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08-27-04, 11:06 AM
This hill, by my house. It's an intimidator.
It always gives me a way to go on the cannondale. It sits directly in the after noon sun..
I got my new wheel on. No more crappy suzue basic. 200 plus bones lighter... surly 135 hub, mavic open pro.. surly cog and lock ring.. and a armadillo tire.
Yesterday I figured **** it. Left the POS jeep in the garage, rode to work.
Usually, I leave the jeep about 2 miles from the house at the bottom of the hill and ride the next 13 miles in.
On the way home, I swung around (there are two approaches) there's a minor hill that's pretty fierce.
I take it hard and I know I can swing it. I crest over and I'm estatic. I know I can make it now.
Well, I know that I have less doubt that I can make it.
I've covered 14 miles so far in afternoon heat and traffic. Add 16 from the morning.
I'm considering bailing out and just walking it. No shame on such a mean hill.
@#$@#$ hill.
I curse out loud.
48-15, 170 cranks. Fixed.
"No options, you know?" I tell my self.
No shifting. No 3 second coast.
I get to the bottom, with out stopping, empty the last of the water bottle and hammer. I nearly max out for me.
I can see the hill, but the sun is directly in my eyes. But it's there.. almost like it's floating in front of me. Pine trees on the side.
Wide two lane with a bike lane and then parking lane.
No breeze today. Damm.
When I get to the curve (it bends up) I begin to loose my momentum.
Eventually, the climb is steep enough it warrants getting up and leaning into it.
When I try to look up the sun hits me direct and the sweat wrings out of my helmet pad into my eyes.
My contacts gunk up and I can't see infront of me far.
I look down and there is the white line of the bike lane.
I focus on it.
I'm hunched over, underhand on the bullhorns, pulling my self down side to side with each crank. The creaky crank tells me of it's displeasure, and what I imagine to be massive torque with each revolution.
It may have been 8.. 10 minutes from bottom to top. I measured it once.
It was, like, 3/4 of a mile, all said and done.
But yesterday,
yesterday it was forever.
I consider dropping my bag.. it laden with a book.. 10lb chain, phone, wallet, keys. Water bottle, pump.. even the light.
I can feel the weight of each item in my head. I can feel it in my legs.
Ounces become tons.
My legs are burning, screaming. I take big breaths and squint.. focus on the white line.
I think of Ron Duncan, a Jeep friend, who died on Tuesday. I think of Joe Dillard, who was with Ron in the back country, who sat there while he faded away. J
oe was helpless, Ron was done, there was nothing that could be done. Joe, frantic, nothing he could do, holding Ron.
Joe racing to get to an area where cell phone coverage was...
Ron's wife, April... finding out from some unknown face from the Local PD.
I think of the house, the patio where I'll sit, bag dumped on the ground. I think of people I haven't called in years and make a mental promise to call them. I had not talked to Ron in months. I try not to feel regret.
My legs quit burning and I'm almost cross eyed at focusing on the tire and line combination. My breath is labored and feels hollow. My shoulders suddenly feel tingly and numb. My bones feel like they are bird bones.. hollow, ready to snap.
I'm numb, but now grunting.
Time to quit came and went.
My vision is grayed over now.
If anything, I'll fall over and pass out.
That's acceptable. Pass out by shere body shut down. My mind won't give up.. at least there's that.
I'm a little mad that it's this hard. But it is hard.
.
Suddenly the line disappears. Then, re appears. Gone again. Back, gone.. back and gone. I'm perplexed. In shock. My singular focus is gone, I look up and I'm at the stop sign. I'm free from the line now, well actually, the line I rode on is a line across, telling me that I must stop here. It's big and looks smooth next to the rough cracked black top.
I simply ride through, not even bothering to give the finger to the car that tried to turn right into me as it ran the sign. I figure we've got something in common, me, the car and the stop sign. Be nice if we all just let each other through when need be, and yielded when need didn't.
I cut the corner to my side street. My neighbor jokes "Hey lance.. you ride from Coronado again?". I laugh and waive. Trying not to show any smile from victory, nor grimace from pain. I get to my house and do a sprint quick up the driveway, weave around the front sidewalk and lean the bike up against the house.
Instead of going in the house, I hit the buckle and drop my bag. Toss my helmet into the rose bush where it hangs.
I lay down on the cool grass. It feels like heaven. I doze off slightly for a few seconds.
"Stranger", the adopted neighbor cat comes up and purrs at my head. He's a good cat, finished off about any mice and rats we had in our small area. Last weekend he was playing with a gopher. Suddenly he grew tired of it, and simply bit it in the back. A loud crunch came up that caught everyone watching by surprise. It was a little bit funny, a little bit harsh. But, he decided the time was come to quit playing and finish it.
In my mind I find a parallel line between that and the big ass hill I just killed. All this time playing fixed gear. Now.. now it's official. Now it's serious. I've crossed the line. I feel better now.
I go inside and sit down. Me, Ron, the hill. Things changing. As John Lennon sang. "Some for ever, not for better.".
