Summit Style

Alta Vista Farm, April 30, 2016

Saturday. Weekends allow for prolonged exploration. It's hard to consider a really good & serious ride of 45 miles or more in the middle of the week, not for Dubstoevsky, at least. Wing Nut (formerly known as "The Virginian") is the exception. But consider the reality: to do 45 miles in three hours requires an average speed of 15 mph. I realize that that's not complicated math but the implications are simple - three hours required! Factor in daylight and work and you're hard-pressed to leverage that kind of window during the Monday thru Friday stretch. At least, I am. That's why Saturdays, for many cyclists et moi, are the Big Ride day.

The summit in the distance

This particular Saturday (yesterday) dawned bright and clear in Woo City. Though chilly early on, with the sun's ascent the temperature rose into the 50s and by 10:30 AM the promise of a mild spring day bloomed with certainty. Over the course of the ride, I passed many cyclists. Everyone was out taking advantage. One guy, at the water fountain at the base of Mt. Wachusett, answered my query about conditions on the road to the summit (clear). I thanked him and asked where he was riding from.

"Arlington" he replied.

"Holy shit!" I responded without thinking. The thought alarmed me, having to ride all the way back to Arlington. His ride would be more than 100 miles overall. "Hey, good luck, ride safe!" I shouted. He seemed as if he needed the well-wishing. Arlington to the summit of Mt Wachusett and back is a long fucking haul and he was only halfway.

To the mountain

Strava has a May Gran Fondo Challenge: on a single ride, cover 115km or more (that's 71.4 miles). I considered having a go at it but it was April 30 and the challenge hadn't kicked in yet. Still, I toyed with achieving the distance by covering 58.9 miles overall. But this ride was more about climbing than it was about distance and when all was said and done, I'd ridden upwards in excess of 3600 feet, a more than acceptable result.

"Be light on the bike" I kept reminding myself. I learned that from I Ward more than twenty years ago when we mountain biked together. Something about gripping the handlebars lightly, about inhaling and floating like a feather. Or today, like a titanium arrow. I tuck myself into the shape & essence of a blow dart gusted forth by the Divine Unknown and hurtle down the mountain. I imagine my inhalation a lightening of the body, a suffusing of weightlessness. I lay upon the bike like a shadow.

Summit Road

Still climbing toward the top

And then there's Form. Always thinking about form. Good form, bad form. Always trying to be conscious of bad form. Bad form is not paying attention, is missing something obvious, is losing your line, is somehow messing up a fluid situation, it's putting yourself & others in unnecessary danger. Bad form. It's obvious when it occurs. Cycling requires constant attention.

I notched but one incident of bad form on the 58 miler. Early in the ride, I saw a Verizon trucked parked along the roadside at the bottom of a hill and I whizzed by, but as I did I noticed a Vertizon technician standing behind the truck. I should have noticed him earlier. He could have stepped out without seeing me and I was too close and would have slammed into him. This was a small incident, one Bad Form point on the ride. Over 58 miles that's an acceptable outcome.

At one point about half way up the Mt Wachusett summit road a cyclist came upon me from behind and blew by me like a gust of wind. Diablo! I instinctively increased my pace but realized quickly I'd never catch the dude. He was an animal who, if I were prey, would have eaten me. He made rabbit stew of me. And was gone.

Mt. Wachusett Summit, looking toward Woo City

But just as I was a rabbit in the eyes of a predator, before the ride was over that role was reversed. A coney* appeared in the distance around mile 40 and I set to chasing him and subsequently toyed with him as a cat toys with a doomed rodent. He proved to be an amiable dude as I came alongside of him and he confessed that this was only his third ride of the season. Allez! I wished him well, and he wished the same to me, and off I rode.

Coney chasing (the small dot alongside the road sign)

* Note: "coney" is a little used (obsolete, some would argue) term for rabbit.

At the end of the Big Ride, back safely at Shad Quarters, nearly sixty miles under the wheels, the mandate came down to Eat BIG. This was obvious, and readily accommodated. The post ride Feed started and ended with steak. Beer was involved. As were potatoes and butter.

Before

After