I’d let a lack of sleep, energy and the ever-present headwind slowly re-set my effort level from panting-and-sweating to I-put-some-effort-in.  Sure it was a real effort and you couldn’t say I wasn’t trying at all but it was far from my best efforts.  This all-out effort was one of the chief rewards I (re)discovered when I started riding this summer and I’d been letting it slip away.

Now I know, you can’t always perform at that level – there are days when nutrition, sleep, motivation and / or any number of other factors conspire to bring you down a notch or two.  I get that.  The difference – for me – is that while you need recovery days to, well, recover, you don’t grow by putting in a good effort – that’s not enough.  The mind and body and their remarkable adaptability will grow to perform almost any task you continue to throw at it.  The brain’s now-accepted plasticity means it will devote more physical brain real-estate to a task that has received focused effort and attention be it math, martial arts or cycling.  Anyone who’s ever done anything physical – shovelling dirt all summer, lifting weights in the gym, stone mason (okay that might be a long shot all things considered – lost art that one) – knows that your ability to perform the task after a few months of work is vastly improved.  Your mind and body have adapted.   Cool.

However, the downside to the adaptability is it’s conservation of energy.  It takes effort and energy to change – to grow new muscles, to fire more neurons and bridge more synaptic gaps – this is all energy intensive.  What does this mean?  It means you’re a bit like your co-worker who always does everything required, but never works overtime, never volunteers for extra work, never moves outside what you’ve asked of them.  Adaptation comes to a halt as soon as you give it the signal that hey – we’re good enough now thanks.  Progress comes to a halt.  You must push the bounds to grow.

As I rode out this morning, a couple of factors conspired to push me back into the panting-and-sweating zone from what has become my effortful-yet-casual mode of late.  I found myself pushing harder than I had in weeks, re-discovering the Grail zone in the process along the way.  As I approached the 8^th Ave overpass, another rider shot in ahead of me having come down from my right on the far side of the overpass.  His quick cadence implied that he was at least an attentive cyclist and the growing gap confirmed his speed was slightly faster than mine.  I briefly pondered following him but you know how that goes – we’re going the same direction, he’s not leaving me in the dust and therefore I must try.

I thought I was going to lose him on a couple of occasions as he managed to put some distance between us before I sorted out the best gear to reel him in.   I slowly bridged the gap and when I’d caught up to him, it occurred to me that I might not have it in me to get the job done.  It was not a quick pass and required an unsuccessful attempt at looking casual as we rode side by side for the eternity it took to get by.  I found a surprise burst of energy as he moved into my peripheral vision so I picked up my pace again, dropping him as best I could before taking my exit and heading east, while hoping he was headed west so I wouldn’t have to burn myself completely trying to keep my lead.

My point?  Good question.  Oh yes – that I wouldn’t have pulled that off if I hadn’t been in push-to-adapt mode.  Good enough wasn’t going to cut it.  The best part?  I felt fantastic all morning and that win – petty as it might be – fuelled my good mood (and sarcasm) all day.  I look forward to another adventure with the Grail tomorrow (assuming whatever sickness that is presently ravaging my wife is gone and I actually get out of the house – I arrived home this evening to find her sicker than I’ve ever seen her).

Unless you’re constantly surrounded by riders significantly more able than you and particularly if, like me, you ride 99.9% of the time alone, you begin to develop delusions of your ability.  I often find myself thinking “yeah – that’s right, I did just pass you like that, because I can”, while completely ignoring that they’re pushing their bike with a flat tire, thereby reinforcing my imaginary super-cyclist powers.  My favourite though is to be howling along the path with a wicked tailwind while watching all of the on-coming cyclists suffering, struggling mightily to keep above a jogging pace as their headwind acts like molasses.  This really inflates one’s illusory talent.

So with all of this pent-up talent inside, it’s only natural that I would want to find another rider and pass them.  In the beginning I was content to ride down anyone and took great pleasure in the pass irrespective of the age or condition of the rider.  Of course not being able to catch the rider towing a two-child trailer up a hill…that’s not something we need to re-visit.  Or visit.  Where was I?  Oh yes, chasing rabbits.  As my condition has improved over the summer, passing riders who aren’t trying has lost its reward.  I still try (well duh – they’re on a bike, I’m on a bike, they’re in front of me – who wouldn’t try?) to catch and pass them, but when I pull up beside them and notice they’re wearing a heavy wool trench coat, their high-heels and are riding a Townie it’s not the win I was looking for.  Unless they’re all sweaty and out of breath.  Hey – a wolf doesn’t pass up a meal just because the rabbit is missing a leg.  Not that I’m a wolf…

With the cooler weather comes the dwindling traffic  thereby causing an increase in the percentage of more serious riders.  This means fewer opportunities, but better chases.  I’m still not certain that I passed Bearded Single Speed legitimately because he finally cracked or if he simply didn’t want to ride beside me any farther.  Of these more serious riders, I routinely see two women, always going the opposite direction to my own.  Given their velocities I suspect I wouldn’t catch them if we were travelling in the same direction and that they would catch and drop me with relative ease.

