is where you build the fortitude and ability to get it done.  Do I need to ride in order to get to my destination?  Nope.  What’s the worst case scenario?  I get cold and wet.  Will I drown or freeze?  Unlikely…unless I have another clipless incident that rings my bell and leaves me prone in the bushes somewhere.  All things considered this last one was a legitimate concern.  I chose to live up to my as-yet unearned title of the Forged Cyclist.

Let’s be clear here – in the grand scheme of things, the effort and the (potential) discomfort were not exactly hardship – just annoying.  But that’s just it isn’t it?  With all the choices, distractions and alternatives, it’s easy to inflate annoyances into hardship so we might justify taking the easy option.  As a naturally lazy guy with a high level of at-rest inertia, it’s in my interest to challenge the annoyances and reduce them to what they really are – trivial.

And so I rode out into the stiffest direct headwind I’ve seen this season.  I pedaled along in the middle ring managing to keep my head where it belonged – I will not be beaten by the wind.  I took a small degree of enjoyment from the sea of brake-lights on the Deerfoot as northbound traffic crawled ahead slower than I.

I passed a number of south-bound riders with big grins and big speed as I fought my way slowly home.  You know I looked the same way 10 hours earlier as I passed them struggling north.  5km into the ride, it started to rain.  I tried to find something positive about the rain and the best I could do was at least it’s not pouring and in fairness while there was a single bolt of lightning (that I saw, I spent most of time looking a few feet in front of me), it was in no way a deluge – more a heavy drizzle.  I was getting wet but I could still see through my glasses.

3km from home, I saw the lopsided rider not more than 20 meters in front of me. I may not pass him, but I’m going to catch his wheel I thought, and set off to catch up.  I made up some distance but he managed to put some between us again.  Unlike the morning however, he was only ever a telephone-pole spacing in front of me and we continued like that until he crested the top of the hill as I was hitting the bottom.  By the time I’d made it to the top, he’d disappeared not to be seen again.

I arrived home cold, wet, and beat a few minutes later.  I was grateful I’d make the choice to ride.  I survived the elements and avoided the wind-borne self-destruction.  I’d actually enjoyed myself and couldn’t help but revel in the expression – we’re most likely to regret the things we didn’t do.  To a life of no regrets!