Life, not life.
It always gives me a way to go on the cannondale. It sits directly in the after noon sun..
I got my new wheel on. No more crappy suzue basic. 200 plus bones lighter... surly 135 hub, mavic open pro.. surly cog and lock ring.. and a armadillo tire.
Yesterday I figured **** it. Left the POS jeep in the garage, rode to work.
Usually, I leave the jeep about 2 miles from the house at the bottom of the hill and ride the next 13 miles in.
On the way home, I swung around (there are two approaches) there's a minor hill that's pretty fierce.
I take it hard and I know I can swing it. I crest over and I'm estatic. I know I can make it now.
Well, I know that I have less doubt that I can make it.
I've covered 14 miles so far in afternoon heat and traffic. Add 16 from the morning.
I'm considering bailing out and just walking it. No shame on such a mean hill.
@#$@#$ hill.
I curse out loud.
48-15, 170 cranks. Fixed.
"No options, you know?" I tell my self.
No shifting. No 3 second coast.
I get to the bottom, with out stopping, empty the last of the water bottle and hammer. I nearly max out for me.
I can see the hill, but the sun is directly in my eyes. But it's there.. almost like it's floating in front of me. Pine trees on the side.
Wide two lane with a bike lane and then parking lane.
No breeze today. Damm.
When I get to the curve (it bends up) I begin to loose my momentum.
Eventually, the climb is steep enough it warrants getting up and leaning into it.
When I try to look up the sun hits me direct and the sweat wrings out of my helmet pad into my eyes.
My contacts gunk up and I can't see infront of me far.
I look down and there is the white line of the bike lane.
I focus on it.
I'm hunched over, underhand on the bullhorns, pulling my self down side to side with each crank. The creaky crank tells me of it's displeasure, and what I imagine to be massive torque with each revolution.
It may have been 8.. 10 minutes from bottom to top. I measured it once.
It was, like, 3/4 of a mile, all said and done.
But yesterday,
yesterday it was forever.
I consider dropping my bag.. it laden with a book.. 10lb chain, phone, wallet, keys. Water bottle, pump.. even the light.
I can feel the weight of each item in my head. I can feel it in my legs.
Ounces become tons.
My legs are burning, screaming. I take big breaths and squint.. focus on the white line.
I think of Ron Duncan, a Jeep friend, who died on Tuesday. I think of Joe Dillard, who was with Ron in the back country, who sat there while he faded away. J
oe was helpless, Ron was done, there was nothing that could be done. Joe, frantic, nothing he could do, holding Ron.
Joe racing to get to an area where cell phone coverage was...
Ron's wife, April... finding out from some unknown face from the Local PD.
I think of the house, the patio where I'll sit, bag dumped on the ground. I think of people I haven't called in years and make a mental promise to call them. I had not talked to Ron in months. I try not to feel regret.
My legs quit burning and I'm almost cross eyed at focusing on the tire and line combination. My breath is labored and feels hollow. My shoulders suddenly feel tingly and numb. My bones feel like they are bird bones.. hollow, ready to snap.
I'm numb, but now grunting.
Time to quit came and went.
My vision is grayed over now.
If anything, I'll fall over and pass out.
That's acceptable. Pass out by shere body shut down. My mind won't give up.. at least there's that.
I'm a little mad that it's this hard. But it is hard.
.
Suddenly the line disappears. Then, re appears. Gone again. Back, gone.. back and gone. I'm perplexed. In shock. My singular focus is gone, I look up and I'm at the stop sign. I'm free from the line now, well actually, the line I rode on is a line across, telling me that I must stop here. It's big and looks smooth next to the rough cracked black top.
I simply ride through, not even bothering to give the finger to the car that tried to turn right into me as it ran the sign. I figure we've got something in common, me, the car and the stop sign. Be nice if we all just let each other through when need be, and yielded when need didn't.
I cut the corner to my side street. My neighbor jokes "Hey lance.. you ride from Coronado again?". I laugh and waive. Trying not to show any smile from victory, nor grimace from pain. I get to my house and do a sprint quick up the driveway, weave around the front sidewalk and lean the bike up against the house.
Instead of going in the house, I hit the buckle and drop my bag. Toss my helmet into the rose bush where it hangs.
I lay down on the cool grass. It feels like heaven. I doze off slightly for a few seconds.
"Stranger", the adopted neighbor cat comes up and purrs at my head. He's a good cat, finished off about any mice and rats we had in our small area. Last weekend he was playing with a gopher. Suddenly he grew tired of it, and simply bit it in the back. A loud crunch came up that caught everyone watching by surprise. It was a little bit funny, a little bit harsh. But, he decided the time was come to quit playing and finish it.
In my mind I find a parallel line between that and the big ass hill I just killed. All this time playing fixed gear. Now.. now it's official. Now it's serious. I've crossed the line. I feel better now.
I go inside and sit down. Me, Ron, the hill. Things changing. As John Lennon sang. "Some for ever, not for better.".
Life, not life.