One in particular who, for reasons I can’t fathom, reminds me of an acquaintance I met when we hired her to work our motorcycle booth during the Stampede.  Taisa rides but recently left town thereby removing the last 1% of possibility it was her.  When I see this unknown-yet-familiar rider, she is always riding hard and fast – determined.

Which brings me to my point…finally.  I was fighting my way home in the omnipresent headwind the other day trying to talk myself into finding some positive benefit to it (the wind, not the ride).  I’d earlier passed one of the aforementioned casual riders but had had the path to myself and my wandering mind for the bulk of things.  As I approached the Trans Canada, a rider appeared coming towards me in full tuck, in the drops and pedaling furiously with full advantage of the tailwind and I was immediately envious.  I took this all in within the split-second it took for her to appear.  Right on his wheel.

You’re probably asking yourself how I knew she was on his wheel rather than having just been passed.  Two things.  First, the path at that point is a blind, slightly uphill S-bend with a relatively narrow path and a fence on either side.  Second, she had a heretofore unseen gigantic grin on her face.  If he’d passed her on that bend, it would have been a totally uncool move by all measures and she would not have been smiling.  No – that was the enormous, predatory grin of a successful hunt.   The grin of a predator who knows the kill is at hand and the prey theirs despite their thrashing about.  It was, in the purest of moments and expressions, everything that hunting rabbits is all about.

The chase is not a male thing at all.  It’s a for-those-with-drive thing.  It’s awesome.

So it was that I was heading home and thinking that I’d not had a good rabbit chase since the weather had taken a rather permanent turn to cold mornings and cool afternoons.  The less determined / smarter cyclists have parked their bikes and returned to their BMWs until the sun returns and warms things up in the spring.  The reduced volume means reduced opportunities.  It also means when the opportunities come, the object of the chase is likely to be that much more determined to drop his (or her) pursuer.  Such is the position I found myself in this evening as I tried to reel in the rider in front of me.

I spotted him as his path from downtown and my own  both turn to head north but are separated by the canal.  At this point he had the advantage as his path carries on straight and I have to cross the canal before tucking in behind him.  He had a pretty good pace going and I wasn’t sure whether I was up to the chase however being me I quickly determined that I was unable to ignore the fact that he was out front and not dropping me any further behind.  I was able to put a half-hearted and half-assed effort into playing the game.  It occurred to me more than once that he might be one of those who enjoys allowing himself to be painstakingly  reeled in and then dropping his pursuer when they finally get close.  We would see.

I managed to maintain my half-assed effort and was rewarded with half-assed results – go figure.  By the time we got to the Trans Canada, he was roughly that distance away – him under the north overpass, me under the south.  He looked back to check my position as he wove through the train gate and headed up my nemesis hill.  As I made my way through the gate it occurred to me that I was feeling pretty good though still skirting around the zone and never quite in it.

I stepped up my effort and found my lungs, which is to say I worked up a good panting – as I continued to chase him.  I’d almost dismissed the idea of catching him given my particular relationship with this hill but I kept at it if for no other reason than to knock some of this hill off.  As we reached the end of the climb he was less than 10 meters in front of me.

This was as close as I would get to him sadly.  I’d all but exhausted myself and had to watch as he slowly drifted further and further away, putting another cyclist between us.  It took me more distance than I care to note before I caught the intermediate rider and I was not over-joyed to see I’d had to expend great (non-zone) effort to catch a bearded guy riding a single-speed.  Maybe I should grow a beard.

A recent commute home had also been in a stiff headwind with some sprinkling rain here and there in less-than-warm temps if I recall.  Rather than being disappointed about it, I put my head down, my man-pants on and got to work.  I pedaled as fast as I could for as long as I could and ignored the rest of the world.  When I got home I felt fantastic and was certain I’d just laid down a solid time for the trip.  I was shocked to find it was in fact typical of my miserable headwind rides.  Genuinely.  It didn’t bother me in the least however, just left me surprised.  If you were to ask me “how was the ride home”, I’d respond “awesome!”.  Question is, how do I make every miserable headwind-plagued ride an awesome ride in the zone?

