Good Ride

6:50AM. I wake up feeling tired and like I've been hit by a car. There isn't a single part of me that wants to get up, but I promised I would. It's pouring steadily. I throw my bibs on and a jersey I don't care about, as well as some Primal socks that I secretly wish would just go away, but today they are just what I want. I quickly eat a Larabar and fill my water bottles. I grab a dry set of civilian clothes for after the ride and put air in my tires. 90psi front and back, the ground is soaked.

Bike on the car, glasses spotted with rain, I drive off to the shop. I'm meeting Jeremy, Isaac and Lacey for our weekly morning ride. We call it the "Sunday Morning Mustache Ride" because most of us have a kit with mustaches all over it. It's a gentlemen's kit, and today is not the day to ruin it. Remember, Primal socks.

Halfway there, I get a text from Isaac asking if it's too wet. I text him back, letting him know that if I don't see him there in ten minutes, I'm getting a bearded clam jersey made for him because he's a vagina. He shows up ten minutes late.

At least he shows up. Jeremy, who was big talk the Friday before, doesn't show. Isaac quips that it's a shame his mouth can't ride a bike. The second I heard rain, it was common knowledge that Lacey wouldn't show. It never enters our minds to wait for him.

After putting Isaac in the power seat to determine if we'll ride, he is forced to get his bike from his car. Cold, wet, and unsure, we head out with a gentlemen's agreement to turn around if it gets too bad. Deep down, neither of us would ever admit if it was for fear of the never ending hard time that would surely be dished out, even if the other party agreed. Just one of the perks of being a ball buster, I guess.

For the past three months, I've felt sluggish and out of shape on my bike. Part of it is that I'm out of shape. I still weigh what I did over the winter, which is fifteen pounds more than I did last summer. No matter how much I've been riding on my bike (five times in the past seven days) it always feels like my legs just don't have it in them. I feel tired and have no ability to recover. Isaac, on the other hand, spent six weeks in a Powertap training class and has been breaking the legs off of me all season. Every single time. Beating me up hills, riding longer and faster, just pummeling me. It's been a sore spot for me, and I haven't been able to figure out what the cause has been.

Today was a return to the days of old. I felt fantastic. Hills of all shapes and sizes were dispatched without effort. Short and steep, long and steady, what had until today been my nemesis, all crushed. It was like every pedal stroke was me stomping defeat on the hills. And god forbid I got out of the saddle. Where as before I would gear out almost immediately, today it was middle of the cassette and climbing with speed. Isaac, not so much.

Where as he had spent all summer feeling good and leaving me behind, today Isaac's legs left him. While I was off kicking vertical ascents into submission, Isaac was suffering and getting his ass handed to him behind me. While I would love to think that I was just so on form today that I crushed him, he was so far behind on some hills that it was obvious he didn't have it. At one point he said it felt like his legs never warmed up. I felt all conquering and like an asshole, all at the same time.

At the end of the last hill, I congratulated him for killing himself up the hills and never quitting. We both commented on how we were really happy that neither of us bailed because of the weather. We also make fun of our less brave co-workers until we run out of insults. It takes surprisingly longer than one might think.

I've been riding in the rain so much since I put my bike together that I commented on how much better the 105 brakes were in the dry, but that in the wet, the pads on the force brakes were infinitely better. Isaac replied with "how would you know, have you even ridden that bike in the dry yet?"

After getting back to the shop, we changed into dry clothes and spent the better part of an hour working on our bikes. No one in the shop, all lights off except for the front lights in the work area, we stood there disassembling and cleaning our bikes while talking about whatever came up. Had it been slightly later in the day, and I had a beer, it would have been perfection.

As we were finishing up, Our GM Scott arrived at work. He glanced at my tires (which I had just rotated) and asked if I wanted new ones. Normally, this means he has a pair he wants to sell. I asked him what kind. "Specialized." While I love most of their products, I generally don't like their tires. I decline and he responds with "they're brand new and they're free." Done, where do I sign?

Feeling good about just about everything at this moment, Isaac and I head down to the local coffee joint where he gives me a hard time about the fact that I drink tea. Bistro boy with the mutton chops comes to my defense. Not today Isaac, things are going too well for me.

One of the reasons I don't frequent coffee shops (aside from my dislike of coffee) is that with the current options on-tap to keep our ADD, "I kneed more choices" culture happy, I can't just walk into a place and order tea without follow up questions. "Is English Breakfast Tea okay?" Yes, but I'd prefer it if you would just call it by its common name... tea.

After some pastries and our hot beverage of choice, we head out and return home. At this point it is pouring again and just about all the work I had done on my bike is, quite literally, washed away. Good thing most of it is made of carbon. I hop in my car, glasses spotted with rain, and head home, filled with excitement and hoping tomorrow comes soon enough so I can ride my bike again.