I had a weird ride Friday night. I didn't really feel like riding -- the first time that's happened to me, I swear! -- but I needed to go, it had been a few days, gotta keep the metabolism spun up, weather clear and cool, all green on the life status board, so I went anyway. I had no ambition, it was just half-hearted, slackadaisical. No drive. Every time I closed in on one of the hills I'd say nah, I'm not gonna do that, I'm just gonna walk it, I don't feel like pushing. But here's the weird thing. I just kept riding. My head was still saying nah, my heart was off sulking in its room somewhere, but my body knew what to do, and up it went. I have habits now, apparently, and the pedaling habit took me up and over. Same at the big climb that ends all my rides, uphill along the highway to the mountain, then the super-steep cut from the highway up into the neighborhood, then the final climb up my street to my driveway. The whole time I was like hell no I'm not doing that, yet, I never managed to get off the bike, and up I went, because my body now knows the moves. About 15 after-dark miles.

So Monday night I baked in some motivation, some urgency. We had thunderstorms coming through, high winds expected, tornado watch across the region. I kept checking the forecast until two hours before the storm, then set off on a two hour ride. Finished in an hour and 40. A little danger, a little daring, the feeling of riding under the overhang of a breaking wave, and a 22mph tailwind on the return did the job. That was the ride I was looking for.