Yesterday was interval day, but due to the high heat index I opted for an easier training plan. I figured riding, even if at a lower exertion level was better than not riding at all. Needless to say I was a little down on myself for being a wimp and this negative attitude seemingly caused the headwinds to have a little more teeth and gave the hills a little more grade.
Shortly before the midway point of my ride, I was still mired in a funk nearly as blue as my riding attire, but now with the wind at my back my cadence quickened and the outlook for the ride was clearing some. Suddenly, I was jolted back to reality by the sound of two short blasts from an airhorn. A quick glance over my shoulder didn’t reveal the source of the horn, then I heard it again, followed by someone, somewhere yelling something indistinguishable. Bewildered, my eyes searched the horizon for the source of this rude interruption to my pity party. My confusion was slowly turning to anger as once again I heard yelling and more brays of the airhorn. It was then I noticed a farm truck sitting off in a field, as a combine worked to gather wheat to load the truck, the truck driver stood on the running board of the truck’s cab. I was now close enough to see the driver as he reached into the truck cab and yanked on the horn cord with one hand and pumped his balled fist on his free hand in the air.
What was this fool doing I thought to myself? Here’s this guy out in the field jumping up and down, blowing the horn and generally making a spectacle of himself, and what the heck was he yelling? I was nearly close enough to make out his ranting, sounds like “GO something GO”. Lance?, is he yelling “GO LANCE GO”? Yes that’s it, he’s cheering me, the guy is actually encouraging me to ride, how awesome is that!! The anger that had been building inside melted, my legs found new speed, my grimace morphed into a grin, yes, even riding at a reduced level was better than not riding on this day thanks to a farmer who had gone Postal.