Desert classic. Pima canyon, to the tank and back. 50 minutes in the setting sun. Tires settling in, found the right pressure for the rear, still too much in front. The green concoction seems to work well, good for porous non-UST tires. Still so fat and slow, 30 pounds away from where I will be in a few months. Working those climbs, re-awakening those muscles as much as I can before age and life take them away. Familiar trail, familiar sights, familiar thoughts. Push, shift, push again. Get over the top. I am happy with where I am. Shift again, build momentum. Life's crazy, all the twists and turns. Another hill. Shift, spin, grab and go. Ride the balance, don't let it spin out. It would be easy to overpower here, but that would kill the flow of the journey. Feel the tension between earth and motion, understand how it works, and ride it up. No emergency, no need to disturb the earth here. Fast and flowy now. Gravity is pulling but the trail is resisting. Find your center, aim, lean her over, and find where the edges start to have their say.
I am happy with where I am.
Day two:
Desert classic, to the tank and back, slightly different route. Same setting sun, different results. 45 minutes, out and back. Routine? Really? Already? Tires better, but the back is a little slushy. Easy fix. Individual rocks that fight back, all day every day, are felt even less. Almost dialed in, but I'd like to quit thinking about that. Did I make the right choice? I like things that matter, things that last, things that don't change or break at the first sign of trouble. And yes, it still feels soooo good, regardless of what my micro-vision may suggest. Perfect? Nope. But what is? Can't hold a double standard on my life and what is right in front of me. Spent too many years overly concerned with the so-called ideals that I lost touch with the now. And the now is, quite simply, I'm getting faster again. Don't need a therapist to figure that one out.
Day Three:
Desert classic: Pima Canyon, tank, Secret loop, tank, Pima canyon. 75 minutes. When your usual ride starts to feel too long, go for a longer one. Little things start to come back, like where to center yourself on a fast corner, or that big cog/big ring is a no-no. Lost my chain twice this ride, and something started squeaking. Think I hosed my rear derailleur. Tires felt perfect though. I'm such a diva. Locked out my rear shock for about half the ride, think I'll do that more often, on this trail at least. Am actively fighting the guilt of leaving work early and the perception of not spending as much time with the family, but the benefit of more endorphins in the system and just more good juju in general seem to be countering that. For now. Soldiering on. Tomorrow, a relaxed change-up, me thinks. Pima canyon, east-west loops, up and down Javelina, east-west loops, and back. Maybe bring the big bike and test the Marz 66.
Day Four:
Fuck it. Don't wanna drive to the trailhead, don't wanna go through the routine. Jeans, Keens, and a cruiser work right now.
I have not introduced my cruiser, have I? Coaster brakes, 29-inch wheels, big fat black leather seat with red piping, cool grey ano frame, and nice accents. Enjoyable on a totally different plane, like an alternate universe where fun comes before pain. It's like a wormhole shortcut into a perfect, effortless moment of single-speed motion, comfy laid-back posture, super-hero intentions, and all the accuracy of a la-z-boy mounted in the driver position of a 76 Cadillac Coupe-de-Ville after a few shots. 4 to 16 shots, to be "specific". 45 minutes of checking out the 'hood and pushing a little extra harder just to see what happens, rewarded by completing day 4, even when I didn't want to.
Day Five:
Good ride on DC with an old friend. Slow is just a phase, not a perpetual prison. And, in the end, truly just a function of choices, driven by priorities. Like anything, slow happens because you don't push the slow back. You let it decide because you either haven't decided, or worse, decided to let it back in. But sometimes it just happens. Learning to push it back and not be afraid of it is a step. A small one, but a step nonetheless.
I have spent my life on journeys of some kind or other. I am happiest and most productive when I am on one. Biking, skiing, driving, educating myself or others, tour guide, writer, whatever. The act of the unfurling journey is what I crave. I get bored when I arrive, I am anxious when I can't leave. Navigation is my calling.
Day Six:
Papago. From the house. A fast 45 minutes and a whole new section of trail discovered. Funny, just the ride through campus and up Mill ave. is almost as entertaining than the dirt part. I must look like a fool to the kids I pass by, the old guy riding his over-priced mid-life-crisis bike. But I don't even care in the slightest, which I guess makes me an -eccentric- old guy riding his over-priced mid-life-crisis bike. I'll keep on turning those cranks and enjoy the buzz of the knobbies on the concrete. I'll not worry about the annoying creaks coming from my under-lubricated seatpost. I find myself thinking of my kids and family and how much they mean to me. I love the state of mind I'm in when pedaling, that's the mental place where I want to be when I leave this life.
Day Seven:
FINS. Fantasy Island North Singletrack. Not bad, but nothing I'd call flowy either. Fun, but in a different, more deliberate and raw kind of way. Like an amateur musician's first composition, got so caught up with each measure and note that the idea comes out distorted when played at normal speed. Maybe we rode it in the wrong direction, everyone seemed to be going the other way. Ah, that's it, we were playing the record backwards! No wonder it sounded like devil music.
Was good to ride again with Dan and Rick. I got Dan into mountain biking about 5 years ago and created a monster. It's good to see, I'm glad I turned him on to it. Rick and I hadn't ridden together in about 2 years prior to last Sunday at SoMo. Feels good to be riding with old friends again. 4 years of monumental changes seem to be coming full circle. I was in such a stable yet miserable place then, like the song was playing but terribly out of key. I still look forward to retirement and the RV and traveling the country but I'm in no hurry to get there now. The thought of the next few hours, the next few years and decades, if not the whole lot of my time left, hold enough potential to keep me in that state of wonder, that place I want to be always, at the end, and beyond. I perceive things now that I would have missed, things that will live on just because I notice them now.
7 days and 7 rides wasn't just a goal, it turns out. It was a prescription.
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