A blustery March day here in the Northwest, but blue skies beckoned and I found myself setting off for a moderate ride with minimal expectations…. a “zone 3-4 ride,” as the heart-rate training coach would say.
Yeah, right.
Is it possible to do a zone 3-4 ride on Bainbridge Island? I can’t go a mile from my house in any direction without encountering a hill, and within a few miles, major hills. Today I wound my way up Island Center Road to Gazzam Lake, rode the somewhat slippery-soggy trail through the park, came out on top of “Mount Baker,” descended west, and was smacked upside the head immediately by a south wind whipping down the passage along Crystal Springs. I felt like I wasn’t moving most of the time, pedaling too hard, going too slow. Which was okay until a cyclist overtook me, gliding by with a hale-and-hearty “Some wind, eh?” Watching him disappear into the distance, I felt my spirits sink.
Nothing can drop-kick my self-esteem into the tank like being passed by a faster, stronger (and usually younger) cyclist. Nothing can so quickly remind me I’m just a beginner, an amateur, a novice – and middle-aged to boot. It’s a dose of reality, popping my plump little ego-idea that I’m fairly strong, considering I’ve only been riding for nine months. Left alone, I happily navigate within my own personal landscape of denial, sailing over hills and along the shorelines of Bainbridge Island. But today on Crystal Springs, I was reminded that I’m not as strong as some – or many… and, in the face of the wind I was bucking, it flattened my spirits.
The good news about bicyling (and life) is there’s a new beginning around every corner, and I found it at the Point White turn. Leaving the wind tunnel behind me, and with the stronger/faster/better/smarter rider no longer visible, I began to relax and find a rhythm. From there, I did the big circle around Eagledale (Rockaway Beach, New Sweden, Old Mill Road, the long climb up Blakely), then to Country Club and Toe Jam Hill, and finally, down into the sunshine along Pleasant Beach, Fort Ward, Lynwood and back home along Fletcher Bay – just shy of 25 miles.
It was familiar terrain, but a more difficult ride than usual, and I don’t really know why. I rested yesterday and thought I’d feel stronger than I did today. Maybe it was the wind, my mood, my nutrition (too much popcorn?) or sleep (my cat, Charley, woke me up at 3 am) – who knows? It’s all part of the mystery, and that’s what I love about bicycle riding and it’s allegories to life. I’m on the road, that’s all that matters…
All the stars are out tonight, with a classic hey-diddle-diddle moon. Not a breath of wind. Tomorrow should be a great day to ride, and if it is, I’ll be pedaling up the hills to school.
