Back in the saddle again

There's something about bicycling.  It can provide some of the most satisfying and exhilarating moments of a lifetime, those moments when the sun shines gently and the road is smooth, and downhill, or at least flat, the wind in one's face, the smells and the sounds -- this morning as I was riding, I heard frogs singing from a wooded area I'd driven past thousands of times.  And, after a short ride, I felt, simply, good.  Refreshed and with adrenaline flowing.  And I had the thought, "How amazing that I can do this for free, and how in the world did I ever forget that?"

But bicycling can provide damnedly awful moments.  I have lived a relatively easy life, physically anyway, so when I find myself toiling up a long hill on hot pavement under a merciless sun, I find myself in misery and wondering why and how long I must keep doing this.  Long-time riders may not even remember that feeling, except maybe on really serious climbs, but it really really hurts.  And I have not yet gotten myself back to a point where I can do or feel otherwise.

But I mean to.

It's been a long, long time.  I really meant to start riding again last year, but back issues -- and subsequent surgery -- provided a reason [excuse] to stay bound to my feet and car. 

I sort of understand what happened.  As anyone who read this before may recall, I had called it "Century before 60" with the goal of completing my first century ride by my 60th birthday.  I had intended to do it in a Centurion ride here in Madison, and spent spring and summer training for it.  Buddies Mark and Paul drove up from Omaha.  The day opened with a cloudburst, the event was shortened to a 50-mile ride for those who remained, and as I dragged home at the end of that beautiful but hilly ride, I realized I was still not really in shape for a Century, at least not under those conditions.  Mark and Paul understood and suggested I come down to Omaha a few weeks later and they'd lead me on a more manageable century.  I agreed.

The night before I loaded Rocinante onto the car rack and prepared to get a good night's sleep and an early departure for the 400-mile drive.  Then my autistic son slipped and fell on a tile floor, shattering his kneecap.  After a long night at the ER, we brought him home in a cast, and miserable.  Even I had the conscience to know that I couldn't leave all that to my wife Mei, so I had to cancel the trip.

And with that, all the enthusiasm seemed to go out of my cycling, like air out of a balloon.  We never re-scheduled that ride, and soon after I decided to take a few weeks off from riding.  And found it impossible to get back on.  Or, rather, found it extremely easy to find other things to do.  Fishing.  Walking.  Whatever.

But this year I had stirrings again, and took stock.  I still have Rocinante, and we also have Racer, a tandem made by Bilenky, intended for Daniel though getting him to ride it is a major, usually ineffective, task; and the accomplishment ends up with him refusing to pedal, so I push this 120 pound guy around a few blocks.  But Anna likes it.  I looked at myself -- 30 pounds overweight, out of shape, and getting older.  And the awareness grew -- I realized that I have only so many more times to try and re-make myself before it all becomes moot.  No Century before 60 -- but how about one before 65?  That tired old Ann Landers saying came back to me, the one that encouraged me to go to law school in my 30s -- "so you'll be 65 when you do the Century?  How old will you be if you don't do the Century?"  The better question is, what shape will I be in when I turn 65.  So I've started out on Rocinante, and on Racer.  A rather feeble beginning, not yet into triple figures in total mileage, but the  year is still  young, even if I am not. 

Stay tuned.