It wasn’t an ideal ride – a pair of dawdling, wandering commuters on the path in front of me clogging the descent off the Memorial pedestrian bridge meant I couldn’t race down the ramp and cut the corner while carrying all kinds of speed. I slowed, I waited, he wandered around the ramp some more, on-coming traffic preventing me from passing him. The instant he was to the left, I mashed the pedals the remaining ramp distance, through the grass and up-n-over the corner-cutting hump, pedaling the entire way. I came out ahead of him but barked out an “on your right!” warning out of some smidgen of path etiquette. He quickly disappeared from the tiny view provided by my Fred mirror.

With no bait to chase and not being the rabbit myself I started to imagine scenarios to keep me spinning away. Thomas is behind me, sure to catch me but no way I’m handing it to him. My Purple Rabbit is just around the next bend. Thomas is in front of me taking it easy and I can catch him if I stay on it. Then the real inspiration came: Lungs? Check; Legs? Check; Brain? Brain? Brain? Err…oh – Check! The ride had been exceptional already – spinning away, almost at the top of the big ring, cadence up, form up, speed up. I was having a great ride and it was a self-reinforcing circle of effort and reward.

The last handful of cars on a southbound train were yet to clear the crossing when I got there, one rider ahead of me waiting patiently. I debated the options: up the switchbacks to 16th, down the sidewalk over the train and back down the trail to the path; up the switchbacks to 16th and onto the side-streets taking me home. While I enjoy the climb up to 16th, it is my least favourite route home. I end up crossing Centre with its four lanes of angry-must-get-home-nowNowNOW drivers in an area that never seems to get a break in traffic. I made the mistake of trying to ride with traffic up Centre one afternoon commute. Not a good idea in the grand scheme of self-preservation. Drivers are all nuts. And angry.

By the time I’d made up my mind to climb up and over, the last car was passing and the arms were lifting. What? Yes, yes it did take that long to ponder it. I was too busy grinning like an idiot to think much beyond “wow – what a great ride – I feel awesome – squirrel!”. I followed the rider ahead of me and waited until it was clear that passing her wouldn’t result in my looking like a chauvinist loser when she passed me back and dropped me 6 seconds later. As I passed I repeated a comment from a rider who’d passed me in exactly the same spot a couple of weeks earlier “nice day for a ride ‘eh” but she didn’t hear, white iPhone buds protruding from her ears. I stayed in my saddle for the grind climb, dropping into the middle ring and pedaling like a man possessed. She disappeared behind me (hey – I just dropped someone on a hill…how cool is that?) not to be seen again.

I kept the heat on as I headed west along 32nd towards the bus barns and the substation path. With the substation path reno completed, it adds an extra little bit to the commute each day and I figure an extra kilometre per day certainly wouldn’t hurt. The other option is to head down the grass curb between 32nd east-bound and the barrier keeping cars and buses off the bike path below. This has been my traditional route for the summer thanks to the path reno. It’s not particularly wide, less than three feet and it’s not flat, sloping into the road. This is not an area to be distracted, particularly as the traffic to your very immediate right is travelling head-on at 70km/h just looking for an excuse to crush a soft cyclist skull.

The path is safer and has some easy bonus-distance, the shortcut has little room for error with what you’d call high exposure on the right and requires complete attention. Seems like an easy choice, so I picked the shortcut. Know why? Of course you don’t. The path transition from along 32nd to the substation area has a very tight right-left with a blind approach – you can’t see anyone coming up the other side or lollygagging in front of you. You have to slow down. I was haulin’ and had no desire to slow down so I bailed out at the last possible moment and headed for the shortcut. I once followed a newer-than-I (or at least more-chicken-than-I) rider along the shortcut – he was horribly uncomfortable and barely moving, the woman on the road bike behind us none too pleased about being slowed down. I sailed through never risking a glance at the traffic – don’t look down. I skimmed through the shortcut, around the corner and waited for the light, the remaining distance to be on the road.

