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!

So goes the Arab curse.  The theory of course being that what we wish for has consequences beyond our immediate awareness, perhaps unpredictably so.  As this is tax season and I’ve been remarkably adept at avoiding them, I’m afraid that you’ll have to do without this morning. Be assured that I rode and was caught entirely unaware (and over-heating) when our afternoon temperatures spiked up to 26 degrees.

Of course, as the titles alludes, I was the recipient of my stated wish, namely to overcome my pathological submission to wind.  Or rather, I was granted another of the necessary lessons such a desire requires.  I leave you now with the following screen shot of Calgary wind conditions today.  You will have to take my word for it that it was not a tailwind.

Notice the nice peak at precisely 5 pm.
(Click it to make it easier to read)

They lied. All of the weather information I had was wrong. Or I suppose depending on your perspective; all of them were a little bit right.

I hit the road at 6:50 and was immediately struck by how cold it was. I’d made the choice not to layer up as the gadgets were claiming +3 with no wind – far warmer than the previous few mornings. The air made my eyes water and I very quickly became chilled. I briefly debated turning around but figured working up a good head of steam would warm me up. Then it occurred to me that zipping up the vents that were funneling the crisp morning air into my armpits would likely serve a similar function (it did).

The temps were nice (with my clothes done up), there was no appreciable wind and I had plenty of time and energy so I decided to extend my commute in pursuit of mileage health and fitness. I rode along the canal path down to Glenmore and likely would have kept going if crossing Glenmore wasn’t such a Frogger experience. Technically, to cross Glenmore requires one to ride down to Ogden road and back up again. I prefer the direct route but traffic on Glenmore is nothing like traffic on Centre Street and I suspect they’d just as soon swerve into you if it meant avoiding a puddle as not. It is lucky that I didn’t continue though as I wound up getting to work not a moment too soon.

I was feeling rather smug about my progress until I received the following picture from Adam:

Adam's 126km ride. Pretty sure he cheated.

He’d taken the day off and rather than relaxing and enjoying life, he set out to put big distance between himself and the rest of us chasing the 1000km bragging rights. In one fell swoop, he near doubled his accumulated mileage and made catching him all that much more difficult. So much for my 28 kilometre morning.

I noted earlier that they (the weather gadgets) lied. Oh my how they lied. There was not a 30km/h wind to contend with, there was a 43km/h crosswind waiting for me (which when I’m making the longest climb of the ride is a nice headwind). I consulted the cycling guru Thomas about the prospect of cycling in such winds. “Treat it like a hill and enjoy the sunshine” was his response. This was not the excuse I was looking for. “Or draft – when are you leaving?” Honestly I’m not sure which is more daunting, fighting your way home with the crosswind or trying to stay in Thomas’ draft.

I fired off a message to Thomas when I left but not really expecting a reply, shoved the phone in my pocket and set about to “enjoy the sunshine”. I’m not certain if it’s a purely psychological event however it seems that wind puts a lot of noise into my nervous system and dulls the communication between my brain and legs. I rode home in the middle/top of the middle ring with occasional bursts of speed thanks to the downhill portion of the many hillocks on my route. I managed a snail-like 18km/h.

I was so distracted by my inability to meaningfully pedal, that I exited the canal bridge onto the west path at such an angle as to hook the right side of my front tire below the left side of the paved path. You know what happened next though right? I was going slow as I knew I’d blown the corner and instead of focusing on where I wanted to go, I was busy looking at the pole in the middle of the path I was trying to avoid. I realized I’d hooked my wheel far too late and yet again found myself trapped in my pedals and laying on my side. I exercised my sailor vocabulary and my outside voice on the way down to further entertain the construction workers nearby. I’m developing a love/hate relationship with these stupid, not-very-clipless pedals.

I bounced up quickly and straightened my seat as a rider behind pedalled by. “You alright” he asked without slowing down. “I’m fine” I replied, “just stupid”. Where did that come from? I must have hit my head. He quickly disappeared and I hopped back on the horse and futilely tried to keep him in my sights. As I slogged along I was passed again and quickly dropped despite a momentary effort to catch his wheel. No gas in the tank. All I could think about was the climb standing between me and home.

I won’t go into details but suffice it say that while I never put a foot down, I rode up the steepest portion of the climb in the bottom of the small ring. Funny thing about the small ring, especially the bottom of the small ring – you can’t really stand and pedal – you have to sit because you can’t pedal that short a stroke while standing up. So I spun and spun and spun and spun some more until I made it to the top where I had to stop to hoist the Rescue Bike over the wire fence. I used the opportunity to drink half a litre of water, pant, huff, puff and question my sanity.

I rode home in a horrendous wind out of the desire to try and teach myself something, I’m just not sure what. How to enjoy the bike when you’re not moving fast? How to enjoy the sunshine instead of the scenery flying past? How to suck it up, buckle down and grind it out when all you really want to do is make the call of shame. Yeah. That’s it.

My goal this year is to beat the wind. To unlearn this wind-beats-me-down mindset I picked up last year. Maybe lose a few more pounds in the process.

And to beat my fellow riders.