This last stretch is a double-edged sword. The downhill slope along 36th street to Edmonton Trail lets me build up a good head of steam and I can usually hit 45 km/h on the approach, but never, ever have I hit a green light which wastes all that momentum. Once you’ve crossed Edmonton Trail it’s a series of up-flat-up-false flat-up-up…you get the idea. Of course it’s located close to home – great in the morning, daunting in the evening. It’s a real trick to get excited about it…I haven’t figured that trick out yet. There used to be a Dogo and Pitbull near the top of the climb – they’d come running up to the fence barking at me as I went by – my own little cheering squad getting me up that last lip – I rather miss them, though if their owner is anything like my dog’s owner, they’ve been pulled inside for barking at passing cyclists too often.

I managed a very respectable climb home if I do say so, missing a new best by 2 seconds which I’ll blame on the headwind on my brief southbound leg. Stabbing the end ride button on Strava, I couldn’t help but notice the total time – 30:08. Checking my “moving time” which generally, though not always, ignores things like stopping for trains and lights and old men in wheelchairs, I was 29 minutes flat, setting a new 3rd fastest commute time (for me – not everyone responds to commuting the same, your results may differ, there are side-effects, check with your inner-child to see if cycling is right for you).

PS My top 3 commute times are all from September rides. Perhaps there’s a benefit to spending most of your riding with a headwind afterall.

I re-traced my Big Ride route today and added a detour into downtown Calgary to add some extra mileage.  I didn’t want to find myself short of the 80km target I’d set like last time out.  I was looking forward to having an excuse to chow down the Shot Blok’s Lemon-Lime flavour and the Crunchy Peanut Butter bar I had lingering around.  I got a late start but at least I had a reasonable temperature at that point.

The wind was blowing from the south which comprised the bulk of the route out.  I hate wind.  A lot.  Immediately I started making excuses about my speed to nobody in particular. I cranked up the tunes and started at my front wheel while I pumped away trying to get lost in the journey.  I’m starting to despise this part of my route lately, especially as part of the Big Ride route.  I’m getting bored with it, which doesn’t bode well for a winter on the fluid trainer or the rollers or both…or neither…I could go back to slothful fatness, hibernating the cyclist portion for the season.

I wasn’t feeling particularly pumped to be out.  There’d been a string of late nights and early mornings (they’re always early with 3 monsters on the go), last night no exception as Trace and I hit the town to watch my cousin’s Calgary debut with Static in the Stars (good show).  I’d “forgotten” my dietary restraint at the post-corporate golf supper Friday and had more than my share of roast beast, not to mention a number of trips to the dessert trays.  ”Oh, but they’re just little desserts” I’d said to myself “and all that meat is protein”.  Last night’s entertainment included a lousy meal at Chili’s (but with exceptional company) and yet more dessert.  ”I’m going to need these easy carbs for tomorrow”.  Excuses.  I felt fat, slow and more than a touch unhealthy.

The ride out consisted of nothing but the wind.  The excuses began again.  ”Yeah I know I’m slow today but it’s a recovery ride” or “my trainer told me zone 2, nothing harder” and my favourite “I had an ice cream at McKay’s in Cochrane before I left and am looking forward to a second one when I get back”.  Excuses. (Cochrane to Chestermere via the canal route is 74km one way.  150km is a good ride, a believable ride – heck, it’s not even a century – 100 miles.  Next summer’s goal)

I am pedaling along making excuses for my performance in a headwind to nobody in particular.  And they’re blatant lies.  I mean really…who am I lying to and why?  Why do I care what anyone else thinks?  That’s just it though isn’t it?  I can talk about not caring all I want, but when push comes to shove or rabbit comes to chase, I’m formulating excuses to use in conversations that will never happen.

I had to spend most of the ride staring at my wheel, my knees and the path at the leading edge of my helmet visor (while positioned to stare at my knees).  To look up at the path would mean suddenly knowing how far there was to go before the next corner might turn the headwind into a slight crosswind and relief.  About 14km out of Chestermere, the route starts to head northwest again, bringing some respite from the accursed headwind.

I rode until the path stops, did a u-turn and stopped for a quick drink and a note to let Trace know I’d at least made it here, and then started heading back.  The path was now full of casual bicycle owners, seniors trying to stay active and families out with the kids.  I passed them all with a flurry of shouting, jeering and pointing.  Okay, maybe not.

I got tangled up behind a senior couple and their dog in a trailer, trying to negotiate the barricade across the rural highway when two cyclists got tied up behind me.  I took advantage of the senior’s decision to walk their bikes across the highway and passed them, not wanting to end up behind the two cyclists.  Why?  Uhm…well…if you’re reading this and don’t understand why I couldn’t permit myself to be passed without a fight, then I’ve not been doing my job here.

I lowered my head until I could only see 3 or 4 meters in front of me and started to hammer away.  I stayed in lower gears trying to keep the cadence up and had to concentrate with every stroke to avoid slacking off.  I put some distance between us but they weren’t going away.  Each time we headed into the wind I’d drop a gear and fight to keep the cadence high, shifting up when the wind died down or our course changed direction.  I prepared my excuse “it wasn’t this windy when I rode in a few minutes ago”.

At the next crossing only one of them was visible with a quick backward glance, 10 maybe 15 meters behind me.  ”No way” I thought “not going to happen” but even as I said it, I continued to ride to the right of the path giving him lots of room to go around me.  I focused on each contraction, marveling at the leg’s ability (and willingness) to continue pedaling as hard as they were.  By the next crossing he and they were gone – I’d successfully ridden him off my wheel.  But I was going to pay the price.

I’d already made up my mind to head west into downtown hoping to put on enough extra clics to get the 80km.  I got lost – not actually lost but no solid idea how to get from where I was to where I wanted to be.  Sure, I could ride it like I would drive it but that seemed foolish.  I still managed to find myself in the middle of downtown Calgary on 5th ave crowded with afternoon traffic.  I made my way to MEC and was in the process of texting Trace to suggest she bring the kids when she pinged me asking to meet at MEC.  Tah Dah!

She was going to be 15 or 20 minutes getting there so having no bike lock and not finished my ride, I headed back out to put some more miles on.  I did  a quick loop, going up to 11th street, down 9th ave to 5th street, up to tenth ave and back to MEC.  I had little gas left.  I waited for Trace to arrive and stashed the bike in the van while we went inside, empty water bottles in hand.  I wasn’t sure yet whether I was going to complete my ride or take the right-there-easy-already-loaded-going-my-way lift home.

I was torn between wanting to go out to put in another 30 or 40km, whatever it would take to hit 100km, just finishing the ride with the original planned 80, or throwing in the towel and going home with the kids. There would be no shame or judgement in the van, in fact they’d be happy – but I’d know.  After stocking up on a fistful of Shot Bloks and bars and some Honey Stingers waffles, we headed back to the van, me still unsure of what I was going to do.  Here’s my excuse.

I couldn’t.  I just couldn’t do it.  There was no way, so I unloaded the bike, put my helmet on and bid the family adieu.  I made it half a block before realizing I hadn’t turned Strava back on and pulled over to the curb just as the family went by, smiling and waving.  I had a flash of “what have I done?” as they disappeared up the road leaving me and my salt-crusted face to pedal home.  I bobbed and weaved through the city until I could get back on the path, heading east towards my original route.

As I made the turn from behind the zoo (hello muskox!) and started heading north, I was greeted by an evil surprise.  The wind had changed and was blowing from the north.  A headwind in and out is so not cool.  Wiped from not eating enough, riding people off my wheel and getting lost downtown, the headwind blew off the last of my tattered spirit.  I shifted down and once again stared at the edge of my visor as I pedaled .  Slowly.

“Almost home free” I thought as I wheeled onto the last climb having spent the previous 20 minutes in the middle ring, barely pedaling.  I passed a woman heading up the same route “always one killer hill” I said.  ”it’s the top that kills you” she replied and she’s right.  The last couple of meters of the climb to Centre Street get steeper and steeper.  As I crested the hill at the stop sign, I could hear her not far behind me but with a gap in traffic and an overwhelming desire to not be on the bike anymore, I wasn’t waiting around.

I soft-pedaled home, let myself into the yard and stared around trying to figure out what to do.  Put bike away?  Get drink?  Sit down?  Where would I sit?  What would I do with my bike?  Dazed and confused I stood there staring blankly at the yard, happy to be home and not sure what to do about it.

Some observations gleaned from my 83km ride (yes – I hit and marginally exceeded my goal):  

• Despite riding almost daily and logging over 1200km this summer, 80km is still a considerable ride for me.  100km might have actually killed me.
• Lemon-Lime Shot Bloks are very, very sweet.  Tasty once but I don’t think I could have them as the only flavour on a long ride.
• Clif Crunchy Peanut Butter Bar – not so peanut butter…or crunchy.  I’ve not yet determined what it tasted like.  It’s not my favourite.
• I didn’t eat enough on the ride and ate way too much the two days prior.
• Sleep matters – lots and I don’t get nearly enough.
• Despite all of the excuses I made, getting lost-ish, a persistent headwind and a chain squeak that drove me out of my mind the last 25km, I still did it.